Dex (2 page)

Dex scanned the kitchen, happy that he didn’t have much of a mess to clean. After a late start, this morning had gone faster than he’d anticipated. He took out the last batch of cookies from the oven and set them on the cooling tray. They smelled more than good. He took out a black Sharpie and a piece of computer paper, then wrote:

New Item: Caramel Sea Salt Crunch

Then he taped the sign to an empty, lined fruit basket his family had once gotten for the holidays. It was just the right size for a few dozen cookies and fit comfortably in the giant wheelbarrow.

While the cookies were cooling, Dex tried to lift the two full garbage bags his mother had asked him to take out to the curb. What were they throwing out, boulders? As much as he tried, there was no way he could carry both bags at once. “
Gymbuff
”' he said in an audible whisper.

Cookies cooled, Dex began to set up for the morning rush. He had started his business during the summer when he realized that the only way he could make money was to figure out something he could do on his own. Babysitting meant dirty diapers and he didn’t want to deal with those. Tutoring would mean more studying and that was a big “NO WAY.” Mowing lawns was impossible with his grass allergies, and dog-walking was only okay if the dogs didn’t weigh more than he did, which was usually not the case. It didn’t take him long to figure out that the only thing he was really good at, that he really loved, was cooking.

Unlike the lemonade stand he had when he was seven, this time he needed legal approval to sell food. Luckily, one of his father’s best former clients worked for the town and knew how to make Dex’s business legit. It also didn’t hurt that the guy couldn’t go more than a day without another fix of Dex’s fig and brie spread on a raisin bagel.  Now, only a couple of months later, Dex had a legal business and a growing list of regular customers.

Maybe it was destiny. His mother told him when he was born his grandfather swore he had the hands of a master chef.

“Look at those fingers Marla,” Poppy had said, “they were meant to roll meatballs and knead dough.”

Then, according to his mother, Poppy held Dex very close, kissed each of his tiny fingers, and promised to teach him everything he could about food, family, and life.  From as far back as his memory could reach, Dex remembered being in the kitchen with his grandfather. Poppy was the best teacher he ever had. How many kids could say they learned how to crack and whisk eggs before they could speak in complete sentences?

Whether they were home or at the restaurant, it didn’t matter, there was always something his grandfather wanted him to smell or taste. Usually he made a game of it; especially if it was something important. Like when he was five and Poppy taught him about herbs and spices by playing the blindfold game. Dex remembered hating the smell of mace, but loving the warm scent of cinnamon. His grandfather cautioned him, “Like using a certain color to paint a beautiful picture, Dex, there is always a special place for any ingredient to shine.”

Why was he daydreaming so much today? Dex looked at the wheelbarrow and realized he was missing his change box. He went back to the house smiling as he heard the familiar sounds of everyone getting ready to start the day.  Routines made him feel comfortable, like life wasn’t just one big ‘what’s next.’ He got the change box and went outside to greet his customers.

A pretty African-American woman in her fifties pulled up in a big school bus and parked in front of the yard. She clopped down the bus steps and onto the lawn.

“Hey Rhonda. What’ll it be today?” Dex asked politely, already knowing what she wanted.

“Hey sweetpea, how you doin’ this fine morning?”

“I’m good,” he said, already getting her order together.

“Good is good,” she said, taking seven dollars out of a small change purse. “Now let me see, can I get that pistachio-crusted tilapia burger you made me yesterday? Mmm, that tasted even better than my Aunt Elodia’s catfish cakes, and they won a blue ribbon at the Smyrna County Fair!”

“Thanks Rhonda, I’m glad you liked it. Here you go,” Dex said, handing her the sandwich, “With a little extra mayo, the way you like it. And, don’t forget your cookie.”

“Oh I won’t,” she said, perusing the choices and settling on an oatmeal toffee crunch bar. “You are one smart businessman, Dex,” she said, trying to stuff everything into her too-small lunchbox. “I told all my friends about you.”

“This is a new recipe,” he said, handing her a salted caramel cookie. “Try it and tell me what you think. It’s on the house.”

She thanked him, took the wrapped cookie and looked for a place to put it. There was no room left in her lunchbox or her pockets.

“Guess this is gonna be breakfast. Lucky me,” she said unwrapping it, as she walked away.

By the time she got to the bus, the cookie was gone and she gave Dex a thumb’s up.

Dex liked Rhonda. She smiled like she meant it which wasn’t the case with a lot of adults. She had been his first customer. His house was on her route and she saw the signs he had put up around town announcing his grand opening. From that time on she never missed a day. She always seemed so appreciative. And even better, she didn’t treat him like he was some kid who didn’t know what he was doing. Dex found himself making new things for her to try.

Poppy taught him to find inspiration in everything, “especially the last place you’d think to look,” he would say pointing his finger in the air like it could be anywhere.  So, while some kids could recite the numbers and batting averages of their favorite baseball players, Dex could rattle off the menu items at each stadium food stand. As a tribute to his favorite team, he even created a dish he called Yankee Pot Pie, with hotdogs and baked beans in a hash brown crust topped with onion rings. Poppy loved it so much that during the World Series, he put it on the menu at the restaurant. A few weeks later, Poppy had his heart attack and passed away. The dish became a sad memory and Dex could never bring himself to make it again.

It made sense to be thinking about Poppy. It was almost two years now and Dex still couldn’t believe he was gone. This would’ve made him happy, Dex thought as he bent down to adjust his DEX THE FOOD DUDE sign. He was securing the sign’s base in the ground when his friend and assistant, Kyle, surprised him with a tap on the shoulder that nearly knocked him over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare yoooooooou,” Kyle said, letting out a huge burp.

Kyle didn’t bother to excuse himself. His burping was a condition he’d had since he was a toddler and anyone who knew him for more than ten minutes had no choice but to get used to it.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, laying a few wrapped sandwiches out for display.

“Everything’s fine. I was just thinking about stuff.”

“Dex, man, you have to stop thinking and start doing,” Kyle insisted. “It’s almost 7:30 and you’re not ready yet!” The line would often form in seconds and Kyle wanted to be prepared.

“I’m not?” Dex asked confidently.

“Where are the apples?” Kyle asked, now arranging the cookies in a neat pattern.

Dex was ready to yell at Kyle. Who did he think he was, his mother? But then he looked down at the wheelbarrow and sure enough he had forgotten the fruit. Rhonda was allergic to most fruit so he hadn’t noticed his mistake. Great, Kyle could run his business better than he could. He was annoyed at his absent-mindedness. How could he have forgotten something that basic?

“Oh man, I left them on the kitchen table. Can you get them? Ron and the construction guys should be here any minute and their order is always complicated.”

“No proooooob,” Kyle burped and headed to the house.

As if on cue, a construction truck pulled up in front of the stand, followed by a taxi, a minivan, and a motorcycle. The drivers of each filed out and onto the lawn in a small line. A short article in a local paper introducing Dex brought in an influx of people from the community to “watch the little Food Dude serve up some of the most innovative cuisine under the sun.” That article gave Dex the publicity he needed to attract attention.

Kyle came out with the apples just in time to help.  In moments, there was a small crowd of regulars in a long line on Dex’s front lawn. In front was Ron, the builder putting up the condos near Poppy’s Kitchen, who usually brought at least two hungry guys from his crew with him.  Next was the cab driver, Kaleel, who promised to buy Dex a kadai (Indian wok) for Christmas. Then there was a newer regular, Wilma, a caregiver at the senior center who rode a Harley and bought a dozen cookies a week to bring back for her clients. And from the Odyssey minivan was Herb, Rhonda’s friend, a semi-retired radiologist who loved sweet pickles and babysat for his grandchildren twice a week.

Seconds after everyone left, Dex could see his own school bus coming. He ran into the house to put the money in the emptiest soup can and got lucky that the bus had to stop for a light before turning onto his block. Kyle gave him a high five but all Dex could think about was how close he had cut it. He hoped the stress hadn’t made his massive pimple any angrier than it had been a couple of short hours ago.

CHAPTER two

Just before the bus came to a full stop, Dex quickly handed Kyle a sandwich.

“Hurry. Put it in your book bag,” he said. “It was the only one left.” Kyle gave the offering a quick look. “Turkey Stuffing Surprise?”

Dex nodded. He knew this sandwich, filled with sliced turkey, whole cranberry sauce, homemade crouton stuffing, topped with crushed sweet potato chips, was Kyle’s favorite. “This too,” he said, handing him a wrapped cookie.

“Yes!” Kyle exclaimed. “Thanks!”

The bus screeched to a halt. Dex got on the bus first and sat in an empty seat toward the middle. Kyle followed and sat down next to him. Without any warning Kyle let out a long burp. A few kids giggled but neither Dex nor Kyle acknowledged them.

“We were so busy I didn’t even get to ask you how your doctor’s appointment went,”

Dex said, a little guilty.

“It was lame. He thinks it’s emotional,” said Kyle, staring out the window opposite his seat. “He said there’s nothing wrong with meeeeeh,” Kyle said, burping even more forcefully.

A girl in the back shouted, “Ugh, Kyle!?! You ate a granola bar for breakfast again, didn’t you?”

Both boys ignored her.

“Emotional?” Dex shook his head. “You’re not crying, you’re burping.” “I know,” Kyle nodded. “It sucks.”

Kyle let out a small burp and changed the subject.

“Did Sarah friend you back yet?”

Dex winced remembering what a helpless weakling he’d been in his dream.

“Nah, not yet,” he answered indifferently.

Dex looked out the window and saw his nemesis, Hunter, and another muscular kid riding on Speed Fit exercise scooters. Having one of those definitely raised
your coolness level. They were like treadmills on wheels so that the faster you’d run, the faster they would go. Only the rich jocks had them, and seeing Hunter whiz by made Dex even more determined to get the money he needed for the
Gymbuff
.

“Girls are impossible,” Kyle offered. “Tracey Waters hasn’t friended me back yet either and it’s been days. I think you have a better chance with Sarah.”

Make him stop, Dex thought. The only thing worse than talking about Kyle’s burping
problems was talking about how much of a loser Dex was for not getting anywhere with Sarah.

The bus stopped and in walked Liza, a light-skinned African-American girl Dex referred to as the coolest person he’d ever be friends with. They met in a baby gym class when they were four months old and grew up together. Their parents were friends too which was important since Liza’s home life wasn’t typical in their town.

Not everyone in their area was as liberal as Dex’s family, but Marla said her parents taught her to make sauce not war and that intolerance caused more pollution than the toxic waste destroying the ozone layer. It was a message that made a lasting impression on her and resulted in her having more friends from different cultures than most people. By the time Dex was born she had gone to weddings and baby-namings in India, China, Uruguay, Israel, Scotland, and Vietnam.

Like his family, Dex didn’t focus on differences. He didn’t care that Liza’s situation was considered unique. She had a great family and it bothered him that there were times she had to defend that. Big deal. She had two dads. Two gay dads. One was her biological father, but it was anyone’s guess which one because looking at them you could never tell.  Her birth mother was a friend of her dads, but she lived in Kenya and rarely visited. Liza didn’t talk about her much and didn’t seem to miss having her around.

Liza’s dads owned Minelli’s, the salon Marla swore made ordinary women look like divas. Dex used to love going there when he was little. He and Liza would play rocket ship on the swivel chairs until they were ready to puke. Now the only time he felt ready to puke was when he thought about Sarah. He was officially weird.

Speaking of weird, who was that guy standing next to Liza? A pale, white kid dressed in big baggy jeans and a du-rag covering a mop of corn rows had followed her onto the bus.

“Hey Dex. Hey Kyle. This is my cousin, Jordan,” she said hesitantly. “He just moved here.”

“I told you, it’s Jordy, shorty,” he said in an accent Dex couldn’t place.

“Right,” Liza agreed, clearly avoiding an argument.

“Look Kyle, I got you these.”

She reached into her backpack and pulled out an economy sized bottle of Tums. A few kids turned to look at her and applauded.

“Hold up, this must be the dude wit da mad frog fog.” Jordy laughed. “Uhhhhhhh!”  he imitated a burp.

Liza smacked him. “Shut up! Jor-DAN! He’s my friend.”

Kyle thanked Liza as if she’d given him Super Bowl tickets and took the bottle. Jordy seemed annoyed and started walking toward the back of the bus. Before he got to a seat, his huge pants suddenly fell down around his ankles, revealing giant black boxers that resembled
a
Hefty
bag more than underwear. One girl’s eyes bugged out of her head and she stared at him with her mouth wide open.

“Wut!” he said, pulling up his jeans like nothing had happened. He went to the back of the bus and sat down in a seat away from everyone.

“What’s with him?” Dex asked Liza, pointing his chin toward Jordy.

Liza pursed her lips. “He’s going to take a lot of getting used to. His mom, my aunt, got a new job and that boy did not want to leave Florida.”

“I’ve been to Disney World and nobody talked like that,” said Kyle.

“Yeah, really,” Dex added, “he just sounds weird.”

“What can I tell you. He’s my cousin and he and my aunt are living in my house ‘til they find their own place. I think he acts all ghetto to be like his dad. He misses him. Jordy’s actually fun when you get to know him.”

“What happened to his dad?” Kyle asked.

“He left to become a rapper. Went to L.A. a few years ago and that was that. Never heard from him again.

“Wow, his dad is black? Jordy looks whiter than me,” said Kyle, puzzled. “Who said he’s black?” Liza said.

“A white rapper?” Kyle asked, “Like Eminem?”

Liza laughed, “He wishes! He sounds more like an old Justin Bieber. That man’s never going to be famous.”

Liza turned to look at Jordy who was listening to his iPod with his eyes closed.

“I feel bad for Jordy,” Liza said, turning back around. “He’s going to need friends who can deal with him,” she hesitated, then added, “I was hoping you guys would, you know, be nice to him-please.”

“Liza, of course we’ll be friends with him,” Dex said, without a moment’s thought. “He’s your cousin.”

Kyle nodded then suddenly banged his open palm to his head. He whisked out a piece of paper from his book bag.

“Crap. I forgot. I have a quiz in math. I gotta study.”

He turned away from the conversation to review his notes.

“Oh, before I forget, tonight’s our last dinner at Poppy’s Kitchen for a while. Geema says we’re closing to renovate,” Dex explained.

“That’s cool,” said Liza. “Maybe now you could get a gelato machine. Gelato’s mad good.”

“Yeah,” Dex agreed. “Do you guys want to come for dessert?”

Kyle nodded without turning back.

“Doesn’t your sister get back today?” Liza asked.

“Yeah.”

“So what are you making?” Liza looked back to see Jordy still in the same position.

“Alicia’s favorite. Triple Chocolate Ganache cake with Oreo Buttercream frosting.”

Kyle, still engrossed in his notes, let out an approving sigh. Dex noticed that Liza looked uncomfortable.

“And, of course, your cousin is invited,” he offered.

“Thanks Dex,” Liza said relieved.

“Oh man. I forgot to tell Geema where to find the welcome back sign.”

He pulled out his phone and started a text:

#

Golda Marino gave her short, reddish hair a little lift from the back as she sat uncomfortably in the seat opposite Nan May, her bank representative. Nan was in her fifties, round-figured, platinum blonde, wore heavy eye shadow, and looked chronically confused. Especially now, as she stared at her computer trying to locate Golda’s restaurant accounts. Golda felt tense from the start of their meeting and Nan’s persistent blinking tic was both annoying and hypnotizing. Blink, blink, blink. Golda, a petite woman, thought if she stared at Nan any longer she would get seasick from the fluttering blue waves of her eyelids.

Why do women paint themselves like that
, Golda pondered, as she questioned whether her own cheeks could use more blush. But then she thought about why she was there and decided that looking pale might best serve her purpose. Golda needed a financial miracle, not a trip to a cosmetic counter.  Besides, she hadn’t even looked at another man since she lost her beautiful Ralphie.

“I can’t seem to locate that account,” Nan said with a mesmerizing succession of blinks. “But I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

“OH!” Golda jumped as if she’d been poked by a cattle prod. She dug deep into a handbag that looked bigger than her to find the source. Vince, her son-in-law, mentioned her cell phone would vibrate if she got a call or a message, but she wasn’t expecting to get knocked off her chair.

“Ah,” she said retrieving her still-buzzing, pink, sparkly phone, “I have a text message. Looks like it’s from my grandson.”

Nan smiled obligatorily and continued blinking into the computer. Golda interrupted her.

“Excuse me, but I’m having trouble reading this. Can you please do me a favor?” Golda handed her the phone.

“Oh sure,” Nan said in her squeaky voice taking the phone. She plastered on a smile as if she were performing a monologue for an audience.

“The welcome back sign’s in the desk drawer under the file for Mom’s hand jobs?”

Nan raised her eyebrows, but Golda was too busy looking for an envelope to notice.

“Oh--okay. I know where they are,” she said, finally seeing Nan’s expression.

“My daughter’s a hand model,” Golda exclaimed.

“Uh-huh,” said Nan, nodding.

“Really. Anyway, I also got this in the mail today. Sorry I forgot to give it to you before. I’m a little preoccupied. My granddaughter is coming home from an internship she had over the summer and we’re having a little party at my restaurant to welcome her home.”

Golda was definitely nervous. She rarely shared personal business with anyone, especially strangers. And few people were stranger than Nan May.

“I hope you can help me,” she pleaded in almost a whisper.

Nan pasted on another smile. “Let’s see what we have here.”

As she read, her blinking was uncontrollable. Golda imagined Nan flying around the bank propelled by her lashes and decided this was a woman who must live alone. Finally, the pattern stopped when Nan looked back at the computer.

“Well Mrs. Marino, this is the account I was looking for and it appears that you have been unable to keep up with the payments for, uh,
Poopy’s Kitchen.
”

“It’s Poppy’s Kitchen, sweetheart. That’s a typo.”