Brad enjoyed going out at night, trying new cocktails, getting stupid drunk with his friends, and eating at whatever hole-in-the-wall was still open when the bars closed. Every now and then that was fun. She fondly remembered one night on the Lower East Side when they’d dance until their feet hurt at a little club under a burrito restaurant and then sobered up by eating pastrami sandwiches at Katz’s Deli. But Brad’s partying used to make Lindsay anxious and jealous. The girls at the clubs loved rubbing up on him, and he never turned them away. Although he always came home to Lindsay.
That was part of what had made her blow up when she caught up with Phoebe. Women came on to him all the time. He never seemed interested in discouraging them. In fact, he usually flirted back. At the time, Lindsay had thought he was either with her or he wasn’t.
Apparently he wasn’t. He’d known all of her secrets. And he’d kissed Phoebe anyway.
She signaled the waitress for a drink refill.
***
“Welcome to the set,” Aaron said as he led Brad through a door and onto a sound stage.
The sound stage was divided into two areas: on one side, there were four stations that looked like kitchen islands, each complete with a stove, oven, sink, and maybe three square feet of counter space. That was almost nothing as far as prep space went, but it was room enough for a cutting board and a few bowls. The other side of the stage contained a massive pantry that looked stocked full of anything a chef could want: rice and various grains in large plastic containers with brightly colored labels, mountains of fresh produce, several loaves of bread, a whole shelf of condiments, and a dozen other things.
“Spoiler,” said Aaron. “Today’s secret ingredient is halibut.”
“That doesn’t seem that weird.”
“We decided that if every episode was wacky, then no one would talk about the really weird ingredients. Plus halibut is a good challenge. It’s a versatile fish that can nonetheless go horribly wrong if you don’t cook it correctly.”
“Sure.” Brad thought the set looked pretty cool and it might be fun to cook here, but he wasn’t sure if he could cook halibut in a way that would stand out. Good thing he wasn’t a contestant.
Aaron crossed the room to a huge refrigerator and took a couple of beers from it.
“You can just do that?” Brad asked as Aaron handed him a beer.
“Being in charge has some privileges.” Aaron pulled a key-chain bottle opener from his pocket and flipped the top off Brad’s beer.
They sat together at the judge’s table. The chairs were nice, with cushy seats and ergonomic backs. “I didn’t expect such good chairs,” Brad said as he adjusted to be comfortable.
“Filming each episode takes a couple of hours. The judges sit and watch the whole thing. Since the judges are usually VIPs, we wanted them to be comfortable.”
“Cool.” Brad looked around the room, trying to imagine what it would be like to be a judge on the show.
“So, wacky question. Why is Lindsay Somers interviewing you in theNew York Forum?”
Brad grimaced and sipped his beer. “You read it?”
“Yeah, we subscribe. You’re the hunky chef who makes treats for cats.”
Brad groaned. “Yeah, that’s what I hear.” He glanced at Aaron. “Lindsay works at theForumnow. If it makes you feel better, the interview was awkward.”
“She still hates you?”
“She still hates me.”
“That doesn’t come across in the interview. Did you read it?”
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to.”
Aaron nodded. “It was a fine interview. Bland, even. Ladies and gentlemen of New York, there’s a handsome pastry chef who works at the Whitman Street Cat Café making treats for humans and cats. He’s charming, and his favorite meal was at some restaurant in Atlanta. That was really all the interview said.”
“That doesn’t sound too terrible.”
“You don’t mind being a piece of meat for women to fawn after when they come to the café to…do whatever people do there. Eat cupcakes and pet cats?”
“I mean, I feel weird about it, but it seems like good publicity.” Brad sighed. “Lindsay bothers me more. The actual interview was…antagonistic. She’s being stubborn and won’t listen to me.”
Aaron tilted his head and sipped his beer, as if he were thinking. “I know what will get your mind off it. A buddy of mine is the new mixologist at a cocktail bar in the Village, and I have an open invite to drink all night at happy-hour prices. You game?”
