“I guess it’s been seventeen years.” He let out a sigh. “Some days it feels like it has been a hundred.”
“You still have family out there...” I looked towards the door. “There are people that probably miss you.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe everyone has forgotten all about Randall Davis.”
“Wait a minute.” My eyebrows shot in surprise. “You’re—Randall Davis—you had that cooking show on television! Oh my god, everyone thinks you’re dead!”
“It isn’t that far off from the truth, I’m afraid.” He lifted the cup to his lips.
“I’m not old enough to remember the details, but I think they even made an episode of Unsolved Mysteries about your disappearance.” My mouth hung open in shock as I started putting the pieces together.
“That makes sense...” He nodded. “If only they had a way to actually solve it and save me from this nightmare. Seventeen years—my daughter is probably married by now with children of her own.”
Chapter 10: Randall
I wasn’t really an asshole, but I played one on television very well. I lost my temper one time with a girl in the kitchen while were filming a show and it was all people talked about. The producers said I had to build on it, lose my temper on a regular basis, and even though it wasn’t who I really was, I played their game. The show was hardly being watched up until that point, but once I became known as the asshole chef, people just suddenly started to love me. I tried using prop actors and actresses for a while, but the emotions were never authentic. My cooking show that was mostly educational turned into a reality competition show where contestants cooked food, so I could abuse them for their terrible decisions. Some of the dishes were actually good, but I smashed their pride with my face turning red on command, so my rage would come across the screen and into the living room of everybody who wanted more. I should have known I couldn’t serve the devil forever without facing the consequences.
“Mr. Davis.” One of the producers ran up to me with a clipboard in his hand. “One of the contestants you were going to have on the show canceled—we’re trying to find a replacement.”
“Well fucking find me a new contestant then, dumb-ass!” I had been attacking everyone for the slightest mistake for so long it was almost second nature, even when I wasn’t in front of the camera.
“Yes sir. Right away sir!” He turned away and ran out of my kitchen.
I walked over to the table and started cutting up the ingredients for the show. Even though I had people to do that for me, there was something calming about holding a knife and diving back into what used to be the only thing that made me happy. I learned that I liked cooking at a young age, but I didn’t like having to go to the grocery story to find withered ingredients for my recipes. I grew my own vegetables as a teenager and when I was old enough to start hunting, I brought down as many bucks as my freezer could hold. My parents certainly didn’t seem to mind, although they didn’t see much of a future in what I loved to do. I saved every penny I could and when I was twenty years old, I left home and started my quest to make my living as a chef at a culinary school in New York. I attended classes during the day and waited tables at night. No matter how exhausted I was, I still enjoyed going home at the end of the night and making a meal just for myself.
“Okay sir, we found a replacement.” It had only been ten minutes, but the producer was already back.
“You haven’t had time to check credentials or figure out if they can even boil some fucking water! What did you do, grab a fucking schoolgirl off the street?” I spun around with the knife in my hand.
“Yes—I mean—no sir. We’ll keep looking!” He turned and darted out of the kitchen again.
I let out a sigh as I returned to cutting my way through the ingredients. In the back of my mind, I was already eying retirement and a peaceful life where I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t—the problem was that I just didn’t know how to turn that version of myself off anymore. I married a beautiful woman and she only stuck around for a year because she was pregnant with our child. Once our darling Maria was born, she left me alone in my bitterness. I didn’t want Maria to grow up seeing the man I had become on television. I was always kind to her and never let that version of myself show itself when I was with her on our weekend visits, but she was getting older. At some point she would find one of my shows on television and wonder who the strange man was that looked like her father—once she realized it was really me, she wouldn’t understand it was all for show. I wasn’t sure how I could feasibly hide it from her. My face was on television, on the Internet, and even in magazines.
“Okay, I swear we’ve got someone now.” The producer rushed back into the kitchen. “She has a recipe book, a YouTube channel, and she’s even gotten a couple of awards for her cooking.”
“Thank god you finally learned how to stop being incompetent.” I slammed the knife into the cutting board and walked towards the back of the kitchen which was set up as my dressing room. “Get the camera monkeys in here, we got a show to put on, dumb-ass.”
“Yes sir!” He nodded and ran back out of the kitchen.
The show had two men and one woman. I knew from the minute I walked in that the larger man with the tough scowl on his face would be the winner. He was the only one who didn’t have an ounce of fear in his eyes when he looked at me. It didn’t matter if his food was good or served to me raw, I had to give the world a show that would pop the ratings. I laid out the dish I wanted them to prepare and sent them on their way to make it. I also spent time near the camera while they were cooking, occasionally scowling or shaking my head with disbelief when one of the contestants got an ingredient wrong.
The girl was definitely the most skilled of the three. She didn’t miss anything even though she had only had a couple of minutes to look at the recipe. The larger man put salt into the recipe where it called for garlic and the other man messed up the spices. Both of their dishes would be horrible. The time ticked on as the camera crew filmed different angles that they would use in post-production. It was a boring process for me, but I needed to be there and pretend like I was supervising.
“Mr. Davis, the contestants are ready for you to try their meals.” The producer walked over and pointed towards the table.
“Of course, they’re ready—I have a pair of eyes.” I turned to him in disbelief and walked towards the table.
I went after the smaller man first. I stuffed his food into my mouth and it was truly horrible—an absolute abomination. I laid into him with a tirade of profanity that would have to be bleeped on air but showed uncut on my YouTube channel where a lot of my revenue came from. The dejection in his eyes got heavier as I kept stuffing the putrid mess into my mouth and telling him how awful he was, how he would never be a chef, and he should go work at a fucking fast food restaurant or cook for pigs. He managed to avoid tears, but he finally carried his verbally beaten carcass away from the table with both feet dragging. Since the girl had to lose, I decided to make her last. I made a show of washing my mouth out, spitting the water in the sink, and feigning disgust before returning to the table to taste the larger man’s food. He didn’t show any emotion so beating up on him was pointless. I gave him a shrug and didn’t spit it out, even though it wasn’t very good.
“You’ve got a good presentation. Do you think it is as good as it looks?” I winked at the camera as I looked at the girl’s plate.
“It is delicious, I promise!” She smiled and stood on her toes with a glimmer of hope in her eyes—that would be extinguished.
“Horrible! Absolutely fucking horrible!” I made a gagging sound as I pushed her
food into my mouth. The reality was that it was amazing, but I had to keep up my act.
“What?” She blinked and I saw every drop of hope fade from her face. “I made it perfect—it is perfect.”