July 30, 2010 @ 6:39 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Seven
A strange mixture of apprehension and excitement drove Ella from the comfort of her bed at the Radisson the next morning. It might not be the Beverly Hills Hotel, but the Rodeo Drive Radisson was none too shabby either. Reggie—back at home in Milltown with Chloe—had offered her LA apartment up for the ten days. But Ella had opted to stay nearer the studio, with the other contestants.
As much as she would have loved to bask in her surroundings this morning—spending time in the over-sized tub, nibbling the chocolate-chip cookies left on her pillow the night before—Ella knew she didn’t have the luxury of time to do that. At least not right now.
Today was the first official day of the contest and her roiling stomach had been the first to recognize it. Popping a Tums, Ella shucked her pajamas and turned on the shower. Forty-five minutes later, she was dressed and downstairs, waiting for the cab the concierge had called.
It looked like a typical LA day. At least it fit the image Ella had in her mind of what Los Angeles should be. Sunny sky, balmy weather, lots of busy, tanned people. She scanned the street, trying to catch a glimpse of the cab. In each direction, people crowded the sidewalks. The pace was quick and full of energy.
Just liked she’d imagined.
“Ella!” Torrie’s voice interrupted her thoughts just as a Yellow Cab pulled to a stop at the curb. “Is this your cab?”
She turned and smiled as Torrie rushed to join her. Nodding, she jerked a thumb toward the waiting car. “Want to join me?”
“Yes! Please!” Torrie laughed as she climbed into the backseat after Ella. She reached into her backpack, pulling out something that resembled a pair of chopsticks. Gathering her long hair in her hands, she maneuvered the platinum locks into a knot, and then secured it with the sticks. Ella watched with amusement—and a little awe—as Torrie finished the task and sank against the back of the seat.
“Whew. That was close, wasn’t it?” Torrie’s words came in a torrent of energy, her Alabama drawl totally captivating. “Thanks for the ride, Ella. Why, I’d be waiting another ten minutes, at least, if you hadn’t been so kind.”
“No problem. To be honest, I’m glad to have the company.”
Ella was surprised to find she meant it. Her dismay at seeing Luke laugh and joke with Torrie last night was all but forgotten. It seemed silly in the light of day. Ella was in LA for one reason alone; she didn’t need to lose sight of that. It sure felt like a dream right now, but she was playing some high stakes—she and Chloe’s future rested in what happened over the next ten days. Nothing else mattered.
Ella surveyed Torrie’s outfit, impressed that the girl could pull off such an eclectic pairing. A turquoise skirt with multi-layered ruffles struck her about two inches above her knees, and a snug white T-shirt hugged her bodice and accentuated the girl’s tanned complexion. But what really grabbed Ella’s attention were the turquoise boots on Torrie’s feet. Ella had to hand it to her. It remained to be seen if Torrie could cook, but the girl could sure pull off an outfit.
Fifteen minutes later, the cab pulled up to the security gate at Dreamcaster Productions and Ella fumbled in her purse for her ID badge. She rolled down the window and handed the uniformed officer both hers and Torrie’s ID. When he handed them back, bidding them a good day, Ella looked at Torrie and they both laughed.
“I can’t believe I’m here.” Ella stared out the window as the cab maneuvered past several buildings and sound stages, including the one where Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman had been taped a few years back. Finally the car came to a stop in front of a rather plain-looking building with a single door in the front.
As Ella climbed out and held the door for Torrie, another cab pulled up next to them. Dirk, Ben, and Henry emerged, large McDonald’s sacks in their hands.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Henry held up one hand in mock protest. “We’re here at The Cooking Channel to impress the pants off the judges with our…um, shall I dare say…culinary genius. So why in the world am I eating breakfast out of a McDonald’s bag, right?” He grinned as half a sausage biscuit disappeared inside his mouth.
“I have one thing to say, guys,” Torrie’s pert nose wrinkled in disdain. “Gross!”
The other three contestants were already inside. The studio anteroom had undergone a transformation overnight. The tables had been removed and now eight metal desks were arranged in two neat rows. The kitchen lay front and center, a massive island of gleaming stainless steel appliances and some of the brightest overhead lighting Ella had ever seen. She slipped into the last seat on the second row, just as Nathan Charleton—who she recognized from the night before—took his place at the head of the room.
“Good morning, contestants. I trust everyone had a restful night’s sleep? No tossing, no turning, no worrying about today, right?”
Nervous laughs accompanied his words and Ella relaxed a bit. She turned to smile at the person next to her, a little discomfited to find that it was none other than Patty, the pixie. “Morning,” she whispered.
Patty nodded, although a bit reluctantly, and turned away. Ella wished she’d been paying attention when she sat down. Maybe she’d have grabbed the spot where Torrie now sat. Even the dead-center front seat seemed like a jewel compared to where Ella now sat.
“Welcome to Sound Stage C, here at Dreamcaster Productions. You’re new home-away-from-home for the next ten days. As you already know, the network is looking for three things when considering which chef will earn his own restaurant.” Nathan Charleton ticked them off on his fingers. “Personality. Performance. And a culinary point of view.”
Ella fidgeted in her seat. Culinary point of view? What was that?
Her anxiety from earlier came flooding back with the mention of that one term. She glanced around her. Even Patty seemed nonplussed as she gave her full attention to Nathan Charleton. Ella suddenly felt very alone.
“Just the fact that you’ve all made it this far—” Nathan Charleton’ spread his arms wide—“is huge. After all, we had over thirteen thousand entries. And out of those thousands of chef wannabes…we’ve chosen the eight of you to come here to LA to compete for your very own restaurant.”
Tingles ran up and down Ella’s spine. She didn’t know if it was from excitement or sheer terror. The energy in the room alone was almost palpable, and Ella felt herself being pulled along with it, in spite of her own set of fears and apprehensions.
Take it one task at a time, she tried to coach herself. One task, one activity at a time. It was all she could do anyway, right? No need to borrow anxiety from tomorrow when she had more than enough heaped on her plate for today.
“Ready for your first challenge?” Nathan Charleton continued. “Here to get you started today is a man I know you’ll recognize. One of The Cooking Channel’s very own—grill master, Marcus Jordan!”
Ella straightened in her chair as the legendary chef jogged right past her on his way to the front. When had he come in? She couldn’t believe it—Marcus Jordan, in the flesh. Henry, sitting in front of her, turned and wiggled his eyebrows. Ella assumed he must be impressed too.
“Good morning, people. Welcome to The Cooking Channel, and welcome to your very first challenge. We want to waste no time in getting you broken in…really well.”
Marcus Jordan grinned and moved to a long table, set up on the far side of the room. “On this table are—” he pulled the cloth that covered the table, revealing a mountain of various foods—“just about every ingredient you can imagine. You will create an egg dish. You will have exactly thirty seconds to pick out the ingredients you wish to have in your dish and then you’ll have thirty minutes to prepare and set up a tray to demo that dish. Any questions?”
Deidra stuck her arm high in the air. “One question. Will we be taking turns in the kitchen?”
“Good question, but…no. Everyone will be working simultaneously.” He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “Two refrigerators, four ovens, six ranges, plenty of work space. You’ll all work together.”
Ella’s mind raced to egg dishes. She’d make an omelet. Stephen always said her omelets were the best. Somehow Ella doubted these judges, particularly McAllister Pruitt, would be as partial to her cooking as Stephen had been. She might be an okay cook with family and friends, but Ella knew the real test was about to begin.
*****
Luke, Kurt, and a couple more guys from the crew slipped into the back of the studio just as Marcus Jordan called the contestants to the front. He gave each of them a starched white apron with the network logo splayed across the front.
Luke watched, smiling, as Ella wrestled with hers, trying to get it tied behind her back, before finally pulling the strings to the front and tying a huge knot.
He’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of those great curls this morning, but he couldn’t tell much about her hair from here. She’d pulled it back into a knot low on her neck and, except for a few stray strands here and there, it seemed secure and unmoving.
Swallowing his disappointment, he eased into one of the vacated desks. He hoped Ella didn’t see him. Or the others either, for that matter. He sensed that this contest was crucial for Ella, and he didn’t want to do anything to get in the way of that.
“Ready, contestants?” Marcus Jordan stood aside as the finalists took their places around the table of ingredients. “On three. One…two…three!”
The next few seconds were a blur of activity. Luke tried to track Ella’s movements, but all eight contestants moved at break-neck speeds. If Luke hadn’t known what they were doing and why, he’d have thought it was one of the funniest sights he’d ever seen.
Dirk and Deidra both went for a small dish of—something, Luke couldn’t tell from his seat—and ended up spilling most of it between them. Without missing a beat, Deidra scooped up the contents and plopped them onto her tray. Even Patty, the mousy, quiet one, was in on the action. She scurried from side to side, reaching between people, stealthily filling her own tray.
“Okay!” Marcus Jordan called time and everyone backed up, laughing. “Fun, huh?” He nodded. “Well, it’s about to get even more exciting. You’ll now have thirty minutes to prepare your egg dish. But remember, you also need to prepare, and have ready, a demo tray.”
Luke watched Ella. Her eyes never left Marcus Jordan and, even from this distance, he could tell she was in culinary heaven. He couldn’t wait to watch her cook. Luke rose with the others and took his place behind the camera on the right side of the kitchen. He knew it was too much to hope that Ella would be working at the station where he filmed, so he wasn’t too disappointed when he turned out to be right.
For the next thirty minutes Luke’s focus was on his work. He filmed Cowboy Ben and Patty the Pixie—the crew had coined nicknames for each of the finalists—capturing their every move, zooming in tight when Patty began to do some fancy chops that impressed even Luke.
Wow. Who knew the woman had it in her? Although his mind never completely left Ella, he was drawn into the excitement of the contest as the aroma from sautéed onions and roasted peppers began to waft his way.
*****
Ella put the finishing touches on her demo tray: a pinch of parsley, a teaspoon of oregano, and two whole bay leaves. Finishing with a full minute and a half to spare, she backed into a corner, joining Dirk, as the other six scrambled to complete their tasks.
That’s when she saw him. Or part of him.
The part of Luke Abney’s blond head that peeked from behind the camera and tripod. Today he was dressed down—jeans, a lawn-green pull-over shirt, and tennis shoes. Ella lifted a hand to her hair, suddenly conscious that in the flurry of the past half hour some strands had come loose from the knot and now hung in damp ringlets against the back of her neck.
No time to fix it now though. Marcus Jordan called time and Ella joined the others back at the desks, her attention fixed on the chef. Luke Abney might pique her interest on some level she was yet to understand, but Marcus Jordan held the key to a vault of useful information. Ella was determined to glean all she could from this legendary grill master.
She listened as he explained the basics of demo-ing a recipe, jotting mental notes for future reference. When you think you’re speaking slowly enough, take it down another notch. Learn to work the counter appliances backwards – the camera likes to see the front of the food processor. Ella felt the fresh beads of perspiration as they dotted her upper lip. Between the pressures she was feeling from Marcus Jordan’s words and the heat from the intense overhead kitchen lights, the studio was beginning to feel something like a sauna.
Weariness crept into the muscles in Ella’s neck and her head ached with the amount of knowledge she’d tried to tuck away. She looked forward to retreating to her room at the Radisson, spending an hour soaking in the tub, and then a long telephone call home to Chloe and Reggie. She just hoped she could manage all three without falling into a deep sleep first.
One thing remained: the demo.
Ella had drawn to go third, so she watched closely as Torrie and Ben went before her. Torrie was nervous and stumbled a bit over her words, but even her mistakes—when made in that lilting Alabama drawl—seemed to only add to her charm.
Ella’s heart went out to Ben though. She had a feeling this gentle cowboy would be more at home in ranch house kitchen. Not only did he jumble his speaking, but he spilled almost a fourth of a cup of flour on the floor, never quite recovering after that.
Ella took her place behind the counter, eyeing her tray one last time before she began. Certain everything was in place, she waited for the cue from Marcus Jordan to begin. When it came, she opened her mouth and, amazingly enough, the words began to come.
Ella moved about the kitchen—cracking the eggs, stirring in the heavy cream, and chopping onions—with ease, feeling surprisingly at home. By the time she’d flipped the Western omelet onto a serving plate, added a sprig of mint for garnish, and set it before the panel of judges, Ella had managed to forget about all about Luke Abney.
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