A Good Man (29 page)

Gary grimaced. “Do we really?”

“Nah,” Justin said.

“No,” Tony said.

“Nope,” John said.

With the bathroom door closed, John perfected his poem and worked on reciting it in front of the mirror.

Justin knocked on the door. “Yo, Artie, what rhymes with ‘booty’?”

John opened the door. “You’re not going to use that word in the poem, are you?”

Justin nodded. “Got to. Goin’ for laughs.”

John closed his eyes. And now I’m seeing Sonya’s booty. Better open my eyes. John opened his eyes. “Um, beauty, cutie?”

“I used them already,” Justin said.

John ran the alphabet in his head. “Um … duty?”

“Nah, man. Too serious.”

“How about … fruity.”

“You serious?” Justin asked.

“Might be funny.”

Justin wrote something down. “Maybe. What else?”

John looked at the ceiling. “Um, Doug Flutie, snooty, sweet patootie.”

“Huh?”

Either he’s too young, or I’m getting too old. “Doug Flutie was an NFL quarterback. Think he even played up in Canada. ‘Snooty’ is, well, kind of how Shani is, and ‘sweet patootie’ is an old-fashioned term of endearment.”

“Yeah?”

John nodded.

Justin wrote it down. “Sweet patootie. That could work. Thanks, Artie.”

And for some reason, John thought, I think I just helped Justin win this challenge. He looked at his own poem. Would “sweet patootie” work somewhere in here? Nope.

I’m not changing a thing in this poem because …

Because I can’t change my heart.

Sonya woke Thursday morning to the smell of greens.

Someone had to be up at sunrise to start them greens, she thought. Who could it be? It could be anyone, but I’ll bet it was John. Shoot. I could have gotten up early to get him alone for a few hours.

She got out of bed and bounced on Kim’s mattress. “Wake up!”

Kim opened one eye. “What’s that smell?”

“Greens,” Sonya said. “And Lawry’s, and Old Bay, and ginger, I think.”

Kim sat up and sniffed the air. “I smell chocolate, too. Who’s baking us cookies?”

Sonya shrugged. “That has to be an incredibly crowded kitchen. Want to go with me to find where they get all the live feeds?”

“You want to watch them cook?” Kim asked.

“Don’t you?” Sonya asked.

Kim smiled. “Yeah. It could be good comedy, and I already know where they sit and watch us.”

“You do?”

“The windows to the garage are painted, Sonya. A mansion with painted glass windows? Bob and Larry have to be in the garage.”

They dressed and sneaked down the stairs and out to the front door to the garage. Sonya tapped on a side door, and Larry opened it.

“Can we watch?” Sonya asked.

Larry ushered them in to the “eyes” of the house, where six technicians wearing headsets sat in front of long banks of monitors, each labeled with a section or room in the mansion. Most of the monitors were blank. Larry led them to four wide-screen monitors showing different views of the kitchen.

What a madhouse that kitchen is! “You brought in more ovens?”

“No,” Larry said. “Those are countertop stoves.”

They’re elbowing each other every time they turn around! “So they’re sharing the oven?”

“Only John will be baking anything,” Larry said.

Cookies? Yum!

“I feel like such a voyeur,” Kim said. “But where’s Gary?”

“Gary is watching TV while his food cooks,” Larry said. “Most of them have been going back and forth between the TV and the kitchen. You have missed most of the preparation. This is as busy as it’s been for the last two hours.”

“They have covers on most of their pots. I can’t see what they’re cooking.” Sonya smiled at Larry. “You know what they’re cooking, don’t you?”

“It is supposed to be a surprise,” Larry said. “For the integrity of the blind taste test. You’re not supposed to know who cooked what.”

“C’mon, Larry,” Kim said, looking at the monitors. “We’ll figure it out. We know where they’re from.”

John has all four burners going, Sonya thought. Oh, he’s opening… Yep. Them are greens. John only checks them. Grandmama used to say, “Don’t worry the greens, just let ’em be.” John’s giving me a home-cooked meal. He’s over at the sink now … peeling potatoes. Two different kinds. Greens, mashed potatoes, going to bake something maybe later, big old cast-iron frying pan on two eyes … It has to be chicken. I’m getting so hungry!

“This is boring,” Kim said. “I’m going back up.”

“I’m staying,” Sonya said. This is better than the Food Network.

“See ya,” Kim said, and she left the garage.

Mmm, Sonya thought. He cuts those potatoes so fast. Don’t lose a finger! Straight into the pot, the water already boiling. I hope he leaves his mashed potatoes lumpy! She pointed at a box on the counter. “Can you zoom in on that?”

“Sure.” The technician pushed a little toggle switch forward, and the picture grew until the box filled the screen.

Jiffy. Cornbread, too. Man, John is trying to take me home. I hope it tastes okay. “Can I, um, can I …” She pointed at the toggle switch.

“Sure,” he said. “You can go right and left, too.” He stood. “I need a break anyway.”

“Yes,” Larry said. “Why don’t you all take a break?”

The technicians filed out.

“You’re leaving me alone in here?” Sonya asked.

“We’re only leaving so you and John can be alone,” Larry said.

Sort of. “Um, thanks.”

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Larry said. “Take your time.”

For the next hour, Sonya zoomed in and out, focusing on John as he worked. She watched his big ol’ hands. She zoomed in on his face. She zoomed in on his chest. She zoomed in on his booty. Now I feel like a voyeur. I wonder if I should tell him that he has a tiny hole near the back right pocket of those jeans. She zoomed closer, the tiny hole filling the screen. White drawers.

The door to the garage opened, a technician entered, and Sonya quickly pulled the little toggle switch back.

“Larry told me to tell you to get ready for dinner,” the technician said.

Sonya looked back at the screen at John starting to fry chicken. Hot and fresh, too. She looked at another screen and saw Gary putting long strips of ribs on the grill outside. I am going to eat well tonight. She stood. “Thanks for letting me play around.”

“You get any good shots?” the technician asked.

“Shots?”

“We’re always filming,” he said. “Twenty-four-seven.”

Which means they’ll have my close-ups of John’s booty. “Um, not really. I’m sure you’ll get better ones. You’re the professional, not me. You can just … trash what I’ve done.”

Oops.

Graham stood at one end of the long dining room table, Sonya and Kim to his right and left, five covered platters spaced down the length of the table. The Team sat at the far end of the table.

“For our first challenge this week,” Graham said, “the Team had to cook a meal representative of their hometowns. Jazz and Shani have no idea who cooked what.”

“That’s not true, Graham,” Sonya said.

“It’s what the card says for me to say,” Graham said.

“Well, it’s not true,” Sonya said. “Shani and I watched y’all cooking. And since we know where everyone’s from, we would have figured it out eventually, right? Watching y’all in the kitchen was better than watching the Food Network.”

“I’m hungry,” Kim said. “Let’s eat.”

Graham carried the first platter to them, removing the large silver cover.

“Gumbo!” Kim cried. “This yours, Tony?”

Tony nodded.

“And a po’ boy,” Sonya said. She looked up. “Um, I feel kind of strange eating in front of y’all. You, um, mind maybe waiting in the great room for us?” She looked at Darius. “Is that all right, Darius? Maybe you can send the feed to the big TV in there or something.”

Darius sighed. “C’mon, fellas.”

The Team trooped out.

“That was rude,” Kim said, taking a bite of the po’ boy.

“I think it’s rude to eat in front of other people who aren’t eating,” Sonya said. “And this way, we can make comments as we eat without hurting their feelings.”

“They’ll see us eating on the TV,” Kim said. “And they’re still gonna hear what we have to say.” She dipped her spoon into the gumbo and blew on it.

Sonya smiled at Darius. “Could you, um, mute the room?”

Darius sighed and shook his head. “Sure, Jazz. Anything for you.”

Darius hates me. “Thank you, Darius.”

Darius said something into his headset.

“You can go, too, Darius,” Sonya said.

“Thank you,” Darius said, and he left.

“What’s with him?” Kim asked.

“We’re messing with his program, I guess,” Sonya said. “He probably took hours setting up all the shots.” She slipped a spoonful of gumbo into her mouth. “This gumbo is so spicy.” She took a sip of ice water. “My tongue is burned.”

“You kidding?” Kim said. “I could eat this gumbo all day. The po’ boy is kind of bland, though.”

“It’s to counteract the spiciness of the gumbo,” Sonya said. “Only it’s not doing it very well for me.” She opened up the hoagie roll. “He has red pepper in here. All of this is too spicy for me.”

“And it’s just right for me,” Kim said.

Sonya sighed. “So we tie on Tony.”

“Whatever.”

They split on Gary’s barbecue ribs, too.

“I like wet ribs,” Kim said. “These are dry.”

“I love dry ribs,” Sonya said. “Less mess.”

“Another tie,” Kim said. “I hope we agree on something.”

They also split on Justin’s Philly cheesesteak.

“Why’d he put mushrooms in it?” Kim asked. “Mushrooms are nasty.”

Sonya swallowed her third bite. “It’s delicious! The mushrooms counteract the onions.”

“And the cheese isn’t American,” Kim said.

“It’s provolone, Shani. This is authentic.”

Kim pushed her Philly away. “Gee, another tie.”

They even split on Aaron’s chili.

“Whoa, I’m tasting peanut butter,” Kim said. “And chocolate. Very sweet. Different.”

“The meat is a little too rare for me,” Sonya said. “I don’t think he cooked it all the way through.” He spent more time in front of the TV than in the kitchen.

“The corn and rice are a nice touch,” Kim said.

“The beans should be much softer than this,” Sonya said. “He should have been up early this morning cooking them.”

“Another tie?” Kim asked.

“Yes,” Sonya said. Now bring on the John.

When Kim took off the cover, Sonya closed her eyes. Thank You, Lord, for the food I am about to love. She snatched a drumstick and bit into it. “Ooh, this chicken is crispy, cooked to the bone, and seasoned right.” I wonder if this is Sheila’s recipe or his own? Either way, it is the bomb.

“Needs more salt,” Kim said, nibbling on a wing.

“You can always add more salt.” Sonya took a spoonful of mashed potatoes and audibly sucked it into her mouth. “Perfect. Just the right amount of butter, salt, and pepper.”

“It’s lumpy,” Kim said.

“Lumpy means it’s real,” Sonya said. She bit off half a square of cornbread. “You have to appreciate this cornbread.”

“It tastes like Jiffy,” Kim said. “Jiffy is easy to make.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Jiffy.” She took a forkful of greens and sucked it in. “Man, that’s nice. Mixing the onions and vinegar with the greens. Strong hint of ham. Very nice.”

“You act like you’re tasting wine,” Kim said. “These greens are nasty.”

“Everything on this platter is good,” Sonya said. How can I change her mind? “Try the chicken again.”

“None of this works for me,” Kim said. “TV dinners are better.”

“I think this is wonderful.”

Kim shook her head. “Oh, boy. Another tie. We disagreed on everything. Go figure.”

Sonya smiled. “Can we at least agree that we’re disagreeable?”

Kim rolled her eyes. “No.”

Sonya waved her hands in the air above her head.

“What are you doing?” Kim asked.

“Getting them to come back in. Watch.”

In moments, the Team reentered with Graham and Darius.

“Jazz and Shani,” Graham said, “it’s now time to let the Team know what you thought of their cooking.”

“Tony,” Sonya said, “I loved the po’ boy except for the red pepper, but that gumbo singed my tongue. It was extremely hot.”

“I loved ’em both, Tony,” Kim said, “especially the gumbo. I love hot things that make my tongue happy.”

Nasty flirt. “Gary, I love dry ribs. I want the recipe for your rub.”

“But I love wet ribs, Gary, the wetter the better,” Kim said. “When I eat a mess of ribs, I want to make a mess. What’s the point of eating ribs if you can’t lick your fingers afterward?”

“Justin, that Philly was hittin’ the spot,” Sonya said. “That meat was so tender!”

Kim sighed. “But did you have to put mushrooms in it? Fungus and steak should never mix.”

And now for Aaron’s candy chili. “Aaron, your chili was a little too sweet for me.”

“I loved it, Aaron,” Kim said. “I even had seconds. It was like eating a hot and spicy Reese’s cup.”

No, it wasn’t. It was like eating a Reese’s cup with pinto beans in it. “Arthur, I wish I had more room for your meal. I may sneak down later to eat some of the leftovers.” Hint. “The whole meal reminded me of my grandmama’s kitchen. Those greens were so tender, and the chicken was banging. You have to give me that recipe, too.”

Kim swiveled to face John. “Greens are nasty, Arthur, and you stunk up the whole house for the last twelve hours. That wasn’t very considerate, was it? Your mashed potatoes were way too lumpy. You didn’t mash ’em up enough, you know? Your cornbread was from a box that any child could make, and the chicken was just okay. I could do better at a Popeyes or a Bojangles’.”

That was harsher than it had to be. “This means that y’all tied,” Sonya said. “And it also means that your poems will break the tie.”

Kim stood. “Some of you had better get to work tonight, because if your poems are anything like your cooking, you’re in trouble.”

Friday night, while Sonya and Kim settled into a couch facing a low stage set up in front of a crackling fire in the fireplace, soft jazz music played. Lights dimmed, and a spotlight illuminated a single stool and a floor microphone on the stage.