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It took me about a year to figure out that Magda wasn’t flirting, the woman was just brutally honest in both directions. “If you can squeeze something in before I leave for Oregon, fine. Otherwise I have to get back to Rosie.”
“That right there,” she pointed at my chest. “That whole good dad thing combined with this packaging, I could make us both some good money, Antonio.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I would never turn down the opportunity to make money and increase my channel’s exposure, as long as I didn’t have to stay away from my daughter for too long.
“I’m on it,” she promised and pulled out her phone just as a production assistant grabbed me and pulled me onto the cooking show set. Magda waved as she smiled into the phone.
“This is Antonio Ricci,” the assistant introduced me to Wallace Young and Akana Murphy, two popular chefs who found alternative paths to culinary success.
“Nice to meet you both. Akana, I had your kimchi breakfast burrito on my way to the set.”
She smiled proudly. “And?”
“It was incredible. The pork sausage was a fantastic addition.”
“I thought so too.” She smiled and was about to say something when the director interrupted us.
“Make sure you keep up a steady, but not too loud dialogue during the competition. Observe what the chefs are doing, offer up guesses about what they’re making and offer your own unique spins on the flavor profiles. Got it?”
We all nodded and offered a polite smile to the abrasive man in the flannel shirt.
“Great. Oh and thanks for being here.” The words were an afterthought but it didn’t matter. We were all here for one thing. Exposure.
“Dick,” Wallace muttered under his breath and turned to me and Akana. “Don’t forget to throw in a few phrases like, in my restaurant, or on my food truck to make this shoot worth it. In my book I describe how to do this even for the home cook. Sounds more organic and not like you’re just here to promote yourself.”
His advice surprised me. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Thanks for the shout out on my puffed tofu technique.”
“Saw that, did you?”
He laughed. “Got tagged in thousands of Instagram photos thanking us both, that’s how I found the video.”
I shrugged off his unintended compliment. “Even my kid loves the stuff, just needs ketchup and mustard according to her.”
Conversation mostly continued like that for the rest of the day, only focused on the four rounds of competition. The competitors were talented and innovative, and though the director was a dick, the shoot was more fun than I thought it would be.
And a hell of a lot longer.
“My ass is sore,” Akana complained as soon we wrapped filming. “I gotta go walk off these calories, see you guys around.” With a feminine finger wave, she sauntered off, already on her phone.
“I have to get going too,” Wallace offered for no apparent reason. “But I think we should do a cross-over shoot before you head back west. I’m filming in the morning, a steak video. Want to join me?”
“Hell yeah, man. Sounds good. When and where?”
Wallace flashed a satisfied smile and gave me the details. “I’m not a huge stickler for time, but don’t be a dick and keep me waiting all day.”
“My schedule is tight tomorrow, my flight leaves at four so I’ll be on time.”
“Perfect. Send my PA your links so we can start doing promo and I’ll see you in the A.M.”
When I left the studio, Magda took off with a promise to call later and I skipped the row of cabs waiting and decided to walk. I hadn’t been to New York for years, and I wanted to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city. More than that, I wanted to see what the new culinary scene looked like, so I stopped at about a dozen different restaurants to hit up some old friends and talk food with likeminded people.
When I left the last restaurant, I had at least sixty ideas typed out on a notepad app, and I was eager to sketch out a new production schedule to incorporate the ideas while they were fresh in my mind.
“Oh my god, Antonio! Is that you?”
I froze at that grating, phoney voice that I knew better than I wanted to, and I turned slowly.
“Trishelle.”
She pushed her red painted lips out into a pout. “Is that any way to greet your ex-wife?”
“She’s lucky I’m greeting her at all. What are you doing here?” I was instantly on edge, wondering if this was somehow a setup.
“Me? Oh, I’m just here to get some shopping in for the week. What are you doing here?”
“Working,” I grunted and looked around the street for cameras or boom mics, or some of her reality show minions. “Well, take care of yourself Trishelle.”
