26
Coddle: To cook something in water just below the boiling point.
2016
Gale tapped out of the email from the network.
Filming for the elimination rounds was set for February.
Four groups, of which Gale was in the second, would compete for a spot in the final, airing sometime in March.
Grateful as he was for the tight timeline—less opportunity for him to freak out—Gale wished he was in the first group. He was certain he’d be less anxious if he could get it all over with sooner rather than later. Second was okay, though. Only four days after group one.
Who would be the judges? Anyone from his last appearance? Maybe that wouldn’t be such a good thing.
The crates were sure to be superhard, although he couldn’t imagine a harder one than Regina’s crate of limoncello cake, pickles, champagne, and crickets; where the hell did she even get crickets? Crazy ingredients he could manage.
Ingredients that didn’t go together in any way, he struggled with.
He’d used the champagne to repickle the pickles. Limoncello cake became a sort of tart shell he filled with those repickled pickles mixed with raspberries. He used the too-sweet whipped cream icing that became the perfect balancing vehicle to top it off. Coating the crickets in white chocolate had been a bit lazy, but they were a nice complement to the inherent acid and tartness. Regina was impressed, even if it hadn’t been the most delicious bite.
“Hey, there.”
Jenara slid into the booth, opposite him.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He tucked the phone into his pocket. “Hungry?”
“Starving.
I want a huge cheeseburger and fries.
And a chocolate malted.”
“That sounds awesome.”
He handed the diner menus to the approaching waiter already writing down their order.
Gale didn’t love diner food, but Jenara did.
More than anything.
It was, in his opinion, always too salty, and too abundant, but it did satisfy in a way other food didn’t.
“Sorry about tonight.”
Jenara slipped her arms from her coat.
“I swear if Boomer bags on me again, he’s history.”
“You’ve said that a million times.”
“I mean it this time.”
The waiter set glasses of water onto the table.
“Alicia’s really disappointed.
She was looking forward to movie night.”
“You could have brought her with you.”
“Nah.”
She leaned on the table.
“If I only get an hour, I want you to myself even if it’s just a burger at the diner.
But you’re coming Sunday, right?”
Sunday.
Sunday.
Sunday.
Father/daughter bowling party with Alicia’s Girl Scout troop. He’d had to let the soup kitchen down, but Alicia asked him, so shyly and sincerely. He’d melted completely. Besides, Lucy filled in for him more and more lately; it was as if Regina didn’t even need him anymore. “You picking me up?”
“You really need to renew your license, Gale.”
“What for? I don’t have a car.”
“Hmm.”
Jenara pursed her lips, gave him that look.
“I can take the bus.”
“Don’t be an ass.
I’ll pick you up.
But I’m not staying.
This is a daddy/daughter day.”
You’re not her daddy, man.
“Don’t forget I have to be at work by four.”
“I didn’t forget.”
The waiter brought their food.
Jenara wolfed hers down in half the time it took Gale.
She picked at his french fries while he finished.
They talked about nothing, debated over the worthiness of the latest Marvel movie. Before he knew it, the hour he had with Jenara was gone, and she was sliding her arms back into her coat sleeves as she scooted out of the booth.
“I hate to leave.”
She kissed him quickly.
“What will you do tonight?”
Friday night.
His first alone in a long time.
“Probably just go home and watch something.”
“You practicing?”
“With Regina, almost every day.”
“Good.
Right, then.”
Jenara patted her pockets, found her keys.
“I’ll see you Sunday.”
For daddy/daughter bowling day.
“Shut up, Sean,”
he muttered the moment Jenara was out of earshot.
Sean had gone back to ignoring his thoughts, despite Gale catching him listening to them.
“What do you have against Alicia?”
Nothing.
She’s a cute kid.
You’re just not her daddy.
“So?”
It’s a big responsibility.
You’re not ready for it.
“Why the fuck not?”
You tell me.
“Can I get you anything else?”
The waiter stood just over Gale’s shoulder, probably listening to him argue with himself.
“No, thanks.
I’ll take the check.”
“The lady already paid it.
She said you can leave the tip.”
She got you again, man.
Gale swallowed the “Shut up, Sean.”
He slapped a ten on the table and left the diner.
Cold as it was, his apartment was only a few short blocks’ walk.
Hands jammed in his pockets, he walked at a good pace in the hopes of avoiding the burger-bomb that would inevitably form in his gut.
“I’m not a moron, you know.”
You talking to me?
“Who else would I be talking to when I’m by myself on a mostly empty sidewalk?”
I never said you’re a moron.
“I know what you are.
You’re my conscience, my anxieties.”
If that’s what helps you sleep.
“Fuck you, Sean.
Alicia is a great kid and I’d be lucky to be her dad.”
Yeah? You ready to make that commitment to her mother? Because, ever since she dropped the L-word, you’re easily annoyed by the things you used to find cute.
Playing daddy and being daddy are two seriously different things.
Gale refused to engage further.
Sean always did know how to get into his head, feed his every want, his every fear.
It’d been Sean’s oxy—prescribed when he got his wisdom teeth pulled—they first dabbled with.
His insistence heroin was a cheaper option when buying oxy broke their bank accounts. His research into the most efficient ways to get it into their systems. Kyle warned him Sean was a bad influence. Over and over. Gale was too far gone before Kyle even figured out what they were doing. Sean, even further. Gale only found out it hadn’t been Sean’s first time abusing opiates when they tried to get clean. Not even his second. Gale caught up with him quickly, and then he lost count of who’d done what, when.
His pulse raced.
Sweat beaded his upper lip.
There were few memories from those oblivion days, only sensations that left him wanting and nauseated.
Unzipping his coat, he let the cold air smack some sense into him. He should have known better than to let his mind wander down dark paths. Taking the front steps two at a time, Gale reached his apartment door before his keys were out of his pocket. He stood there fumbling with the lock, fingers shaking, wishing he had to work, or Jenara didn’t, or Regina needed him.
“Dude! We meet again.”
Gale jumped a mile, dropped his keys.
Kyle picked them up, unlocked the door for the both of them.
He squinted in the dim lighting, looking intently into Gale’s eyes for, he knew, the telltale pinprick pupils.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Gale took his keys back a little too roughly.
“You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
The apartment was strangely warm, considering they kept the thermostat at sixty-eight.
A quick check showed it was set correctly, yet read seventy-five on the thermometer.
“Dammit.”
Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket.
“I told the super about this.
He was supposed to fix it this morning.
We’re not paying for all this extra heat.”
“How long has it been broken?”
“On and off for about a week.”
Kyle nudged him in the ribs.
“Something you’d know if you weren’t shacking up with Jenara most of the time.”
Gale decided not to take offense.
“Pretty serious, huh?”
Kyle asked.
She thinks so.
Gale let go a deep breath.
“You home tonight?”
“Yup! Slow night.
Chef asked who wanted to go home.”
Kyle wasn’t lazy, just disenchanted.
Gale had seen it before, that flame of enthusiasm burning bright and burning out.
He still wasn’t sure if Kyle was unlucky or had no real follow-through.
Maybe a little of both. The death of Just Eggs weighed him down; it was hard to see.
“What’re you up to tonight?”
Kyle asked.
“Nothing.
One of Jenara’s drivers bagged on her, so she has to drive.
We just had burgers down at the diner.
Regina’s pretty much done for the day, and besides, my mom is with her.”
“She’s there a lot, huh?”
“It makes her happy.”
Gale shucked off his coat.
“She loved the grocery store, but I think she might love the soup kitchen even more.
She’s actually starting to be a better cook.”
Kyle pretended to stagger backward, clutching his heart, then— “Oh, sorry, dude.
That wasn’t cool.”
“It’s okay.”
Gale hadn’t even thought of his mother’s heart attack until Kyle felt bad about feigning one.
“Hey, that reminds me.
She sent me links to some really old cooking shows she thought would help me with the competition first go-around.
Want to watch some with me?”
“Sounds like an exciting Friday night.”
Kyle chuckled.
“Actually, that sounds great.
I’m supertired.
And hungry.”
He held up the take-out container.
“I’ll heat this up, you connect the computer to the TV.”
Gale grabbed the laptop.
He could have synced it with his phone, but he knew how to do it via laptop already.
Pulling up his mother’s email, he clicked on a random video, and couldn’t get it to play.
He tried another. Same. Maybe he didn’t know how to sync the devices after all.
Gale signed in to Netflix, searched for the name of one of the shows in his mother’s links.
Score! Season after season, right there.
No syncing necessary.
He chose season four; plenty of time for a show to find its groove. Kyle flopped onto the couch beside him, blowing on his food.
“How about this one?”
“Awesome.
Hit it, dude.”
The picture wasn’t great, but not bad for a twenty-some-odd-year-old show.
The opening music was dated.
And the logo, a red-lipped smile zooming around, chased by a bumblebee.
The two kissed, center screen, the words The Queenie B curling out of a flower. Then a woman. Long, black hair. Amazing smile. Arms raised to the applause of the audience clapping her in.
“Dude.”
Gale’s mouth went dry.
“Dude! Are you seeing this?”
“I’m seeing it.”
Queenie B.
The name was suddenly, gut-wrenchingly familiar.
The woman addressing the audience was too.
But she wasn’t Regina. Not the Regina he’d known nearly a year. His mentor. The unsmiling, cranky woman making lasagna and oatmeal and pots of vegetable soup for the homeless and destitute of Rock Landing. He’d never have put two and two together.
“What the fuck, dude?”
Kyle was already tapping around on his phone.
“Did you know?”
“Obviously not.”
“What the fuck!”
Kyle whooped.
“I remember her now.
I mean, who she used to be.
Queenie B’s got a massive Wiki page! Look.”
“I don’t want to see it.”
“Why the hell not? This is huge, dude.
She vanished from the cooking scene before we got obsessed, back in—”
“I said I don’t want to know.”
Gale paused the on-screen woman he knew so well and didn’t at all.
“If she’s running a soup kitchen in fucking New Haven, Connecticut, she obviously doesn’t want people to know who she is.
Was.
She’s Regina.”
“Oh.
Yeah, I guess.”
Kyle slumped into the couch.
“Dude, can you imagine what one of the big foodie magazines would give for information of her whereabouts?”
Gale’s blood curdled.
“You wouldn’t do that, Kyle.
I know you wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know.”
He chomped down, talked through his mouth full of burrito.
“That’s a shit ton of money.”
“Kyle, you can’t—”
“Chill, dude.”
Kyle guffawed, chewed-up burrito flying.
“Even if she didn’t scare the crap out of me, I wouldn’t.
I’m not an asshole.
But DAY-um!”
He slapped his thigh.
“She’s a bona fide celebrity.”
“Was.”
“Yeah.”
Kyle swallowed hard.
“Well, come on.
Hit play already.”
Gale’s finger hovered over the play button.
It was there, after all, for anyone to view; why not him? He pressed rewind, started at the beginning with the flying red lips.
Regina was Queenie B.
Animated in a way he’d never seen her. Young. Probably around his own age. How had she gone from the vibrant woman on-screen to the woman he knew?
Gale squashed the impulse to do exactly what Kyle had.
Take out his phone and look her up.
Dive into a past she obviously wanted left behind her.
Wanted to, but didn’t. Because there she was, and here he was, diving even if he didn’t open his phone.