"Ruddy and Race" - Top Chef
Dec. 22nd, 2006
03:23 pm - "Ruddy and Race"
“Elia!” a voice called over the din of the airport, the cheery timbre accompanying an equally jovial façade, as a small statured woman encapsulated Elia in a hug. Grinning widely, Elia dropped her bags on the ground and returned her sisters hug.
“Lori, I missed you,” Elia whispered against her crown, wriggling free from her sister’s grasp.
“So, tell me everything...”
“Sammy!” a voice called over the din of the airport, the rich, throaty timbre accompanying an equally rough façade, as a large muscled man wrapped Sam in a hug. Grinning widely, Sam dropped his bags on the ground and returned his brothers hug.
“David, I missed you, man,” Sam whispered against his shoulder, struggling out of his brother’s grasp.
“So, tell me everything...”
“It was an experience, really. I loved it all the time,” Elia said, absentmindedly twirling her wine glass between her palms, her limber frame contorted in a way that was, some how, comfortable. “There were some nice people and some good moments.”
“Juice,” Loraine grinned, waggling her eyebrows.
“Si, juice.” Drinking thoughtfully, Elia allowed an alcoholic flush creep across her breast and cheek, her glasses doing little more than abhorring her vision. With lithe fingers, Elia plucked the sherbet frames from the alpined bridge of her nose and set them on the table next to a chrome corkscrew, long since forgotten.
“It was nice to see Marcel on television,” Loraine slurred, randomly reaching out and tapping Elia’s nose. “He was always nice to us.”
“To you, yes. To me, not really.”
“Elia,” Loraine whined, “don’t be like that. You know as well as I do that he is in love with you,” she finished, stumbling over the last few words and giggling drunkenly. “I am drunk.”
“No, Lori, don’t you. Me and Marcel...”
“Are adorable together.”
“Are nothing to be adorable to... I don’t even know how you are to phrase that in English! Basta, stop,” Elia subjected, climbing out of her chair. “Marcel and I are no more.”
“No, you are not. You are now with Sam, no?” Stopping dead in her tracks, Elia turned slowly, her eyebrows narrowing.
“You know nothing.”
“I know more than you think. He has called here before, asking for you. Is a stupid name, ‘Sam’. I don’t like it.”
“Home for twelve hours and three of those spent sleeping. When did Sam call, ey?”
“While you were sleeping.” Pursing her lips, Elia stuck her finger out and pointed it at Loraine. “Truth.”
“Lies, all of it. You make this up and for no reason.”
“Why make it up? You are so interesting without lies,” Loraine simpered, downing the last half inch of liquid in her glass. As if on cue, the phone began to ring shrilly, sending Elia’s mind into spasms.
“Ay dios mio,” she swore, grabbing the nearest handset. “What?” she spat, answering the phone.
“Whoa, bad time?” Sam’s voice punctured, unsure. Feeling her body drain of color, Elia shot a nervous glance at Loraine, who was mere seconds away from couch cradled slumber.
“Sam,” Elia squeaked, sliding down the wall onto the floor, frowning as Loraine began to giggle childishly from the living room. “What do you want?”
“I, uh, just wanted to make sure you got home alright. Is now a bad time? You sound a little tense.”
“No, fine. I got home fine. My sister is just stupid,” Elia responded, her voice rising in pitch and volume on the word ‘stupid.’ “I am fine. And you?”
“I’m good. A little tired, but I’m real good. My brother picked me up at the airport and brought me home. I crashed as soon as I got in the door. When was the last time we slept, you know?” Elia allowed herself a small smile.
“No time soon.” A long moment of awkward silence was had before Sam spoke again.
“Well, I’ll talk to you sometime soon, alright Elia?” Sam said, clearing his throat.
“Goodbye, Sam,” Elia said, hanging up the phone before either one had another chance to say anything. “Don’t say anything,” she spat quickly as Loraine skated past her.
“I win,” Loraine hummed as she scaled the stairs to her bedroom. “Sleep well, Pepito. I’ll take you home when we wake up.”
“Ciao,” Elia grumbled, before flopping onto her side on the carpet and drifting off to sleep.
Groaning, Sam flopped over onto his stomach and buried his face in a pillow. “For the love of Christ, go away sun,” he griped, stretching his body along the full length of his bed, his toes curling and grabbing lobes of cotton as he tensed all of the muscles in his body in protest. “Not getting up.”
“You’re already up,” a leggy brunette responded, sitting down next to him on the bed. “Morning, Sunshine,” she simpered, before pressing a kiss to his lips. Smiling, Sam returned her kiss.
“Good morning.” With a swift sweep, Sam had the gorgeous woman hugged between his legs, his fingers tickling every inch possible as his heart began to pound.
“So,” she gasped between kisses, “tell me something, Sam.”
“Anything, Mallory.” Scissoring her legs around his hips, Mallory flipped Sam over and straddled him, pinning his arms to the bed.
“Who’s Elia?” Sam felt his body flush.
“You know who Elia is. She was on Top Chef with me.” Mallory laughed bitterly, crossing her arms.
“Samuel, baby, you don’t scream out the names of friends during sex,” Mallory purred, leaning forward and pressing her chest to Sam’s. “Don’t worry, honey, I don’t blame you. I’d want to fuck her too. She’s hot,” she whispered against Sam’s jaw. “Good luck with that.” As silently as she had come (well, at least into the room), she was gone, leaving Sam horny, embarrassed and wistful. Slamming his fist against the bed, Sam rolled onto his side and grabbed his phone, texting Mallory with apologies and half-assed pleading before curling back up and drifting back to sleep, images of Elia and Mallory intertwining almost seamlessly.
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