“Everyone else probably has jetlag. We’re still in the same time zone.” Tristan sucked down harder on his cigarette.
“They’d be waking up earlier than us if they hadn’t adjusted.”
“Well then, I don’t know. I’m just waiting until they let us in.” He twiddled his key card between two fingers. “Tried this and it doesn’t work.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Henry pulled out his wallet and slipped his own key card free.
“I told you I tried already.”
He slid the card into the slot and the lights flashed green. “Maybe yours got demagnetized. Don’t keep it next to your cell phone.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Tristan sucked the last bit of his cigarette down, leaving behind a huge trail of blue-gray ash. Such agreatstart to the day.
They walked in together, through the backstage area, and out onto the kitchen set. Willa and Hezzie stood around chattering with Finn, a tall, pale man with a thick Irish accent. They all waved to Henry but hardly glanced at Tristan. Which made sense. He hadn’t plunged into socializing at all. He didn’t need to start now, either. It wasn’t important how the other competitors felt about him, just that they hadn’t all arrived yet this morning.At least the stupid key didn’t make me miss the whole thing.
Tristan slid into his station and swept his hair back into place.Should have brought another cigarette. Or a pack.He shouldn’t be this nervous about making pie. Pies he’d practicedendlesslyfor the past three days, for Christ’s sake.
But he was about to make them on camera. With a time limit. In front of Dexter Wilson and Eli Castle and Amrita Prasad. Not to mention he’d have Henry fucking Isaacson standing behind him the entire time, judging him. Even through the miasma of cigarette smoke, there was coconut on the air.Everyone smells like coconut. It’s not only him. It’s not. It’s not.
More people trickled in over the next quarter hour: competitors, judges, and some squirrely-looking tech guys. They attached mics and battery packs to everyone, never once speaking. Tristan stood indignant and still as one of them attached the gear to him. Noasking, not even a mention that they were about to functionally grope his ass to get the pack on his belt. He swallowed an admonishment when they lifted his shirt up a little too high for comfort.
The judges received the same rough-and-ready treatment for their mics, so fair was fair. But Tristan only watched them for a few seconds. Then the cameras were pushed in and the rest of the crew stormed in with them. Jesus, Tristan had severely underestimated the number of people necessary for a show like this.
“Things are moving! Are we all excited?” A man in a suit swept in, a wide smile beneath a dark, bushy mustache. “I’m Mark McCall. Don’t worry, don’t worry, I won’t be around that often. I’m the producer for the show. Well, alongside Mr. Wilson. I wanted to wish everyone the best of luck and say howexcitedI am to see this project go forward.” He scanned over the lot of them. “I will admit, I might be back now and then for some unofficial taste-testing.” He boomed out a laugh. “I know we’re running a bit of a tight schedule, so I’ll get out of your hair. Good luck, godspeed, et cetera.”
Tristan rolled his eyes once McCall had turned his back.I get the impression we were an item on his checklist for the morning.
Just as McCall’s footsteps faded into the hum of the set, a new woman stepped into view. She was dressed nothing like any of the chefs on the set, and nothing like any of the production assistants, either. Even Rita, true to her word, had dressed in sensible flats and an easy, breathable top. But this stranger had on a bright blue blazer, a pleated skirt, and strappy heels. Not stilettos or anythingthatunconscionable, but she stood out. “I’m here, now. You can all relax.”
Tristan couldn’t help a minor hit of panic.Are we supposed to know who she is?
Dexter stood. “I’m sorry this is so last minute, ladies and gentlemen, but her flight from Philly kept getting delayed. This is the show’s host, Sylvia Kwan.” He smiled at her. “I insisted on using her. She was on every infomercial back at home, and she convinced me to part with far too much of my money, so I thought she deserved a chance to work during waking hours.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to do with myself. What is that exceptionally bright circle in the sky?” She winked at Dexter, then turned back to the contestants. “We’re starting very soon, so say your prayers and get out your rolling pins.”
Soon. Didsoonmean five minutes? Ten? Two?I should have brought more cigarettes.Not that they would be getting a smoke break. Even if they did, Tristan wouldn’t be able to afford to take it. He had to use every second available if he wanted a shot at making it through.
Some crewmember jogged past, and Tristan overhead them on their headset. “I know, ten minutes left. I’m on the move.”
Ten minutes to filming. Great. No problem.Screw a cigarette. I need a fifth of vodka.
Henry drummed his fingers on the countertop, waiting forsomethingto finally happen. He couldn’t still his gaze, and his belly flipped and flopped. How could the competition look so calm while Henry exploded inside?
Apple pie first. Preheat. Crust. Spices. Filling.
“Quiet on set!” A dumpy little man waddled into sight, a headset plastered to his face. “We’re filming intro footage in one minute!”
One minute? One minute. Okay. Only one more minute of waiting to go, then. On the plus side, Henry wasn’t focusing on Tristan anymore. Roiling stomach acid demanded the entirety of his attention.Don’t puke before appearing on national television. Don’t puke while appearing on national television. Zero puking.
This wasn’t practice. This was his chance to prove his skill against the crème de la crème. He was going to make his mark come hell or high water. He’d been thrust aside one too many times over the years. By Lance when he’d dared to pursue his dream. By his peers after he’d come out. By the remarkably attractive pastry chef stepping into the catering scene.
That trend ended today.
Up front, the judges settled into their seats around the oversized café table. Sylvia smoothed her skirt, then pasted a clearly practiced smile on her face.
The little man with the headset cleared his throat. “Roll in five, four, three, two ...”
Cameras swept around the room.
