Page 10 of See No Evil

“I know, but you get the necessary credentials and learn things you may not know. Kind of like a beautician. Most of the ones I know already knew how to do hair, but that way, they can legally do it and even open their own shop if they wish.”

He shrugged. “Nah, I never thought about it. I don’t think one can make a good career from that.”

“I know you’ve heard of Alain Ducasse, and Emeril Lagasse.”

“Yeah. Who hasn’t? But most cooks don’t make it to their level.”

“It can actually be quite lucrative. It’s a competitive field, so I understand what you’re getting at, but you really do have something, Legend. You say you never considered culinary school? Well, maybe you should, because it was incredible how you pulled this off. The food tastes like it took several hours, instead of just one, and you presented the food so nicely on the plates. You have a real knack for this. I’m not exaggerating when I say these burgers taste like the expensive twenty-dollar ones from fancy restaurants. This is incredible.”

“English, I told my brother when we was kids that he could become one of those famous chefs at a fancy hotel or somethin’. Just like you said. He is so good at it. He learned because our mama can’t cook nothing but boxed macaroni and cheese, and Legend is greedy and wanted some good food. Mama told him to make it himself, so he did.” Melanie plopped down beside English, a wine cooler in hand.

A few people thanked him for the food on their way out. Thankfully, English’s Care-Bear-colored cousin left him the hell alone—of course, after shooting him the stink eye for the better part of the night.

As he finished off his beer and made to hunt Axel down to get his money, English saddled up beside him. She looked real serious as she stared into his eyes.

“Legend, I know I’ve already thanked you, but I’m thanking you again. Please consider what I said. You outdid yourself! You really do have a precious gift. I watched you dump paprika, dill, dried mustard, parsley, mix things together to create flavors that just explode in one’s mouth. You combined some things I wouldhave never even considered. You just know naturally what to do. This was astonishingly good.” She kissed his cheek, then walked back into the house.

For some reason, Mrs. Florence popped into his mind at that moment. Perhaps it was the unbearable heat from the grills getting to him, or the sun beating down on him, making him woozy. Either way, he began to feel a tad bit queasy as he mulled over English’s words.

I like workin’ out. I go to the gym four to five times week, but I wouldn’t want to be a personal trainer. I don’t want to clean up death scenes for the rest of my life, regardless of how good the money is. I guess when I think about it… yeah… I wouldn’t mind cooking every day for a living. But it would have to be a real nice place. And good money.

Mrs. Florence said I was good at school, baseball, puzzles, cooking and fixin’ stuff. I was one of the few boys in Home Ec. Class, but I didn’t care.

Awww shit. I remember when Mrs. Florence had us bring in snacks on the last day of school before summer break. I made some home-made salsa, and brought in a bag of Doritos. I diced some peppers, onions and tomatoes over ’em, and she was so impressed…

Damn, I forgot all about that. When I cook, it takes my mind off things. It’s like I’m in my element. It’s a stress reliever. English was right. It does come to me naturally. I like watchin’ people eat, too. I like them being happy because of something I did. Something I made. Why should I spend money though, to be given a piece of paper to do some shit I already know how to do?

He sat down on a nearby chair and smiled at a few people, pretending to not be in la-la-land, entertaining his own thoughts. After a few minutes, he pulled out his phone and Googled: Cooking schools in Louisville, Kentucky…

What could it hurt just to look?

Two weeks later…

Desiree slung hercamel leather boho bag along the back of her chair and opened her computer. It would be fifteen minutes before class started at Sullivan University. This was her second week in the culinary arts program, and she was looking forward to listening to the guest speaker—Pierre Richard, who worked at the famous Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.

She wiggled a bit in her size sixteen jeans. These finally fit comfortably around her thick thighs and ample ass. It was at times hard to find jeans that were suitable for her curves, and hugged her the way she wanted them to. She was super thick, as her sister would say, with a coke bottle shape, and at five foot ten, getting the right attire that complimented her shape was sometimes a real struggle.

She pulled out her phone and checked to see if she’d missed any messages from her twelve-year-old daughter, Kaylee, who’d recently talked her into giving her a cellphone. After all, they were living in troubling times, so this was necessary, as long as it was only used to communicate with her, and for emergencies. She read her daughter’s text message and smiled. Kaylee had gotten off the bus just fine for school, and made it to her first period class.

She quickly texted back:Have a good day, baby. Make sure your phone is off. You know you can’t have it on in school.Then, she slipped her phone back into her purse and took a sip from her water bottle.

Fellow students paraded in, all different races and ages, and she waved to a few of the ladies she knew from prior classes. It was a competitive program to get into, and she was thrilled that the college was so close to her apartment—just a short ten-minute drive. After a few more minutes, the teacher, a former Chef de Cuisine for a popular local restaurant, walked in with a cup of coffee and greeted everyone, then sat behind his desk to get a presentation together on his laptop and the overhead screen.

Today, they wouldn’t be in the cooking area. It was just a period of guest appearances, and classwork. She welcomed the reprieve, as she’d been up half the night working overtime as an administrative assistant for a company that sold vitamins. She also made one-of-a-kind candles and soaps and sold them on Etsy, earning great supplemental income, and found seasonal work to bring in a little more revenue. Her bills were paid, but at times, things were tight. What she was doing now would offer a path to solid, permanent income.

Her schedule was jam-packed, but she was working toward an important goal: To eventually run her own restaurant, and take care of her and her daughter. First, she needed to hone in on her cooking skills. Beef them up a notch. She was a damn good cook, but she could be better. This move would bring them peace and financial stability.God knows her daddy ain’t no help.She yawned and sat back in her seat.

I sure am plumb tuckered out. I should’ve drunk two cups of coffee ’stead of one. Bill can’t have me there all night anymore putting up them files, and entering shit. That didn’t make no damn sense. Every time there’s a crisis, they expect me and Crissy to throw on our capes and save the day. They ain’t payin’ me enough to ruffle my feathers and lose sleep. I appreciate the extra cash, but it still ain’t worth it.

“Hello, class. Chef Richard will be in shortly, so I want to first go over last week’s changes to the schedule to make sure everyone is up to date.” The teacher began to talk, and she listened intently, while taking notes on her computer. Just then, she heard the classroom door open. Assuming it was the guest,she watched as two people she’d never seen before entered. One woman with long blond hair and glasses, and a tall, muscular man with the face of an Egyptian God that made her do a double take.

Who the hell is that? Is that Chef Richard? They make ’em like that in France? Well, bonjour! I’m here for it. He can cook for me any time. That must be his assistant or something.

“Class, we have two new students today. Claire Kirkpatrick, and Legend Vidal. Please, have a seat.”

Students? He’s in this class now? Well, damn!

The two found their respective chairs, the Legend person walking to the middle of the room, soaked in swag, casting a mountainous shadow in his wake.He gotta be at least 6’4. He plunked down in a chair where there was no one on either side, and put his backpack on the floor beside him. She looked at the back of his head, which was covered by a cap, and she could see a gold chain peeking above his dark red shirt. Within a few short moments, he removed his Louisville baseball cap and set it on his desk, exposing jet-black waves, cut in a low fade. Her heart got to playing a wild beat at the sight. Around the room, several women were whispering while staring at him, and grinning at one another. Yes… he was that type of guy. Catching eyes like a frog catching flies.

---