She swallowed a curse as a splinter bit its way past her heavy gloves. She put her back into the last few nails, then ran the level up the jamb. Nice. The lintel needed replacing too, because it had to be a solid piece, but that would be easy enough to pick up at a lumber yard. She’d have to find out if Jamie had any preferences in molding or if she’d want the flat, wide Shaker look that adorned some, but not all, of the doors. Hmm. Shaker. Simple lines, inexpensive and elegant. That wouldn’t be bad as a guiding theme.
She swept the dining room with her gaze and visualized scrubbed tables and cushioned benches, the central overhead lights in heavy glass with hidden tracks for the rest. Walls glazed with whitewash and blue Shaker patterns. It would be lovely. Add some Shaker rugs on the walls, more utilitarian but compatible runners between the tables, knock out that side wall for an energy-efficient gas fireplace, and it would look like a million bucks. And it would suit Jamie’s food.
Speaking of which, Val was going to lose her mind from the scent of something bubbling on the stove. When she thought Jamie wasn’t looking she nipped over and took a deep breath. Ohmigosh—clam chowder. Fresh clam chowder with bacon and chives.
Small rounds of French bread stood next to the stove—edible bowls? She swiped a curl of a hard grated cheese. Tangy. Cheese on clam chowder? Yes, that cheese would be good. Wow. She could eat the entire pot.
“Want some?”
Cheezit, the cops. “Sure,” Val said, holding back a blush. “Remember when I said my time was free? I lied.”
“No!”
Val wanted to smack Jamie. But she smiled instead. “Almost free. You have to feed me, and my appetite is not dainty.”
A ghost of a smile passed over Jamie’s lips. Val realized she hadn’t seen a real smile yet. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
Val watched with anticipatory pleasure as Jamie scooped out a round loaf and filled it with chowder, sprinkled cheese on the top and put the whole thing under the broiler. Yum. She frowned when Jamie added a small bowl of broccoli salad to the serving plate. Well, heck, she’d give it a try.
“I’ll just clean up,” Val said. “Um, we have a deal then?”
Jamie took a deep breath. “We have a deal.” She glanced around as if she expected lightning and thunder.
I flew back to New York in the middle of November, just a few days before Thanksgiving. I had a pile of projections and demographics, results of a focus group and the Valentine tape. I’d made a business appointment with my father through his assistant and asked that Graham Chester, Sunrise’s executive editor, attend as well.
As I walked to his office I felt a thrill of apprehension. I was unused to proving myself to my father, at least not so directly. This project was my baby from start to finish and I didn’t want to disappoint him in front of Graham. I wondered if I should have asked to see Daddy alone. No, I didn’t want Daddy selling this to everyone else who needed to come on board. No one would take it, or me, seriously if I didn’t carry the ball, curry cooperation and generate enthusiasm all by myself.
Graham kissed me on both cheeks when I entered. He was as queer as a three-dollar bill, to use an old expression, and loved to flirt with women. When I saw Victor/Victoria I thought the role of Toddy had been based on Graham. He’d been my father’s close friend for many, many years. That he was homosexual didn’t bother my father at all. That was probably why he had never questioned my sexuality, just questioned me on the quality of who was sharing my bed and, occasionally, my life.
Graham held me at arm’s length and raised an eyebrow. “Chanel again? Are you trying to impress little old me?”
“You’re easy.” I nodded in Daddy’s direction. “It’s him I’m trying to impress.”
“Sheila, you’ve always impressed me,” Daddy said.
“As a daughter. Today I hope to change that.” I set down my portfolio. “I hope to show you how an investment in a woman named Valkyrie Valentine can grow into a merchandising and franchise opportunity that will put Warnell Communications at the top of the heap.”
Both men still had mildly indulgent expressions, but I didn’t break form. I handed them both a bound booklet and a two-page executive summary. I ticked off the items quickly—they could both read.
“An unknown personality. Focus group results project wide demographics starting at age twenty-six for women and thirty-six for men. Name is memorable and real. Father is career military, mother a legal secretary. Competition in the cable market is strong, but Valentine offers complete home, garden and kitchen know-how. Background check clean. She is an open lesbian, but her initial audiences are going to be large cities where that won’t raise any boycotts. As for appearance…”
I handed them stills from the video that showed Val in her jeans and workshirt. It made my palms damp.
Graham whistled. “If she makes my heart go pitty-pat imagine what she’ll do to everyone else.”
Daddy was staring at her picture with a faint smile. “She’s got something, I’ll say that.”
“Part of her something was turned up by the background check. She had cosmetic surgery on her nose recently.” I handed over a photo from her high school yearbook. “I don’t think anyone will hold that against her.”
Graham chortled. “My God, no, I don’t think so. She makes Cyrano look like a pug.”
I went on with my summary, then directed them to the bound report I’d given them. In it were projections that I’d developed with the marketing staff in Dallas. Marguerite Dennison, who had accurately predicted Tomorrow’s Gourmet’s niche sales, had helped. I knew Daddy would be reassured by Marguerite’s name on the numbers.
“I’ve given some thought to our choices of cable networks,” I went on. “We could probably put Valentine anywhere. Discovery, Home and Garden, The Learning Channel. I think we make them bid for it. We can offer all the publicity in the world for them. And I think we’d be very smart to offer a six-episode mini-marathon to public television stations for their pledge breaks, and at a very reasonable cost. Builds goodwill and a lot of people will think Valentine is already famous someplace else and only now coming to their town.”
“You’re devious,” Graham said. “I like it.”
“We have a viable product to offer.”
“This Valentine woman—she’s on board?” Daddy glanced at her picture again.
“Yes, I think so. I haven’t discussed contract points with her, but she’s…hungry.”
Graham said, “I’ll ask her editor what makes her tick. Her column work has always been competent, and she’s been flexible about content. Until her more recent columns, I didn’t know she could cook. I’ve never met the woman, actually.”
“Sheila, this really is excellent work,” Daddy said.
“I hear a ‘but.’”
“But. It’s a lot to hang on one person. I want to be sure, absolutely sure, that she’s on board. That she can sustain something of this scope.”
“I understand that,” I said, wondering what he had in mind.
“I’d like to meet her myself. I’ve been thinking about that article you gave me to read. I also read a few more. We’re not going to be selling her recipes, or her looks, or how wonderfully she can wallpaper the Sistine Chapel. We’re selling an entire package—that’s the marketing edge you’ve identified. We’re selling the Complete Woman. Better than a mom, better than a wife, better than a sister. If she’s not all that, then we could lose our shirts.”
“I don’t think meeting her is a problem. In fact, I think it’s essential.”
“I don’t just want to meet her,” Daddy said. He had a nostalgic look on his face that puzzled me. “I want to experience the Complete Woman. Experience her hospitality, taste her food, see and touch her creativity. If it’s real to me, we can make it real to America.”
“When would you like to do this?” I had no idea if Val could entertain my father and his entourage. Her home sounded large from her writing, but I didn’t know how large. I could help he
r work it out. Stick the assistants in a motel. With Christmas coming up most of them would beg off, anyway.
“I’ve been thinking about the holidays. With Marissa out of the picture—”
“I didn’t know that.” Goodbye, Marissa of the helpless fingernails.
“A new development.”
It explained the nostalgic look. He wanted to experience home life, the Way Things Ought To Be—at least to his way of thinking. “You mean Christmas?”
“She’s always writing about doing some large entertaining at Christmas, so it shouldn’t be too much of an imposition. We’d be just a few more bodies. It would make up my mind. A chance to get to know each other better.”
Christmas on the Coast. He wanted the whole roaring fire, eggnog, singing carols, mistletoe and holly, and twinkling lights event. Merde. I didn’t know if Val could cope. Surely she had plans already.
Graham gestured with Val’s picture. “This makes me want to come along for the ride.”
“Do that,” Daddy urged.
“Are you crazy?” Graham rolled his eyes. “My calendar is already crammed with parties. I have no intention of missing my favorite shoulder-rubbing time of the year. San Francisco is a tempting idea, I will admit, but I’m not budging.”
“I might make you change your mind…just for a few days.”
Graham sighed. “You’ll have to do better than that.” He glanced at me. “It had better be worth it.”
“It will be,” I promised.
I had no idea what I’d just committed myself to. All I knew was that I was right about turning Valkyrie Valentine into a gold mine, and I’d do just about anything to make it happen. And I sure as hell wanted to see her again, and convince her that I could offer her a partnership that would be mutually satisfying. I could make her dreams come true. I had realized that I’d been waiting all my life for this opportunity, and this woman. There was no time to lose.
Chapter 7
In the end Val made it back to San Francisco on Wednesday, courtesy of Jamie’s friend, Liesel Hammond. Val didn’t know if the older woman really had the burning need to drive to San Francisco that week or whether she was hoping to check out Val’s credentials during the long car ride.
As it turned out, she need not have been so suspicious. Liesel was bound for a retirement dinner for an old friend from her army days. Val appreciatively eyed the neatly pressed and pristine dress uniform hanging in the backseat.
“Pardon me for asking, but did you emigrate to the U.S. and then join the army?”
“Oh no, I was born here. I just didn’t learn English until I went to school. Around five or so. I’ve never lost the accent.”
“What was it like, being gay in the military?”
“I wasn’t really gay then. At least, I wasn’t sure. I had nothing to tell about.” Liesel kept both hands on the wheel as she drove, something Val appreciated after the hellish ride up with Jan.
“Oh, that explains it. Sorry I’m so nosy.”
“If you don’t ask, how will you know?”
Val agreed. “Very true. So what do you think about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?”
“It assumes that no one talks about their private life on duty when in truth that’s all there is to talk about sometimes. I think they dreamed it up because no one wants to confront the real truth.”
“That the military is homophobic?”
Liesel shook her head. “No, that many men in the military are sexual predators. They assume that all men are like them, so when they think of a gay man in the shower with them—well, what they’re really thinking is how terrible it would be if that gay man were to do to them what they do to women. They get hysterical over the idea that a gay man might sexually harass them because they do it themselves and get away with it. When the issue becomes about appropriate conduct then it won’t matter who is what. That’s the way it ought to be. Not this shameful silence.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Val said. “You are correct, ma’am.”
Liesel laughed. She had a nice, hearty laugh that underscored her faint accent. “Were you a military brat?”
“Yes, ma’am. Brat, ma’am.” Val grinned. “My father will die in the saddle. My parents divorced when I was seven, and my dad had custody of me. My mom wasn’t interested.” She realized that a little of that old hurt was still there. She hadn’t thought about it in ages. “Anyway, living with Dad meant exotic locations, like, oh, Kansas. Actually, it was great because on-base facilities were decent for kids. Always a swimming pool, sometimes a library. And always the machine shop or motor pool for the lieutenant’s tomboy daughter to hang around in. I always knew I wanted to make things, make something out of nothing with my own hands. My dad didn’t care about what I decided to do for a living as long as I went to college first.”
“How does your father feel about your career now?”
“Oh, he tends to think my columns are just reports after scrimmage. In a way they are—writing about projects is not as fun as doing them. But it’s still fun enough to make me feel slightly guilty about making money doing something I like so much.” Val realized that something about Liesel made her want to laugh—the exact opposite of how serious Jamie made her feel.
Liesel said something really foul-sounding in German as a slow-moving van failed to use a turnout. “We can’t pass for another seven, eight miles now. Oh well. Your father sounds like he did an okay job.”
“I have no complaints, not at this late date,” Val said. “It took me a few years to adjust. But when you’re thirty-four you either give up being pissed about stuff they couldn’t control anyway or you stay mad for the rest of your life. My dad tried hard to do right by me.”
“Any feelings about being a parent yourself?”
“Lord—I haven’t thought about it at all. Do you have any kids?”
“No, not unless you count Jamie. I’ve known her since she was nine, when I started dating Em. Twenty years. She was always such a serious child. Probably because her mother was such a flake. Left the child with Em and never came back for her. Can you imagine?”
Val couldn’t. “Emily sounds like a wonderful person.”
Liesel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “She was. A heart like the Grand Canyon.”
“I don’t mean to pry—but how exactly did she die?”
“Somebody’s been talking?”
“Not to me, to Jamie.”
Liesel’s knuckles went white. “They told her that Em committed suicide. Who? Dar wouldn’t have said.”
“Some woman named Kathy.”
“That bitch.” Liesel looked murderous. “I caught Jamie looking at me a couple of times these last few days, like she wanted to say something. Poor thing. I should have told her, but she adored Em. I was afraid she’d think Em had failed her somehow.”
“She told Kathy off.”
“Good. I have never in all my born days seen a creature with so little filial devotion. The more Em gave up for her, the more she wanted. Em took out a second mortgage for Kathy’s perfect smile, her nose, her ears, and I don’t know what all.”
“How big was her nose?” The question slipped out before Val thought better of it, but she was curious. “I had my nose done about seven months ago. Major sinus problems afterward.”
Liesel gave Val a look that said she hadn’t realized Val was vain enough to have her nose done. “It wasn’t big, just a little crooked. It had charm, now it’s just ordinary.”
“My nose was like this.” Val demonstrated. “The guys in the motor pool called me Durante. Heck, my dad did too. I was sort of proud of it, but—it was a honker. I’ll be honest, if I didn’t want to be on TV I wouldn’t have touched it.”
“What do you want to do on TV?”
Val told Liesel all about her plans, and then how Sheila Thintowski had materialized to make her dreams come true. “Didn’t Jamie tell you about all of that?”
“She’s so tired when she gets home that we only talk about immediat
e things. But she did say you’re hoping to show the place off when you’re done, to get a job.”
“Well, I’m hoping to get more than a job. I’m hoping to make a name for myself. A national name, like Bob Villa, the This Old House guy.”
“I thought Jamie was going to teach you how to cook.”
“That’s just to make an honest woman out of me. I’ve been writing about cooking a little in my columns, but it’s all based on research, not doing. I couldn’t fool anyone for long.”
“Oh. Well, Jamie’s got the patience to teach you, that’s for sure. Thank heaven, we can pass this idiot at last.”
Liesel zoomed around the van so competently that Val wished she could give Jan driving lessons. She wished that Liesel owned the inn, not Jamie. They’d have a blast working on it together.
When she got home, Val found her answering machine blinking frantically and a total of eleven messages from Sheila Thintowski. Sheila begged Val to call her immediately, in increasing levels of exasperation and agitation.
Val did time calculation and figured she could catch Sheila at the number in Texas—it was still business hours there.
“Where have you been?” Sheila wasted no time on pleasantries.
“Working on the inn,” Val said, quite truthfully.
“You need to keep up on your messages,” Sheila said. “Everything could fall apart here if you don’t get your act together.”
“Whoa,” Val said. “Let’s start over. What’s the rush?” Sheila had no call to get so snippy.
“My—the head of Warnell Communications is coming to visit you.”
“Mark Warnell? Visiting me?” Val fumbled for a chair and sat down in a heap. “When?”
“For Christmas. He is very intrigued by the idea of making you Warnell’s Martha Stewart. But he has to be convinced you are—as he put it—the Complete Woman.”
Making Up for Lost Time Page 8