Wax

Twelve

You know what they say.

When there's smoke

___________________

[Leroy]

A blade in the hands of the person who knows it best; the kitchen knife and its owner. This one wasn't mine but the weight of it resembled something I'd thought I would have forgotten. Only one word came to mind. Something I hadn't noticed in my years of training and experience in the kitchen of heat and flames, that there was, undeniably, the fluidity of something water-like. Something that resembled the rush of currents out in the open sea. Something cruising in an element of its own. Moving.

From station to station, all around, brought by the flow of something I was experiencing in a very long time. It wasn't completely foreign. I knew because my fingertips did not resist the surface of the currents and had chosen, instead, to do as they deemed fit.

Riding a wave.

"Twenty minutes till Andre's service, baby boy." Angie called through pickup and I turned her way, nodding once. She wasn't satisfied. "Your echo?"

I laughed. "Heard."

"You know I can't serve your courses, right? You'll have to do it yourself," she pushed past the doors but stayed out of the way, giving me a heads-up I'd already seen coming my way. I told her.

"I called for someone before coming. They should be here in less than five."

"Really?" She sounded surprised. I had my back towards her, readying the parmesan tuile crisps that would go with the white truffle eggs en cocotte. The sweet element, I considered lightly brushing the tuile with rum-infused cream or honey. A risk, but for a balanced dish, especially for an appetizer that should, by the rules, by traditionally light... I was bordering on breaking the boundaries professionals had based their entire careers on.

"Leroy." A snap. I turned to Angie. She had been speaking. I hadn't been listening. "I asked you a question. So you don't plan on having Andre or, the rest of the guests, find out who you are? You do realize he's going to blow up once things start getting messy, right?"

I turned back to the tuile. Tasted. This had to be done before the short window of time I needed to prep for the next course. "He can't in front of the media he invited. Blowing up would just make him look bad and panicked, since there isn't anyone openly provoking him. If things go well, people are just going to assume it's yet another one of his marketing tactics. Like he planned the entire thing."

"Okay... point taken, but why would they...?" She got close enough to observe my workspace. Frowning. "Andre wouldn't invite someone else to cook alongside him unless they hold some form of value or fame but I can't say you're wrong about him playing nice in front of the people he invited. A bunch of his favorites, this time, so he'd definitely put on that famous act of his. I mean, you know him."

"With people like that, an hour's really all you need." I roughly chopped a couple of shallots. One jalapeno. Bell pepper. Diced. Mango. Avocado. Tasted. Checked the eggs in the oven. Checked the clock. "You dropped by the primary to see him? Probably plating up the caviar."