Topped Chef(79)
“Wow, that was fast,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “I really liked Randy. I liked what he did all week in the show. Except for the cake pops,” I added, unable to suppress a smirk.
“My taste buds are not so well developed as yours.” He grinned back. “So much goes into getting a successful program on the air. Ratings are so fluky—especially in reality TV. You imagine that a perky guy who’s a good chef will draw in viewers, but the sponsors are more conservative than you might believe. Much more. Drag queens are not a draw in middle America.” He looked me right in the eyes. “So thank you. Whether Randy ends up in the hoosegow or whether he doesn’t, I feel certain that we chose the right man.”
He fell into step beside me as I exited 7 Artists and started down the block toward the next stop on the Uncorked program. “Did you enjoy the process?”
“I’ve never been through anything like it,” I said, meaning I hoped never to experience anything like it again. But I assumed that, with his major ego, he’d think I meant it was amazing. “Will you have some time off before you start filming the actual show?”
He nodded as we waited for a crowd to exit the Old Town Mexican Café, our next stop. “I’ll have a week or ten days, probably do some sailing. Nothing like being out on the water to help a tightly wound guy relax.”
“I’m a bit like a cat,” I said, flashing on that horrible plunge into the water off Mallory Square. “Even though I live on a houseboat, don’t ask me to get wet.”
Peter’s eyes lit up. “You’re really missing out. I spent several summers working as a mate on a sailboat in the British Virgin Islands. Fabulous experience! The only drawback was I’m a big guy,” Peter said. “I didn’t fit too well into the crew’s quarters. Are you planning to stay on in Key West?” he asked.
“I love it,” I said. “If I can keep the job, I can imagine settling in for the long haul. You’ve spent time here before?”
“Of course. I love the wackiness of the place. That’s how I came up with the idea of the TV show in paradise.” He grinned. “Fantasy Fest is my favorite. One year Sam and I even marched in the parade. We wore spike heels and diapers and wigs and carried spray bottles of tequila.”
“Spray bottles of tequila?” I asked.
“A quick shot for any girl willing to lift up her shirt. Such a hoot!” He laughed, then looked at my face. “Sorry, I know that’s politically incorrect.”
“I’m just trying to picture those outfits,” I said. “I never even liked dressing up for Halloween as a kid.”
Suddenly he lurched to the right, and grabbed for his back. “Good god, doesn’t this put the icing on the cake.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My back’s gone out.” He winced and tried to straighten up. “I’ve had this happen before. It means I need a couple of days off, a bottle of muscle relaxants, and a lot of time in bed. Damn!” He took a step but grimaced with pain. “I wonder…no never mind.”
“Should I call an ambulance?”
He shook his head decisively. “I’ll be fine.” He began to limp down the block toward Petronia Street and I hovered alongside him, feeling helpless. The crowd around us pressed in, seeming drunker and more boisterous by the moment.
“I hate to ask,” he said. “Is it possible you could help me get to my car? I thought walking the length of Duval Street twice would be relaxing after the week I’ve had—bad idea. But I hate to take you away from the party…” He whipped the phone out of his jacket pocket. “I can call a cab.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “I’ve had enough anyway. Nobody wants to read a column listing every bite we’ve tasted—I’ll hit a few highlights and describe the whole crazy scene. Actually I’m dying to get out of here. It has felt like a long week. Really long.”
“A nightmare,” Peter said. “I’ve tried to stay optimistic about the contest, but sometimes I wonder if it was cursed from the minute I set foot on this island.”
Which reminded me of what Lorenzo had told Miss Gloria and me a few days ago during our lunch on the houseboat: Key West either embraces you, or chews you up and spits you out. Maybe Peter was finding out that he fit into the second set.
“Come on,” I said, moving closer to him and offering my hand. “Let’s go.”
He slung his arm over my shoulder and leaned some weight on me, at the same time that I felt a sharp object poke my side. I looked up at him, startled. He laughed and staggered like he fit in completely with the crowd around us.