Page 43 of Mistaken Impression

“You all know him as the Meal Master, and I’ve gotta say I wouldn’t mind him giving me a few instructions.” The audience laughs, and she smiles to the camera. “But following the phenomenal success of his show, let’s meet the man who knows all the answers… ladies and gentlemen… here’s Blain.”

Deafening applause rings out as the floor manager gives me a firm shove and I step forward, offering my hand to Aria. I feel self-conscious still, wearing the black t-shirt and red apron, but I’m under strict instructions from Kennedy that it must be worn for all publicity appearances, and I’m not about to disobey her now… not when the show’s taken off like it has.

Aria doesn’t really shake my hand, but holds it in hers, guiding me to the couch, and sitting in her chair, right beside me. Her eyes are sparkling and she looks at me appreciatively.

“I thought you looked great on the screen, but the reality…” she says, fanning her face with her hand, which makes the audience laugh. I smile, unsure how to answer her, but she covers my shyness with consummate professionalism. “So, Blain… it’s okay if I call you Blain, isn’t it?”

“It’s my name.”

Her smile widens. “Great. Tell me, what’s your favourite ingredient to cook with?”

My mind goes blank. We didn’t rehearse that question, and I can’t think what to say. She’s waiting, though, and I have to say something…

“I think it would have to be… courgettes.”

She stares at me blankly. “Courgettes?”

“Zucchini!” I wake up, shouting the word, sweat pouring off of me as I glance around my bedroom, realising I’m at home.It was a dream. Or to be more precise, it was a nightmare… one that stands every chance of coming true, if I’m not careful. Not that I’m assuming the show will be a success, or that I’ll be asked onto chat shows, but I think there’s a very real chance I could mess this up, simply by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

I turn over and check the time on my phone. It’s five-thirty, and not worth going back to sleep. In any case, I’m concerned I’ll drift back into my nightmare again, so I get up and go downstairs to take a shower, trying to put all thoughts of courgettes – or zucchini – out of my mind.

When I arrive at the studio, desperate for coffee, I’m not at all surprised to find Ella isn’t at work yet. It’s only just gone seven in the morning. What does surprise me is the pile of black t-shirts and red aprons waiting for me on the table. I guess this is Kennedy’s way of getting her point across, and although I don’t want to wear them today any more than I did yesterday, I also don’t want another repetition of that scene with her. Rather than running the gauntlet of the men’s room again, I shrug off my jacket, quickly undo my shirt, and pull on a tight black t-shirt. I don’t bother with the apron yet, but wander into the side kitchen and make a pot of coffee, pouring myself one before I return to the studio.

Instead of going straight back to the table, I walk across to the kitchen, noticing there’s no box of supplies today. I wonder if this is Vivian’s idea of a joke… whether she’s exacting some kind of revenge over Ella for showing her up in front of her boss, and I open the fridge and let out a sigh of relief. Inside, there are two legs of lamb lying on the middle shelf, along with eggs, butter, cheese, cream, and heaven only knows what else. If anything, I’d say we’re over-equipped now, but I’m not about to complain. When I turn back, I note the salt and pepper millsbeside the hob, along with the olive oil, and a bottle of what appears to be balsamic vinegar. I smile, sauntering over to the cupboards, where I find several types of flour and sugar, and more herbs and spices than I could even begin to name, and I chuckle. It seems Vivian’s done her job a hell of a lot better today.

Still, this isn’t getting my job done at all, and I go back to the table and sit down. My script is in my jacket pocket and I pull it out, sitting back and turning over the title page to focus on learning my lines. I’ve always been quite good at this, even if acting was never my first love. It’s a career I fell into more by luck than judgement, but thinking about it now, I suppose most of my roles have been more about my physical appearance than anything else. Except that last one, of course. Playing the part of an alcoholic chef involved me looking dishevelled and moody for at least ninety per cent of the play. The rest of the time, I just had to pretend to be asleep. When I was awake, though, I acted my socks off, and look where it’s landed me… in yet another role where the only thing that matters is what’s on the outside.

Great.

“One of the major benefits of roasting vegetables in this way is that, once you’ve done the preparation, they will look after themselves, while you look after your guests.” I mutter the words under my breath, scanning the line a few times, so I’ll remember it, before moving on to the next one, just as the door opens and Ella walks in. My breath catches, my stomach flipping over… the two combining to almost make me choke. God, she looks good today. Not that she didn’t look good yesterday, in that white blouse, with the pretty embroidery at the front. The one she’s wearing today is just as lovely. It’s in a floral material, with a v-neck, and I put down my script and let my eyes wander for a moment. Her blouse might be beautiful, but there’s something about her jeans… I noticed it yesterday.They do something to her legs and her backside that makes it really hard to concentrate. I raise my eyes again to find she’s staring at my chest, which makes me smile. It’s good to know I’m not the only one whose eyes are drifting…

She looked at me like this on Monday morning, when we first met, and although we got off to a frosty start, I think there’s been a slow but definite thaw.

It started with yesterday’s apology, progressed when I placed my fingers over her lips to stop her from insulting me again, deepened when I came back in here after changing into my costume, and really fell into place when I nibbled that piece of coriander leaf out of her hand. I can still remember the intense fire in her eyes when I did that, and the way she held her breath. I liked that reaction… nearly as much as I like her. She might speak her mind, but I’m not complaining. I hate women who fawn, like Vivian, almost as much as I hate women like Kennedy, who use their position to get what they want. That photographer I met on Monday was right about that… just like he was right about my attitude to Ella. It’s different. She’s different.

“Good morning.” She smiles and I smile back.

This is promising.

“Good morning.”

She dumps her handbag on the table. “Can I get you another coffee?” She nods towards my cup and I realise it’s gone cold without me having touched it.

“Yes, please. But can I ask you something first?”

“Sure.” She nods her head, waiting.

“I… um…” I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve started now, so I’ll just have to own up. “I had a dream last night.”

She frowns. “You did?”

“Yes. It wasn’t a very nice dream, either.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed and I wonder what she’d been expecting me to say, and whether she’d assumed my dream might have featured her.If only… “What happened?” she asks.

“I was appearing on a chat show.”

“Why?”

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