I looked at him in his tiny black string tie and burst into tears. I was never particularly good at hiding my emotions. My mother had never been able to teach me that trick, though she’d tried hard enough.
“Good heavens!” Chef Art put his arm around my shoulders, and his burly bodyguard parted the crowd before us like Moses parting the Red Sea.
He led me to a small sitting room that was done in pretty shades of blue and white. I knew from a childhood of following my mother around to antique fairs that the furnishings looked shabby, but they were all very expensive.
“Now sit down and tell me about it.” He handed me a clean, white handkerchief and sat back to light the biggest cigar I had ever seen.
I told him all about me and Miguel and trashed Tina. My words weren’t pleasant but at least they were G-rated.
Someone knocked at the door. The bodyguard opened it and my dad walked in. He was dressed in his old tuxedo, the one I’d seen him wear dozens of times. The look on his face made me start crying again.
He came over and put his arms around me. “What in the world is wrong, Zoe?”
I sobbed into his white shirt and gave him the details. By that time, I was all cried out.
I had been stupid to think Miguel was interested in me as something besides a client. I was even more stupid to think he and Tina were only friends after the way she’d acted with him.
Why am I so darn naive?
My father sat down and held my hand. I had always thought he was a handsome man. Now he was very distinguished with his year-round tan and close-cut hair. While my mother had always pointed out the right and wrong way to do things, my father was my heart.
There was another knock on the door. I hoped this wasn’t a cameraman who wanted to film my breakdown and hear my story again. The bodyguard opened the door, and Uncle Saul came in.
“I heard you all were in here,” he said. “How are you doing, Chef Art? Hello, Ted! What’s going on?”
“Tina and Miguel are together.” I abbreviated the tale and took out the tears.
“Sorry, Zoe.” He sat down, too. “I guess I should’ve spent time with you working on Miguel instead of helping Ollie with Delia.”
I sniffed. “Although that worked. Did you see them together?”
I certainly didn’t want my uncle giving me pointers on relationships.
My father admired Chef Art’s big cigar. Chef Art gave him and my uncle cigars, too. They lit them, and the smoke filled the room. The three of them started talking about something going on in Mobile politics. I was completely forgotten.
That was okay. I wanted to get out of there. I was going to stay for dinner and get the race over with. I was going to win and never think of Miguel Alexander again.
I went out of the room and removed Miguel’s number from my phone. I even took him out of my contact list. That was that.
Dinner was served shortly after. Chef Art had a huge dining room table. All the food truck personnel and sponsors fit around it. The room was big enough that the cameramen had plenty of space to walk around and take videos of us during the meal.
Chef Art welcomed all of us to his home. “I guarantee the meal I’m about to feed you will be a thousand times better than the meals we had on the road.”
Everyone laughed. Chef Art’s bodyguards closed the doors to the dining room while the party went on in the rest of the mansion.
“Still, I’ve had a great time. I can’t wait to see how my Biscuit Bowl team does in the morning.” He nodded to Patrick Ferris who stood up at his chair.
“Hello, foodies!” He sounded exactly as he had during the race, but with no microphone. “I know you’re ready for the finale tomorrow. We’re down to only two of you. Teams, please stand when I call your names.”
Ollie, Uncle Saul, Delia, and I got to our feet as he announced the Biscuit Bowl. Bobbie and Allison stood up when he said Shut Up and Eat. The cameras zoomed around the table to get close-ups. We all waved and smiled, even Bobbie.
“We’ve got a tough day planned for these two teams tomorrow. Of course we’ll begin at six A.M. in the heart of Mobile. I doubt if even the Spanish moss will be out that early.”
He guffawed, and the rest of us laughed with him. Fleet-footed waiters began bringing in the first course of the meal, cream of celery soup.
“But you all are used to that, aren’t you?” No one responded, and he moved on. “You’ll be making your signature foods again tomorrow. This time, though, we’re gonna tie you down a little. Bobbie and Zoe will stay with their respective trucks while the rest of you swap teams. The Biscuit Bowl team will be working as the team for Shut Up and Eat. The team for Shut Up and Eat will be making those great biscuit bowls. How’s that for excitement?”
Ollie didn’t like that idea at all. “I didn’t sign on for that. I’m not helping another team win the money.”
“That’s not fair since we have three people in our team and Bobbie only has her daughter.” Uncle Saul nodded to Bobbie’s daughter. “No offense, young lady.”
One of the producers, the quiet one who always seemed to have the last word, whispered something to Patrick.
“I guess we’re going to allow one Biscuit Bowl team member to stay with Zoe Chase because of the difference in team size,” Patrick announced. “Zoe, pick your favorite team member.”
That was a no-win situation for me. All the cameras focused on my face. I had to look like I had shell shock. How could I pick one person? No matter who I picked, the others would be hurt.
I knew they were waiting for my reaction. “This really isn’t fair. I can’t pick one person on my team who’s my favorite. I love them all, and I think this is a stupid way to end this race.”
Patrick grinned. “Remember, we told you we’d have some tricks up our sleeves. Make your choice, Zoe, or forfeit to Shut Up and Eat.”
Uncle Saul whispered to me, “Don’t worry about me. We’ll work out the savory filling between us. Choose Ollie or Delia.”
Ollie again stated his position on how wrong this was. “What if we sabotage the other team so our team wins?”
“We’ve thought about that, Biscuit Bowl team member. If either team loses because of poor work performance, the fifty thousand dollars will be awarded to the other team, the one that didn’t cheat.”
Delia smiled at me and put her hand on mine. “Choose Ollie. I don’t think he can handle it if you don’t. I’ll be fine. I know I’m your personal favorite.”
I felt like my hands were tied. I knew from the look on Bobbie’s face that she wasn’t happy with the terms of the race tomorrow, either. Her daughter was equally stricken. She was just a kid. She probably had no idea what to do or say.
“All right.” I got to my feet as the waiters were clearing the soup bowls. I hung onto mine. Cream of celery was my favorite and I wasn’t finished. They weren’t taking it away until I was done. “I’ll choose Ollie. Not because he’s my favorite, but because I don’t want him to hurt you, Patrick.”
Everyone around the table snickered at that remark. They couldn’t disagree after comparing the two men.
Bobbie got to her feet, too. “That’s fine. I agree with Zoe that this is a really bad idea, but we’ll work through it. Let’s race.”
Everyone applauded. Patrick looked relieved. The sponsors sat back in their chairs, glad that their plan was moving ahead. Probably happy that the whole thing was almost over, too.
“And the second impossible, grueling aspect of tomorrow’s big finale.” Patrick slowed down and savored the suspense he hoped he was creating as the salad course was brought in. “Each of the teams will be given the food they’ll use to create their signature products tomorrow morning at the start of the Mobile challenge. So throw away all those ideas on what you planned to make.”
Bobbie groaned and put a hand to her forehead.