Taste Test (6 page)

“You’re a jackass,” I hiss at him.

Christian, who’s already sitting in the front seat, gives me an appraising look. Pierce is in the passenger’s seat. He looks from Christian to me and back again.

“What’s up with you two?” he asks with a grin.

“Nothing.” Christian shifts the golf cart into reverse. “That’s the problem. See, I’ve been trying to let her down easy, man, but she keeps asking me out. I’m just not interested in making a commitment. It’s too early in the competition to be limiting my options.”

“You are unbelievable,” I say, crossing my arms. Christian starts to pull away, giving me a little wave.

“See you later, Nora. And remember—it’s not you, it’s me.”

“That. Guy. Sucks,” I say slowly, drawing out each word.

Angela puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go get that mochaccino.”

You’d think a walk across campus to Cyber Cup would be enough to calm me down, but I’m still fuming as I flop down at one of the little round tables.

“All right, girl. Spill it.” Gigi hands me my steaming coffee and sits down across from me.

“Spill it? I just got it—can’t I drink some first?”

Angela rolls her eyes.

“Seriously, Nora? What is the deal with you and Christian? Seems like an awful lot of drama for two people who barely know each other.”

I shake my head. “He’s just such a jerk—he thinks the rules don’t apply to him and that he can just treat people however he wants.”

“Uh, I recall the word ‘jackass’ being thrown around,” she points out.

“He slammed the door in my face!”

“We know, we were there.”

“And he started it with those comments about my dad’s restaurant and hillbilly food! Who does he think he is?”

“Okay, okay.” Angela sets her mug down. “Look, we’re not saying he isn’t a jerk or anything. It just seems like you two have it out for each other. Either that or …”

She trails off, a hint of a smile playing her lips.

“Or what?”

“Or you’re nursing that big crush he accused you of.”

“Whatever,” I scoff. “He wishes!”

“Probably.” Angela narrows her eyes. “He seems like the type who would appreciate a few groupies. From what I’ve heard, he has some already.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Look,” Gigi says, licking some whipped cream off her spoon, “don’t take it too seriously. Have you ever thought that Joy and Christian might be targeting you? You know, like a tag-team kind of thing? Clearly they know each other from before—maybe this is just a game to them.”

“Yeah, but what would they be targeting
me
for?”

“To mess with you. Try to get you to crack before the competition even starts. Maybe they figure they’ve found someone they can get all worked up and stuff. Try to get in your head so you choke in the arena, or something like that.”

“Yeah, maybe …”

For the first time today, I actually start to relax. I take a satisfied gulp of my coffee as, and a few seats away, a couple of girls get up from the computer they were sharing.

“Want to go online while we’re here? I need to check my e-mail.”

Angela shakes her head.

“Nah—I’ve got to run to the campus store and get my mom a NACA T-shirt. I promised I’d stick one in the mail as soon as I got here.”

“Actually, I might join you,” Gigi says, pushing out her chair. “I want to see if they can order me a copy of Professor Grenski’s book.”

“Okay, cool—I’ll see you guys in Modern World?”

They nod before bundling themselves back up and
bracing for the cold walk ahead of them. I make a mental note to have a producer take me to buy a coat as soon as I have a chance.

“I’ll save you a seat,” Angela calls back to me as they head out the door.

I settle into the comfy leather armchair in front of the flat-screen monitor. When I log on, there’s an e-mail from my dad.

To:
 Nora Henderson
[email protected]

From:
 Judd Henderson
[email protected]

Subject: Re:
 Hey Dad

Glad to hear you got there okay.

Love you,

Dad

Leave it to Dad to literally interpret the phrase “short and sweet.” I glance at the clock on the wall. With the few minutes I have left, I decide to attempt a spur-of-the-moment reconnaissance mission. I pull up a search engine and type in “Joy Kennedy-Swanson.” A few dozen results pop up.

“Laura Kennedy-Swanson made first State Representative from Manhattan.”

“Kennedy-Swansons honored for contribution to remedy homeless crisis downtown.”

“Estate for Sale: Kennedy-Swansons sell posh penthouse.”

And then, at the very bottom of the screen, there’s a link for a New York gossip magazine. I click on it and I’m transferred to
a flashy page with photos of celebrities and fluorescent headlines. I scroll down until I find a handful of pictures of Joy.

There’s one of her standing with two former presidents and who I can only assume are her parents. Another of her on the beach with an actress I recognize. A few more shots that don’t mean anything to me. Then one catches my eye.

I take a closer look at it and blink. It’s a picture of Joy and Christian. They’re standing with two men, both of whom are wearing sunglasses. They sort of look familiar, but I’m not positive
how
I know them. Then I read the caption below the photo.

“Party on the High Seas: The Hamptons Twilight cruise was overflowing with high-profile guests celebrating socialite Joy Kennedy-Swanson’s 18th birthday. Pictured below are the birthday girl,
Taste Test
series judge Holden Prescott, culinary phenom Thomas Van Lorton, and his seventeen-year-old sous-chef son, Christian Van Lorton.”

Jackpot.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last few years, you’d know the 411 on Holden Prescott. At twenty, he was the head chef at One Love, New York’s only Jamaican fusion bistro. Now, at twenty-three, he has two restaurants bearing his name, is a regular
Taste Test
judge, and probably hasn’t actually
cooked
anything for a few years.

But he’s far more well known for hitting the party circuit. From what I’ve heard, he’s slept with half the show’s former contestants—and, by the way, his hands are cupping Joy’s hips in this picture, I think it’s safe to say that she’s his latest conquest.

I sit back in my chair and stare at the screen. I’d bet a hundred bucks—no, a
thousand
—that Prescott the Player is the only reason Princess Joy is in this competition at all. I should have known there were strings to be pulled. The idea of Joy cooking is almost laughable. She’s probably never eaten anything that isn’t room service.

But on top of all of that, I’ve finally figured out why Christian Van Lorton’s name sounded so familiar to me the first time I heard it. And now that I know, I have every intention of exposing him for the Legacy Loser he really is.

Contestant Interview

Christian Van Lorton

Producer (P):
     So, Christian? How are you adjusting? This must be a really different environment from what you’re used to.

Christian Van Lorton (CVL):
     Meaning?

P:
     Well, you must have a much more glamorous lifestyle in New York. I mean, what with your father’s restaurant and television appearances and all those parties …

CVL:
     [shakes head] Not really. I spend most of my time in the kitchen.

P:
     It must concern you, though, that your fellow contestants will eventually realize who you are.

CVL:
     And who is that?

P:
     The son of a famous chef.

CVL:
     So?

P:
     So, there are some preconceived notions that come along with that.

CVL:
     Look, man, I’m just here to cook and to win. Everyone has their own baggage to deal with.

P:
     And your “baggage,” as you call it, must include coming out from behind the shadow of a celebrity family member. A family member who is known for doing exactly what you aspire to do.

CVL:
     Are we done here? I have class.

P:
     You just might want to prepare yourself, Christian.

CVL:
     Prepare myself for what?

P:
     For the backlash.

CVL:
     [mumbles something unintelligible, leaves room]

To:
 Billy Watkins
[email protected]

From:
 Nora Henderson
[email protected]

Subject: Re: Re:
 I’m here

Billy—

So, today was full of surprises. Remember Tommy Van Lorton, the chef? He had that show on Food TV—
Taste of New York
? Well, apparently this Christian guy, one of the contestants, is his SON. Crazy, right?

And Joy, my roommate—well she’s got some kind of thing going with Holden Prescott. I mean, I don’t have proof of that, but I found these pics on the Internet—they were looking pretty cozy.

Honestly, between Christian’s family tree and Joy’s love life, I feel like everyone’s got a leg up on me. Why is it that I’ve always gotta fight harder than anyone else for what I want?

I hate that you guys went to the rally without me—that makes me miss home so much!

Talk soon,

N

Chapter Four

Photo Shoot? Try Photo Firing Squad!

“Christian Van Lorton!” I hiss into Angela’s ear.

She jumps a little as I slip into the seat next to her. Gigi glances over at me, her eyes narrowed.

“What about him?”

“Don’t you recognize the name?”

Angela looks at me like I’m an idiot.

“Um, yeah.
It’s Christian’s name.
Duh.”

“Yes, I realize that, Captain Obvious. I mean, doesn’t it sound
familiar
to you? Like you’ve heard it before?”

She shrugs.

“Sounds like the name of a condiment. Or an investment firm.”

“How about Tommy Tornado?”

Gigi rolls her eyes. “Of course.
Everyone’s
heard of Tommy Tornado.”

I wait for the connection to sink in. A second later, her mouth pops open in surprise.

“No WAY! Is that—? That’s his DAD?”

Angela’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding!”

I’m about to launch into an explanation just as Professor Michaelson clears his throat and gestures to the notes on the screen in front of us. Unfortunately, it looks like he’s planning on taking his sweet time lecturing about feasts in the sixteen hundreds. Halfheartedly, I scribble some notes about mead and preserved meats, trying not to look at Christian, who is sitting on the other side of the room and seems engrossed with the lecture. By the end of class, though, I’m so distracted that I probably look like some kind of addict, tweaking out of control and unable to focus on anything but my fix.

When the three of us finally head back to the dorm for lunch, I speed through an abbreviated version of Joy’s story before diving head first into Christian’s. His dad, Tommy Van Lorton, is about as successful as it gets in the food world. Besides having his own TV show, he’s a big time restaurateur with setups in LA, New York, Chicago, and Miami. He just opened a food-themed casino in Las Vegas. Rumor has it that he’ll replace Donald Trump as host of the next season of
The Apprentice
.

But aside from all that, Tommy is best known for the women he dates—Victoria’s Secret models; hot, young actresses; and the like. Entertainment news shows are constantly talking about who he is dating now and who he might be dating next.

Gigi shakes her head.

“Tommy Tornado. Wow. I can’t believe we didn’t make the connection.”

I shrug. “Most people don’t think of him by his last name—he might as well be Madonna or Cher.”

Angela chews her lower lip.

“You know, I’d heard he had a kid working at his Manhattan joint, Diamonds and Spades, but I’ve never met Christian before.”

“Well, clearly he’s met Joy before, and obviously his dad knows Holden Prescott. The four of them looked pretty cozy in that picture.”

“It’s shady, all right.” Gigi nods. “Do you think we’re the only ones who’ve figured out the connection?”

I shake my head. “I doubt it. I mean, obviously the judges, the producers—all of the powers-that-be
must
know. They do a lot of research about our backgrounds and stuff. If I found the picture in two minutes, they definitely know. Not to mention Joy and Pierce and the rest of his entourage. I’m sure they just love being around a Celebu-Chef’s kid.”

“True.” Angela looks pensive. “So, now what?”

“What do you mean?”

We’ve walked into the dorm lounge and she climbs up onto a high-backed bar stool.

“I mean, really, what difference does it make? He’s a Van Lorton. He’s privileged and snooty. We already knew all of that.”

“Right, but that doesn’t make him a good chef,” I argue.

“Maybe not.” Angela doesn’t look convinced. “But we haven’t even done any of the press events yet. I bet there’ll be tons of coverage about Christian following in his dad’s footsteps. Like father, like son, and all that crap.”

Something sort of shudders in my chest—either my heart is sinking or my bile duct is flaring up.

“You’re right.” I shake my head. “It makes for a good story—famous father, brilliant son. If anything, it’ll make him
more
popular.”

But as I pick at my salad a few minutes later, Gigi eyes me with interest.