“So, Bick has cooked up a plan for us to open a food truck together,” Steve said. “I finally gave in to his arm twisting and said yes.”
Jessica exhaled loudly into the phone. “Why do you accommodate that guy when it’s not what you want to do? I thought you wanted to take your photography to the next level.”
“I do. But maybe Bick is right. Maybe owning a business together will bring us closer. I can still take pictures.”
“Oh, puh-leez!” Jessica snorted. “I have a better idea. Dig out those photos you took one time of Bick sprawled on his back asleep in the nude. Tell him that unless he stops pestering you about this cockamamie food truck, some very unflattering pictures of him will end up on the internet. That should get him off your case!”
Steve noticed the time and quickened his pace. “I can’t do that, Jess. I’m not into threats and blackmail. Anyway, I have to get going. I’m meeting Andrew and Diego for lunch in Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Hey, remember when I was obsessed with Egyptian pharaohs?” Jessica interrupted.
“I guess so.” Steve walked fast and was breathing heavily.
“Well, there’s a giant statue of King Tut on display near Times Square. That guy is jacked!”
“I’ll check it out. Right now, I have to get to Ninth Avenue.”
* * *
Andrew and Diego were seated with their drinks when Steve walked into the Chimichurri Grill. The guys owned an antique shop near Astor Place and Steve wanted to get their advice about going into business with Bick.
“Amigos! What’s up?” Steve gave them each a hug.
After Steve ordered his food, he immediately launched into a discussion about buying the food truck.
“Bick and I aren’t as tight as we used to be,” Steve told them. “He thinks running a business together will bring us closer together.”
“Don’t do it!” Andrew and Diego blurted it out in unison.
“You will regret it,” Diego added. “If I know Bick—and I do know Bick—he’ll insist on running the show. He’ll treat you like his assistant.”
Andrew nodded in agreement. “Diego and I have somehow managed to run our shop together for 5 years. We agreed from the beginning that we were equal partners. But it hasn’t always been easy. We’ve had our share of bumps in the road. Right, mi amor?”
Diego agreed. “Oh my god, yes. But here we are. Still together.”
Steve listened carefully while Diego continued.
“You’re smoking crack if you think you and Bick are going to be equal partners. You know as well as I do he’s a control freak.”
“Why would you sign up to work in an enclosed space for twenty hours a day with Bick bossing you around?” Andrew asked. “In a food truck, it’s going to be super hot and sweaty.”
“I don’t mind heat.” Steve gulped his beer. He suddenly wanted to change the subject.
“I haven’t seen you guys in a while. Let’s take a selfie.”
When Steve got home, he showed Bick the photo of Andrew and Diego. Bick studied it carefully.
“Your friends look like they belong on Madison Avenue. So impeccable in crisp linen shirts,” Bick said. “You would look great in a linen shirt.”
“Linen needs to be ironed,” Steve said. “I don’t do ironing.”
“Well, you used to pay more attention to your appearance. Something happened and now you dress like Bart Simpson. Why can’t you be more like your friends?”
“I like my friends,” Steve said. “But I’m not like my friends.”
“Unfortunately,” Bick muttered.
* * *
Bick wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived at his mother’s apartment. Eunice said he could come over at three o’clock to discuss the purchase of the food truck.
“Come alone,” she had said. Her tone was frosty.
A haze of cigarette smoke assaulted Bick’s nostrils when he walked through the door.
“So, you’re still smoking, Eunice. Apparently, the visits to the hypnotist were a waste of time. And money,” he said. He resisted the temptation to tell her that her long, black cigarette holder was a silly affectation and most certainly did not make her look like Audrey Hepburn.
“I’m taking a break from nonsmoking,” Eunice said, “because I was missing my three Cs in the morning.”
Bick looked puzzled.
“A coffee, a croissant, and a cigarette.” Eunice sat cross-legged on the sofa. A butt-filled ashtray rested by her side. “Anyway, smoking calms me. I need that right now.”
Bick sat down across from his mother. He was anxious to get down to business.
“Steve is really gung ho about buying the truck. He can’t wait to get started,” Bick lied.
Eunice took a long drag on her smoke. “So, how is your partner, really, though?”
“He’s fine. Like I said, he’s excited that we’re going to be business partners.” Bick wanted to lighten the mood. “Steve does have a disorder that I call Staring At It But Not Seeing It.”
“What’s that?” Eunice asked.
“He’s always asking me to help him find something. And he’ll be staring right at it. He’d be lost without me.”
“Oh, your father was the same way,” Eunice said. “He couldn’t find things that were right in front of his nose.”
She took one last drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out. “By the way, your father and I have been in touch. He’s called me a couple of times recently.”
“Oh?” Bick stared at Eunice, looking for a hint of what was coming next.
“He’s living alone in Daytona Beach,” she added nonchalantly.
“Oh? What happened to the bitch-grifter?” Bick asked.
Eunice could barely constrain a wry smile. “Apparently, she ran off with some guy half her age. A scuba diver.”
“Perrr-fect!” Bick hooted with sarcasm. “That is just perfect!”
After a lengthy discussion, Eunice finally agreed to give Bick half the down payment and co-sign on a bank loan for the rest.
“Thank you, Eunice. You won’t regret it,” Bick said. “And just think. You can stop by our truck any time for your favorite meat loaf.”
When he left his mother’s apartment, Bick stepped lightly but with a sense of urgency. It was time to get busy.
* * *
Bick dragged Steve along to attend the city’s mandatory food protection course. They both passed the exam and could now legally prepare and serve food to the public.
Steve stressed about having to borrow money to start the business. Meanwhile, Bick couldn’t stop talking about the food truck. To hear Bick tell it, the former Big Mama’s Donuts truck was going to be his ticket to fame. As a celebrity chef, he might even get his own cooking show on tv.
Steve pretended to share Bick’s enthusiasm.
With only his freelance income to support himself, Steve was barely paying for living expenses. He had, however, saved some inheritance money from his grandmother. He assumed that he and Bick would have to use it as collateral for an emergency loan, if it came to that.
Steve felt untethered from the life he had been living before the truck.
Sitting with Bick in a nondescript cubicle at the bank, Steve watched as the loan officer reviewed the mobile vending license and permits that Bick produced from a folder. Thanks to Bick’s attention to detail, everything was in order.
The loan officer asked them why they thought their food truck would be successful. With hundreds of food trucks parked on the streets of Manhattan, what would be so special about theirs?
“Because ours will have the best damn meat loaf sandwiches and empanadas in the city,” Bick declared triumphantly. This started him on a roll.
“I’m in possession of my grandmother’s coveted—and secret—meat loaf recipe. Handed down from her English ancestors. Market research studies show that meat loaf is really popular right now. Customers are going to be lined up around the block.”
Steve could not believe what he was hearing. Bick was making things up on the fly.
They signed the loan paperwork with their full names: Bickford Grayson Armstrong. Esteban Jorge Ramos Colón. The loan officer went over all the documents and asked if they had any questions.
“After Mrs. Armstrong comes in and co-signs the papers, the money will show up in your account within a couple of days,” she told them.
Bick and Steve were now owners of a food truck.
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