My Interview with Jack

Jack has agreed to meet with me at his restaurant where he is busy trying out recipes for his opening. The parking lot is empty as I park around back and look for the entrance that he said would be unlocked. . .

“Hey Jack.” I said as I walked through the double doors of his restaurant and into his kitchen. He was standing at a metal counter in a white chef’s coat decorating some kind of yummy looking chocolate ball with an even yummier looking sauce.

“Try this.” He said pushing one of the balls towards me.

“I don’t know, I’m getting a sugar rush just looking at it, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t be a wuss,” he said, “it’s only chocolate.”

I bit into the chocolate glob and my senses were overloaded with different flavors, chocolate, mint, cream. “What is this?” I asked through a mouthful of wonderful.

“Crème de Mint Oreo Truffles.” He grinned. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m in love with your kitchen powers. Wanna move in with me?” I asked while licking my fingers clean.

“Aren’t you married?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I sighed. “Oh well, at least he can barbecue.”

“See? Every man has at least one redeeming quality.” He said. “Now if only I could get some other people to see that.”

Ah, the opening I’d been hoping for. “Yeah, about Carly.” I began.

“It wasn’t my idea to keep it on a first name basis.” He said with a little irritation and a whole lot of force. “I really like Carly. I want to know everything about her. She’s the one who was so insistent on playing games.”

“What kind of games were you playing Jack?” I asked quietly.

“Me?” he looked surprised. “I don’t play games. You know that.” He turned his back on me and walked the truffles over to the walk in refrigerator.

“You’re right. I know it’s true. And that’s great that I know, but we’ve already established that I’m only hot for your truffles. What are you going to do about Carly?”

“I don’t know.” he sighed. Walking over to the large mixer he began dumping ingredients into the giant bowl and flipped it on; then he looked over at me and grinned, “Maybe I should take her some truffles.”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.” I laughed. “Of course, you could always just tell her the truth.”

He starred at his shoes for a minute and then glared up at me. His eyes were dark with anger and frustration. “You think I don’t want to do just that? Do you think I enjoy having her think I’m the biggest asshole on the planet?” he spit the words at me. “Erika, she doesn’t think I’m a good man. She doesn’t believe that I’m capable of honesty, faithfulness or worthy of her trust and it is killing me.” He said as he pound his fist in the center of his chest. “But I know that I am all of those things she thinks I’m not, and if I tell her the truth, if I break my promise, then it’s all for naught because she will have been right.” He let out a sigh and crossed his arms over the top of the mixer, resting his head. “This isn’t forever, this promise. Not that I’m in any hurry for Ellen to die, but that is what is going to happen. Why should she be burdened with this bullshit in her last days?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you should compromise your principles.”

“I know you didn’t.” he said turning off the mixer and running both hands over his head. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m just so aggravated. The only thing I’m guilty of is being too stupid to not divorce Trish years ago.” His cell phone rang and he reached into the front pocket of his jeans to answer it.

“Hello?” he said and paused. “Hey Norman.” A longer pause. “Okay, give me 10 minutes.” He flipped his phone shut and took off his chef’s coat leaving it on the table by the mixer. “I’m sorry, I gotta go.” And just like that our interview was over and he was gone. Damn.