Waverly looked around the traditional Hungarian kitchen happily. It was all coming together so well. Beau and the Simply Perfect crew had flown in just two days before, after a whirlwind week of planning, haggling, and paring down to make the impromptu road show feasible.
Besides Beau and the Hungarians he had hired as muscle, the crew consisted of Wyatt, the cameraman, a hastily procured Hungarian sous chef who was in charge of setting up the kitchen for the show and having all ingredients at the ready, and Sophie, who was acting as makeup artist, travel coordinator, and all-around errand girl.
Their very first show was set to begin filming in just a few minutes in the home of the woman at whose restaurant Waverly and Charlie had dined the week before. The kitchen, a large square room with two deep stainless steel sinks, an ancient gas stove, and bright orangish-red tiles on the walls, was a flurry of activity. Charlie stood against the far wall looking like she was just trying to keep out of the way.
By the kitchen island Sophie was making the owner of the restaurant camera ready. Barely five feet tall and stout, with a pouf of hair dyed a bold maroon, Erzsi was clad in a crisp, new white apron. The apron was too long for her and hung below her knees. She obediently closed her eyes as Sophie lightly dusted her face with powder.
“To reduce shine for the camera,” Sophie explained.
Erzsi nodded without comprehension and shot a sidelong glance at the camera, drawing herself up to appear taller.
Waverly held up two aprons and considered them against the backdrop of the red tiles. “What do you think, Charlie?” she asked, pursing her lips speculatively. “Is the pink dotted swiss too garish with the tiles?”
“Everything’s too garish with those tiles,” Charlie observed dryly.
Waverly threw her a look. “It’s charmingly atmospheric,” she corrected. “The audience will love it, and love her.”
She nodded to Erzsi, who was squinting at Sophie and repeating her one scripted line, “Eets Zimply Perfect in Budapest,” over and over in heavily accented English.
“I’ll go with the yellow, since the pink clashes,” Waverly announced to no one in particular. She folded the frilled canary yellow apron around herself, tying a neat bow at the back. “So, first we’re making sour cherry soup, correct?” she asked Erzsi, who was standing at attention behind the kitchen island, her head barely clearing the top.
“Can somebody find us a stool?” Beau yelled. “We actually want the audience to be able to see the cook.”
“Meggyleves?” Charlie translated to Erzsi. “Cherry soup?”
Erzsi’s face lit up, and she nodded vigorously. “Jo, jo.”
Waverly surveyed the kitchen island where the ingredients sat at the ready—glass measuring cups filled with sour cream, sugar, and red wine, and small fragrant heaps of cinnamon and cloves. Off to one side sat a large glass bowl shimmering with ruby-red sour cherries. This was the part she loved best, taking beautiful ingredients and turning them into something even better.
“Cold fruit soup,” she mused, shaking her head. “It’s so retro it’s going to seem fresh all over again. This is going to be a treat.”
One of the Hungarian crew appeared with a wooden stool, and suddenly Erzsi’s head popped up over the top of the island. She squinted in the bright lights and smoothed her apron self-consciously as Wyatt and the rest of the crew prepared to begin filming.
“Ready on set,” Beau called.
Waverly tweaked the bow of her apron, gave Erzsi a reassuring nod, and closed her eyes for a brief moment, sending up a prayer for favor, asking that this be the solution for the show’s precarious future. She took a deep breath, calming her nerves, then opened her eyes, slipping into the world of Simply Perfect in a heartbeat, the feel of it as familiar as breathing.
“Aaaaand action.” Beau gave a thumbs-up and stepped back to let Waverly work her magic. She turned her thousand-watt smile to the camera.
“Yow naypowt,” Waverly crooned in her best attempt at a Hungarian greeting. “I’m Waverly Talbot, and today marks the beginning of an exciting adventure as we embark on a culinary journey through the kitchens of some of central Europe’s finest home cooks. Our first stop is beautiful Budapest, Hungary, as renowned cook Erzsi Szabo shows us the secret to making a deliciously decadent sour cherry soup that will have your guests licking their spoons and eager for more.”
She passed a practiced hand over the island, showcasing the ingredients, then looked up at the camera again. “Thanks for joining us as we venture into kitchens across central Europe to explore new recipes and local foods that are”—she paused one beat and then smiled winningly—“simply perfect.”
Taking the show on the road proved to be a smart decision. Over the next week Simply Perfect filmed several full-length episodes in Budapest using contacts that Erzsi had provided. They also created a series of three short teaser clips featuring local Hungarian food and wine. Beau sent the clips to Susan at the Food Network, who passed them on to her bosses. A few days later she reported that those in charge were intrigued and cautiously optimistic about Simply Perfect’s new angle. They were looking forward to seeing more.
Beau grinned as he told Waverly the good news. “This may be our ticket, Boss. Your idea could save the show!”
He and Waverly quickly made the decision to extend the trip another few weeks to allow for more episodes and feverishly began scouting locations.
Charlie watched the hustle and bustle with a bemused interest. So this was what Waverly’s life was like. It seemed so fast paced, texts and phone calls and viewership number predictions flying through the air like missiles. Everyone even talked faster. Charlie kept herself on the periphery, focusing on work as usual, content to let Waverly be in the midst of the hubbub. She would much rather curl up with a good book at the end of the day than always be working, always be on point. But it suited Waverly. Even in high school she had wanted to be at the apex of the action, the queen bee at the center of the hive. Charlie had watched from the sidelines, happy to be solitary and free of encumbrance.
“Would anyone you work with have good contacts for filming a show?” Waverly asked at breakfast the morning after she and Beau decided to extend the tour. She slid two perfectly done sunny-side-up eggs onto Charlie’s plate along with a homemade English muffin, already generously buttered.
Charlie took a bite of the muffin and closed her eyes for a moment as the pools of melted butter oozed from the toasted crevices. “I don’t know, but I can ask around,” she said, mouth full.
“I packed you a lunch, just a few slices of the stuffed pork tenderloin and roasted root vegetables from last night.” Waverly handed her a plastic container with a fork and knife taped to the top.
Charlie mumbled her thanks around another mouthful of muffin.
“And before I forget, I got you a present.” Waverly set a little square box by Charlie’s plate. “A small thank-you for hosting me and being so helpful with the show.”
Wiping her buttery hands, Charlie opened the box. Nestled against the red velvet was a small carved medal on a delicate silver chain. Charlie squinted, trying to make out the figures on the medal. It was a knight on a horse, pinning a squirming dragon to the ground with a long spear. Above the figures were the words St. George and below them the plea Pray for us.
“That’s very . . . Catholic looking,” Charlie observed. It was a strange gift, especially by Waverly’s usual gift standards. She tended toward designer boutique presents—expensive items in gorgeous packages that smelled like French perfume.
“I found it in a little antique shop around the corner,” Waverly said happily. “It reminded me of your knight and dragon book. The owner told me that St. George is the patron saint of courage, so it seemed like fate.” She lowered her eyes. “I got it for you and the baby.”
Touched by the explanation, Charlie slid the medal from the box. It was small and heavy, the figures softened from age and wear. She imagined someone’s thumb rubbing the medal
daily and whispering a prayer to St. George, the patron saint of courage. She liked the thought. Courage was something she certainly needed more of these days. She had not heard back from Sandra Ling, but the upcoming trial and the threat of danger were always in the back of her mind, a constant dark possibility, putting her on edge. She undid the clasp and slipped the chain around her neck, tucking the medal under her shirt. It lay against her chest, a reassuring little weight. She felt strangely warmed by its presence.
“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. It was a surprisingly fitting gift.
When Charlie got to work, she dutifully asked her colleagues about any contacts they might have for an episode of Simply Perfect. She had not anticipated the response when news of her celebrity sister spread through the staff. Ursula was out for two days of meetings with other charities in the city, so the mood in the office was primed for festivities. Productivity ground to a halt as people began googling Waverly online.
“She’s your twin? You don’t look anything alike,” Duncan observed, studying a clip of Simply Perfect he found on YouTube. “She’s a real fox.” He whistled slowly through his front teeth.
“Thanks,” said Charlie dryly. The other staff gathered around Duncan, urging him to find more videos.
“Tell me she’s single,” Duncan said, watching Waverly frost maple-glazed carrot cupcakes. “She can frost my cupcakes anytime.”
“Hey.” Charlie slapped Duncan’s shoulder in reprimand. “Watch it. That’s my sister you’re talking about. She’s happily married,” she added, hoping that was still true. Waverly had not said anything more about her and Andrew’s time of separation except to offer a vague and not entirely reassuring, “Hopefully he’ll come around.”
“Come around to what?” Charlie had asked, but Waverly had waved her hand dismissively and not answered. Charlie had e-mailed and texted Andrew several times, but he had not replied. She found his silence even more worrying than Waverly’s evasive answers.
“Has your sister really been a guest on Good Morning America and hosted a benefit dinner for AIDS research with Elton John?” Kate asked, scanning Waverly’s Google search results. “Says here she’s written three cookbooks. She’s properly famous.” Kate looked impressed.
“Not cookbooks. Home entertaining books,” Charlie muttered, trying to concentrate on her work e-mails. It was a useless endeavor. She shut her laptop with a sigh. Waverly and Simply Perfect were going to dominate the day, and Waverly wasn’t even present. She didn’t envy her sister her fame or recognition, but sometimes the hubbub around her celebrity status annoyed Charlie just a little. Waverly breathed admiration like oxygen, and at times it felt as though there was no room left for anyone or anything else.
“How come we’ve never heard of her?” Kate asked, scrolling through Google images of Waverly. “Is she really famous in America?”
“Sort of.” Charlie shrugged. Truth be told, she avoided thinking about Waverly’s professional success. Not because she was jealous, but because she was unsure how to reconcile the Waverly she had known since they shared a womb with the sparkly diva of home hostessing. The perfect makeup and hair and scripted lines made Charlie feel alone, as though she had lost her twin sister and a glossy stranger had taken her place. She never watched Waverly’s shows, and currently she was using Waverly’s first two home entertaining books to prop up the dresser in her bedroom where it was missing a leg. She preferred her sister in the flesh, with all her strengths and foibles, not airbrushed and perfect. That was the real Waverly, the one who drove Charlie nuts, the one she still loved deeply despite their differences.
“What are you talking about, guys?” Arben came through the door to the office and joined the entire staff gathered around Duncan’s chair. His younger brother, Ilir, a slender, darkly handsome nineteen-year-old wearing a tracksuit and matching bright blue athletic shoes, followed close on his heels. Arben and Ilir peered over Duncan’s shoulder curiously.
“Hey, I know her.” Ilir pointed to the screen. “My mom and sister watch this show all the time.”
“Simply Perfect is in Albania?” Charlie asked, surprised.
Ilir nodded. “Yeah, Albanians love this show. They dub the voices in Albanian. This woman is . . . How do you say it? Sexiful?”
“Sexy, or successful?” Charlie wasn’t sure which compliment he had in mind.
“That’s Charlie’s sister,” Kate piped up.
Ilir looked suitably impressed. “Wow, she’s famous. And hot.”
“So I’m told,” Charlie muttered. “Wait till Waverly hears that she’s famous in Albania. She’s going to love this.”
“You should bring your sister to the office tomorrow,” Duncan suggested. “Show her around the place.” His idea was greeted enthusiastically by the rest of the staff, who badgered Charlie until she capitulated. They were all eager to meet Waverly in the flesh.
“I’ll see if she can make it tomorrow,” Charlie agreed finally. Since she had promised to help Waverly scout locations for filming, it seemed likely that bringing the star herself to the office might open some doors for Simply Perfect in central Europe.
“Can she take a picture with me for my mom?” Ilir asked.
“I’ll ask her,” Charlie said with a sigh.
Waverly descended on the office the next morning like a conquering hero, bearing two pans of homemade cinnamon rolls heavily festooned with cinnamon cream cheese frosting.
Duncan took one bite and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Where have you been all my life?” he groaned.
Waverly giggled. The rest of the staff were equally enthralled as she doled out the treats and a sizable dose of the Simply Perfect Waverly Talbot charm.
Charlie quirked an eyebrow when she saw that Waverly just happened to have a few headshots in her handbag. “Really, do those come in handy that often?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised,” Waverly said, autographing one with a flourish and handing it to Ilir for his mother. She was delighted to discover she had a sizable following among Albanians.
Charlie gave up on work entirely for the morning and instead hosted Waverly, showing her around the office and introducing her to all the staff. The office atmosphere felt festive after the addition of the cinnamon rolls and Waverly’s charisma.
Midway through the morning Johan dropped into the office, and Charlie waved him over so that she could introduce him to Waverly.
“Dr. Kruger and I worked together when I was in South Africa,” Charlie explained.
Waverly offered him a generously portioned cinnamon roll and smiled winningly. “Tell me a story about Charlie,” she cajoled. “I never get to see this professional side of her.”
Johan took a big bite of the cinnamon roll, his eyes widening in appreciation. He made a satisfied mmph sound and then looked thoughtful as he chewed.
“To be fair, we really didn’t know each other well,” he prefaced. “We only worked together for a few weeks, but I remember one thing that stuck with me about your sister. She’s got guts. Once we were at a camp outside of Johannesburg, and we had a stampede on a supply truck. Mothers had been queuing for hours in the sun waiting for baby formula, and when the truck finally came the women crowded around it, panicked that they wouldn’t get anything. It was chaos. Some were actually in danger of being trampled. The rest of the staff were intimidated and backed off, but not your sister. She waded into the mess, clambered up onto the back of the truck, and by some miracle managed to restore order.
“She was shouting at the top of her lungs and brandishing a can of baby formula.” He demonstrated with the remaining half of his cinnamon roll, holding it aloft and shaking it. “She wouldn’t back down. And unbelievably, the crowd calmed down. The mothers got back into a line, and Charlie started handing out the entire contents of the truck. No one got hurt, and everyone got a portion of the goods. It took courage to do that, and dedication, and from what I’ve seen, your sister has both in spades.” He nodded at Waverly and gestured with
the cinnamon roll. “This is delicious, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Waverly dimpled.
Charlie flushed at Johan’s praise, feeling uncomfortable. She didn’t blush easily, but she was taken by surprise by his detailed recollection of the incident and his admiring words. She remembered that day. She hadn’t felt particularly courageous at the time. She had just done what needed to be done. She had been more impressed with the women who had responded to her calls for calm and order, who had tempered their panic and fierce desire to provide for their babies with restraint and self-control. No one had left that supply truck empty-handed.
Johan took his leave with an apology, late for a meeting. After he left, Waverly elbowed Charlie in the ribs. “My, he’s a charmer. And those broad shoulders . . . Mmm. Is there a Mrs. Kruger?”
“Was. They’re divorced,” Charlie said around a mouthful of her second cinnamon roll. She couldn’t seem to stop eating these days. She was gaining weight little by little, all her normal lean, sharp edges softening and curving in new directions.
“Hmm.” Waverly shot her an arch look. “And he thinks you’re courageous . . . and dedicated.” She somehow managed to make the last word sound suggestive.
Charlie ignored the insinuation. It was true that she found Johan Kruger attractive, very attractive if she were honest with herself, but she wasn’t about to confess that to her sister. She’d never hear the end of it. When Waverly got an idea in her head, she could hold on like a pit bull. A very pretty pit bull, but still . . .
Waverly spent the rest of the morning bewitching the staff into giving her useful contacts, and by lunchtime she had a list of potential home cooks for the rest of the episodes she wanted to shoot.
“What a helpful group of people,” she commented as she and Charlie stepped out to get a quick bite to eat at a nearby café. “And some of their contacts sound very promising. Duncan has a friend in Sarajevo who runs a little restaurant specializing in meat. Doesn’t that sound quaint?”
Becoming the Talbot Sisters Page 18