Tasteless
Authors: India Lee
TASTELESS
India Lee
Copyright 2014 © India Lee Books
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
GUYS, LET’S TALK ABOUT THE SAD, FORGOTTEN SOMERVILLE
The Snarker
June
7
th
Last night, the reigning queen of low-key bitch reporting, Frances Browning, interviewed the entire Somerville family, who were onscreen together for the first time since the cancellation of their reality show. For those who don’t remember,
Days of Somerville
followed the (seemingly) wholesome Somerville family, their full-house dynamics and the running of their Somerville Diner in Dutchess Plains – that is until Momma Somerville got caught bumping nasties with her teenaged son’s bestie. Yes, that vile shit happened. You pushed that memory all the way to the back of your head, didn’t you?
Well guess who didn’t?
Frances Browning. Because that ancient bitch doesn’t forget shit when it comes to scandal. She lives to call stars out on their most disgraceful memories. Literally – her old ass actually runs on pure, unadulterated celebrity shame.
But womp, womp – guess what? These reality brats have actually been carving out some legit-ass careers for themselves since their show got canned. Don’t believe it? Well, here’s a quick brief on most of the scandalous Somervilles:
Warner, 45
: Okay, so Poppa Somerville wasn’t actually at the interview but who can blame the guy? He’s busy auditioning for this season of
Celebrity Samba
and also, it would’ve been way too good to have him sitting there while Frances grilled his ex-wife on why she cheated with someone whose high school graduation they’d have to attend.
Olive, 45
: Momma Somerville no longer dates the childman that broke up her marriage. As far a we know, she’s been given a consolation job as Manager Of Some Sort of Thing at Poppy & Sage, the surprisingly successful boutique run by none other than…
Poppy and Sage, 25
: The fashion-obsessed sisters now run Poppy & Sage, the company that makes those super-expensive, super-coveted silk and linen blend tees that all the celebs are wearing during their casual-chic airport walks. They are currently in the process of opening up five new boutiques all around the world. Which means yes, the same sisters who once fought about “whose toes are cuter” now run a successful business. Go figure.
Porter, 25
: Poppy and Sage’s triplet brother just opened up a follow-up restaurant to his highly successful West Village spot The Red Deer. The Blue Elk came about as a means to alleviate all the stress of reservations flooding in for The Red Deer but now it looks like Porter’s just dealing with twice as much success. Boo-hoo.
Basil, 23
: Basil is now manning the kitchen at The Blue Elk. Word has it that he’s very well adjusted and isn’t seeing a therapist, which is a shocker for all of us considering it was his childhood bestie whom his mother ran off with.
Angus, 18
: Surprise, surprise – Baby Somerville is now making more money than you are, thanks to his millions of subscribers on YouTube. That’s right, the kid who once had trouble saying the word “truck” is now a burgeoning deejay whose life is better than yours.
Not too shabby for a bunch of people named after food.
But don’t be too sad because at least you’re not Rye Somerville, Basil’s twin sister and the only kid missing from Frances Browning’s reunion interview. Apparently, she’s the only one running the Somerville Diner which, holy shit, still exists. That’s right – Rye Somerville is the 23-year-old college dropout who is stuck running the humble family business that the family already bailed on ages ago for glitz and glam.
Basically, her life is – in a word – tragic.
I mean Rye. Girl. You were the most boring one when the show was on and now you’re slinging spinach salads while your siblings attend all the hottest parties in the city. What in God’s name is going on with you? Tell us.
Actually don’t.
That was a rhetorical question because we don’t actually care. All we really wanted was to point out the fact that the Somerville kids are surprisingly successful these days – all except for one. And that, to be honest, is tragic but hilarious.
EXCLUSIVE: SAM LAURENT IS BACK IN THE KITCHEN
The Durt
June 8
th
For all you mega-fans of Season 3
Chef Elite
winner, Sam Laurent, I’ve got some good news for you. Chef Sex God Supreme is reportedly back on the restaurant scene, which means we once again have the chance to devour his culinary creations and hope for our chance to have a word with the chef.
Sam was spotted within the exclusive walls of Lilac, having a meeting with PR extraordinaire, Mira Hunter. Our source says she heard the words “hire” and “job” thrown around, which is more than enough for us to come to the conclusion that he’ll be working again some time soon.
To celebrate our happiness, we let ourselves fangirl a little and made y’all a little listicle. Enjoy!
Reasons Why We Love Sam Laurent
- His persistent 5 o’clock shadow.
- His deliciously mischievous hazel eyes.
- Instead of the usual serious
Chef Elite
winners and the solemn nods they do when accepting the title, Sam abandoned all decorum to jump the judge’s table so he could kiss head judge Markita Farina square on the mouth. - How flirty he is – we all recall his post-win interview with the
normally super-chatty Jessica Ford on her talk show. He was so smoldering that she forgot her questions and had to cut to commercial. - Because
he said “fuck truffle oil” on a live cooking show. - Because when
he was invited back to that cooking show to apologize, he came wearing a baseball cap that read “fuck truffle oil.” - He didn’t badmouth the owners of Sandrine who reportedly booted him for his “questionable reputation” – you showed them, Sam!
- Because he is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
- When a girl he slept with threatened to release photos of him cooking drunk and naked at a friend’s bar
becue, he responded by releasing the photos himself. - He’s consistently, happily single which means we’ll always have a chance!
Now that we’ll all soon know where to find him, Sam’s going to have to upgrade his phone data to hold all those numbers he’ll be getting. Until then, I’ll be busting my ass at the gym to get an edge on y’all – may the best girl win!
After a whole night of sleep had eluded her, Rye decided to give up on any attempt at rest and just start her day. The sun had yet to rise and the calm of the early morning made her feel alone, which in that moment, was definitely a good thing. Rye had been so ready to live the camera-quiet life she had always dreamed for herself, but once again, it would have to be pushed off.
The night before, her father had dropped by to inform her that they’d be hiring a consultant to come in and “update” Somerville Diner in hopes of “allowing the space to join the twenty-first century.” Rye had always thought that half the diner’s charm came from its stubborn refusal to modernize, but she was apparently the only one in the family who felt that way. Not that most of her family had any opinion on it at all. It had been years since her mother and the triplets had stepped foot into their quiet hometown of Dutchess Plains, and even longer since they were inside the restaurant. And though Basil and Angus had left just six months before, they had mentally checked out of the space for much longer. Needless to say, Rye was surprised when her dad showed up with an opinion after she had just gotten comfortable and happy with handling it all on her own.
When her father told her that the consultant was Sam Laurent, he did so with the fanfare of a man expecting a bigger reaction. He paused dramatically, a huge smile plastered on his face as he waited for Rye to perhaps jump from her chair in excitement. Instead, Rye stared back, her mind blank.
“Who… is that?” she had asked, knowing the question would disappoint her father. Warner looked back at her, his shoulders slumping.
“He’s a
Chef Elite
winner, everyone loves him,” he replied. He reached forward, tousling her hair. “I thought you watched the show?”
“I don’t,” Rye said. Actually, she didn’t watch much television at all. “But I do sort of remember the name now.”
But the fact was, she didn’t. “Sam Laurent” didn’t ring any bell whatsoever. She had avoided watching TV and reading gossip blogs or even overhearing someone’s conversation about celebrities, ever since their show was canceled. Rye had learned early on how quickly the media could turn on you and how little she wanted to know about what others thought of her. There was something comforting about her seclusion up on her family’s forest-trimmed property – something about the lack of paparazzi and fans that showed up now that her siblings were all gone, something about the fact that the restaurant’s clientele was now mostly comprised of people who ate dinner at 4:30pm. And for the first time in her entire life, she would get a chance to run the place the way
she
always wanted to. She would finally have
something
to call her own.
Which was why, in Rye’s book, Sam Laurent was the stuff of nightmares. She had given in and spent her sleepless night watching old episodes of Sam on
Chef Elite
and reading about his post-win escapades. He was the type of guy to bring the party regardless of where he went, whether it was a friend’s birthday party or an Alzheimer’s fundraiser. He walked around with a cockiness that Rye wasn’t sure he earned and the entitlement of a man who had apparently never heard the word, “no.” Worst of all, despite his abrasive personality and lack of filter, it seemed he made friends wherever he went. And Rye knew she couldn’t compete with that. Her employees were the type who would fall under his spell.
In learning more about Sam, Rye could feel herself sliding back into the hell she had created for herself so many years ago as a reluctant preteen who had cameras and fame forced upon her. The hell that had come from years of being compared to her siblings and watching as even Angus surpassed her in success and income. The hell that had finally been alleviated when she was forgotten and left to live the simple life that she truly wanted, far from her family and the media’s notions of what success meant. After all, she had never felt bad for herself until the world insisted she did.
Rye knew she could find peace in her walk from the family home to Somerville Diner. It took about three minutes if she strolled diagonally across the barren farmland that used to be lush with whatever her grandparents planted for the season. The restaurant hadn’t grown its own produce in over a decade and all that was left were a couple of apple trees and the dirt path that Rye had kicked into the ground in her daily walks to work.
It was a little after 5am, and though the sun hadn’t risen, there was just enough twilight for her to find her way across the farm without a flashlight. As it always was, Somerville Diner was closed for the weekend. It was where she would be meeting Sam and her father later that morning, but that was still a good three hours away, which was ideal. She could use some time alone with the restaurant before Sam Laurent and his reputation found a way to destroy her peace and quiet.
Rye entered the diner through the kitchen door in the back, switching on the lights to make up for the darkness of dawn. She had always loved its open layout with its long counters that wrapped around the northeast corner of the restaurant. It was there that she could look out at the dining room with its modestly but efficiently designed space, enough to seat a hundred people comfortably.
Her grandfather had designed and built the space, joking that it was done in his image – modest and efficient, finished but not varnished, warm and full of love. And in the true spirit of openness and sharing, none of the dishes served at the diner were ever a secret. Her grandfather always kept hand-bound, typewritten copies of the diner’s recipes tucked into random corners of the restaurant for their customers to discover and flip through.
In the corner diagonal from the kitchen was the booth that he had made special for their family. Though the booth seat was now nearly twenty years old, it was still one of the newest parts of the restaurant. Like the kitchen, it wrapped around an entire corner of the restaurant and was made to seat ten – exactly enough for her grandparents, her parents, and all her siblings. The windows behind the booth faced a tree-lined valley that always framed the perfect sunset.
Rye decided to enjoy her pre-meeting solitude by cooking herself some breakfast. She dusted half a ruby-red grapefruit with some brown sugar and stuck it in the broiler, delighting in the smell of caramelized citrus as she sipped on her coffee and watched the sunrise. She smiled to herself as she wondered where her siblings were currently – most likely just now stumbling back into their apartments to sleep off whatever partying they had done the night before. And though the thought of it was amusing, she was happy it wasn’t her own lifestyle.
Armed with her grapefruit and coffee, she decided to enjoy what was left of her life without Sam Laurent and all the cameras she was sure would follow. With both hands engaged, she carefully walked over to the back door and nudged it open with her foot, but the slight breeze behind it fought to keep it shut. She took another quick sip of her coffee before stepping closer and putting more muscle into it as she kicked the door open. She watched as it swung out, cracking open about four inches before it suddenly met resistance once again. But this time for a different reason.
“
What the fuck!
” a voice yelled from behind the door. Startled, Rye gasped, dropping her coffee and grapefruit to the floor. She stood still, her heart pounding as it tried to settle itself. Her adrenaline drove her right hand to grab the nearest knife before she opened the door to find a man sitting back on the concrete of the back patio, rubbing his forehead as he continued to curse on the ground.
“What do you want?” she yelled, holding the knife out in front of her. “We don’t have any cash.” It took Rye a couple seconds to recognize the familiar face, specifically that of the man she had spent the night researching. Sam Laurent was sitting on the ground before her, rubbing the cut that had formed on his lower lip.
“Jesus
Christ,
” Sam said when he noticed the knife in her hands. “Who the hell are you?”
“I…” Rye stammered, dropping the knife to the ground before reaching her hand out to help Sam up. He narrowed his eyes at the offer, wiping the blood from his lips before getting up on his own.
“I’m Sam,” he said, keeping a suspicious eye on the knife that sat next to Rye’s foot. “I’m supposed to meet Warner and Rye Somerville here later today but I got in kind of early.”
“The meeting’s not for another two hours,” Rye said.
“I know,” Sam sighed. “I’m new to town and overestimated how long it’d take to get me here. And I could use a little time to prep for the meeting, you mind letting me in?”
“Oh, um,” Rye shook her head. “Of course.” She held the door open for Sam who brushed by her without a thank you. Though she was angry at him for robbing her of the two hours she had left alone with the restaurant and for not having the most basic of manners, she kept her mouth shut, embarrassed over the
terrible first impression
she
had just made.
Sam kicked her grapefruit aside, shooting a disapproving glare at the spilled coffee and cracked mug sitting beside it. He stepped over the puddle and marched into the space, looking far too comfortable with it all already.
“Do you know when they’re gonna get here?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Rye.
“They?”
“Warner and Rye,” he said as he looked through the kitchen space.
“Oh,” Rye replied, stopping in her tracks. For a moment, she was surprised he didn’t recognize her. But then again, there weren’t a plethora of current pictures of her on the internet like there was of him and he probably didn’t spend hours Googling her before their meeting like she had. “Uh, soon, I think,” Rye continued. She frowned, wondering why she didn’t just introduce herself already. But something in her had suppressed the confession, as if the few devious bones in her body had teamed up to allow this rare chance of being able to observe Sam without him knowing who she was – that perhaps his lack of knowledge of it all was giving her some sort of upper hand.
She felt herself reaching for the mop, moving the cracked mug to the counter and cleaning the spilled coffee quietly as she watched Sam survey the space. He did so with no regard to her at all, pacing through the dining room and checking out the woodwork and thumbing through the menus. When he came across one of her grandfather’s hidden recipe books, he quickly flipped through the old pages and wrinkled his nose. Rye caught his critical expression, even though it lasted just a second, prompting her stomach to knot in frustration. She was prepared for Sam to be judgmental of their old-fashioned restaurant, but every time he expressed anything short of total approval, she could feel her cheeks flame up in anger.
He settled at the entrance of the restaurant, right next to the hostess stand, crossing his arms as he scanned the open corner kitchen. Rye rinsed out the cracked coffee mug, trying to look occupied as she peered out at him from under her lashes. He looked exactly the same as he did in photographs right down to what seemed to be his usual outfit of a white t-shirt and dark wash jeans. On his left arm was an intricate black tattoo that started at his wrist and ran all the way up his toned bicep, disappearing under a worn out sleeve.
Rye rinsed the broken mug mindlessly, squinting at his arm in hopes of making out what the tattoo actually was. It wasn’t until he uncrossed them and stuck his hands in his pockets before she realized she’d been caught staring. She looked up at Sam who gave her a quick, questioning flash of his dark brows, a look of annoyance on his face. Unable to contain herself, she turned away and rolled her eyes.
“What was that?” Sam asked.
“What was what?” she asked back, continuing to tidy the already tidied kitchen counter.
“That eye roll,” he replied. “You did it so hard I could tell through the back of your head.”
“You saw wrong,” Rye muttered. Sam approached the kitchen, keeping his gaze on her as he rounded the counters and encroached on her space. He stopped a couple feet from her, smiling as he leaned against the doorframe.
“So. Who are you and am I going to have the
pleasure
of working with you here?” Sam asked, cocking an eyebrow as she stared back at him.
“Yep.”
“You didn’t introduce yourself,” he said. “Or apologize for knocking me over and threatening me with a knife back there.”
“Oh, no?” Rye shrugged a shoulder.
“No,” Sam replied. “I guess you were too preoccupied with pretending to be busy. But I’m feeling generous so I’ll give you the chance to redo your first impression.”
“Aren’t you a little concerned for
your
first impression?” Rye asked, crossing her arms and scowling.
“Not really,” Sam said. “But you seem like the type who is. So… want to take me up on the offer or not? What’s your name? What do you do here? And what exactly is your problem with me?”
“Why do you care?” Rye scoffed. “You’re not concerned about the impression you just made so why do you care if I have a problem with you.”
“Curiosity,” Sam replied. “And having some time to kill before my meeting.” Rye smiled a half-smile. She put her hands on her hips and tipped her head back as she observed Sam. He seemed too relaxed for someone who was about to have an important meeting, but then again he still didn’t seem to realize that the meeting had already begun.