Chapter 3: Top Chef Z
"...Sebastian Carvell, fourteen-year reigning champion, against rising competitor Miles Cicero." The sound of 'Top Chef Z' played in the background, a constant contrast to Jame's quiet counting.
"Two-fifty-three… Two-fifty-four..." The red fox had situated himself behind the couch, feet spread, body straight and rigid, holding himself up on one arm with the other held behind his back.
"Over the last few months, we've seen Miles rise from total obscurity to one of the most ingenious cooks ever to grace our cameras." Donnie sat on the sofa, focused on the screen with rapt attention. It showed a grizzled old walrus to one side, opposite a much younger boar, grinning at the cameras with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Two-sixty-six… Two-sixty-seven..." James wasn't actually moving, but rather counting seconds. He'd found that one-handed push-ups were entirely impractical, while one-handed planks, held for five minutes on each hand, could actually be an incredible way to tone the core.
"It may very well be that Miles' journey ends here, though. In a decade-and-a-half, none have come close to dethroning Master Chef Carvell, and it has just been revealed that the theme for tonight's trial will be sea food. This is, of course, Sebastian's specialty." James had asked Donnie once why he was so obsessed with cooking shows. The tree squirrel's only answer was, "When I'm rich, I wanna know where to eat," and the fox had left it at that.
"Two-ninety-nine… Three-hundred," James finished, then placed his other hand on the floor, brought his first hand behind his back, and started counting again. "One… Two… Three..."
The door to Samantha's bedroom opened, and at what she found to be a very strange sight in the living room, the vixen rolled her eyes. James had been there six days now; on his second day there, she'd asked her brother why he kept up with his fitness regimen. He'd explained that a medic, more than anyone else, was expected to be able to carry an injured mammal off the battlefield. In his fourth month at basic training, near the end, he'd surprised everyone by lifting a Siberian husky, easily boasting twenty-five pounds on him, over his shoulders and running three laps around the track. Granted, his legs shook when he walked the rest of the day, but it had been worth it to see the look on his Drill Sergeant's face.
When she'd asked why he still kept up his fitness regimen, he'd responded that after working out twice a week for six years, it just felt right. James was by no means bulky, though, even for a fox. For his apparent strength, he still appeared remarkably lean, until one pushed under his fur to feel muscles like braided steel. That was worth it because of the shock and excitement he'd see on a vixen's face when he lifted her off the ground with one arm.
"The boar's got this," Samantha remarked after a glance at the TV screen. Donnie quickly stood up on the cushion and turned to look at the vixen over the back of the sofa.
"How do you know?" he asked. He glanced back at the TV, then to Samantha again, and added, "I mean, you're right, of course, but how do you know? I thought you didn't watch cooking shows."
Samantha shrugged and answered, "I don't. But you know Jimmy, you should get it. Us Wildes can read mammals like a book." She moved over to the back of the couch, leaned on it and pointed to the screen. "Confidence. That's all it is. The boar has no doubt on his face. He already knows he's gonna win. The walrus, however..." She indicated the reigning champ. "He's got doubt. He's worried. He has the look of someone who's spent years at this and can't think of anything with all that experience that can get him through it. He's already lost."
"One-twelve, one-thirteen, one-fourteen…" came the steady counting from the floor. Donnie glanced down at him, and rolled his eyes. Show-off. He looked back up to Samantha and asked, "Anything else run in the family?"
"Not polyamory, if that's what you're asking," she answered with a chuckle. "I'm afraid my brother's a total misfit in that regard. A hopeless scoundrel, an outcast from the higher reaches of vulpine society," she joked. "But I still love 'im." She grinned, then pushed away from the couch and headed for the door. "Now, I've been told I have to have a night out before I move away, so I'll be back… Probably some time pretty late. Please don't destroy my place while I'm out, my escrow hasn't closed yet."
"What do you take me for?" James grunted from his spot on the floor. "One-forty-three, one-forty-four..."
Samantha rolled her eyes once more, and stepped out the door, leaving the question unanswered. A couple seconds later, they heard her car start and pull out onto the road. Donnie turned back around and sat down to watch his show. "It looks like Sebastian is going for a classic dish of lobster bisque with red pepper, and scallop risotto… While Miles seems to be preparing smoked swordfish with Alaskan king crab au gratin. My mouth is already watering, and I can only wish I were a judge for this event."
"Damn, they get swordfish?" James asked from behind the couch. "Two-ten, two-eleven… I wish I was a judge there. Two-fourteen..."
"Guarantee Cicero's getting a restaurant deal out of this. Five-stars for sure, right in the middle of uptown Savannah Central, I'd bet." James had sampled enough of the squirrel's cooking to know why Donnie was so obsessed with these cooking shows. The fox wouldn't trust his friend to occupy a kitchen for more than a minute without setting the dishwasher on fire, but when it came to eating the food, Donnie was an expert. Given the right outlet to publicize his knowledge, the little guy could be a food connoisseur for sure. As long as someone else prepared the meal, and paid for it.
"Two-eighty-nine, two-ninety..." Beads of sweat were dripping down James' brow, around his neck and under his arms, occasionally dropping from the fur on his bare chest. He'd set to the task of core endurance as soon as he'd got back from his morning run. Taking a break in-between would've let his heart rate slow, and would've made this a much harder task to complete.
"Two-ninety-eight, two-ninety-nine… Got it." He let his knees drop, and slowly pushed up into a kneeling position. He grabbed his discarded shirt and used it like a towel, wiped his brow and the back of his neck, before standing up. "I'll be in the shower. Call for me if the house explodes," he requested, tossing his damp shirt into the laundry hamper on his way down the hall.
Donnie's only response was to wave a paw that, of course, James wouldn't see, but that didn't matter to the squirrel because his cooking show was in full-swing. Since Samantha had remarked on the walrus' apparent nerves, Donnie was noticing a few things were off about how the champ was cooking. He didn't seem to grind the red peppers quite fine enough, the scallops seemed to Donnie to be overcooked, while the rice was probably slightly undercooked… And the boar was doing everything just right. Individually, those minor flaws probably would've gone unnoticed, but together they might be enough to determine this competition on their own.
Donnie's attention was broken by a knock on the door. He ignored it at first, but then it came again, and he figured whoever it was must have some actual business here. Might be Samantha's real estate agent, or the buyers, or… Well, any number of people. He knew pretty much nothing about the vixen other than she had a nice house and she was Jimmy's brother.
Letting out a little groan of disappointment, the squirrel pushed off the sofa and quickly moved to the door, reached up and opened it and was greeted by the spitting image of James in a tacky Pawaiian shirt. After his initial surprise passed, he cleared his throat, and remarked, "Take it you're Nick?"
"Nice guess, Shortstop," the red fox answered without pause, and grinned down at the squirrel. "I'll just go ahead and assume you're one of Sam's friends. That girl keeps the strangest company," he remarked, and slipped right past Donnie and into the house.
Donnie felt no reason to correct the newcomer on his assumption. He'd find out soon enough anyway, and it'd be more interesting if he didn't spoil the surprise. Instead, he shrugged, closed the door, and went back to the couch. Nick went right to the kitchen and opened the door, pulled out a carton of orange juice and took a quick swig. "Sounds like she's in the shower," he murmured as he put the juice back in the fridge and closed the door.
"And it appears the chefs have finished, and are serving out their dishes," the announcer stated. Donnie watched as two trays were loaded up with five plates each, and brought over to a panel of five mammals, each with two sets of silverware set on the table before them. As soon as all five were served, they set in.
The sound of running water down the hall stopped, and the sound of a sliding glass door was followed by a series of light shuffling noises.
"It looks like our judges are now tallying their scores… Submitting them into the computer..." A screen directly above Sebastian Carvell's station lit up, showing a number. "And that's nine-point-six out of ten for Carvell! That will be very hard to beat!" Donnie watched with rapt anticipation as the last two judges finished their dishes from the boar's tray, and punched in their numbers. A drumroll sounded for effect, and after a couple moment's pause, Miles Cicero's screen lit up. "And a perfect ten for Miles Cicero! Unbelievable! Ladies and Gentlemammals, Zootopia has a new Top Chef! Give it up for Miles Cicero!"
From the TV, the sound of a cheering audience could be heard, but in the house, not a word was said, because the bathroom door had just opened, and for the first time in six years, James and Nicholas Wilde had come face-to-face.