by Jill Winters
"Right. Okay, well, I'll see you later."
Brett nodded and stepped off the elevator. Once the doors sealed shut, Rick contemplated what to do in the meantime. If he was going to be vigilant he should get a much better look around the place, especially the kind of security running throughout the building. He was hoping (and at this point, more or less assuming) that Brett was overreacting about the threats. But Rick couldn't leave it to chance. Faults aside, the pretty boy was still his brother.
* * *
Gretchen sat beside Susanna in a conference room on the fourth floor, flooded with sunlight. Snow floated airily past the windows. Gretchen felt a little out of place at this meeting, which hadn't begun yet, but so far consisted of producers and TV personalities (or "the talent" as they were called). Susanna had said that it was more of a brainstorming session than an actual meeting; it concerned the "Spring into Spring" week, a theme week planned for the middle of March. Apparently, TCN would be airing all new episodes, focusing centrally on springtime recipes and entertaining ideas. However, Gretchen couldn't help wondering why there were no other set supervisors or crew members there after Susanna had insisted that it was crucial for Gretchen to attend.
Seated at the table was Cady Angle, the pastry chef who hosted Sinful Temptations. Despite the provocative title of her show, Cady had a kindergarten-teacher look about her. Short and chubby, she peered out from under a thick, impenetrable wall of bangs. She was barely thirty, yet her clothes were hopelessly matronly—apparently both on and off camera.
Next to Cady was her producer, Marjorie Bass, who was strikingly opposite in appearance: tall and frailly thin, but powered up in a crisp black business suit. With her long, dangling limbs and ice-pick—sharp elbows and knees, she looked like a well-dressed grasshopper. Her wavy, auburn hair was pulled up at the sides, only emphasizing the gauntness of her face.
Susanna had introduced Gretchen to several other people at the table, including Juan Mirando, host of Best Dishes and resident tool. When he shook Gretchen's hand, he said, "I'm the zany guy you always see wearing the apron," then pointed down at his apron, which read: I'M A BUTT MAN (PORK BUTT, THAT IS).
Enough said.
Brett's producer, Joel Green, sat on the far side of the table, looking through some paperwork, being just as antisocial as he'd been yesterday when Gretchen had met him in the hallway.
Now another man walked through the glass door, capturing Gretchen's attention. Probably around forty, he was lean and fit with dark hair and warm brown eyes. He smiled hello as he entered and there was just something magnetic yet subdued about him. "Abe!" Susanna said, hopping up out of her chair and gliding over to him with her billowing garb puffing out around her. Today she wore a loosely flowing red pantsuit, with both the knee-length jacket and the pants a fluttering rayon material. (When they'd entered the conference room, Juan Mirando had bellowed, "Hey, you match!" because they were both wearing red. Gretchen had smiled, but her pretty red dress had taken umbrage.)
"Hi there," Abe said, smiling. So this was Abe Santasierra, Susanna's producer. "Nell said you stopped down yesterday when I was on a conference call. Sorry I missed you."
"No problem. Was it an important call?" Susanna said suggestively, and Gretchen realized Susanna was unsubtly giving Abe the opportunity to divulge if the conference call pertained to her show.
But Abe just smiled amiably and said, "The usual course of business."
"Ah," Susanna said, her smile faltering a bit. "Oh, Abe, have you met my new set supervisor, Gretchen?"
Gretchen stood to shake his hand. "Hi there, it's a pleasure," he said. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you first interviewed for the job, but Lila would know better than me anyway," he added with gracious humility—and what sounded like a very mild Southern accent. It was subtle, which was why Gretchen hadn't noticed it immediately. Just the smoothest hint of a drawl that polished the edges of Abe's words.
"Speaking of away, Abe, how was your vacation?" Marjorie asked.
"Oh, it was terrific, thanks. Great to visit people back home."
"Where are you from?" Gretchen asked.
"North Carolina."
"Here, Abe, sit next to me," Susanna said, motioning to the vacant chair on her other side. "I saved you a seat."
Yes, and Gretchen recalled how she'd saved it. When Cady Angle had tried to sit there several minutes ago, Susanna had spoken abruptly. "Oh, Cady, would you mind? This seat's for someone else."
Cady's cheeks had turned bright pink and Gretchen had all but dropped her jaw at Susanna's tactlessness. Moving quickly, she pulled out the chair to her left and motioned for Cady to take it. Which she did, after a mumbled "Sorry" to Susanna that could've been genuine or sarcastic, it was hard to tell. Unlike Susanna, Cady obviously wasn't the confrontational type; in any event, Gretchen was sandwiched between the two of them.
Next Brett Pellucci arrived. When he walked in, the table seemed to come to attention. Unlike Abe, who'd sort of poured into the room like honey, Brett lit it up, brought it to life. His blue eyes and white teeth shone in the bright sunlight, which bled through the windows. And he was smiling that devilishly cute smile he always donned for the camera. Was the guy ever down? Gretchen wondered. He said an affable hello to the table, winked at Gretchen, then at Marjorie, and dropped into a chair beside his producer, Joel.
"Brett, who was that guy I saw you walking around with today?" Marjorie Bass asked.
"Uh..." He seemed to falter for a second, then said, "That's my brother. Brody. He's got some time off work, so he wanted to come take a tour," Brett explained. "You know, see a real live television studio." (Gretchen wasn't going to point out that television studios weren't alive.)
"Oh, is he visiting from out of town?" Cady asked.
"No, he lives in New York, but... well, what can I say? The guy looks up to me," Brett said with a humble shrug.
Marjorie let out a playful little whistle and said, "He's a pretty big guy, huh?" By her knowing grin, it was clear that she approved of Brett's brother, who was presumably very built. But then, so was Brett. But maybe his brother was also tall?
Cinching his brows, Brett asked, "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know... he just..." Marjorie looked around the table and joked, "Well, I may be married, but I can still look, right?"
Everyone chuckled and Cady added sheepishly, "I looked, too, so don't feel bad." People laughed again, but more out of obligation for a follow-up one-liner.
"There are some good genes in that family," Marjorie joked and let out another tinny little whistle. "If I weren't married, I'd make you set me up with your brother, Brett." Idly, Gretchen wondered if Marjorie's husband would appreciate this conversation.
According to Susanna, Marjorie was married to a CPA named Ronald, so the odds of him being jacked were... well, you didn't need to be a CPA to calculate those odds. In fairness, then, if Marjorie drooled over muscular guys, it was only natural for her to take notice of one in the vicinity.
When Gretchen glanced at Brett, he appeared less than thrilled. His smile had waned. Marjorie continued. "Don't go by me, though; I like a big man."
Well, sure, Gretchen wasn't exactly opposed to one either—or rather, that was the old Gretchen. The new Gretchen was done with eye candy; the new Gretchen was focusing solely on her career—at least until her biological clock started blasting music at her, which wouldn't be for at least a few more years.
"Is he married?" Cady asked casually but quietly.
"Uh, no... he's not married," Brett answered. Then with a short laugh, he added, "Definitely not married. In fact, don't even get me to go there. A lot of issues in that department."
"Oh..." Marjorie said, straightening up a bit, as though to distance herself from an uncomfortable conversation or to look like she was prying for more details. But Brett went on anyway. "Yeah, I try to be there for him, and like I said, he wanted to come to the studio because he's not working right now and his morale's pretty much in t
he dumper." He finished with another short but altogether humorless laugh, and Gretchen thought: Not working? She thought Brett had said his brother was off from work, not out of work—big difference. "And let's just say, my bro really needs this. I mean, I try to get him out of the house when I can. He's got a lot of issues and... well he kind of worships me, so..." Brett shrugged almost helplessly. "He's not all there, if you know what I mean."
Suddenly a pall fell over the table; well, that little tidbit of too much information killed the mood. Here Marjorie and Cady had been making lighthearted conversation about Brett's brother, only to find out he was mentally challenged or something. Talk about awkward.
"Now about Spring Week," Joel said gruffly, setting his papers aside, leaning forward in his chair, and shifting around like he had inchworms in his boxers. He was probably just one of those people with an edgy demeanor, always impatient. "I know the scheduling is pretty much nailed down, but how about on the last night of that week we run some kind of finale—you know, a show with all of the talent there, cooking on the set, warm banter, and all that crap. We'll use Brett's set, of course."
"Why 'of course'?" Susanna asked.
"That's a good idea," Abe said with a nod. "And we can run promos for Dining Elegance during the breaks." Dining Elegance was a new show scheduled for the summer season. It would star Susanna and begin taping this spring. It was going to be Susanna's first foray into Brett's usual terrain: prime-time TV Of course, Susanna would still keep her daytime program, Susanna's Kitchen, which was a hit with the stay-at-home mom and over-fifty demographics. (It was amazing how much information Gretchen had been saturated with and it was only the start of her second day.)
"Wait, what about Ray?" Juan Mirando said then. "Shouldn't he be taking part in this? Did anyone let him know about the meeting?"
"Oh... well..." Abe faltered. "Joel, perhaps you could address that..."
"Ahh..." Joel stalled, looking uncomfortable in his own craggy, gray-stubbled, tweed-covered skin, then brought a fist up over his mouth and cleared some hoarse gurgles from his throat. All Gretchen knew was that Joel Green had been co producer of Ray Jarian's southwestern cooking show, Tex-Mex Teddy, up until about a month ago, when the show got pulled from its usual lineup. Since then it hadn't aired; reruns of Cady's show had aired in its place.
"Right, well, actually, it probably won't come as a big surprise, but Ray Jarian isn't going to be with the network in the new season," Joel said finally, his gravelly voice accomplishing the conciseness, if not the smoothness, of a diplomat. "He's moving on to other opportunities." He didn't elaborate further. Gretchen thought, So it's official then—Ray Jarian's been canned. It fit with the rumors she'd heard thus far (from Susanna, of course): (1) Ray Jarian's restaurant, also called Tex-Mex Teddy, had filed for bankruptcy, and (2) Ray was having trouble getting a contract for his latest cookbook. (His last had been published in 2003.)
"Poor Ray..." Susanna murmured, but loudly enough for everyone to hear. Still, the discussion of Ray Jarian and his spiraling decline seemed to end there.
After forty minutes of brainstorming about Spring Week and how best to maximize the theme while still aggrandizing each celebrity to the extreme, the meeting wrapped up. As people pushed their chairs away from the table, Gretchen heard Joel say to Brett, "Wanna grab a cup of coffee? We've still gotta talk about Hawaii."
"Oh, I can't, thanks, um... I'm meeting my brother for a fruit smoothie... alone." People all kind of stopped and looked, so Brett expanded. "Um, he's really not comfortable with other people around, you know. He likes me to just be with him. Basically, he really, really needs me. And I don't want to leave him alone too long anyway—he gets pretty skittish when I do."
Okay.
Everyone filed out and veered off in separate directions. On the way to the elevators, Cady spoke softly to Gretchen. "So Brett's brother sounds pretty... interesting. Huh?"
By the look on her face, it was clear that "interesting" wasn't synonymous with "delightfully unique." More like: bizarre, perplexing, bring-Jane-Goodall-in-on-this-one. Inwardly, Gretchen had to agree. With a nod, she said simply, "Yeah... definitely interesting." Neither wanted to voice what both were clearly thinking: The guy sounded pretty pathetic.
Chapter 7
Susanna's show taped shortly after the meeting. It was Gretchen's first taping, and it had been fascinating to see it all live; she'd been so close she could see the granules of makeup on Susanna cheeks and the daisy pattern on the dish towel that lay folded in the background. The most surreal part was when Gretchen had opened up the refrigerator beforehand to check on some of the ingredients. She'd actually opened up Susanna Tate's refrigerator! The one she'd seen Susanna open a hundred times before on television. (Up close, it smelled strongly of strawberries and citrus.)
Susanna had introduced Gretchen to her niece, Shawnee, who was working as an intern for the show—or rather, leaning idly on the craft table, looking surly. She was nineteen or twenty, with short dark hair parted on the side and cropped in a vintage uneven-mushroom cut. A narrow shock of blond framed her almost bullish face. Her most striking features included a bulbous nose and an eyebrow ring—and a limp, clammy handshake, to boot.
The taping had gotten off to a rocky start. Susanna had stopped a couple of times, once because the light was in her eyes, once because the pre-chopped scallions weren't chopped finely enough, once because she tripped over her lines and had to go to her dressing room to "clear her head." Abe was extremely patient with her, diplomatically letting her indulge her temperamental ego. But, wanting to make a good impression, Gretchen tried to do more than just that. She fixed a cold glass of pineapple juice, threw in two maraschino cherries, and brought it to Susanna's dressing room. It seemed to work; Susanna had perked up and returned to the set with minimal drama.
For a few minutes anyway...
Gretchen learned quickly that when she was in gear, Susanna was an exquisite professional, but when the slightest thing set her off, she changed abruptly and seemed to become deliberately uncooperative—waiting to be coaxed back to work. But after working at a health spa in California for the past three years, Gretchen was no stranger to diva behavior.
Now Gretchen was standing beside Kit, the director, who was raising her butt off her chair, motioning to the sound guy, who, in turn, inched the ceiling mike higher. There were three large, roving cameras; they towered over Gretchen liked ten-foot turkeys, their black metallic necks stretching out and back, swiveling as Susanna moved around her kitchen. Two cameramen with handheld cameras moved with precision and ease around the floor, but still, Gretchen was amazed that Susanna could be so unfazed by them.
Now Susanna was wrapping up the episode. Today's theme was "Seasonal Treats that are Good All Year," and rounding things out was Susanna's eggnog cake. As she sliced into it, she said, "Now let me just have a taste of this scrumptious cake. We have one right here that's cooled." Gently, she slid a wedge onto a daisy-patterned plate. "Eggnog cake is one of my absolute favorite recipes," she continued. "In fact, my husband asks me to make this every year for his birthday. Oh, and it just looks perfect. Look at this." Two of the cameras moved in closer as she took a bite. "It's light and airy... yet... rickly sal—sa—and... Cut!"
She dropped her pleasant smile swiftly and sent her fork clattering against her plate. As she expelled a loud sigh, Gretchen had the feeling it was going to be someone else's fault that Susanna had flubbed her lines. "What does that even say?" she snapped. "I can't even read that card!"
Sounding bored, Shawnee called back, "It says, 'richly satisfying.' Last time I checked, that was English."
With a short, humorless laugh, Susanna challenged, "That's supposed to be 'satisfying'? It looks like..." She shook her head, flummoxed, trying to pinpoint exactly what it looked like. "It looks like 'salsa flying' or 'salty string'—and 'richly'? That's supposed to say 'richly'? It looks like rickly! Am I the only one here who can see that the H looks like a K? Come on, I'm not c
razy here, people!"
"Okay, okay," Kit said, raising her butt out of her director's chair again. She was a compact woman with frizzy auburn hair that seemed to levitate off her back; she wore a khaki vest with lots of pockets and zippers, reminding Gretchen of a Girl Scout leader or a bird watcher. "It's no big deal. We'll just roll tape again. It's almost a wrap anyway."
"It's not just the cue cards; it's this cake, too," Susanna said, shooting daggers down at the inanimate slice she'd just tasted.
"What do you mean?" Kit asked, then turned and threw a hapless shrug at Abe, who simply gave a nod, wordlessly telling her to be patient. He was skilled at keeping the peace, which, on Susanna's set, was obviously critical.
"Gretchen, come here, please," Susanna said.
Suddenly all eyes shifted toward Gretchen; she was no longer a spectator. People were waiting for some kind of an explanation. As set supervisor, and the one in charge of the show's "culinary integrity," a bad cake definitely fell under her scope of responsibility. She could've sworn "the choppers," who premade food so it would be ready for Susanna to taste on camera, had followed Susanna's recipe.
Stepping forward, Gretchen moved closer to the kitchen set; Susanna waited for her to join her behind the counter. "Um, what's wrong with the cake?" Gretchen asked calmly.
"It's awful!" Susanna whispered sharply. Then she seemed to catch herself and said, "Oh, Gretchen, I didn't mean to snap at you."
That shocked Gretchen more than anything. "I need five, please," Susanna called to Kit, and pressed her hand to her forehead dramatically.
"Susanna, what is it? Is there anything I can do?" Gretchen said quietly, realizing that something was bothering her.
"It's just that cake. I hate it."
"Really, I'm sure they followed your recipe."
"But that's the whole problem," Susanna explained quietly. "I haven't made this cake in so long, and I guess I didn't realize the recipe was so... blah. I don't want to endorse this now—I can't! I won't!" she exclaimed dramatically.