Jack had the most glorious hair I had ever seen on a man, and it was a shame he had to hide it under that garish hairnet. His auburn hair still managed to look incredible under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen which was a marvel.
“Trev, you gonna do your job or just keep staring at the newbie?” Sully asked while walking past with the vegetables for our station. Eggplants, carrots, and cauliflower toppling out of the box in bountiful bunches.
“I wasn’t staring”, I say defensively. I gather the last of our vegetables – bell peppers, onions, cabbages.
“Whatever you say, kid. Knife”, I hand him the knife and we get started on our prep. Any chance I get, I glance over to the pâtissier section. Glazes and chocolates and purees decorate Jack’s once pristine apron. He wipes his hands with his towel after completing the last sugar flower for tonight’s desserts and casts a glance towards me. I almost slice my finger clean off.
“I wasn’t staring”, Sully mocks me. Most times I love his banter. It keeps things lively at the entremetier station- it can be repetitive after cutting your 50th onion or scallion or chive. Today, though, I loathed him. I looked back up to see if Jack was still catching my eye, but he had disappeared.
“Behind”, Jack whispered in my ear, and I finally caught his eyes the first time all night. It was worth the teasing from Sully and my butchered julienne on the carrots. It was worth all the burns and cuts and scrapes in the world. But as soon as it started it was over, and the fire that burned inside of me burned brighter than before.
“Cut the carrots, Trev”, Sully commanded exasperatedly. I understood his urgency since we were quickly running out of prep time, but I would set the entire kitchen aflame if it meant Jack and I could have a moment alone together. It took a minute for me to remember my years of training in culinary school, but I got there eventually and finished the prep for our station.
“Okay, the stock is on, and we’ve got 15 minutes until we have to fire the soups. Do me a favor…”, Sully’s voice trailed off for me as I could see the copper mess of curls making its way around the kitchen. I couldn’t help but wonder what he could possibly be doing and why he was in a rush. He had the privilege of being needed later to satisfy a customer’s sweet tooth as opposed to us who have the pleasure of being the first dish out of the door. I was watching Jack cast a coy glance over his shoulder before entering the fridge when a meaty finger poked into my chest.
“Are you hearing me, Trevor?” I knew Sully was serious then. His beady eyes were boring into me, and I could see the sweat beginning to form on his bald head. I wonder if he always had a birth mark by his eyebrow. “Cumin, milk, and yogurt. Go!” He raised his voice and I told myself it was because of the cacophony of pots and pans not my negligence. In all honesty, I had no idea what Sully was flying me for, but I would be an idiot if I asked him to repeat it.
It was easiest to get the spices first, so I grabbed the cumin quickly and made my way to the fridge. I was somewhat operating on autopilot as the adrenaline before the first ticket was starting to steadily pump into my body. I put the cumin in my apron pouch and used all my strength to fling open the door. Upon the sight of the vast emptiness, I was a bit taken aback. I expected to see Jack, that smile…his hands. I regained my composure, though, and grabbed the items Sully sent me for.
I head back to the station, shutting the door with my foot. It’s getting busier in the kitchen. The maître d is readying the first-tier stations: hors d’oeurves, soups, and appetizers were ready for the first verse. You could hear our soup starting to simmer. My blood was humming, and this wasn’t even my favorite part. I made a left past Jack and snuck a glance at his station. Gorgeous chocolate molds, glitters, and shimmers. He was made for the desserts. Only someone with that much beauty could create something so beautiful.
“Excellent. Will you take over stirring for me?” Sully was on the move again, and God knows for what. I got to see all the moving parts from here. In front of me, the saucier and the poissonier were speaking in fast, hushed whispers. Not uncommon for them- the whole kitchen knew they were sleeping together. To my left, the rotisseur was showing the legumier how he was planning to slice the meat to compliment the vegetables. And behind me was the paradise of the pâtissier section where I could smell the caramel and hear the other chefs laughing at whatever tumbled out of Jack’s mouth. In addition to his dessert making, he possessed the talent to charm anyone to him. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t grip the spoon a little bit harder every time the chefs showered him in bodacious laughter. The images of them putting a hand on his shoulder to steady themselves after a particular hearty explosion sent blazes of envy through me.
“Wanna stir it a little harder? I don’t think you’ve punished the carrots enough”, Sully came back emptyhanded causing me to forget about my assassination plot on the other men. I had half a mind to ask him about his journey before a loud clap interrupted my thoughts and the multitude of conversations throughout the kitchen.
“CHEFS!” Twenty heads whipped around simultaneously. The Chef de Cuisine and Sous Chef had made their way to the doors of the kitchen so everyone could see them. I put the lid on our soup as I got ready to hear the inspirational speech of the night. “You will not mess this up tonight. We have four unidentified critics in the crowd so you WILL be perfect. First courses-” He whipped his head toward us for this bit, “Are you ready for perfection?”
“Yes, Chef!”, we responded unanimously.
“And will I have perfection?”
“Yes, Chef!
“We will be strong all night, do you understand? From the hors d’ouevres to the mignardise, I will not accept anything less. Are we ready?” He emphasized his last sentence in hopes of encouraging us.
“YES, CHEF!” We yelled and punctuated with a singular clap signifying we were ready for the first act. Everything went right back to normal with the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. The simmer of the sauce. The whoosh of the flame. The squeak of the double doors. I can feel it- my senses are heightened, and everything is sharpening to a point before the ring of the dinner bells goes off. I could smell the cologne Jack was wearing and it added to my high. I looked back one last time before the rush of the night took my chance to gawk away from me.
“Alright, kid. We’ve got mouths to feed”. And feed we will. We’ve got a long and busy night ahead of us and I aim to make it my best. I put my game face on and started sending the soups as the tickets rolled in at an unfathomable pace. I appreciated the speed that a full house provides. At that moment, nothing else matters except getting the food out and that was the only thing I would focus on in that moment. I enjoyed the racket of the busy kitchen: chefs yelling, wine igniting, tickets printing. It was a symphony that I never got sick of hearing.
I cleaned the remnants off of the first plates we were to send out and said a prayer before turning around to do the same thing all over again. It was tedious stirring and plating and garnishing, but I loved it all the same.
The door squeaked as it flew open and made a heavy thud as it swung close. “SOUP!” the sous chef addressed me, and I turned my head apprehensive of what was to follow. “Good man. Keep doing what you’re doing”.
I was beaming from the praise. I received the first compliment of the night which was one of the highest honors. As the other chefs walked past me, they clapped me on the back in congratulations. It felt good to be celebrated and I welcomed the physical reminder that I was good and belonged in this kitchen.
“Trevor. Good man”. Jack’s voice was melodic and rang louder than the chorus of the kitchen. His boyish smile beamed, igniting the flame deep inside of me. If cooking doesn’t work out for me, I’d gladly be a receptacle for any and every thought Jack has whether it was stupid or funny or complimentary. I would take anything he would give me.
The service plows ahead with the sous chef coming in every so often to give a shout. As of right now, the entremetiers are leading on the board with the most compliments but with Jack starting to fly his entremets I knew he would dust us in no time. It was an honor to watch him work. The way the small ring light complimented the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the veins in his hand flexed when he made small brush strokes played into my hedonism. I welcomed my damnation as long as I got to stare at him perfect his craft every single night.
Things were starting to slow in the kitchen now. Stations were able to start clearing up and wiping everything down, so I figured I would impress Sully by a getting a head start. I swept the leftover vegetables into the bin and listened to the onslaught of compliments that came pouring in for Jack. Good man! Bravo! He does it again! He shone in the spotlight we cast upon him. He deserved it all, too. He was the youngest chef we had ever hired and there wasn’t a service that he didn’t receive a compliment. I know it’s my relationships with the higher-ups that are giving me the leg up in the culinary world, but it’ll be my knowledge of Jack that I’ll wear like a badge of honor.
“You’ll save me one of those desserts, won’t you?” One of the waiters called to Jack as he made his way to the doors.
“Don’t I always?” Jack called after him with a with a flirtatious lilt in his voice. He didn’t even bother to turn his head towards the man, yet he knew that he held his attention captive. This was the part of Jack I hated to see. Everyone flirted with him, and he gladly accepted it. It burned to know that everyone else could see what I saw in him, and it was even worse that he basked in it. There are some days I wish I could have him all to myself, with no one to make comments or compliment, but I know that would be a wasted life for Jack.
Sully returned to the station and in tandem we began to clean off the discarded vegetable pieces. Silently sweeping long curls of carrots and the top bit of the scallion gave me a lot of time to settle in with the now calm mood of the kitchen. We stacked all of our dishes to the best of our ability and Sully hustled them over to the dish washers as I got started on the prep for tomorrow night. I was glad to be busy with something, I could still hear the triumphant praise for Jack pouring in. But even the repetitive nature of the chop, scrape, tap couldn’t distract me from the consuming thoughts- they like him. The problem was: did he like them? And even more importantly- does he like me?
I see Jack basking in the shower of compliments in my peripheral vision. I refuse to look anymore to save myself from the barrage of emotions that are threatening to spill out. I keep cutting the parsley. Chop, scrape, tap. I don’t want to hear what they think of him. The only thing I want to hear is the chop, scrape, tap until I don’t know anything else. It doesn’t work though. I feel my mind run rampant with jealous thoughts, seething over the thought that he wants their attention more than mine, pissed that they give him the attention in the first place. Where’s my praise? Why doesn’t he seek out my attention? Who will crave me?
I shake my head in an attempt to manually erase the thoughts from my mind. It wasn’t working quite as well as I had hoped though, and I made my way to the back to decompress a bit before closing.
My head was pounding, and I was craving a cigarette even though I hadn’t touched a pack in 2 years. I got up from the crate and paced a bit to rid myself of the last bursts of energy. As I grabbed a water from the cooler, I heard the door swing open.
Jack was closing the door behind him before I even had the chance to register who was joining me in the break room. I guess my face was mimicking my feelings because he immediately put his hands up in mock defense and let out the most glorious burst of laughter I had heard escape a human. I was relieved then and straightened up from my hunched position.
“So, you found my secret hiding spot then?” I asked, breaking the silence first. I don’t consider myself to be very brave, but in that moment, I knew I wanted him to stay here with me and I couldn’t achieve that through awkward silence.
“Your secret hiding spot?”, He started incredulously, “I’ve been coming here for years”. He tilted his chin up to the swinging light that hung precariously and put his hands on his hips in a pseudo-Superman fashion. I couldn’t help but laugh and I could see he was pleased to have accomplished his mission. “I saw you disappear into here and I got curious, you okay?”
The sincerity of the question struck me. I had him pegged as the arrogant newbie deviously crawling his way up the ranks. It never occurred to me that he cared enough to notice my absence. The mere thought caused the fires of jealousy to dwindle into feelings of the past.
“Oh yeah, just had to get off my feet, ya know?”, I answered hoping it was at least somewhat convincing. Judging by the way Jack started to cross the room to sit next to me though, I think I can confidently say I failed my task.
He took a chair from the round table that no one sits at and pulled it in front of me with the back facing me. I watched him hike up his chef’s pants and stretch his legs across the width of the chair – for a skinny boy he had very muscular thighs. “Trevor, are you alright?”. He spoke slowly, enunciating every word. I never liked my name, but he made it sound lovely. I could hear the posh influence of Bedfordshire in his vowels, and I wondered how a boy like that made it all the way to here. His face was gentle, too. I could see all of his details when we were this close: His freckles and how they were unevenly dispersed across his face and his natural hair color coming through his roots. He had darker hair before, and I wondered if the brunette would still compliment his high cheekbones and olive skin.
“I’m alright. Really! I appreciate it, Jack”, His name felt foreign in my mouth, but I welcomed it wholly. He leaned back a bit in the chair seemingly satisfied with my performance.“You had me worried for a second!” He admitted, loudly slapping his hands on his legs. “You know I worry about you, right, Trevor?”. I couldn’t really keep up with the game he was playing. We barely speak during services and now he’s telling me he thinks about me. I could really use that cigarette right about now.
