Page 5 of Unexpected Pickle
Working in a deli has been too easy. We serve very few things that need heat to prepare.
I should move up, find an actual restaurant. My father, who is a Michelin-star chef, scoffs every time he learns I haven’t changed jobs. He could get me into lots of prestigious places.
But Max has been good to me, giving me a job in high school, promoting me while I got a culinary degree, and instantly naming me head of the kitchen the moment I graduated.
He’s hired me for commercials and magazine spreads. I might be more well known in the industry than I would have been at even a high-end bistro.
And none of it was with my father’s help.
But I do know I need to figure out my next steps. I shouldn’t stay at a sandwich shop forever.
A shadow crosses my vegetables. It’s Hex.
“I’d offer to help, but I’m sure I’d mess it up.” His voice is rumbly, and I feel it in places I’d rather not.
“I’m paid well for my perfection,” I tell him without looking up.
“It’s impressive. You’re impressive.”
There he goes again.
He’s a flirt. Of course he is, looking the way he does. He could have literally anybody. Flirting is easy when you know it will work.
When I flirt, I look like a chef balloon in the Macy’s Day parade, one string broken, bouncing along the tops of the crowd.
People run away about as fast.
But vegetables don’t try to escape. And I pound all the meat I want in the kitchen.
But Hex doesn’t shy away from all the attention he’s gotten today. Every time I came in from the kitchen, a makeup assistant or wardrobe girl was peeling herself off him.
Even now, they hover nearby, as if looking for an excuse to put their hands on him.
What would it be like to touch muscle like that?
An ear of corn rolls to the side, slightly crimping the husk.Focus, Jeannie.This has to look exactly like it did in the last take.
Vera returns with the apples. The hole where Hex picked up the one he crushed feels glaring to me, but I didn’t want to interrupt the last take to suggest I replace it. Maybe the director has a plan for before and after the apple.
Or maybe he’s not thinking about it properly. It wouldn’t be the first time I knew more about prop continuity than a film crew.
“Assemble!” Adriel says. “Makeup! He’s too shiny in the face.”
The artist dashes forward to blot Hex’s forehead.
I sort through the apples to find the second-most perfect one. I turn to Adriel. “Do you want the apple he crushed replaced, or do you want to keep the spot open now that you’ve recorded those last lines without it?”
“Why didn’t you replace it immediately?” Adriel asks.
“It would be unusual for it to go back in on a continuous shot,” I say. “People would notice the magically reappearing apple. What does your shot list call for?”
Adriel rolls his eyes. “Shot lists are for amateurs.” He claps his hands. “Places!”
I figured he’d be like that. He’s been full of himself all day. “And the apple?”
“Oh, do what you like.”
I don’t like the hole, so I carefully place the new one in the gap. “Oil?” I ask Vera.
