Read Online Monster's Chef by Jervey Tervalon - Free Book Online Page A

Monster shunned.
    I THOUGHT MY RELATIONSHIP with Monster would remain the same. He’d be somewhere in the Lair, producing new music or writing, but whatever he did, I imagined that his time was so valuable he wouldn’t have a moment to spare, so I was surprised when, one particularly overcast afternoon, Monster appeared in the kitchen with two blank-faced assistants whom I took to be Security without the gray jumpsuits. This was the first time I saw him close-up and in decent light. I tried not to stare at him, but it was hard; his skin glowed oddly, almost as if it were internally illuminated, and his eyes were large and beautiful, like the eyes of a girl in Japanese animation. His lank-limbed body resembled a boy’s more than that of a man.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Stiles,” I said, but Monster and his attendants watched me silently, without response. I stood with my hands dangling at my sides until it became uncomfortable and I began to feel ridiculous. I turned and picked up a handful of radishes from a green ceramic bowl and sliced them on the chopping block.
    â€œCall me Monster,” I heard from behind me, so I turned to see Monster dismiss his assistants and lean against the sink, as though he was prepared to stay a while in the kitchen.
    â€œI want to watch you cook,” he said with a smile.
    I shrugged, feeling naked to his eyes. The kitchen, my kitchen, was a refuge, but with him standing there, an unwanted guest, I had to accept the fact that I was paid help, that I didn’t own anything in that kitchen other than the knives I had brought with me to the Lair.
    â€œI’ve been meaning to tell you I hate radishes,” he said, as though it pained him.
    â€œSorry, I didn’t know.”
    Monster shrugged. “Rita likes them in her salad.”
    â€œGood,” I said, wondering if he had anything else he wanted to mention about my cooking.
    â€œDon’t mind me, I’m just watching you,” he said, with the words hanging in the air.
    â€œYou’re interested in cooking?” I asked, but Monster didn’t reply; after a moment or two I glanced up to see him still watching me like a freakish hawk. I began dicing onions and mincing herbs and started a vegetable stock, anything to keep busy.
    â€œYou know, I miss those breakfasts of toast and jam, but Mr. Chow, my herbalist, refuses to allow me to eat that anymore.”
    I didn’t know what to say to that.
    â€œIf you don’t find Living Food satisfying, you can find an alternative.”
    Monster shook his head.
    â€œI’ve already caused so much damage to my body and spirit. Mr. Chow insists that this is my last chance to help myself achieve unity.”
    â€œWell, sometimes you need to live. If you deny yourself all the pleasures in life, it’s no good, you’re just torturing yourself for no reason. No one can live like that,” I said, with all the earnestness of a reformed drug addict looking back at the good old days of excess.
    Monster thought about it for a second, then disappeared down the hall. He returned after a few minutes and gestured for me to follow him down a grand hallway to the main entrance. There a Rolls-Royce sat idling in the long driveway.
    â€œLet’s go,” he said.
    Soon as the car started to move, Monster called to the driver, “Play Prince.”
    â€œYou’re a Prince fan?”
    Monster snorted as the bass line of “Head” reverberated in the cavernous backseat. “I like Dirty Mind , and some of his older work. I’m not a fan of his new stuff. I just don’t get it. People talk about how innovative he is, but I think I’m the one who kept up with where music is going.”
    I didn’t want to get into a debate with Monster on that subject, but I did want to know where we were going since we were in such a rush, going over a hundred, blowing by traffic, racing somewhere.
    When we reached the 101 and started