Dex (6 page)

CHAPTER
Eight

Preston LeTray stood admiring himself in one of the many mirrors he had lining the walls of his spacious office. At a glance one would think he had the ideal look of someone successful: Strong, angular chin, clear, steel-gray eyes, and every hair on his head neatly glued into place.
His suits were handmade to accentuate his broad shoulders as his lean frame had little else to showcase. Every detail of his look and a visit to his websites and fan pages told you he was the most popular, celebrated chef on the Eatz Network.

But upon closer look, the real Preston LeTray could not shine. The ever-present scowl on his face made him appear cold and uncomfortable, as if ice were flowing through his veins. He lived by his own motto: He who hurts first, hurts least. It was safe to assume that crossing Preston LeTray would result in getting kicked in the butt by his fancy Italian leather shoes. He enjoyed fighting. The only time he ever seemed to smile sincerely was when he could exact revenge on an enemy.

Despite this, Preston LeTray was a celebrity with a handsome face whom most women found attractive. It was a fortunate attribute and he had learned how to use it to his advantage long ago.  His assistant, Yvette Bidet, was just the kind of woman to help him secure and further his position with the network. She had a quick, devious mind and luckily for Preston, she could not help but do whatever he asked of her. At present, this meant she was out getting breakfast for this meeting.

Preston had been working for weeks to establish his own development team to create new products and marketing plans. His latest idea came to him when he received a memo that a fellow chef was launching a new clothing line called
Tea-Shirts
. The shirts were to be constructed like flow-through tea bags, with a space for the head and slits down the sides to be fastened by laces. The designs were inspired by different teas and the whole project was being lauded as the most original product ever to be endorsed by the Eatz Network.

Preston’s competitive nature would not allow him to be happy for his associate. Even though he already had a full line of prepared foods on the market and was hoping to come out with a new line of cookware, Preston felt he needed something spectacular and different to turn the network back to his direction.

He found Buford Beaumont, a scent specialist from Dallas, Texas, on Google. After a brief phone conversation, Preston sized Buford up as a big, smart oaf, who would work long and hard without asking for much in return except their agreed upon fee. Something for nothing was Preston’s favorite arrangement.

Preston had no problem admitting that money guided his life. In fact, he was proud of it. There was no finer way to prove one’s value than to be financially successful. “People with money and celebrity,” he would often say, “have the world at their feet.” People with empty wallets had creditors at their heels. He knew which one he wanted to be.

Buford was set to arrive at any moment. The meeting was scheduled to take place before sunrise to ensure that no one but the janitors would be in the building. He’d pressed a few dollars into their hands and asked them to kindly keep their mouths shut. Preston wasn’t going to answer to anyone about his plans, and he certainly wouldn’t give anyone the opportunity to steal his idea. Trust, he believed, was the food of fools, a useless ingredient that always resulted in a bitter dish.

Preston was still idolizing his reflection when there was a series of knocks at the door. He answered it peeking down the halls to make sure they were alone.

“A pleasure to meet you Mr. Lee-Tray,” said a deep voice with a thick Southern drawl.

Preston cringed at the mispronunciation of his name, knowing full well that it would be pointless to even try to correct this behemoth.

The tall Texan wore a brown suede cowboy hat and shiny alligator boots that clopped as he walked into Preston’s office. “I’m Buford Beaumont,” he offered shaking Preston’s hand hard enough to make him seasick, “but my friends call me Butie.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Beaumont,” Preston said, coldly letting the Texan know they were not, nor ever would be, friends.

Buford shrugged his shoulders and glanced around the bland, beige, meticulous room. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the mirrors and dusted some lint off the shoulders of his jacket before he took a seat.

“You sure do know lots of famous folks,” Buford said, looking at the wall of framed photos of Preston with various celebrities.

“Yes, it helps when you’re one of them,” Preston said affirming his clout. “Shall we get down to business Mr. Beaumont? I certainly have no time to waste as I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Buford agreed and pulled out a large wad of cardboard squares from what seemed a very deep pocket.

“Whaddaya think of this one, Mr. Lee-Tray?” Buford handed Preston a square.

Preston held it near his nose and sniffed. He looked perplexed.

“First ya gotta take off the sticky strip. That’s protecting the scent.”

Preston fought to get the strip off without ruining his well-groomed nails. After several attempts, he heaved a sigh of triumph.

“Good,” Buford said genuinely, but the condescending tone made Preston sneer.

“Then you kinda gotta put it right up to your nose to get the whole effect.” Buford retrieved another square from his pocket to demonstrate. “If I were you, I’d put it up to jes’ one nostril, and close the other one, like this.” Buford’s moves were effortless. “And then switch it.”

Sensing that Preston wanted privacy, Buford tossed a bunch of samples on a chair and walked over to the wall behind the door to look at more photos.

Preston held the square up to his nose and took a deep breath. Although he tried to control it, he let out a huge sneeze.

During his second sneeze, Yvette entered the room carrying a tray of coffee cups and a box of donuts.  Buford, who had been staring at a photo of Preston with Emeril LaGasse, swiftly turned his attention to the full-figured beauty dressed like a supermodel who had just joined them. She set the food down on the desk and pulled a tissue out of her purse.

“Here you go, Sugar. Sorry I’m late.” She was about to offer an explanation when she realized they weren’t alone.

“Yvette, this is Buford Beaumont, the head of my development team.”

“Of course, of course.” Yvette extended her hand for the introduction. “Charmed,” she said, her voice smoky.

“Pleasure’s all mine, darling.’” Buford kissed her hand.

Preston winced and adjusted his tie. “Yvette’s been heading up our Presto Weight Loss Plan for the past three months.”

“That’s true.” She slid off her coat dramatically. “I’ve lost two dress sizes eating nothing but Presto’s Pesto meals.” She took a seat. “I just finished breakfast on my way over. Pesto pancakes.” Her stomach gurgled.

“Well you look lovely. I reckon I’ve never seen you before, but from my view I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.” Buford looked at Yvette with puppy dog eyes.

“Yvette, come smell this,” Preston demanded ignoring Buford’s declaration.

“Pardon me?” Yvette was confused.

“It’s our new scent, little lady,
Pesto Breezes
.” Buford handed her a sample. “We’re aiming to use it for candles, air fresheners, maybe even on the boxes for the prepared foods.”

Yvette sniffed it and smiled. “I’d know that smell anywhere.” Yvette took another whiff.

“What do you think?” Preston asked gazing into her eyes. He had to do something to get her attention away from Buford and back where it belonged, on him.

“Delicious,” she said letting the ‘el’ lick her top lip. “The boss said you have to bring up your ratings Mr. LeTray, and this should do it.”

Her stomach gurgled again. She continued to sniff the sample as she sat down, unaware of the several other freshener samples she was now sitting on.

“Wonderful,” Preston sniffed deeply. “Is this the only kind we have?”

“Ha-ha,” Buford chuckled a little too enthusiastically. “Don’t you worry about variety, Mr. Lee-Tray. There’s plenty more to sniff where that came from.”

The three of them laughed so hard that Yvette accidentally let go a stream of gas from her behind. No one seemed to notice and she stood up to leave.

“Well, I’ll leave you gentleman to your business,” she said, clutching her stomach. “I’ve got some of my own to tend to.” She walked out the door and quickly headed to the ladies’ room.

“So what else have you got for me?” Preston liked where this meeting was headed and was finally enjoying himself.

Buford scanned the room for a moment, as he forgot where he had put the samples. He soon found them on the chair where Yvette had been sitting moments earlier.

“Mr. Lee-Tray, you ain’t smelled nothin’ ‘til you’ve tried out this one.
Sticky Buns
.”

Preston picked up the sample and put it right up to his nose. He sucked in as much air as he could to get the full experience, but as he did so, an enormously foul smell overwhelmed him. His knees buckled and his face scrunched in disgust as his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

Buford picked up the offending square from between Preston’s fingertips and gave a cautious sniff.

“Hot dang!” he shouted. “Smells like a horse’s behind!” He scratched his head baffled by what had gone wrong back in the testing room.

CHAPTER Nin
E

Alicia sat by the window in the third seat from the front. It was a strategic move since she
didn’t want to be right on top of the professor, who still hadn’t arrived, but she also didn’t want to appear disinterested. This seat was the best compromise and since she was the first one there, she got to have her choice. She looked out the window and watched a couple of squirrels chase each other up and down a big oak tree. One was a diva and seemed ticked off about an acorn. She laughed to herself, imagining how she might shoot a scene like that. Part of her wished she could be running around outside like them instead of sitting in a chair trying not to be nervous.

There was no logical reason for her to be anxious, but it had been months since she had been in school and she wasn’t sure she could sit through a three hour class without losing her mind. She took out a mint from the front pocket of her book-bag and watched as the rest of the class streamed into the room.

The last student to walk through the door made Alicia’s heart flutter. He was tall with dark, wavy hair, a straight up-turned nose, and the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life. He smiled at some girl who waved to him and Alicia could see two deep dimples set on both sides of his perfect face. This guy wasn’t just good-looking, he was gorgeous.

The professor didn’t look anything like Alicia had imagined. She was young and attractive, even without make-up, and was dressed like a hippie in a long denim skirt, a purple top with a peace sign in the center, and a beaded band around her head. Why had she expected an older woman in a dull business suit? This was a film class. People were supposed to look creative and unconventional. Weren’t they?

Alicia’s thoughts about fashion statements came to an abrupt halt when Professor Jillian Stephens started class by singing ‘Fame’ a capella. Midway through the song a few people were clapping and many had gotten up to dance. Alicia stayed in her seat. It wasn’t that she was shy, but there was something about the scene that made her want to watch rather than participate. She turned her head toward the opposite side of the room and noticed that the gorgeous guy was sitting too.

By the end of the song, Jillian, as she asked to be called, was standing on her desk belting out the final lyric, ‘Remember, Remember, Remember.’ Everyone applauded and those who were standing returned to their seats.

“Thank you, thank you,” Jillian said, a little breathy. “Bet you never began a school year like that.” She took a sip of water from the bottle on her desk.

“Why do you think I did it?” Jillian waited for answers.

“Element of surprise,” called out a girl with beet red hair and a pierced eyebrow.

“Okay. Anyone else?”

“Well, you were singing about fame,” said a short Hispanic guy. “I think the people in this class can relate to that. I think we all want that.”

“Okay,” said Jillian. “Show of hands. How many of you didn’t clap or dance? How many of you just watched?”

Alicia raised her hand somewhat reluctantly. Had she made some kind of mistake without knowing it? A guy and a girl in matching sweatshirts sitting next to each other and Gorgeous Guy raised their hands.

“You two, in the back,” Jillian pointed at the sweatshirt couple with her chin. “Why didn’t you participate?”

“Um…” The guy turned a bright shade of crimson. “Um…she’s my girlfriend. And we were, um, kinda, um, making out.”

Everyone laughed including Jillian. “Glad I could be of service, but please don’t make that a habit in my classroom.” Jillian looked at Alicia. “How about you?”

Alicia cleared her throat. “I was feeling entertained. I didn’t want to change that.”

“And you?” Jillian asked Gorgeous Guy.

“Actually, pretty much what she just said,” he smiled at Alicia.

As if perfection weren’t already his, Gorgeous Guy also had a killer Australian accent. Alicia smiled back at him and wondered what their children might look like.

“There is no right or wrong answer,” Jillian chuckled. “I like to get a feel for my students. See how they react to the unusual.” She sat on her desk. “A film is an interpretation. As a filmmaker you create based on what you see, feel, hear, and experience. Then you decide what you will ultimately share with your audience.”

Alicia felt her nervous knots disappear. It was like Jillian knew exactly what to say to make her feel calm and excited all at once. This was where Alicia wanted to be. She was psyched to learn as much as she could.

“The focus of this class,” Jillian continued, “will be one project; to produce a short documentary that you will script, direct, and shoot. All finished work will be entered into this year’s Apex Film Festival, where the winning project will be produced by Screenluvr Studios in Los Angeles. This year’s theme is “A Work in Progress.”

Suddenly, Alicia heard Gorgeous Guy’s Auss-ome voice from the back. “Excuse me Professor,--”

“Please, call me Jillian,” she insisted and pointed to the board, where only her first name was underlined.

“And your name?”

“Ah right, Jillian,” he nodded. “My name is Jazz. Jazz Kent.”

Alicia’s heart fluttered again. Jazz. What a cool name. Alicia and Jazz. It had a nice ring to it. Stop being an insane person she told herself. But it didn’t matter. So what that she met him an hour ago. Some things you just know.

“Okay Jazz, what’s on your mind?”

“This might sound a bit ignorant, but what exactly do you mean by a work in progress?” Jazz moved forward in his seat. “Like my mate’s restoring an old car from the fifties that’s been in a garage for years. Now you’re saying I could film him rebuilding it and getting it to run...?”

Without hesitation Alicia supplied an answer. “If you document his thought process, like how he’s going about rebuilding it and why this project is important to him, and then you followed that up with actual footage of the work being done, that would follow the theme.” Alicia looked at Jillian for approval. “Wouldn’t it?”

Alicia felt like an idiot. What would make her answer like that? Did she want Jazz to think she was some kind of know-it-all dork?

“You’re right on target young lady. As long as you keep in mind that I’m looking for a documentary, not Back to the Future. Keep it real.” Jillian wrote that last phrase on the board. “And your name is--?” Jillian asked.

“Alicia,” she said faintly hoping to do some damage control.

“It’s refreshing to have confident people in class like Jazz and Alicia. I like when students are willing to speak their minds so freely.” Jillian sat back down on her desk.

Alicia tried not to blush. She loved the way Jillian said Jazz and Alicia like they were already together.

“But seriously guys.” Jillian checked her watch. “Jazz and Alicia have the right idea about this project. Feel free to help each other out. Take tonight and let me know your topic by tomorrow.

Jazz glanced at Alicia who offered a brief grin that implied she had barely noticed him.