Part 7 (1/2)
Chuck pressed on. ”...when we were in Hawaii. You can make those for everybody.”
”Everybody?”
”Sure. Trash can punch, just like in college.”
”I majored in finance.” Jack offered a saccharine smile. ”You're the one who majored in getting plastered and waking up with a hangover.”
”We both woke up with hangovers-quite often, as I recall,” Chuck kidded him. ”And you are one h.e.l.l of a bartender, my friend, so if I were you I wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth. You have something you can cook for a crowd. Just quadruple the recipe you used in college and serve a crowd. Toss in some finger foods on the side, and voila! You have your first meal taken care of.” Chuck helped disengage Marilyn's arm and ushered her into the kitchen ahead of the other two. ”C'mon,” he said. ”My allergies are killing me outside.” ”Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” Colette told Jack with a sympathetic smile, coaxing him. ”C'mon. It won't be so bad.” Jack raked tense fingers through his hair as he watched Chuck and Marilyn opening drawers and doors and handing items to Colette to place on the dining table. Well, this was a fine pickle. Should he tell them before they went to so much trouble? Tell them what he knew that they didn't? ”Finger foods. That's plural, my friend. I thought the whole idea was to get me out of having to prepare a meal.”
Chuck paused in his a.s.sessment of Jack's utensils and small appliances to throw up his hands in defeat. ”So sue me, Jack. You have to learn to cook this week. Like tomorrow!” Then his tone softened. ”We'll think of something.”
”What am I going to do for an encore after I've made c.o.c.ktails for everyone?” Jack asked. ”I can't just tell them to drink up and wait for dinner!”
”How about a new recipe?” Chuck countered.
”New? I don't even know how to cook what's already in the blasted books!” He winced inwardly.
”We'll make it simple,” Chuck suggested. ”Your grandmother's recipe for flatbread.”
Jack groaned. ”This will never work. I don't even know what's in the d.a.m.ned recipe anymore.” You're gonna burn in h.e.l.l for that one, Jackson.
”Well, I remember.” Chuck counted ingredients on his fingers. ”Package of yeast, four cups of flour, cup of milk, fourth cup of warm water and a fourth cup of olive oil, dash of Delacroix's Secret Spice.” He grinned. ”You have to mix this one with your hands, which will make you look more like a real cook. They'll love watching you.”
A real cook? Well, that was what he'd been working on for several months without anyone knowing. Looked like he was about to get his chance. Jack almost lost his balance as he fought the urge to double over in laughter.
Colette moved to loop an arm through Jack's as he teetered. ”Oh, don't remind him that they'll be watching him!”
Jack recovered, nodded. ”And then what?”
”Cut it into squares once it's baked, layer with tomato slices, scrambled eggs, salsa, then sprinkle on a little sharp cheddar and a pinch of your grandmother's Italian herbs. Jack, anybody can make a pizza! You just layer the toppings using your liquid base first, then your meats and veggies, and top with cheese. It's easy!”
”Well, if it's so easy, why don't you enter the contest?” Jack challenged him.
”Maybe I will!”
”Maybe you won't!” Marilyn exclaimed, coming between the two men. ”This is pointless. Jackson is the one who must enter the contest. He's already been entered. Besides, I guess I'd better tell you this now. As one of the judges, I'm supposed to appoint someone to shadow him, to make sure he's not cheating.”
She bit her lips after the admission and stepped away from them.
”What?” Jack was outraged.
”Don't get your Wrangler jeans in a twist. Each of the chefs will have someone monitoring them night and day to make sure they're the ones doing the cooking.”
”Whoa! Wait a minute!” Chuck objected.
”You didn't say anything about this before. I don't understand.” Jack folded his arms defensively, no longer amused.
Marilyn shrugged. ”It's all standard procedure for a cook-off. You didn't really think Larabee would trust any of you not to cheat a little bit, did you? I mean, Robert Neal might have someone stirring the batter for bread, but if he has anyone else tossing ingredients into the bowl and doing the actual cooking, he's disqualified. Same goes for you, Jack. You can have an a.s.sistant, but you can't have someone else doing the actual cooking.”
”I thought you were on my side,” Jack said.
”I am. But I'm also one of the judges, and now that I know you can't cook, I'll have to disqualify myself and have Daddy or Uncle Dave fly down here to replace me. Don't worry-I'm not about to tell them that you can't actually cook and that you're winging this.”
Jack couldn't repress his sarcasm. ”That's mighty big of you.” He fully realized the fix they were both in, but considering what she'd done to him, he didn't feel compelled to make this any easier on her than necessary. Let her sweat it out alongside him a bit.
”Why didn't you say anything about this before?” Chuck asked, sniffling, a look of betrayal in his watery eyes.
”There's really nothing to get upset about,” Marilyn explained. ”The judges have to be totally impartial, and I can't judge this contest knowing what I know. Now I can either have Chuck shadow you or...” She looked at Colette who threw up her hands in defense. ”Or he can be your a.s.sistant.” She cleared her throat. ”In which case, I'll a.s.sign myself to shadow you.”
”If I'm his a.s.sistant, then technically we can converse over all of this, right?” Chuck asked.
”Sure. You just can't do the cooking for him like you did tonight. You may talk to one another. You may even-I hate to say this-coach him if you don't make a public display of it. I mean you wouldn't want any of the other judges, not to mention his rivals, to know his little secret.”
The two men eyed one another, a smirk on both their faces.
”What if we change the rules of the contest?” Jack offered. ”Let each cookbook author choose a member of the crowd before us to come up and cook in our place... with us coaching them?”
”That's absurd!” Marilyn argued.
”Why not?”
”Because your contract with Larabee states that you yourself must use the cookware!” Jack felt an evil grin spread across his face. He had her now! ”All my contract states is that I have to talk them up in the media. And I will.”
”That might work.” Chuck nodded. ”Yeah-that just might work.”
”How is coaching someone as they're cooking any different from doing the actual cooking yourself?” Marilyn asked.
Jack gave a small growl. ”Because you think I wouldn't know a bottle of paprika from one of cayenne pepper without looking at the label!”
”Or a saute pan from a cast-iron skillet, by the sound of this!” Marilyn stamped her foot.
That did it for Jack. The bossy bombsh.e.l.l had crossed the line. Let her and the others feel the noose they'd created for him tightening about their own throats for the next day or so.
”This isn't getting us anywhere!” Colette moaned. ”Chuck? What would you think about having a member of the audience cook under Jack's direction?”
Chuck shrugged. ”It might work once. But I doubt he'll get off without cooking at least one meal. And the other chefs-er, other cookbook authors-would have to agree to this.”
”You see?” Jack chortled. Then he furrowed his brow. ”But which meal?”
”Exactly!” Marilyn was still not convinced.
”And would Larabee go along with your changing the rules of their contest?” Colette asked.
”Well, there's only one way to find out.” Jack turned to Marilyn, his eyes locking with hers. ”Don't suppose the one who got me into this fix would talk to them on my behalf?”
Marilyn chuckled. ”Blaming it on me, are you?”