Dex (24 page)

“Get her out of here!” The operator hollered at a short, bony, gray-haired man in a tight hoodie who wore a badge and looked like the resident rapper at a senior center.

“Hey, little miss,” the guard called out.

He saw Sarah heading for the exit and grabbed her hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Whatever I want. Ezra Langer is my uncle,” she demanded, trying to break free.

“Mine too princess. But he’s out of the country so you’re shrimp out of luck.”

Sarah still couldn’t get loose. She moved her hands behind her back and fumbled with the DVD, then quickly tossed it behind her, praying it would land somewhere the others could retrieve it.

Jazz and Kyle watched the DVD soar through the air. Picturing the running backs he’d seen playing football, Jazz tried to angle himself to catch it and hopped as high as he could without blowing their cover. But there was no way. Catching it would mean waving like a moving target at the entire crew from behind the barrier of unused cameras and speakers keeping him and Kyle safely hidden.

Sarah’s jaw dropped in horror as the disc fell through a long vertical slat in the floor. Her head slung forward until she felt herself being pushed toward the side door. She looked up to get her bearings and spotted Alicia through the crack in the door.

“Run!” Sarah cried.

Alicia and Liza started for the stairs. Jordy started to run too, but then went back to the door and opened it. “Yo, Sarah, punt the dude. Like now.” He let the door go and ran.

Sarah gave the guard a hard kick to his shin, making him buckle and drop his hold on her.

“Come back here you darn brat!” he cried rubbing his bruised leg.

Sarah ran through the doors and followed the sound of footsteps trekking up the stairs. She was relieved to see Alicia, Liza, and Jordy safely standing under a canopy by a set of double doors marked by a sign reading:

AUDIENCE:  QUIET! LIVE SHOW IN PROGRESS

#

Kyle and Jazz watched the operator go back to the controls.

“Jazz, I am so sorry, man.” Kyle took out a roll of Tums and popped two in his mouth. “I didn’t even feel it coming.”

“Well mate, that’s why it’s always good to have backup,” Jazz whispered.

Kyle finally let himself smile. “A backup?!” he yelled in a whisper. “Where is it?”

Jazz went into his coat pocket then began to panic. “What? Where’d it go?” he grunted, throwing his fist down in frustration. He began to edge his way back to the exit, signaling Kyle to follow behind.

As soon as they walked out, Jazz headed for the steps.

“Where do you think it went?” Kyle asked.

“Not sure. Gads, I feel like such a dill.”

“You feel like a pickle?”

“Idiot, mate, idiot.”

“I told you I was sorry!” Kyle pleaded.

“No, I feel like an idiot--that’s what a dill is.”

Kyle cocked his head to the side, now completely bewildered.

“Oh crikey, just shut up and stay with me,” Jazz huffed as he began to rush back toward the lobby.

Jazz kept a watchful eye on the floor as he and Kyle ran through the doors and into the lobby. No one was at the front desk to chase them away, but since the small TV was still on, they knew someone would be back soon. Jazz scanned the entire floor but spotted only a straw wrapper in one corner and a half-tarnished penny near the front doors.

“This makes no sense!” Jazz yelped as he turned all his pockets inside out. “None at all. I had the backup right in my left pocket.”

“Wait, which pocket?” Kyle probed. “Right in my left one. I left it right there!”

Between Jazz’s accent and his own confusion, Kyle was stumped. He decided not to ask another question only to get an answer he was sure he’d misunderstand. It was better to be one dill shy of getting into a bigger pickle.

Jazz checked over both his shoulders to see if anyone was around before he started helping Kyle rummage through papers and supplies on the counter. They still hadn’t come up with anything when they heard footsteps.

“Oh man, not again!” Kyle whispered, this time clenching his mouth tightly to avoid another unwanted outburst.

“Follow me,” Jazz ordered.

They started back toward the stairwell when they saw a pudgy man they didn’t recognize come out of a narrow door behind a potted plant near the desk.

“Hey!” the man shouted.

Jazz turned around slowly.

“Um,” the man began, “uh…like…who are you? And who’s the little dude?” the young man went on.

For a moment Kyle felt grateful there was someone with them who seemed just as confused as he was.

“I’m Jazz. The little dude is Kyle,” Jazz explained. He then had a realization and continued. “And you must be Arby. Dex told us about you. We’re friends.”

“Cool.”

“We’re actually looking for something…”

Arby pulled the DVD out of a deep pocket. “This?”

“YES!” Kyle cheered.

“Oh, cool. Good. Cuz, I like found it on the floor and I was like, what am I gonna do with this? And like, I didn’t think it would be cool to give it to anyone.”

Jazz exchanged a quick glance with Kyle. Dex hadn’t been exaggerating at all about Arby’s conversational skills. Jazz looked up at the clock and felt another twinge of panic. The show was minutes away from the end.

“I watched it,” Arby admitted.

“Fine with us,” Jazz said. “We want everyone to know the truth.”

“Me too,” Arby agreed. “Like that Presto dude is a whopping poser. You know. I was thinking. You could like, play this,” Arby rubbed the disc, “on the big, flat screen. It’s way better than the food pics.”

“That’s the plan. Want to come with us?” Jazz asked. “We could probably use your help.”

“Would, dude. But, Frank, the security guard, ate like, Presto’s microwave tacos, and like now I have to hang at the desk, ‘til, he’s like…you know…done evacuating the building, if ya know what I mean.”

“Got it,” Jazz said, stifling a laugh.

“Sucks. The dude at the controls is kinda like, slow,” Arby said, scratching the top of his head. Dandruff began falling steadily to the floor beside him, making Kyle’s stomach turn as he pretended to be listening intently. Jazz was staring at the floor, hoping Arby would take the hint. He didn’t.

“And ya know, come to think of it, like even if you used my name, like it probably wouldn’t help, but I mean you can def try if you want.”

“Got it,” Jazz reiterated. “Thanks for the DVD.” He started to walk away and ran back. “Thanks for your help, Arby. Happy New Year.”

“Sure.” Arby turned to the TV and started guzzling his bottle of Mountain Dew.

Jazz and Kyle ran back and cautiously entered through the doors. Despite all the excitement, the operator still looked ready to use the control board as a pillow.

“Alright. You know what to do, right?” Jazz asked Kyle.

Kyle nodded. “Not use Arby’s name.”

“He’s a friendly bloke, but that’s a given.” Jazz rolled his eyes. “Seriously, are you ready?”

“Yup,” Kyle nodded.

“Okay. Let’s try this one more time.”

Jazz clutched the DVD as Kyle inched his way over to the control panel. This time he didn’t want to take any chances. On Jazz’s cue, Kyle tried to let out a burp, but nothing would come out. He tried a few more times. Still nothing. He held his nose and tried gulping air. When that didn’t work, Kyle jabbed himself in the stomach a few times. He looked at Jazz and shrugged.

With no burps streaming on demand, it was time to get creative. Kyle eyed an unused camera stand and strategically knocked it over, making it land on the operator’s empty seat. The noise was startling and caught the cameramen’s attention, but the frazzled crew members couldn’t stop shooting to come over. Kyle reached down and pressed the ‘open’ button on the

giant screen video player and at the same time Jazz pushed the disc across the floor like a hockey puck and
stood up. The operator came running over as fast as his stocky frame would allow.

“Who
are
you kids?!?” the operator barked. “Did my ex-wife send you to punish me or something?” The operator continued to stare Jazz down.

“Me? I’m with Dex. I’m the new intern,” Jazz invented on the spot.

Kyle tried to work quickly as Jazz kept the operator’s attention focused on him.

“I didn’t get any memos about a new intern. Unless they got rid of Arby.” The operator shook his head then took a few steps backwards, nearly tripping over Kyle as he tried to get to the controls.

“What the…! You kids are killin’ me tonight,” the operator yelled. “Give me back the friggin’disc. NOW!”

“Okay, okay.” Kyle nearly broke down in tears handing it over.

“I should call security and have you both kicked out on your butts,” the operator threatened. “But it’s almost New Year’s. I wanna go home already and I’m feeling generous. So-- get outta here, and just let me do my job!”

The operator grabbed the DVD and put it in the player.

Kyle and Jazz quickly exited and ran up to the audience pavilion. Before they went in, Jazz patted Kyle on the back. “I’m sorry, mate. I know you really tried.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Kyle handed Jazz a DVD labeled:

DINE WITH DEX NEW YEAR’S SPECIAL

“Get out of town! That means he just put on the--”

“Yup, he sure did!” Kyle interrupted.

“Good going, man,” Jazz praised him. “You really did it!” He gave Kyle a high five, and then the two quietly walked upstairs to meet up with the others.

CHAPTER thirty-six

“Frank, please tell me I didn’t miss the show,” Geema said to the security guard she’d met several months ago when Dex began working. “It’s been such a crazy night,” she went on. “Road closings, unbelievable traffic, and then a detour to the hospital so my driver could film his wife delivering their baby a month early! Have you ever tried to get any kind of car service on a holiday?”

“Can’t say I have, Miss Golda,” the guard answered, taking a swig of antacid. “But, if you want to talk crazy, I had Presto’s tacos for dinner. Every part of me hurts south of the border.”

Geema tried to cover her disgust with a pained nod as he went on.

“If you hurry you can catch the end of the show. That’s a whole ‘nother kind of crazy. Your boy’s been having quite a night.”

#

“Whoa! Preston, that’s an awesome-looking cake,” Dex said as if Preston had reinvented baking.

“It is, isn’t it,” Preston beamed.

Dex unrolled a sheet of phyllo dough and let it tear. “This is really hard to do. Preston, how’d you do all that so fast?”

“I’m a true professional,” Preston boasted. “Careless errors are for amateurs.”

Preston rolled his eyes at Dex and continued mixing a bowl of chocolate glaze. “While Dex is struggling to finish his baklava before next year, I’m going to put the finishing touches on my extraordinary Napoleon cake.”

Dex looked down at the torn pile of phyllo dough in front of him wanting to laugh. This was such a joke since
baklava
became one of his specialties when he was six-years-old. Next to a
cannoli
, it was Poppy’s favorite pastry and he would always complain that the Greeks got to claim the recipe first.

But, he did what he had to do and dutifully measured out too much honey and chopped a cup of walnuts until they created a powder. Everything exactly wrong. If he could just get through this segment without screaming out the truth he’d be okay, and this charade would finally be over.

Dex could see Preston reveling in all his sugary glory. It was unfair and Dex knew it. He had seen several assistants prepare almost every ingredient at Preston’s station prior to the show. The only thing left for Preston to do was some chopping and set-up in front of the camera.

It was a process. When Preston was done, he would put his dish aside on a shelf out of view and pull out a beautiful pre-made version. Dex wasn’t sure why Preston would even consider doing this during a special. It was kind of like lip-syncing; going through the motions, when someone else had done the work. Dex didn’t rely on anyone else. He made all his own dishes. Maybe that’s why Ezra fired Preston. Maybe in real life, Preston was a fake and not really a chef at all.

Dex was at the counter separating eggs to make a second dessert, his French Dreamy Cloud Cake, which required fluffy baked meringue and a rich vanilla custard. He was thrilled this was the last dish of the evening, even though he had already accepted what he assumed people were thinking of him. As he beat the eggs, he kept thinking about why he had made this decision in the first place. It was all for his family. No matter what, he would take pride in carrying on what had taken decades for his grandparents to accomplish.

The family restaurant was called Poppy’s Kitchen, but Dex knew that his grandmother had been at the heart of everything there from the first meal served to the last. It was a legacy that he would do anything to preserve, even embarrass himself, which at the moment he was doing very well.

“Uh-oh,” he repeated, almost like a broken record at this point. “Dropped a piece of shell in this.” Dex scrambled to grab more eggs.

Preston was standing at the end of the long counter near the refrigerator sliding chopped chocolate and bananas into a blender filled with coffee. When he was done he whizzed the mixture on ‘high.’

“This smells obscenely delicious,” Preston exclaimed as he poured the thick drink into glass mugs and topped them with whipped cream and powdered cocoa.

“Now we’re going to finish our New Year’s dessert table with my Chunky Monkey Cappuccino.” Preston signaled the operator to push the button behind him to flash a close-up on the screen. The inviting coffee image appeared and Preston turned to Dex.

“Oh, yes…and Dex’s…” Preston paused. “What are you making again?” Preston turned lightly tapping his elbow against a plate that sent an errant banana peel onto the floor.

“I’m making meringue,” Dex said, dropping an egg yolk into the bowl.

“No you’re not, you’re making a mess,” Preston chuckled. “You can’t put in egg yolks and expect meringue. Right everyone?”

“RIGHT!” the audience yelled.

“It’s just about ten, only a short time away from the New Year,” Preston said from behind the long counter. “I want to thank you all for watching. Dex would thank you too, but he has to do something with the eggs he ruined when he botched his meringue.”

“They’ll make for a great New Year’s Day omelet though,” Dex noted as he held the bowl full of egg and walked toward the refrigerator.

Preston grabbed the bowl out of Dex’s hands. “I’ll take that. There’s no room left on your apron for another spill.”

“Thanks,” Dex said, looking at the mess on his apron. “I guess you’re right. Again.”

“So true.” Preston smiled and pointed to the screen. “Here’s a look at everything we’ve made tonight.”

Seeing Preston’s signal, the operator pushed the button, but the screen stayed blank.

“And from me to you, have a delicious New Yea---” Preston said as his foot hit the banana peel that had fallen earlier, sending him onto the floor face first into the bowl of beaten eggs he was still clutching in his hands.

The audience gasped as Preston rose with egg covering his face.

“Don’t worry, I’m alright.” Preston got to his feet and faced the audience, but no one acknowledged him. Their eyes were glued to the screen and an ominous hush fell over the set.

It took a moment, but with some careful listening Preston thought he recognized at least one voice coming from the screen. It was his, but he sounded younger and less polished. The other belonged to an older man, but he couldn’t place him.

Preston wiped the egg from his eyes, but they burned, keeping him from looking at the screen. The other voice was becoming more familiar now. How could he have forgotten? It was Marla’s father. But, none of this made any sense. Why would their conversation have been taped, and why would it interest an audience? All he remembered from that night was being distraught because Marla had broken their engagement and ruined his life.

But then it hit him. That was also the night he swore that someday he’d be redeemed.  That was the night he…No. It couldn’t be. There couldn’t be a tape of…

Preston flashed an egg-hazed look at Dex, who was too engrossed in watching what was on the screen to notice. Should he dare look?

Preston reluctantly followed the gaze of the audience and focused on the screen as the DVD revealed every moment of his stealing Poppy Marino’s precious pesto recipe. He shuddered in horror as each move framed him as the guilty criminal who had built an empire on a well-crafted lie.

The tape ended and the screen went blank. The audience started to boo and shout:

“Preston’s a phony!” yelled a deep voice.

“Preston cheated us all!” screamed an older woman.

“I’m still not skinny you fraud,” shouted a hefty lady.

“You’re the worst-o!” one man began, and the chant caught on.

“YOU’RE THE WORST-O! YOU’RE THE WORST-O! YOU’RE THE WORST-O!”

the audience was drawing close to a riot.

As Preston heard the enraged shouts, the room began to spin and the air became too thin to breathe. He stripped off his apron, ran to an exit and disappeared into a small crowd of New Year’s Eve partiers outside.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Dex said, turning to Preston only to find him gone.

The audience continued to jeer, but Dex knew he still had a job to do.

“Okay, everyone. It’s all okay! Listen, please.” Dex’s voice helped quiet the chaos. “Thank you my friends. Thank you. Let me tell you the whole story. Let me explain what really happened tonight.”

#

A few minutes later Dex was sitting in his dressing room appreciating the silent calm. He was glad his assistants had rushed him off stage and past hoards of fans who were toting everything from gum wrappers to food processors for him to autograph. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to be a celebrity. The only saving grace was the possibility that this YouTube clip might surpass his Barf-a-thon. But probably not.

A knock at the door jarred his thoughts back to reality.

“Come in,” Dex said reluctantly from his chair.

Geema came in and looked at his face through the mirror on the wall.

“You look kind of pale. This must have been quite a night,” Geema said.

“What do you mean, ‘must have been?’”

“Long story, Dexy. I didn’t get here until Preston got egg on his face and ran out of here like a bat out of hell.”

Dex sighed heavily. “That’s actually the best news I’ve heard all night. Glad you missed most of it.”

“Are you okay?” Geema asked, patting his head.

“I guess. Just happy it’s over.”

“It is. And we’ll all be fine, even if Preston owns the restaurant.”

Dex gasped. “How’d you find out?!”

“The bank didn’t close early. I lied.” Geema got a tissue from her bag and dabbed at a few stray tears. “I didn’t want to upset you before the show.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Dex confided.  “Where did that DVD even come from?”

“It was a copy of a tape that told only half the story,” Geema said. “Jazz found it by accident. One day Alicia gave him a tape to use when he ran out while shooting his movie. She thought it was blank, but it wasn’t. Alicia, Jazz, and your friends came down here tonight to make the switch and show you and everyone else what a fake Preston is.”

“They came down here?”

“They sure did. Who else would have gone through the trouble of sneaking around the entire back stage for you?” Geema threw the tissue in the trash. “That’s what you call loyalty. I sent them home. Told them we’d be back by midnight to celebrate, as promised.”

“Geema, how did Preston even know Poppy?”

“There was never any reason to tell you. Your mother was engaged to Preston a long time ago. But I guess, even then, she could tell what kind of person he really is. So she gave him back his ring and told him she wouldn’t marry him.”

“And that’s why he stole Poppy’s recipe?”

“Have you ever heard of the saying, ‘All is fair in love and war?’”

“Yeah. Kinda. Why? Do you believe that?”

“No, I think it’s a load of bull, but your grandfather always accused me of being the unromantic type.”

“So, that’s why Preston hates us? Because Mom didn’t marry him?”

“Honey, I don’t have the answer. The important thing is we know we always have each other. That’s as rich as anyone can get and there isn’t a Preston on the planet who could ever take that from us.”