All the characters appearing in Gargoyles and Gargoyles: The Goliath Chronicles are copyright Buena Vista Television/The Walt Disney Company. No infringement of these copyrights is intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. All original characters are the property of Christine Morgan, not Kimberly T.
By Kimberly T. (e-mail: kimbertow at yahoo dot com)
Author's note: set in Christine Morgan's timeline, in 2003.
Wednesday night, nine-thirty p.m. "Time to get moving," Broadway said to himself as he grabbed his case from the kitchen and set off for the stairs to the roof. "I'm off to work, honey," he said with a grin as he passed Elektra in the living room and gave her a quick smooch. "Sure you don't want to come with me tonight?"
"Not tonight, my love," Elektra said with a regretful smile. "I did promise Derrek that I would stay home with Dee and Tom whilst he and Samson went out." She added with an upraised finger to forestall his next words, "And ere you suggest they come along as well, I would remind you of what happened last time."
Broadway shuddered eloquently. "No need to remind me, honey! It took so long to clean up the mess, I nearly went to sleep there! 'Two kids and a blender' is one lethal combination."
A few seconds later, he was launching from the roof in the direction of Pack Media Studios, whistling, "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off to Work We Go." Yep, he loved his work. Cooking and talking to people; two items on his top ten list of favorite things to do, and he was getting paid for it! Fox was an absolute genius for thinking of this last year and setting it all up.
A few minutes later, he landed on the roof of the studio, and walked in through the access door they'd made just for him. Ah, the perks of being a television star, he thought amusedly to himself.
"Evening, Broadway!" Mike Johnson, one of his show's stagehands and cameramen, looked up from his equipment and waved in greeting as he came down the stairs. "What's cooking tonight?"
"Something from Mexico tonight, guys; Chicken Mole," Broadway said with a grin.
"Sounds great! First dibs on cleaning out the pot!" Mike's brother Ralph called out with an answering grin.
Mike glared at him accusingly. "It's my night to call dibs!"
Broadway chuckled and let the twin brothers get on with their bickering; it never stopped them from getting the show on tape without a single flaw. He checked the refrigerator first, as always, just to make sure he had enough ingredients on hand for making both dishes of tonight's show. He frowned as he checked the vegetable crisper. "Joseph, I thought the list I faxed over last night said I needed green, medium-hot and hot-hot peppers! All I see here are the green and the medium-hot. We need about six small chipotle peppers to make both dishes."
Joseph Armin, his cooking assistant, hurried over to his side, whipping out a notepad and scribbling on it. "Chipotle peppers, got it. Anything else we're short on?"
"Let me check the pantry… Mmnnope, looks like everything else is here."
"Good thing there's a Safeway just a few blocks away. I'll be back in a few minutes," Joseph said as he hurried out.
Next came checking his utensils and various kitchen aids. "Didn't we get a new blender like I asked for?"
"Sure did; I saw the empty box it came in backstage. It's the same model as before, even the same color; that's why it's hard to tell," Ralph said from his console, where he was doing a lighting check. "Y'know, I saw this advertisement for a top-of-the-line new--"
Broadway raised his hand to forestall him, saying, "If it's more than the average homemaker is going to have in his or her kitchen, I'm not going to use it, you know that. I only make dishes that anyone can make, without breaking their budget or needing a team of chefs standing by to help out." He wanted the show to appeal to everybody, unlike some of those snobbish, see-what-we-can-cook-that-you-can-only-drool-over shows.
"Yeah, don't want anyone to get a case of 'spatula envy'," Ralph joked, and Broadway obligingly groaned and threatened to brain him with a ladle.
After that, it was time to get to work. He sped through the kitchen, working the counters as fast as possible without making mistakes, in preparing the first dishes for the show; the ones nearly always made ahead of time to serve to selected members of the audience at show's end. (If they weren't needed to prepare ahead of time, Broadway still did them anyway, so after the show was over he could treat the crew to dinner; another one of his' trademarks', and one that ensured he had a loyal crew with minimal staff turnover.) He did have one advantage over the typical homemaker in that, as a gargoyle, he had slightly faster reflexes than the average Joe Human. It took less time to chop up the vegetables needed for tonight than it would take anyone not using a Cuisinart, even chopping the double batch and setting half of it aside in a Tupperware dish for use during the show.
Joseph came back with the hot-hot peppers in the nick of time, and they were chopped, toasted and added to the mix to pour over the sautéed chicken pieces. Then he grated the second portion of baking chocolate on, before setting the dish into the oven to bake. He had to admit, most kitchens didn't have three different ovens, either, including one designed just for the purpose of keeping food warm without drying it out, but for a TV chef they were an absolute necessity. He set the timer, then left it to bake while he started working on the side dish.
An hour later, he had everything ready to go. One meal cooked to perfection, and transferred to the warming oven to stay ready for later. No nick-of-time scrambling to redo a ruined batch before the audience started arriving; tonight was going to go perfectly, he just knew it. He smiled wide as he relaxed and joked with Joseph and the others while they cleaned the kitchen up again, to have everything spotless in time for the show. Then a phone rang backstage, not audible to most ears but clear enough to Broadway. He told Ralph, who went to get it for him as he finished tidying up. Seconds later, Ralph came running back out with eyes wide. "Red Alert! Mr. Martinelli says we're hosting a birthday party tonight!"
"Say what?!" Broadway vaulted the counter and dashed backstage to the phone to talk with Bruno Martinelli, the show's executive producer. "Broadway here! What's this about a birthday party?"
"Didn't you get the memo I faxed to the castle yesterday?" Martinelli growled. "My cousin's kid is having his sixth birthday tomorrow, and he wants to meet you tonight. So he's going to be one of your guest tasters, and you're going to have a surprise birthday cake and ice cream for him after the show's officially over. Tell Gordon to keep Camera #3 up and running, though, so little Jimmy has a birthday tape too."
Ohboy. Showtime in just over an hour, and now they had to somehow bake and frost a cake before the end of the show. "Yessir," Broadway gulped, then dropped the phone back into its cradle while he galloped back into the kitchen. "Red Alert is right!" as he flung open the refrigerator, praying they had enough ingredients on hand to at least start the cake baking. Yes, they still had some eggs left over from last week's show, and the pantry always had flour and sugar… "Joseph, start writing!" as he began tossing what he needed onto the counters, and turned an oven on to preheat it. "I need more baking chocolate for the show; what we got on hand is going into the cake instead. And a package of birthday candles, and colored frosting tubes for writing on the cake—get two of every color they got! And ice cream; get both vanilla and chocolate…" Once he got things going, he borrowed Mike's cell phone. Holding it up to his ear with his tail while he stirred the cake batter, he called the castle. "Hey, Hudson? I got a situation here, and I need an artist, fast!"
It was a close call, but they got the cake baked, the basic frosting and filling made and the kitchen cleaned up again just before the first audience members started filing in. The freshly baked cake sheets were hustled backstage, where Ralph had hurriedly rigged a pair of fans to gently blow across the cakes and cool them down faster. Tires squealed outside the studio, and in another minute Mike hustled Vanessa Green inside through the back door. Vanessa was a recently met friend to the clan who was also a struggling fantasy artist, and she shook her head in amusement as she came inside and saw Broadway hurriedly changing into a fresh apron. "I knew you guys would make my life interesting, but so help me God, I ain't never heard of an 'emergency cake frosting' before!"
"There's a first time for everything," Broadway agreed as he pointed to the bowl of frosting he'd whipped up (vanilla, but colored dark blue like a twilight sky) and the tubes of frosting in every color available laying next to it. "The kid's name is Jimmy, he'll be six years old tonight and he likes gargoyles; can you take it from there?"
" 'Course I can! Honeychile, trust me, this will be an edible masterpiece." And the photo she'd take of her work before it was cut would make for a downright unique addition to her portfolio, Vanessa thought to herself with a wry grin. "And you'd better save me a slice of it after the show!"
"I'll do better than that; you can join me and the crew for dinner afterwards. Ever had chicken mole?"
Five minutes later, the audience members were all in their seats and Gordon Whitman, the show's director, was starting the countdown. When he gave the signal, Ralph started the theme music while Bud Hollister, the third cameraman who doubled as their announcer, said into the microphone, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Cooking Big! The late-night cooking show for people who love to cook, or love to eat! With your host, our master chef… Broadway!"
Broadway turned on the tiny microphone hidden beneath his apron front and walked out onto the stage, waving to the crowd and loving every second of the applause and whistles they were bestowing on him; it was just so great to be appreciated for who and what he was, not hated because he'd happened to be hatched with wings and a tail. (He knew darn well that Fox's investigators always discreetly screened the applicants for seats in the audience, checking for Quarryman sympathies or likely troublemaker traits before granting passes to the show, but it was still great to be appreciated by the folks who made it inside.) "Hello, everybody!" He spotted a little kid in the front row and knew without a doubt that was Danny; he could count on the talons of one hand the number of times he'd had kids as guests on the show, since it was filmed at midnight on a school night and shown at midnight two nights later. He made eye contact and gave the boy, who was practically bouncing in his seat, an especially wide grin before continuing his opening banter. "We've got a real treat in store for you tonight, folks; a dish from south of the border, from the wonderful country of Mexico. Now, to most people, the words 'chicken' and 'chocolate' don't generally go together, except in the same section of the dictionary. But down in Mexico, they have a dish that uses both together, and with the right recipe it tastes just great! Tonight, I'm going to show you all how to make… Chicken Mole!"
For the next twenty-three minutes, he talked as he cooked, explaining to the audience each of the steps he was going through as he set about making a dish of Chicken Mole, using the same recipe Diane Maza had given him a few years ago. "Now, I recommend corn oil for sautéing the chicken, but ordinary vegetable oil can be used in a pinch." "When you chop up the garlic and the onion, keep the pieces about this small; it's really mincing them together. And keep your pepper pieces about the same size…" As he usually did with spicy dishes, he deliberately made two sauces for the same dish, one mild and one as spicy as he generally liked it; he'd gotten into the habit while cooking for everybody at the castle, because one thing that Goliath and Elisa just could not agree on, as much as they loved each other, was how hot was too hot. He'd found out almost by accident that it worked well for the show, too, because then he could accommodate both types of palates not just among his guest tasters, but among his crew for after the show (poor Gordon loved spicy foods, but his ulcer sure didn't.) "Now, we have to simmer this just until the chocolate melts, over low heat so it doesn't scorch…" When he finished, he set that dish into an oven to finish baking. Then as the light subtly dimmed and the theme music cued again, signifying the cameras had stopped rolling for the moment (second commercial break), he pulled the previously prepared dish out of its oven and let it cool for a moment, while he ushered his guest tasters on stage.
While he'd been cooking, Ralph had hurriedly doctored the top hat he normally used for drawing numbers out of, sticking the two seat numbers for Jimmy and his mother just underneath the brim where Broadway could discreetly palm them when drawing out the 'lucky numbers' for his tasters from the audience later on. During the first scheduled commercial break, when he'd called out the numbers, Jimmy had jumped clear out of his seat with excitement and waved his ticket high overhead. "That's me, that's me!"
"Settle down, Jimmy… Oh, look, he called out my number too!" Jimmy's mother had exclaimed, pretending to be surprised. Now the two of them came onto the stage and sat down at the already-set table together with the other two audience members, while Joseph poured milk for them and Broadway served up the chicken mole and the standard veggie side dish. At Broadway's discreet whisper, she whispered back, "Mild side for both of us, please."
"Mild side it is," Broadway said genially back, and served the four tasters before serving a big helping of 'spicy-side' for himself. The lights turned a little brighter, signifying the cameras were rolling again, just as he took his seat at the head of the table.
After his little 'welcome back' spiel for the cameras while everyone took their first bites, he asked his guests what they thought of the dish. "It's good!" Jimmy said through a mouthful of sauce-covered chicken, ignoring his mother's hissed whisper not to talk with his mouth full. The other tasters agreed, and Broadway grinned wide before lifting his fork to take a big bite himself.
Suddenly Jimmy spoke up again, saying wistfully, "Would you come live with me and Mommy?"
That one just about floored everybody. Forks dropped, knives slipped and skittered across plates, and Broadway had to tell himself to shut his mouth before he caught flies. It was only a second or two of pause, though, before he smiled and said directly to Jimmy, politely missing his mother's deep blush, "Well, I appreciate the offer, but my mate would be a little upset if I did. She gets jealous sometimes, you see."
"Your mate?" Jimmy said curiously.
"Yeah, she's my wife, only gargoyles don't usually use the term, because we don't sign marriage certificates. Her name's Elektra; want to see her picture?" Broadway was already digging into his belt pouch and pulling out his wallet. He flipped it open to show the picture inside, beaming proudly. "That's her, with Malcolm." The picture had been taken just the night after she'd birthed their egg, when it was time for the first turning.
Jimmy looked at the picture and decided, "She's pretty. Almost as pretty as Mommy." His mother, who had just about recovered from her son's first words, blushed again, but this time with a smile instead of horrified dismay. "But what's she holding?"
"I told you, that's Malcolm. Our egg."
"Your egg?" Jimmy blinked.
"Yup. He'll hatch into a gargoyle in another seven years; it's a long wait, but it'll be worth it!" as he proudly showed the picture to the rest of the table.
"But you already named him? And how can you tell it's a him?" Jimmy persisted.
"We can tell by the shell patterns. See, these markings indicate it's a boy; if they were different, it'd be a girl. And we named him after Elektra's daddy, like lots of people do. Did your parents name you before you were born?"
"We did," Jimmy's mother admitted as she affectionately ruffled her son's hair. She told him, "As soon as the ultrasound told us you were going to be a boy, we named you after my father, your grandfather."
Jimmy then wanted to know, "What's an ultrasound?"
Broadway noticed Gordon making frantic motions towards his wristwatch; they were out of time. "It's a machine hospitals have, for looking inside pregnant women to see their babies," he said quickly. "Your mom can tell you more about it later; right now, your dinner's getting cold!" as he pointed firmly to the plate.
Jimmy obediently began eating again, and bare seconds later Ralph cued in the show's theme as Mike pulled back for a fade-out shot. "And cut!" Gordon said, grinning from ear to ear.
They kept Camera #3 rolling, of course, so Jimmy would have a recording of his birthday party; Broadway grinned wide at the boy's expression of both surprise and utter delight as he came from backstage with the birthday cake. Vanessa had outdone everyone's expectations; the cake sported a recognizable version of the New York skyline on the bottom, while cutesy depictions of every gargoyle in the clan frolicked above it, and in between was the message "Happy Birthday, Jimmy!" Both Jimmy and his mother were thrilled, and they had to take extra still pics of Vanessa's work before lighting the candles so Jimmy could blow them out.
They served cake and ice cream for the family, and Jimmy's mother even brought out one of his presents to open at the party. It was a small electric train set, and Jimmy was thrilled again, wanting to set it up and start playing with it on the spot. Broadway thought amusedly that he should introduce Jimmy to Samson, Delilah's mate, who had a small room of the castle devoted entirely to his super-deluxe model railroad setup; if the kid liked gargoyles, he'd probably be thrilled to have a mutate as a fellow hobbyist and friend.
After Jimmy and his mother had gone home, Broadway pulled the second dish of Chicken Mole out of the oven while Joseph set the table again, for Vanessa and the entire production crew to sit down to dinner. As he sat down, Gordon said with another wraparound grin, "We'll have to cut a few seconds out here and there throughout the show to get all our sponsors' commercials in, but we have just got to leave in every second of the ending!"
"Yeah, what you did with that kid was fantastic!" Ralph agreed enthusiastically.
Broadway blinked at them in confusion. "What are you talking about? All I did was show him Elektra and Malcolm's picture."
"Right, and it was so exactly like any proud family man would show off his wife and kid! It just shows the audience more of how much you guys have in common with most of humanity, get it?"
"Oh, I see!" Broadway decided now was not the time to bring up the point that his clan was decidedly different than most clans were. Most gargoyles were raised in a rookery, like he had been, and contributed any eggs they produced to the rookery as well; they neither knew nor much cared exactly who their parents or progeny were, so long as the race continued. But Angela and Aiden had been determined to raise their kids knowing who their parents were, and the rest of the clan had agreed that it wouldn't be such a bad idea at that. And he had to admit now, after three years of knowing which egg was his and Elektra's and lavishing attention on it, that he wouldn't want it any other way.
He grinned again and said, "Anyone else for seconds?"