Page 5 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“You can’t make it,” I say.
“I can’t make it.” The regret is heavy in Trent’s tone. “My new draft got leaked. Some idiot posted all these spoiler videos that are going viral, so my editor called an emergency meeting. That meeting went way longer than expected, and I’m still way the hell downtown.” He sighs. “You know I’d be there if I could.”
“I know you would.”
And I do. Trent’s career is kicking into a higher gear, so he’s busier than ever, but I know that he’s always in my corner no matter what. This is a guy who literally gave me the clothes off his back and put a roof over my head when I didn’t have anything.
“I’ll be at the next one,” he says. “Promise.”
“If there is a next one.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re a shoo-in for the top ten.”
My fellow contestants gather by the curtain in their white coats and hats, looking way more self-assured than I feel.
“How do you figure?” I know I’m fishing for compliments right now, but I don’t care. I need a confidence boost if I’m going to get back on that stage in a few minutes.
“For one thing, you’re an amazing cook.” He clears his throat. “Excuse me. Chef.“
“Thank you for finally getting the terminology right,” I say with faux seriousness.
“Also, you’re killin’ these food challenges every single week!”
“I thank you again.”
“And finally…”
“Yes?” I stretch out the word.
“Well, don’t let it go to your head, but…” He hesitates again, then rushes through the compliment. “You’re charismatic as fuck on that screen, my dude. America loves you.”
I laugh. “That was painful for you to say, wasn’t it?”
“Hurt like a bitch, yeah.”
April joins the contestants at the curtain, adjusts the mouthpiece on her headset and speaks with authority. “Alright, everyone. Places!”
“Trent, I gotta go.” I lower my voice as I move toward the curtain
“Okay. Bust a nut, buddy.”
“Bust a nut?” I whisper.
I swear I hear Trent shrug over the phone. “I dunno! Someone told me saying ‘good luck’ is actually bad luck. And apparently, ‘break a leg’ isn’t much better.”
“So you went with ‘bust a nut’?”
“Hey, I’m just a writer. I never said I was good with words.” He pauses. “How about… go out there and remember who you are. How’s that?”
Remember who I am.
“That’s, uh, that’s pretty good, pal,” I say, and dammit, my eyes get misty. “Thanks. Catch ya on the flip side, yo.” I end the conversation with him like I always do.
“Catch ya on the flip side,” he repeats as expected.
We hang up. I power down my phone and hit my mark on the stage.
I blow out a breath and bounce on my toes, like an athlete getting ready for the big game. Only in this case, I’m a reality show chef about to make a chocolate soufflé.
