Chapter Text
“Tell me you did not just spit in my fucking kitchen.”
“What? I did it into the trash can, back off.”
New York city. 2011. La MaÎtrise, one of the most renowned 5-star restaurants in Midtown Manhattan.
“Back-... back off? You want me to ‘back off’, when you’re hawking up phlegm directly next to a $200 filet mignon?”
“You won’t let anyone go outside to do it, where the hell else am I supposed to-”
Two men are faced off in the middle of a bustling kitchen. One of these men is the Head Chef of the restaurant, known around the world for his meticulous attention to detail and explosive temper. The other man is a Tournant, a swing chef, filling in for the Saucier on her day off.
“Swallow it! It came out of your body, it can stay in there until the end of your shift! If I see you doing that shit anywhere near my food again, you’re out. For good. One final paycheck, no future references, I make sure you never work in this goddamn city ever aga-”
“You know what? Fuck this! Keep your shit references, I’m out!”
The younger man all but tears his apron off of his body and throws it directly at the Head Chef’s chest along with his hat, before he continues his outburst.
“It’s not worth it. This place is a fucking nightmare! Nothing is ever good enough for you! That’s not my fucking fault! Then you treat everyone like an idiot for not living up to your ridiculous expectations-”
“My ‘ridiculous expectations’ are the reason why this kitchen is going to earn 3 Michelin fucking stars this year!”
The Head Chef is holding a metallic spatula in one of his hands. It’s shaking, ever so slightly, vibrating with the increasing flare of his irritation.
“Yeah? Well you can take those stars and shove them up your ass, ‘Chef Kaspbrak’. You’re not god’s gift to man, you’re a fucking neurotic psychopath .”
The ex-Tournant turns his back to the other man, starting to storm out of the room.
Chef Kaspbrak’s staff are too well trained to stop what they’re doing, but they’re all listening. None of them offer words of support. Some try to hide their mirthful smiles. Some don’t.
“Send my last check in the mail, I’m not coming in for it. Or don’t! See if I care! Keep the money and use it on a dildo big enough to dislodge the stick from your a-”
The hand that Chef Kaspbrak was holding onto the spatula with raises, snapping back behind his head, before pelting the cooking utensil across the room.
- - - - - - -
All of that was 5 years ago. The day Eddie Kaspbrak’s world came crashing down around him.
He had always been a hard-working person. Studious, careful, organized. Regimented.
He knew from a very young age that if he wanted to make anything of himself, if he wanted the comfortable security of a well-paying job and a thoroughly cushioned saving account, he had to claw his way to it. Because he was born into a household on the brink between middle class and poverty.
For as long as he could remember, his mother had not been able to work. She had joint problems, and Chronic Bronchitis. Their only source of income was the inheritance left by his father’s life insurance when he died, and whatever little they gained from his mother’s disability checks. Most of that money went towards medical treatments for both Eddie and his mother, funding their constant battle against their own mortality.
Eddie was a sickly child, constantly in and out of the hospital, but still managed to do all of the physical work that his mother couldn’t. Bending over put her at risk of throwing out her back, so Eddie picked up everything around the house that wasn’t within reach of his mother’s spot on the couch. The washer and dryer were also too low to the ground to be easily accessible, so Eddie learned how to do the laundry.
Most importantly, Eddie learned how to cook. Clean, healthy meals.
Mrs. Kaspbrak had hated it at first. She hated the idea of Eddie using sharp knives, and had screamed the first time he burnt his hand on the hot stove.
She had sat in the kitchen with him for the first couple of years of his independent studies, rattling off constant reminders for him to be more careful, to not hold the knives so close to his face, to lean further away from the oven so the fumes didn’t get stuck in his lungs and give him carbon monoxide poisoning, but eventually the trip between her couch and the kitchen became too labor intensive. She started leaving him on his own, only seeing him again when he emerged from the kitchen back into the living room holding two plates of dinner for the both of them to eat in front of the tv.
Sonia Kaspbrak did not have many kind words to say about the food itself. Sometimes she said nothing, too absorbed in what was happening on the screen in front of them to comment on the meal. When she did speak about Eddie’s cooking, it was often to point out how there weren’t enough vegetables on Eddie’s plate. Or how the chicken wasn’t cooked enough, and he was going to get a salmonella infection.
More often than not, she added extra toppings onto her portions that Eddie wasn’t allowed to eat. She could add extra cheese to her potatoes, but Eddie’s sensitivity to lactose wouldn’t allow for the extra dairy. She could cover her broccoli with salt, but steered Eddie away from doing the same so he wouldn’t raise his blood pressure. No matter what he made, she modified it, and Eddie was not allowed to do the same. Stuck with whatever final creation he presented to her.
But any time he was about to cry, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, she’d offer up one kind thought towards him.
“My Eddie-bear is such a good boy. I bet no other little boys cook for their mothers like this. We take such good care of each other, don’t we?”
So Eddie continued to learn anything he could about cooking. His school had no culinary programs, but his superior grades in every other academic topic were enough to earn him a scholarship to an interdisciplinary college with a fantastic culinary degree.
He had to delay his admission to said college for a year, until he saved up enough working in his home town to afford a home-care nurse for his mother while he was gone.
She still accused him of abandoning her when he left for college. The only thing that stopped the guilt from eating him alive was the knowledge that if he focused on his studies, he could eventually get a job well-paying enough to afford a live-in nurse for his mother.
Fresh out of his home town, Eddie had a plan. He had a dream. First was finishing up his degree at college, which would earn him the credentials to quality for admission into a specialized culinary school. After culinary school, he wanted to move to France, to study with master chefs.
He made it as far as The Culinary Institute of America, before he met Myra.
Myra had been introduced to him by another student, who insisted that she was the only one as obsessed over nutritional information as Eddie was.
Every time the two of them went out to dinner together, they each had a list of very specific instructions to give to the waiter who served them. She was the first woman who ever wanted to see him for a second date after going out to dinner with him. So when she texted him, informing him that she was free the following Friday evening and wanted to have dinner together again, he had agreed.
They went out for dinner together every Friday night after that, like clockwork, until she told him to change his relationship status on his public accounts from single to ‘in a relationship’. He had agreed.
They had dated for two years by the time Eddie finished culinary school. He wanted to move with her to France, but she said the idea of moving so far away from home where she didn’t speak the language scared her. He had agreed.
So he stayed in America, and studied under French chefs who worked in the states.
He climbed, and clawed, and worked his ass off until he gained a reputation for himself.
After 6 years, he claimed the pretentious job of Sous-Chef at La MaÎtrise.
By this point, Myra and Eddie had already mapped out their future together. They had previously agreed that they should get married after Eddie secured a stable job, so he proposed the week after he was hired.
Next on the schedule was getting married a year after the proposal. They decided if they had children to have them before Myra turned 35, because after that the risk of chromosome disorders was too high. If they didn’t have children they would save the extra money so they could retire by 50, and buy a house down in Florida. In one of those gated communities, where wildlife can’t sneak into.
2 years after his marriage the Head Chef retired, and he was promoted.
He had been Head Chef for 3 years when the incident happened.
He had turned the restaurant from a 4-star adequacy to a 5-star luxury destination. His face had been on magazine covers. He had been interviewed, praised, idolized by the culinary world.
He had it all, then subsequently lost it the moment that spatula flew out of his hand and hit his ex-employee in the back of the head.
He hadn’t meant to throw it that hard, but the resulting injury still required stitches.
The Tournant had pressed charges, and the case was settled financially before it actually went to court. On top of the settlement, Eddie was immediately terminated.
The resulting meltdown that Myra went through was catastrophic. She cried for days on end, unrelenting, constantly asking Eddie what they were going to do. How were they going to keep paying the rent? Would she have to get a job? What about their health insurance?
Eddie tried to convince her it was fine. They had plenty of savings in their savings account, it could tide them over until he found another job. She wouldn’t have to go back to work. They could afford to buy their own health insurance until he was hired again.
The problem was, no one in New York City would hire him. No one outside of New York City would hire him. No one in fucking Long Island would hire him.
Every email he sent went unanswered. Every text he sent was left on read, or never opened.
A quarter of a year after Eddie lost his job, he was desperate. Desperate enough to open an email from a company he had never reached out to, located nowhere near New York City.
The message came from a man called Bill Denbrough, and its contents were a job offer.
Bill was the manager of a test kitchen located near Boston, called the “Prospect Test Kitchen”. They worked with a few local companies and restaurants in the area, with one or two major companies occasionally hiring their services. They developed new menu items, improved existing food options, typical research and development.
Apparently they had recently started on a new venture: online video tutorials. They made instructional videos to teach people how to improve their cooking, uploaded it online, and split whatever they gained from ad revenue between anyone involved in the making of the video.
Bill offered Eddie a job working in the test kitchen, with the option to be involved with making video tutorials if he wanted.
Half a year before that message, Eddie would have laughed at this job offer. It was ludicrous. He was horrendously over-qualified to be working in a test kitchen, and the ad revenue from any video with under 1 million views wasn’t even enough afford rent before splitting it between people. Eddie strongly considered going to the company headquarters in person just so he could tell Bill to fuck off.
But the test kitchen part of the job paid well enough to tide him and Myra over, until he could find a real job. He had no interest in the videos, but that was not a compulsory part of the contract.
Eddie lasted one more stubborn week, trying to reach out to 5-star restaurants in other parts of the country. After a particularly scathing rejection letter from a 4-star kitchen in California, he replied to Bill’s email.
- - - - - - -
Eddie had never viewed himself as an adequate ‘on-screen’ presence. He had gone through two interviews on camera before, and each time had been disastrous.
For one, both interviews had been on ‘family-friendly’ programs. Eddie could be professional when he needed to be, but his chronic ‘sailor’s mouth’ still let a few errant f-bombs slip through his defenses, resulting in the need to cut and re-shoot the response. Pair that with being a nervous sweater, and his constant need to use his inhaler in the middle of a take, and the result was a very short-lived television career.
He had been perfectly content to stay under the radar. And he had, for close to half a year after he started working for the Prospect Test Kitchen. He might have stayed that way, if it hadn’t been for the powerful charismatic pull of the new Head Chef he worked under.
Her name was Beverly Marsh. She was as stern and commanding as an executive chef needed to be to maintain order, but kind and soothing in a way he had never seen from an authoritative figure in his many years of working in professional kitchens.
She never had to raise her voice to get a full room’s attention. Only clear her throat, hands placed firmly on her hips, and the eyes of everyone within a 5 mile radius would turn their heads and hang off of every word she said.
She was the driving force behind the videos.
Eddie learned after a few weeks working that she was the driving force behind a lot of things within the company. Her and Bill had started the test kitchen on their own, 5 years before they began filming anything. They had been childhood friends, though they had gone their separate ways after high school, until Beverly reached out to Bill looking for business advice about opening up her own kitchen.
Eddie had no idea what she did before she opened up the Prospect Test Kitchen. Beverly was very private about her past, and Eddie respected her enough not to pry any information out of her.
Bill, ever the knight in shining armor, agreed to leave his job so he could partner with Beverly to open up their own business together. Bill took care of the numbers, and Beverly took care of the talent.
A few years in, once their kitchen was established as a legitimate business, Beverly had the idea of filming and releasing cooking tutorials online.
The two of them sent out a recruitment ad for a video editor, and found Mike Hanlon. The three of them cliqued right away, and thus Mike was added to the core managerial staff of their team.
None of them ever pressured Eddie into doing videos. They offered from time to time, Eddie would politely decline, and they would all leave it at that.
Eddie came in, did his daily work, and left at the end of the day. Easy. Straightforward. Safe.
But then Eddie started watching Beverly’s tutorials in his free time. He didn’t need the information from them, of course. Most of the recipes that Bev covered were ones that Eddie knew by heart.
Her videos were not incredibly popular. They pulled in a few thousand views, with the top ones getting up to a hundred thousand. Despite this, Beverly put her all into every video. She went on the channel account to answer comments and questions about her ingredients and her methods.
Beverly treated the channel like she treated the food she made. It was art. Carefully cultivated, finely crafted. On the days where one of her videos did very well, she came into the room and she shone . She blazed with passionate excitement, filling everyone else’s day with her warming joy.
So finally, one day, when Bev asked Eddie if he wanted to film a video with her, he agreed. Not to be on camera, not fully, but allowed Bill to film his hands going through the proper motions of preparing the food while Bev voiced over the steps of the process.
The next video that was scheduled came on a day where Bev was too sick to come in, so Eddie filmed the steps, and provided the voice over.
Thus was how Eddie became the second official cast member of the Prospect Test Kitchen channel. Never referred to by name, to avoid the ‘internet trolls’ from dredging up his recent misdemeanors, but still involved nonetheless.
- - - - - - - - -
One and a half years into starting his position with the Prospect Test Kitchen, and Eddie was finally starting to find a semblance of peace in his life again.
Sure, the apartment where he and his wife lived in Boston was too small for the two of them. Much smaller than they had stayed in New York City. Myra obviously resented him for making them move away, but she still doted on him, called and texted him multiple times a day to make sure he remembered to take his medication with lunch, reminded him of doctors appointments, and kept him in line.
Their video tutorials had gained a small amount of traction, before leveling off at a plateau of about a hundred thousand views per video. The money wasn’t great, but the small amount of extra income helped pay off part of the rent for the apartment in New York that Myra forced Eddie to renew the lease on (just in case they ever wanted to go back).
Eddie had lost most of their savings, but they had stopped plummeting towards debt. Not earning extra money, but not losing it either.
He wasn’t happy. But he wasn’t despondent. He wasn’t rich, but he wasn’t impoverished.
He existed. He worked. He commuted, and he survived.
Just when he had reached a comfortable equilibrium, Bill made the announcement that would throw everything in his life into chaos all over again.
It had been a quiet day at the kitchen when Bill wrangled Eddie, Beverly, and Mike together for a private meeting in his office. He had an ecstatic smile plastered onto his face, but refused to even hint at the topic of the meeting until everyone was in the room and the door was closed.
“You will never believe who I just got off the phone with,” Bill said as soon as everyone was settled, sitting behind his desk and furiously typing on his laptop, privately pulling up some sort of information to share with the rest of the group.
“Was it Hershey’s again?” Beverly asked, lounging in another chair in the room. “I know they offered us a lot last time, and you have faith in us... but I don’t think any of us can salvage their idea for ‘Root-beer chocolate’.”
Bill shook his head, eyes still laser focused on his screen.
“No, no it’s not that. Even better. Do you remember when I told you I was trying to find new chefs to add to our videos?”
“Sure do,” Mike said, sitting on the edge of Bill’s desk. “Something about diversifying our content. You found someone?”
“Not just one someone. Two of them,” Bill said, turning his laptop around to show the screen to the rest of them.
The picture on the screen was from some health and wellness magazine. It was an (incredibly unfairly attractive) chef, smiling charmingly in front of a large array of fresh vegetables and ingredients.
Mike whistled. Bev’s eyebrows raised a bit, leaning forward in her seat to get a better look at the screen.
“So we’re, what. Hiring a professional model? To pose next to the completed dishes, Vanna White style?” Eddie asked.
“I swear I’ve… seen him somewhere before,” Bev mused, getting lost in her own thoughts.
Bill laughed, reaching around the laptop screen to switch to another article and image.
“He’s not a model. His name’s Ben Hanscom, culinary nutritionist from Chicago. I almost thought we weren’t going to get a response from him, he’s notorious for shying away from on-screen work. But! Apparently our audience is small enough for him to consider working with,” Bill said.
“I thought this was about diversifying the channel? I already do nutritional videos, we have that covered,” Eddie argued.
Bill, Mike, and Beverly exchanged an uncomfortable look.
“What?!” Eddie exclaimed, clearly ruffled by not being in on whatever psychic message the rest of the group refused to share with him.
Something told Bill that saying ‘Well, Eddie, sometimes you’re a bit overzealous about dietary restrictions, and we can’t keep editing out the sections where you try to describe our audiences' cholesterol-based deaths in graphic detail ’ wasn’t going to fly well. So he cleared his throat, and changed strategies.
“T-that’s not your specialty though. Your specialty is gourmet food and French cuisine. If we had someone else covering nutrition and wellness, you could… focus more on your expertise?” he tried.
Eddie’s scowl stayed on his face, arms crossed tightly over his chest, but he offered up a relenting shrug.
“... I guess. But if we go through with this, I’m double-checking all of his research. I’m not about to let some new-age hack run our channel into the ground with his Atkins-Keto Bullshit.”
Mike rolled his eyes to himself, before turning back to Bill.
“Sounds like a great addition to the team. Great work, man. But something tells me that’s not the big news of the day. What’s behind door number two?” he asked.
The excited grin was back on Bill’s face, turning his laptop around again to pull up another window. Once he found what he was looking for he waited a moment, for dramatic tension, before unveiling his achievement.
“Richie. Fucking. Tozier.”
Mike gave an impressed sounding hum, nodding to indicate that he approved of Bill’s accomplishment.
Beverly and Eddie answered at the same time.
“The comedian?”
“Who the fuck is that?”
Bill snapped in Beverly’s direction, his grin widening at her recognition.
“The comedian. An actual television personality! And he’s actually considering collaborating with us!” Bill explained, excitement building by the second.
Mike warily rubbed the back of his neck before speaking.
“Bill… I’m not trying to knock you down a peg. The fact you got in touch with Richie Tozier is incredible, but-”
“We do a cooking show. How the hell are we going to incorporate a comedian into that, huh? Have him fling creampies in people’s faces?” Eddie cut in before Mike could finish his thought.
“Oh my god. Eddie, sweetie, you need to slow down when you talk about cream pies,” Bev said, lifting one of her hands and rubbing around her mouth to try to hide the smile threatening to break through her features. “You’re starting to sound like one of Richie Tozier’s stand up routines.”
“What? What’s wrong with the way I say cream pie?” Eddie asked.
“Oh, I see it now. Yeah, it was fine that time because you slowed down. Normally you talk so fast it all comes out as one word,” Mike observed.
Bill gave a nod and a hum of agreement, doing a much less effective job at hiding his amusement.
“Fuck you! There was nothing different between the first and second time I said creampies!” Eddie said indignantly, his voice starting to raise in volume.
“See? You just did it again. Creampies,” Mike said. His shoulders shook from the tension of trying to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface, and Beverly snorted into her hand.
“Guys, focus, come on,” Bill said, mentally saving this information to be openly discussed at a later date when they could properly poke at Eddie’s buttons. He went back to his laptop, opening up another page. A video, with audio playing on its lowest volume.
“The thing is, he can actually cook. He was on season four of ‘Kitchen of the Stars’. All the judges are actual renowned chefs from around the world! We’re talking Gordon Ramsey, Thomas Keller, big names. I mean, sure, the whole show is for charity. But the dishes are judged seriously. And, get this. Out of six contestants, Richie actually made it to the final two,” Bill explained.
“Yeah, then he lost. Big whoop,” Eddie replied sardonically.
Bill paused, the smile faltering off of his face for a moment.
“Well. He-... he didn’t lose. He uh. Walked out,” Bill said.
“Why?” Mike asked.
“Well, at the end of the last episode they got Richie back on screen for an ‘exit interview’. He said he came down with something the morning of the final challenge, and that it didn’t hit him until halfway through filming. He was pretty vague about it, but he probably wasn’t thinking straight if he was still sick,” said Bill.
Richie was on screen now. The episode was clearly from the middle of the season, because the man was thriving, clearly in his element during the segment that played. He was multi-tasking between plating some arugula for presentation and searing a salmon fillet in a large pan.
Eddie saw the same look on concentration on Richie’s face that he had seen from the most talented members of the kitchen staff he used to lead. But on top of that concentration was a wild smile. A passion that never had room to thrive in the high-stakes environment of a 5 star restaurant.
No one seemed to notice Eddie’s mental tangent.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I haven’t heard a lot about him, but I know he has a reputation for being… flighty,” Bev said, trying her hardest to put it into kind words.
Bill let out a sigh.
“I know. But I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason why he’s even considering our offer right now,” said Bill.
“No one else wants to work with him,” Eddie added, uncharacteristically soft toned.
“To put it lightly, Yeah,” Bill added.
“So. What now? We draft a proposal for a contract and send it to his agent?” Eddie asked.
Bill’s eyebrows shot up, a bit taken aback by Eddie’s sudden approval for Bill’s plan. He knew better than to question it though, didn’t want to risk Eddie changing his mind, so he moved onward.
“Not yet. We both agreed it would be a good idea for him to come visit the kitchen before we start negotiating anything. He’ll be flying into Logan Airport next Wednesday. We’ll give him a tour and introduce him to everyone. He won’t be working in the actual test kitchen, just for videos, so if he wants to join he’ll fly to Boston and stay for a few days any time we have an episode lined up for him,” said Bill.
“What about Ben?” Beverly asked, pausing for a moment after she realized how quickly that question had come out. “I mean. Will he be in the test kitchen? I’ll need to set up some space for him to work. If he’s coming. When is he coming?”
“... oh. Well, uh. Yeah, he’s already on board. He’s going on the standard contract, for both the test kitchen and video channel. He’s moving into the city, so it’ll be a few weeks before he can start, but he said he’ll fly over to visit and meet everyone some time next week,” Bill said. He tried to not sound vaguely disappointed at Bev’s immediate interest in their new co-worker, with a minuscule amount of success.
Mike sent a knowing side-glance at Bill, but said nothing.
- - - - - - - - - -
Of the two new-comers, Ben had been the first to visit. Bright and early on Monday morning, two days before the arrival of Richie Tozier.
If the man they had all seen in the magazine articles had looked like a model, the man in person was akin to a Greek God.
It wasn’t just about the way he looked. He was obviously attractive, cut and chiseled at every angle pleasing to common human standards of beauty. His physical appearance was simply a red carpet, leading you up to the main attraction. His personality.
Bill Hanscom was the nicest person any of the Prospect Test Kitchen staff had ever met.
Upon first meeting everyone, he gave them a firm and warm handshake. He had an easy going smile, with just enough nervous energy to let you know that he genuinely cared about making a good first impression with whomever he was meeting. He memorized people’s names, told them it was a pleasure meeting them.
If human beings were made of light, his would be blindingly radiant.
Beverly was the last person he met. Bill had been prepared to introduce the two of them to one another, as he had with everyone else, but the introduction proved unnecessary as soon as the two of them locked eyes.
“Beverly Marsh?” Ben asked once he was standing in front of Bev, finding it harder to keep eye contact with her than he had experienced with the rest of the staff.
Bev, who had been in the middle of rolling out some dough for a pasty, stopped her work immediately. She wiped her hands off on her apron, abandoning her post to cross over to him.
“Hi! You must be Ben? Ben Hanscom?” she asked. She was the first to offer her hand out for a handshake, a gesture Ben returned after a moment of nervous hesitation. “Welcome to Prospect street.”
The two of them kept their hands clasped, until Ben seemed to notice how unnaturally long their handshake had gone on, laughing quietly before politely withdrawing himself.
“You know Bev?” Mike piped up from the third-wheel peanut gallery off to the side, reminding the two that there were other people within the immediate vicinity.
“Not personally. I- … Well, I mean, I watched some of your videos. Bill sent me a few. I love the ‘Recipes Simplified’ series. I think it’s a great way of breaking down dishes most people are too intimidated to try making themselves. It’s very soothing,” Ben said.
Bev seemed genuinely touched by the compliment. Recipes Simplified was her own personal tutorial series on the channel, the idea that had gotten them started on making videos in the first place.
“Thank you… that’s a huge honor coming from you,” Bev replied.
Ben scratched the back of his neck, smiling bashfully.
“You don’t need to flatter me-”
“I’m not! Really. I read the articles you've had published in Eatingwell Magazine. The connections you make between healthy eating and mental health is nothing short of inspiring.”
Even in the moments that Ben and Bev became lost in their own world and conversation, Ben’s visit had been nothing short of pleasant for everyone involved. They all unanimously agreed that he was a perfect addition to the kitchen, and even offered to help him with unpacking once he managed to get all his belongings sent to Boston.
Ben was the calm before the storm.
Hurricane Tozier hit two days later.
He had agreed with Bill that he would show up in a cab to their kitchen sometime around noon that day, and arrived at 3:27 pm.
Mike and Bill were the first two staff members to meet him, going downstairs together so they could let him in through the front doors and lead him up into the kitchen.
Eddie had positioned himself in one corner of the room so he had direct eyeshot to the front door of the kitchen. He wanted to be aware as soon as Richie walked into the room, so he could start sizing him up and evaluating him.
It turned out that his strategic position wasn’t necessary. As soon as Richie made his way through the door he made his presence in the space painfully obvious, letting out a (very loud) impressed whistle as he sauntered his way into the room.
“Nice place you got here! You’ve got ovens and everything. Very functional,” he said, craning his head around while he observed the space.
“Thanks. We pride ourselves on having functional equipment,” Mike responded as he followed after Richie. “Bill and I actually installed most of this ourselves. Bev took care of the ‘design’ aspect of the interior.”
“No shit. Really?” Richie asked, now walking backwards, hands in his pockets, while he inspected the view from the windows along the edge of the room. “Damn, Bill. If you had told me I was going to be auditioning for a bonafide team of Do-It-Yourself carpenters, I would have brought my tool belt with me.”
‘ Carpentry is wood-working, asshole. Not electronic installation ,’ Eddie thought to himself, eyes narrowing as he glared from across the room.
Bill did not seem as put off by Richie’s comment. On the contrary, he happily followed behind him, pointing at various places in the room to draw Richie’s attention to.
“So down that hallway is the break room, my office, and Mike’s office. Bathrooms are on the first floor, shared space with the company that works below us. Hopefully once we get big enough we can rent out the whole building, but for now we’ve only got the second floor,” he said.
There were a few other people working in the kitchen around Eddie, so it was hard for him to hear much of the conversation. Besides the sound of Richie’s voice, which seemed to echo through the room no matter where he stood in it.
Eventually, Bill turned to the topic of introductions.
“Oh! Let me introduce you to the team. Bev is…” he started, trying to find her among the staff in the room.
“Out on a cigarette break. She’ll be back soon,” Mike said.
“A woman after my own heart,” said Richie.
“Yours and everyone else’s,” Mike replied, with an earnest smile.
“Absolutely,” Bill agreed. “In the meantime I guess we can introduce you to Eddie. Hey Eddie!” Bill called out, locating him right away.
Richie looked over in the direction Bill was looking, locking eyes with Eddie for the first time.
Bill had told (begged) Eddie to be on his best behavior for this meeting. So when he looked at Richie, despite the bubbling annoyance he already felt for the man, he put on the most comfortable smile he could manage and gave him a small wave with his hand.
It was a very uncomfortable smile. Near-constipated.
Richie responded by offering him up a classic ‘double finger guns’, Eddie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he dropped his hand and frowned.
“Eddie, come over here! Say hello!” Bill said.
Eddie had been in the middle of doing something, but it wasn’t labor intensive or time sensitive enough to refuse the invitation. He abandoned the tomato he was cutting on the cutting board, excused himself to quickly wash his hands in the sink, and made his way over to the small gathering as he dried his hands off with a small hand towel.
Eddie Kaspbrak could be cordial. He had always been a huge hit among local parents in his home town for his polite introductions. He drew on the years of professional conduct he had learned, and spoke up.
“Hello. You must be Richie? I’m Edward Kasprak. French cuisine and gourmet specialist,” he said.
“Hey, how’s it going? Richie Tozier. Humor and dick-joke specialist,” Richie replied, holding out a hand towards Eddie. “Put it there.”
Eddie switched the towel to one hand so he could reach out to grasp Richie’s hand.
As soon as their skin was about to make contact, Richie pulled his hand back, combing it through his hair with a faint ‘whooshing’ sound effect.
He cackled when that earned him a scowl from Eddie.
“Sorry for yanking your chain, couldn’t help myself. Seriously. Nice to meet you,” Richie said after, offering his hand again.
Eddie hesitated for a moment, before he tried for a second handshake.
Once more, the moment he was about to make contact, Richie snaked his hand out of the way. This time instead of the sound effect, he chuckled and said “Oooh, too slow. Better luck next time, sport.”
Richie offered his hand again, leaning down to be a bit closer to Eddie’s eye level with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Come on. Third time’s a charm.”
“Are you going to be this insufferable the entire time you’re here?” Eddie asked curtly, no longer interested in shaking Richie’s hand.
Bill cleared his throat from behind Richie.
“Eddie…”
“No, my man Eds over here has a point. I’m pretty insufferable,” Richie said, withdrawing his offered hand and sticking it back in his pocket,
“Just Eddie is fine,” Eddie said, beginning to wring out the towel between his hands.
“Whatever floats your boat, Eduardo.”
Eddie’s eyebrows pressed together tightly on his forehead. His grip tightened on the towel.
“Are you trying to piss me off right now?” he asked.
“Why? Is it working?” Richie shot back.
“Dude, I literally just met you. Why are you being such an asshole?”
“This might come as a shock to you, but I was actually trying to be nice up until you called me an insufferable prick?”
“I did not call you a prick! And you were being insufferable!”
“Guys?” Mike said, trying to enter the conversation.
“Well excuse the hell out of me for trying to make a light-hearted introduction,” Richie continued, Mike’s plea falling on deaf ears.
“That’s not light-hearted! It’s not even funny! What’s the punchline? ‘ Oh haha, look at this dumbass, trying to introduce himself properly ’. Where’s the fucking joke?”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth? Non-rhetorical question, I have a date with her in a few hours and I’d like to know how many bottles of Listerine I need to bring with me.”
“My mother’s dead dickwad so good luck trying to meet up with her at fucking Olive Garden or whatever the fuck you think constitutes as a romantic destination. And what are you, 12? Mom jokes? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”
“I can ‘come up’ with something a bit more suited to your tastes in about 5 minutes if you give me a playboy magazine and a Viagra.”
“See, you’re trying to make some cheap ‘gay’ joke at me right now, but all you’re doing is making it sound like you can’t get it up on your own! So who's the idiot now, idiot?!”
“I could get it up sans Viagra if you’ve got any centerfolds of Mrs. Kaspbrak lying around.”
“Oh! My fucking god! Dude! STOP !”
The door to the kitchen opened, Beverly stepping around the corner with a smile on her face, ready to introduce herself to their newest team member. She stopped before saying anything when she noticed Eddie shouting in Richie’s face while the comedian smirked back at him.
Her gaze shifted to Mike and Bill, pointing at the two and silently mouthing ‘ Are they okay ?’
Mike returned her question with an uncertain shrug, while Bill mouthed back ‘ I honestly don’t know’ .
“Why don’t you make me?”
“Bro, I am literally two seconds away from shoving this rag so far down your throat it comes out of your ass and gives you a permanent hemorrhoid.”
“Tempting, but no thanks. I’m old fashioned. No fisting until the third date, Bro .”
“Fuck you!”
“Eddie!” Mike interjected, finally stepping in and taking a firm hold of one of Eddie’s shoulders. “Come on, man. Let’s go for a walk,” he said. He started to steer Eddie away, struggling to keep Eddie moving while the man tried to keep as much as his body turned towards Richie as possible.
“This isn’t over, asswipe!” he shouted over his shoulder, seething as Richie gave him a friendly wave and a salute before the two of them had exited the kitchen.
“Adios, Muchacho! Great talk!” he shouted, strategically right before the door closed, so he could get in the last word. Everyone in the room could hear Eddie shouting from behind the closed door but no one could make out his final words.
As soon as Mike left with Eddie, Bill turned back to Richie. His shoulders sagged, letting out a long sigh, prepared to do damage control.
“I’m sorry about him. He’s not usually…” he started, stopping when both Bev and Richie gave him skeptical glances. “Well. Okay. He’s usually like that. But he doesn’t mean any of it! Not r-really. Mostly.”
“His bark is worse than his bite,” Beverly offered up, stepping in closer to Bill’s side.
“Exactly. But if that’s going to be a p-p-problem, we can work with it. I’m sure I can… give him a day off any time you come in for filming, or we can shoot off-site at another location, o-or-”
“No need,” Richie said, looking back in the direction of the door that Eddie exited through.
“Mr. Tozier, please! I p-promise, if you’d re-consider, we can get something to work. I’ll talk to him, I’ll ask him to-”
“Naw, man. I meant no need for the selling points. I’m in,” said Richie.
Bill paused, blinked a few times, needing a couple moments for his head to catch up with the current situation.
“You… you are? Really?” he asked.
“Hell yeah. Honestly? You should have led with that guy. He’s a fucking riot,” Richie said, grinning as he leaned back casually against one of the kitchen counters. “ ‘Shove this rag so far down your throat it gives you a permanent hemorrhoid ’? Are you kidding me? He didn’t even have to think about it, it just came out of his mouth! Fucking incredible.”
Bev was the first to smile, the tension dropping out of her shoulders as he laughed lightly at Richie’s response.
“I’m glad you can appreciate him like we do. There’s never a dull moment around here with Eddie in the kitchen,” she mused.
Truthfully, that was exactly what Richie had been concerned about when he received Prospect street’s job offer.
Obviously, there was a reason why they wanted to hire a comedian to work with them. The same reason why any non-comedy based entertainment company needs a comedian. Their material is dry, and they need to bring someone in to actually turn the content into something people want to watch.
If the Prospect Test Kitchen had been one of those companies, full of stuffy no-nonsense chefs trying to pull in some extra views with a comic-relief side character, Richie would have walked. No deal.
But there was Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. Richie had heard rumors about the chef, but no story could measure up to the real deal. He was as loud as the gossip had promised. A bit taller than Richie expected, but still had to crane his head up to properly glare at him. Richie was used to people having to look skywards to meet his gaze, but something about the way Eddie puffed out his chest to try to compensate for the height disadvantage was so… funny? Endearing?
Whatever it was, it caught Richie’s interest.
A small (very, very tiny) part of him almost felt bad for pushing Eddie’s buttons so aggressively on their first meeting. But he couldn’t help himself. He had started poking at those buttons lightly just to see what it did, and now all he wanted to do was drag both his hands down the operating board and smash into every button and switch his hands could hit. Now that he had gotten a taste for it, Richie wasn’t sure if anything else would ever truly satisfy him on the same level ever again.
He had to have more. And if the end result of that was death via strangulation at the hands of a tiny explosive maniac, Richie couldn’t think of a better way to go.
“Well, if you’re sure… why don’t we go into my office to start drafting a contract? Mike should be able to join in when he gets back with Eddie. If that’s ok with you,” Bill said, still hesitantly nervous that Richie might suddenly change his mind about wanting to work there.
“Sure thing, Big Boss,” Richie replied, pulling out his phone to send a quick text over to his agent to inform him of his decision. “You got anything to drink around here? I never sign off on anything without toasting to it.”
Bill looked at his watch for a brief moment, checking the time, before looking back to Richie.
“I have some cognac in my office? Or I could have someone here make you something if you’re more of a ‘mixed drinks’ kind of guy,” Bill offered.
“Cognac it is!” Richie declared. He moved to the side, shaking Beverly’s hand one last time before they departed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand with a loud and dramatic ‘mwah’.
“Bev, it’s been an honor. Can’t wait to start working with you,” he said earnestly, smiling when that got a small laugh and light eye roll from her.
“The pleasure’s all mine. Be a dear and try not to get Bill day-drunk, I need to go over a supply order with him when you’re done in there,” she said.
“Damn. You’ve foiled my plan to trick him into paying me more than I’m actually worth. Now I’m going to have to use real negotiation skills,” Richie joked dryly, but saluted at her all the same before Bill and Richie left.
- - - - -
“Hey. Quick question. What the fuck?!”
Eddie entered Bill’s office explosively, as Bill was in the middle of a call with a client.
Bill let out an exhausted sigh as Eddie burst through the door. He had known that Eddie wouldn’t take the news of Richie’s official addition to the team well, so had put a plan in place to inform him of the new development in a more calming environment.
But of course, gossip travels fast in any kitchen. It had been a few days since Richie's visit, plenty of time for word to spread out. Someone on their staff must have overheard Mike, Bill, or Beverly talking about the new contract. Clearly, Eddie then subsequently overheard someone else talking about the rumor.
No taking it back now, it was time for the talk Bill had been dreading getting to.
“I’ll… have to call you back,” Bill said to the person on the phone, waiting for a confirmation before hanging up. “Good to see you too, Eddie. Please, take a seat,” he said, motioning for one of the chairs.
Eddie did not take a seat. He paced around the room, too riled up to keep still.
“No. No! No, not happening. I didn’t sign off on this, he’s not joining. Call him back, tell him the offer’s off the table,” Eddie said.
“Eddie, come on. Everyone agrees this is a really go-”
“Fuck you! I don’t agree! I dis agree! You said that this is a team, and everyone gets a say about what happens and what doesn’t. Well I’m using up all my veto powers! Tell Richie to fuck off. He’s rude, he’s disrespectful, he- he made a joke about my dead mother , Bill. He’s going to get our videos demonetized for insensitive content! We’re going to get cancelled and have to take the entire channel down and he’s going to waltz right back into Hollywood because nothing he says or does is ever going to affect his career-”
Bill allowed Eddie to go on rambling for a while, holding his head in his hands, eyeing the cognac bottle sitting on a small desk to the side of the room and internally debated the merits of pouring himself an emergency 1:30 pm drink.
“- burn down the kitchen! Do you think he’s seriously paid attention to a safety manual at any point in his life? He’s a walking workplace hazard, we’re going to have to monitor him at all times when he’s here for filming. Even if he does clean his own dishes and whatever he uses I guarantee he doesn’t know the right way to do it, then I’m going to have to rewash all of his dishes, which is going to take hours out of my work day because I don’t want day old crusted food remnants all over my equipment, then I’m not going to get anything done, and-”
“Eddie, we already signed the contract,” Bill cut in. He had meant to slowly lead Eddie into the reveal, but had to change strategies once it became clear that nothing but the cold hard truth would snap Eddie out of his tirade.
“... You what?!” Eddie yelled, turning the full brunt of his fury onto Bill. “Bill, what the fuck?!”
“I’m sorry!” Bill said, exasperated. “I was going to tell you before we finalized it, but Richie’s agent got back to me sooner than I thought he was going to. It was a really fucking good contract, Eddie. We got him signed on for almost nothing, I couldn’t delay finalizing it just to check in with you. We need this,” he tried to explain.
“Do we need this more than we need me on the team? Because I’m about to walk out the door, Bill, I swear to god.”
“ Eddie ,” Bill pleaded.
“No! You know what? Have fun with your little comedy shit-show! I don’t care anymore. Myra wants to go back to New York anyhow, and I’d rather be scrubbing dishes than getting involved with some food-truck grade moron who’s bound to take over the entire fucking channel,” Eddie snapped back.
“Eddie, we need you too,” Bill tried to reason. “Seriously, part of the reason why Richie agreed to sign on at all is because you’re here.”
It was meant to be a compliment, but somehow the comment made Eddie fume even harder.
“Oh don’t give me that bullshit, Denbrough. Even if you are right, that means the only reason he wants me around is because he gets off on humiliating me, and I’m not going to just stand around and let him do that.” said Eddie.
“You don’t have to! Look, I’ll- … Okay. I get it. Richie’s not easy to get along with. But so are you-”
“I am a goddamn ray of sunshine!”
“- SO, I think you need to give him a chance. You got off to a bad start, that doesn’t mean the entire professional relationship is doomed to failure,” Bill reasoned. He stood up now, moving around his desk so he could speak to Eddie directly.
“Just… please. I’m begging you. Please just- work with me here, okay? Meet me halfway. The contract we signed is only for 6 months. Like a … trial-version. Just enough time to raise our subscriber count, get this channel on the map. Once we’re established, if you still hate him, we won’t need to renew his contract. Alright? And I promise, I’ll keep working in your interest along the way. I’ll tell him to lay off you. But I need you here,” Bill said, raising his arms and putting both his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “And I need you to try to work with him. This is about more than you, or me, or Richie, okay? Bev’s the one who wanted to start this channel, she deserves a win.”
Eddie frowned deeply, though his voice was quieter when he opened his mouth to speak again.
“That’s not fair. You can’t play the ‘Bev deserves this’ card on me. Of fucking course she deserves this. I can’t say no to that.”
“Which is exactly why I played it,” Bill mused, starting to smile again.
“... 6 months.”
“Right.”
“And if I still don’t like him, he’s gone. For good.”
“Exactly.”
“... fine. But I will not be happy about it,” Eddie finally conceded.
Bill patted his shoulders firmly, now grinning.
“That’s the spirit! And if you do change your mind, and want him to stay, you owe me,” said Bill.
“Sure. I’ll build you a life-sized gingerbread house,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes.
“I’m serious. This is a bet now. We’re betting on this. If you change your mind, I get to send you out on a special location, off-site video shoot. Anywhere in the world I want. Any topic I want you to cover. We’re talking ‘pig-slop’ levels of video content.”
“Yeah, well I’m not going to change my mind, so good fucking luck with that. And when I don’t change my mind and Tozier’s gone, I want my own dedicated corner of the kitchen. Full of my own supplies, that no one else gets to touch,” Eddie grumbled.
“Deal!” said Bill, firmly shaking Eddie’s hand to seal their deal. “But you actually have to try shooting videos with him, you can’t just avoid him.”
“You get five videos of us together, in six months, and that’s it. No more,” Eddie replied.
“... Eight?”
“I’ll agree to six.”
“Seven?”
“SIX.”
“Fine. One video per month,” Bill said, giving Eddie’s hand a firm and final shake. “... and you start next week.”
“Wait, what???”
- - - - - -
BACK TO BACK COOKING CHALLENGE: Salade Niçoise
Uploaded by: Prospect Test Kitchen
Description: The Test Kitchen gets a new addition! Can new-comer celebrity/chef Richie Tozier keep up with professional french cuisine expert Eddie Kaspbrak?
[Beverly stands in front of the camera, waving at it with a smile. Next to her are two men, standing in front of two kitchen counters with ingredients laid out in front of them]
BEV
Hello, and welcome back to Prospect Test Kitchen. Today is a very exciting day for everyone here, because we’re going to be trying out a bunch of new additions to the channel. For one, we have a few new members to the team! Please welcome one of the new recruits, our special guest host, Richie Tozier.
[Bev motions aside at Richie Tozier. He waves at the camera, and speaks in a vaguely western/southern american accent]
RICHIE
Well, hooooowdy~
BEV
And please welcome our resident french cuisine specialist, Eddie Kaspbrak!
EDDIE
Hello, my name is Edward Kaspbrak. Most people call me Eddie, so you shall see me referred to as such throughout the video. I studied at the Culinary Institute of America, before I took on an apprenticeship with Jaques T-
[Eddie stops, because Richie has pulled out his phone, and has started to play the sound of crickets chirping at full volume. Eddie does not appear to be amused by this.]
BEV
[Quietly] Richie, stop.
BEV
[at full volume] Eddie has worked with us for a while, but this is his first full appearance on camera! You’ll also notice that this is our first non-tutorial video.
RICHIE
[Affecting an 'annoncer'-like tone] That’s right, folks. We’re switching up the formula! Spreading our wings, spicing things up. So if you like what you see today, like, comment, and hit that bell like it owes you money. If you don’t like it, comment and hate-subscribe for more content you can waste your time complaining about.
EDDIE
This isn’t going to be a regular ‘thing’. We’re still doing cooking tutorials.
RICHIE
[still in his announcer voice] But not today!
BEV
Today we’re going to see if Eddie can teach Richie how to make a classic french dish, Salade Niçoise, without any visual assistance. Two professional chefs-
EDDIE
One professional chef.
BEV
Two chefs, back to back, working together . Gentlemen, turn towards your work stations.
[Eddie and Richie both turn their backs on one another, focused on their own tabletops.]
BEV
You have 30 minutes to complete this dish. Ready? Set…. begin!
[Bev steps out of frame, leaving Richie and Eddie alone. Both have one camera focused on their work.]
EDDIE
Right. We are going to start with the Vinaigrette. All of the ingredients you need to combine for this are on the right-hand side of your table-
RICHIE
Which right? My right, or your right?
EDDIE
Which r-.... Your right and my right are the same f***king right when we’re facing our tables.
RICHIE
No, your right would be the left hand side of my table.
EDDIE
YOUR RIGHT, a****le. It’s the side without the tuna steaks on it.
RICHIE
Wait, can we curse on this show?
BEV
[Offscreen] You’re not supposed to. We bleep Eddie’s language out.
RICHIE
In that case. I *** ****** *** ******** **** *********** **** ********* ****
[The camera zooms in on Eddie’s reaction. He is looking off to the side, as if regretting every life decision that has brought him to this point in his life as Richie continues swearing in the background]
[Hard cut to a few minutes later, after everything has settled down on set and Eddie and Richie are re-focused on their task]
EDDIE
We start with the Vinaigrette. We’re going to make a bit more than we are actually going to use, so we have enough to marinate our onions and dress the full salad. If we have anything left over, vinaigrette is best used fresh, but it can be kept in a refrigerated environment for up to one week.
RICHIE
So I’m putting olive oil into a bowl.
EDDIE
Would you wait until I tell you what to start with? Are you even measuring out the oil right now?
RICHIE
Sure. I’ve got… one finger of olive oil.
EDDIE
CUPS . You need. To measure. Olive oil. In cups. You need 3/4 a cup of olive oil. So pour that oil out of- wait, did you say a bowl?
RICHIE
Yeah, I’ve got 3/4 a cup of Grade A EVOO. In a bowl.
EDDIE
First of all, you don’t , because you didn’t actually measure out your olive oil. SECOND, the bowls are for dressing the potatoes and marinating the onion! The olive oil goes into the jar so you can mix the vinaigrette by shaking it. How were you going to mix the vinaigrette in a bowl, d*****t? We don’t have any whisks on the table.
[Richie looks into the camera, raising a hand]
RICHIE
Question, does him calling me d*****t count as workplace harassment? Should I be filing an official complaint right now?
BEV
[Offscreen] We’ll take your complaints into consideration when you stop antagonizing him.
RICHIE
[Shrugging] Fair ‘nuff.
[Richie pours his olive oil into the jar]
RICHIE
What’s next, Martha Stewart?
EDDIE
Shut up. Next, you need one third a cup of lemon juice.
[Eddie measure out his lemon juice into the proper cup, and adds it into the jar. Richie picks up his small bowl of lemon juice, eyes it, and adds an amount into the jar that feels ‘right’.]
EDDIE
You need three tablespoons of chopped shallot, two tablespoons of chopped basil, two tablespoons of chopped oregano, and one tablespoon of thyme…
[Again, Eddie meticulously measures out all of the pre-chopped ingredients. Richie adds a fair amount of shallot, a medium amount of oregano and basil, and a small amount of thyme]
EDDIE
… I can hear you, you know.
RICHIE
Congratulations. I’ll go ahead and return that hearing aid I bought for you.
EDDIE
I can hear that you haven’t touched any of the measuring spoons. You know these ingredients aren’t pre-measured, right? You can’t just add the whole amount into the jar.
RICHIE
Oh, I’m sorry.
[Richie reaches over, and begins to obnoxiously rattle the measure spoons in his hand]
RICHIE
Is this better?
[Close zoom in on Eddie’s face again. Spoons are aggressively rattling in the background. He is back to looking off to the side. He has gone beyond reconsidering his life decisions. He is now contemplating murder.]
RICHIE
[Offscreen] IS THIS BETTER?
[Hard cut to a few minutes later, both Richie and Eddie are shaking their jars in order to mix the vinaigrette]
EDDIE
Once you’re done with that, place it off to the side. We’re going to cut our onions, to pre-soak in the vinaigrette. Take one onion, cut it in half. Put one half aside, take the other half, and slice it into thin slices.
[Richie puts his jar down, smirking at the camera. He picks up his knife and his onion, and mouths ‘watch this’ into the camera, with a wink.]
EDDIE
The thinner your slices here, the better. That will make it easier for the onion to soak up the vinaigrette, and will cut most of the bite of the raw onion out of the final salad. They don’t need to be soaking in a lake of vinaigrette, just about three tablespoons should do the trick…
[Richie takes something out of his pocket, that looks like the tip of a human finger. He bends his middle finger in half, places his hand down on the cutting board, and positions the fake finger over where the end of his middle finger would normally go]
EDDIE
With the proper kitchen knife, sliding your knife over the onion is going to be more effective than trying to chop down on top of it with brute force. That’s the trick to getting even, thin slices of anything you are trying to cut in the kitchen. These knives were sharpened right before filming-
[Richie thumps the knife down on top of the fake finger, causing it to spray a stream of red up into the air. Richie lets out a ‘startled yell’. Eddie stops what he is doing, jumping, turning around and moving besides Richie to see what the problem is.]
EDDIE
What did y- WHAT DID YOU DO?!
[Eddie grabs Richie’s wrist, pulling a towel out of his apron and pressing it on top of Richie’s ‘injured’ finger]
EDDIE
You f*****g idiot!!! Keep pressure on this, do NOT move!
[Eddie begins shouting at Bev and the camera operators]
EDDIE
I need the first aid kit!! And ice! We need to ice his- [makes a small gagging noise] f-finger!!! I told you to keep pressure on that, stop f******g trying to look at it!!!
[Richie had removed the towel from his finger, holding the finger up in front of Eddie]
RICHIE
Holy s**t… f**k, I…
EDDIE
You’re going to bleed out or get f*****g, tetanus or something, stop!!!
RICHIE
Hey, don’t sweat it… don’t worry…
[Richie smiles now, popping up the rest of his middle finger, clearly still in tact]
RICHIE
I always keep a spare on me.
[Eddie stares at Richie, mouth agape. The room is silent for a few moments.]
EDDIE
… what the f**k is wrong with you?
[Richie loses his cool, now doubled over, clutching his stomach while laughing.]
EDDIE
WHAT THE F**K IS WRONG WITH YOU, WHO RAISED YOU-
[Hard cut a few minutes later. Eddie and Richie are back to back again, Beverly positioned between them. Bev looks exhausted, but keeps her polite smile on for the cameras]
BEV
So, we had to take a short intermission to get things back on track. Nobody was injured in the making of this video, before or after our cameras cut out. And everyone has promised me they are going to be on their best behavior for the rest of the video. Isn’t that right, boys?
RICHIE
Yes, ma’am.
[Eddie is silent, glaring ahead of him.]
BEV
… Eddie?
EDDIE
… don’t see why I have to apologize. He started i-
BEV
Eddie .
EDDIE
FINE. Best behavior. But I’m not eating any of his salad when he’s done making it. It’s going to suck.
RICHIE
You have very little faith in my salad tossing skills.
EDDIE
I have absolutely no faith in your salad tossing skills.
RICHIE
Then why don’t you come over here and toss my salad for me, big boy? I’ll suck, and you toss-
- - - - - - - -
They wrapped filming that episode around 3 hours after they expected to be done for the day.
It was a train wreck. A shit-show. Eddie was frustrated, but a sick part of him was glad it had gone wrong.
Surely, Bill would see how Richie Tozier wasn’t going to work out on their channel. It was a lost cause. A bad investment. As soon as the numbers came in, the multiple comments about how disorganized the video was compared to their previous content, then Bill would see that Eddie was right the entire time.
24 hours after the video was uploaded to their channel, Bill posted the initial statistics up onto a white board just outside of his office.
24 hours. 900,000 views. 70k thumbs up. 435 thumbs down. 2,500 comments.
Eddie stood in front of the white board and glared at the small smiley face Mike had added next to the statistics.
“Fuck.”