Page 11 of Mistaken Impression

Eventually, we’ve made it around the room, and although my head is spinning, I focus on Kennedy for a moment or two before it becomes clear she’s got no intention of introducing herself. I suppose she doesn’t need to. Everyone knows who she is… and that she’s the executive producer. In other words, she’s in charge, and I get the impression no-one is allowed to forget it.

She looks at me. It’s my turn to say something, and I lick my lips, my throat drying, although I croak out, “My name’s Ella. I’m the culinary consultant.” I feel a little pompous saying that, when I’m really a chef. But the title on my contract says ‘culinary consultant’, and I get the feeling that, if I called myself a ‘chef’, Kennedy would correct me. She seems like that kind of woman. And besides, the man beside me is the real chef…

I twist in my seat slightly, the spotlight now on him, and he stares at me for a moment before turning and facing theassembled group. “Hi. I’m Blake MacKenzie. I guess I’m the presenter.”

***

Mac

I look around at the sea of faces, none of their names registering with me, nor their job titles, for that matter. I’ve never been a great one for titles… especially not ‘Meal Master’. Who the hell thought of that monstrosity? Frankly, I’d like to wring their neck. As for names, I rarely use the one I was given at birth, preferring to stick with the nickname I was awarded at school… although Ella Bennett didn’t seem to appreciate that when I told her. Instead, she just stared at me, like I’d grown a second head.

She may be aloof, but she’s beautiful, there’s no denying that. Her short dark hair fits neatly around her lovely face, and I know from years of experience that she will have spent ages perfecting that style. I’ve spent far too long waiting around for girlfriends to get ready, to underestimate the time these things take. In Ella’s case, the effect she’s achieved is like someone has been running their fingers through her hair… or she’s just got out of bed, which makes me wonder what she looks like first thing in the morning. I know what she looks like right now, in that figure-hugging dress. She looks divine. When I first heard her speak, telling the receptionist she was here to see Kennedy Black, I looked up from my seat, simply because I was here to see Kennedy as well. I hadn’t caught her name, eventhough I was fairly sure she’d said it. I couldn’t be absolutely certain about that, though, because I was distracted at the time by the sight of her delectable backside. My cock twitched in acknowledgement of the vision before me. Although in my defence, she was leaning over slightly, and her dress was quite tight, so there wasn’t really anywhere else to look. She turned around moments later, and I wasn’t disappointed. As I say… she’s beautiful, and I couldn’t help admiring her, or smiling to myself when I noticed her eyes taking a tour.

I wondered if we should shake hands then, but I couldn’t decide what to say and ended up pushing my fingers back through my hair instead, in a very uncool move. Luckily, Kennedy arrived a few minutes later, so what was merely awkward avoided becoming embarrassing.

Now, Ella is sitting beside me in this brightly lit room, with her silver case on the floor between us. We’re close enough that I can see her amber coloured eyes have flecks of green in them, and that although her skin is porcelain smooth, she’s barely wearing any make-up at all.

The woman beside Kennedy sits forward slightly. She’s probably in her late-twenties with long, straight brown hair, and much darker brown eyes. “I’m Diana… the make-up artist, so you’ll be seeing quite a lot of me.” She looks at me as she’s speaking, which makes sense. We’ll be the ones working together, after all.

The next in line would be Kennedy, but she doesn’t introduce herself and simply turns to Ella, who pauses for a second or two, then licks her lips, taking her time. She seems even more nervous now than she was before.

“My name’s Ella. I’m the culinary consultant.” Her voice is a little hoarse, and she blushes as she speaks, although I don’t know why. Without her, none of this is going to happen. Believe me.

She turns, facing me, and I stare at her glistening lips, mesmerised… perhaps even a little enchanted. Then I remember where I am and look back at everyone else.

“Hi… I’m Blake MacKenzie. I guess I’m the presenter.”

I thought for a moment then about saying, ‘I’m the actor’, or even ‘I’m the fraud’. I’m starting to feel like one in the present company. Everyone else in the room seems to know what they’re doing, while I’m less and less sure why I’m even here.

Kennedy clears her throat, getting the attention back on her again, and she places her hands, palms down, flat on the table in front of her.

“This first season will be ten episodes long,” she says, even though I’m pretty sure everyone here already knows that. I do. It was in the contract. “If we’re gonna persuade the network to give us a shot at a second season, then trust me, we need to ensure this one is perfect.”

Perfect? Could she set the bar a little higher? A few faces turn to me, and I feel the pressure mounting. We may be a team, but the weight of getting it ‘perfect’ is going to fall on me. We all know that. Even so, I try to stay focused, not wanting to miss anything important.

“As you all know,” Kennedy continues, “the format is simple. Each week, a different guest will present us with their culinary problem, and Blake – or Blain as he’s going to be known for our purposes – will solve it for them… on air.”

I raise my hand, feeling a little childish, except that I need to stop her talking and this seems like the only way.

“Excuse me?”

She turns, her eyes narrowing. “Yes?”

“Did you just say ‘Blain’?”

“Yes, I did. That’s what we’ve decided to call you.”

“Blain MacKenzie?”

“No. Just Blain. You won’t have a last name. We think it’ll make you sound more interesting.”

“I didn’t realise I was boring.”

She smiles at me, in the same way you might smile at a small child who’s failed to understand the simple concept of adding one plus one. “It’ll be better for the show… trust me.”

She looks down at the table, but I raise my hand again, and she sighs, tilting her head at me. “When you said I would solve each guest’s problem on air, you didn’t mean it would be live, did you?”

There’s a slight ripple of laughter around the table, and I feel stupid now for having asked the question.

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