“We always do,” I repeated. “Fine, okay,” I said, lifting back up and accepting the pressure, accepting the worry, accepting the uncertainty as all just part of the job. “Let’s order lunch. Thai?”
“Of course you’d want Asian,” said Janet, giggling derisively to herself, holding her hand over her mouth.
“Indian?” I corrected.
“I think that’s still technically considered Asian,” said Wayne.
“How about that taco food truck with the barbecued beef?” I said, exasperated.
“Also Asian,” said Gene. “It’s Korean-inspired Mexican.”
“Everybody get your own lunch,” I said, swiftly closing my binder, standing up from the conference room table, and walking toward the door.
*
The writers were right. Things solidified a bit more after the cast meeting and I went home that evening feeling better about myself and the show. I just needed to learn that this pressure happened to me every Monday morning when we had a clean slate and a new show to plan. And it always seemed to work itself out. We always had something to show on Saturday. Sometimes the sketches bombed, sometimes they blew up on the internet the next day. The rollercoaster ride came with the territory. I just had to figure out how to let it wash over me and be happy about the uncertainty.
After the daily writing meeting the next morning, I had a meeting scheduled with Corinne. I’d never met her before, despite the fact that me and the New York celebrity scene were like pickles and cottage cheese, and I was actually quite excited. I had heard she was a funny woman, and sweet. On screen she was usually in serious or sexual roles, but off screen it was said that she was easy to laugh and quick to joke. I looked forward to that.
And look, Corinne Holmstrom was hot. Really hot. She was busty and curvy, bright blonde hair, a dazzling face, big lips. This wasn’t my usual type, as I more often found myself dating mousey geeky girls like myself, but I couldn’t deny that I, like everyone else on the entire planet, was attracted to this young Hollywood starlet. Even after working almost every week for the past half dozen years with celebrities, I still found myself starstruck around a handful of them. Corinne was most certainly included.
The realist part of me, however, reared her head and chastised, “Tab, this chick is not a lesbian. She dates men. You know this from the tabloids. Don’t make a fool out of yourself.” But that didn’t help to put a cork in the fantasies. I hadn’t been in a relationship for a while and it was starting to make me go crazy inside.
Slipping down the hallways of our office, an entire floor about midway up in a famous skyscraper in Manhattan, I carried my notebook against my chest and eagerly made my way toward Corinne’s dressing room. I felt like a naive fan rushing off to try to get an autograph.
“Tabitha,” I heard from off to the side, stopping me in my tracks. I looked over and saw George Madison, the show’s creator and producer. He was an older man, even in demeanor, grey hair slicked back, kind of a slimy exterior and often overly serious and stoic, but definitely a man with a vision. I liked him. He was responsible for my success.
“George,” I said, stopping and turning toward him. “I was just about to go see Corinne and get her up to speed on things.”
“Terrific,” he said without cracking a smile. “I’m a little concerned with some of the sketches this week. I don’t see any home runs. You know that I prefer home runs.”
“Lotta bunts, huh?”
“Lotta bunts,” he said.
“Yeah, but see George,” I began, trying to convince him. “Often a bunt will get you on base, you know, if we want to continue this baseball metaphor.”
“Or the pitcher just might take a ball to the chin,” he said. I couldn’t help myself and thought about the innuendo in that statement. Too much time in the writers’ room.
“Okay,” I said, searching my brain for the appropriate response. “I promise we’ll get a lasting sketch in. Corinne is a huge star, people will love to see her be funny in something. The wheels are turning, George, the wheels are turning,” I said, twisting my finger around as I pointed at my head.
“I know you can do it,” he said. “Continue on.” George, still without a smile, sauntered off from me with his hands buried into the pockets of his very expensive dress slacks.
I breathed a sigh of review and then continued on toward Corinne’s dressing room.
Standing outside of the closed door, I put my ear up against it for a moment to listen in to see if Corinne was talking with anyone. Hearing nothing, I composed myself and gave three soft knocks. The tension was running through me. I was actually a bit mad at myself for feeling so nervous about talking to her. We had the President on the show one time and I wasn’t even near as nervous meeting him as I was being faced with Corinne Holmstrom. My teachers always told me my priorities were in the wrong place.
I heard the door unlock, the handle creak, and then it slowly opened up. Behind the door I saw her innocent smile first, face aglow with possibility and hope and just a hint of playfulness. Once she saw me, Corinne recognized me, even though we’d never seen each other before, and she grinned. She pulled the door open wider.
“Tabitha?” she said. Her blue eyes glimmered. Her beautiful blonde hair was pulled up in a bun and she was dressed down, more than I’d ever seen, wearing jeans and a hoodie.
“That’s me,” I said sheepishly. “And you’re most definitely Corinne Holmstrom.”
“I’ve heard so much about you,” said Corinne. “Come on in.”
I entered the dressing room, a room I’d been in hundreds of times as I always met with our guest stars, and shut the door behind me. Corinne maneuvered away from me and toward the couch. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her butt, which looked nice and firm underneath the thin denim of her pants. I wanted to smack myself in the face to try to get a grip, but I knew that would probably look quite weird to her.
“All good I hope,” I said after much too long of a beat.
“What?” said Corinne, sitting, turning toward me. I took a seat in the chair across from the couch, a coffee table between us, my notebook in my lap.
“What you heard about me,” I said, attempting to clarify. “I waited too long to say that.” Corinne laughed softly. She was stunning, even when dressed down. Her complexion looked so pure. I mean, she just oozed celebrity.
“Well, they all talk you up around here,” she said. “They say you’re the funny one.”
“Aw shucks,” I said with a mock shyness. “I’m just a girl from the farm.”
“Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Tabitha,” said Corinne with an endearing smile.
“Tab,” I said.
“What?”
“Tab,” I repeated. “You can, you know, call me Tab. That’s what everyone calls me. They only call me Tabitha when they’re mad at me. It’s like I’m working with dozens of my mothers.”
“Okay,” said Corinne with a laugh. She pulled one leg up onto the couch and sat on it. “Well, Tab, I am so excited about doing This Saturday. It’s been a dream of mine since I was a little girl.”
“Did you get the sketches?” I asked. “They’re just drafts, we’re working them out and have a meeting later to tighten things up.”
“I did,” said Corinne. “Funny. I can already feel my heart racing. Live TV. Wow!”
“We’re still working on that cornerstone sketch, you know?” I said. “The one that people are going to talk about, millions of views on the internet. Do you have any ideas?”
“Me?” asked Corinne with genuine surprise. “You want me to pitch an idea?”
“Sure,” I said. “We always ask the guest if they want to do anything. You’re the star, after all. If there’s a recurring sketch you want to be a part of, we can make that happen. If you have a funny idea you’ve been holding on to, we can try to work with it. Hit me with it, C,” I said, trying to imitate a hip hop intonation. “Gimme the cheddar, Holmie.”
“Holmie?” repeated Co
rinne, her blue eyes wide, her smile growing. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You get it?” I said. “Your last name…”
“I get it,” she said, nodding with an irrepressible smile. “You’re hilarious, Tab.”
“People say that,” I said. “But I just feel like I’m in a coma or something and this is the imaginary world I’ve built up for myself.”
“Sometimes I feel like that, too,” said Corinne. “You may not know this about me, but I was always kind of a geek growing up. I was a theater geek in high school but as soon as I sprouted these tits,” she said, her eyes getting big, her hands spreading out in front of her breasts. “Well, it all sort of became easier.”
“That would have been nice,” I said. “I grew a hunchback and got half-chewed caramels lobbed in my hair. Funny how things work out.”
“Stop,” said Corinne, laughing louder.
“Okay,” I said, feeling like a deer in headlights. But I couldn’t stop. As I inspired laughter from Corinne, taking in her winning smile, her lucid eyes, her fair face, I couldn’t help but yearn for more of the positive reaction.
“So I do have an idea,” admitted Corinne, looking down with slight embarrassment. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Of course,” I said. “By all means. We could use the help.”
“All right,” said Corinne, smiling to herself and looking off as she considered her idea. “And look, if it’s not funny or you don’t want to do it, just tell me,” she said. “It won’t hurt my feelings.”
“You got it,” I said.
“So I’ve always wanted to sing on This Saturday,” she said. “Like, break into a funny song in a sketch.”
“You sing?” I said in surprise.
“Yeah,” said Corinne, her face growing in excitement. “I love to sing. So my idea is that I’m a waitress at a diner. You know how sometimes at diners they have weird names for specific foods?”
“Burn one with wax and flop two!” I called out, making a dumb face. Corinne giggled back into the couch and clapped.
“Exactly!” she said. “That’s totally it!”
“So you want to sing that?” I asked.
“Well, okay,” she continued. “So when I give the orders to the cook, I break into song with a couple of other waitresses,” said Corinne, going over the sketch in her head like she’d been thinking of it for a while. “But everybody else thinks it’s super crazy. The diners are freaked out by it. The cook, the manager. People think I’m nuts!”
“Yeah,” I said, getting excited, seeing her vision. “I could get on board with this.”
“Really?” she said. Corinne was full of wonder, brilliance emanating from her eyes.
“Yeah,” I repeated. “We could start out with legitimate diner speak, but it would just devolve into insanity. Poke two in the boob, yank on a bumpkin, and slobber a Satanist!” This really set Corinne off. She was cracking up and it made me furiously happy.
“Right!” she cried. “Oh God, that sounds like so much fun.”
“We’ll do it,” I affirmed. “Well, we’ll write it and rehearse it. George has the final say. Stuff gets cut on Saturday all the time. I’ll let him know it’s your sketch, though.”
“Wow,” said Corinne. I could tell that she was pleased. “I mean, that would just be so awesome.”
“The singing adds another level of complexity to it,” I said. “But yeah, totally doable. Funny idea and it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thanks Tab,” Corinne said in earnest. Our eyes caught on one another for a moment, gazing in silence, both of us with silly grins on our faces. The moment began to feel awkward to me, like it was a little too exciting, like there was something strange and alluring in the air. I broke from our shared stare and shook my head once.
“Um,” I murmured, knowing I had to say something to move the conversation along but unsure what exactly that should be after our charged little moment. “Are you, um, single?” I asked, suddenly regretting it. Why would I ask something like that? I mean, I know why I’d ask something like that and you know why I’d ask something like that, but it really didn’t make sense in regards to our conversation about the show. “The reason I ask—“
“I am,” said Corinne matter-of-factly with a reassuring smile.
“I mean, I ask because we’re working on the opening monologue for you,” I went on, trying to justify myself with a lie. I had to think fast. “It’ll be, like, the guys in the cast heard you were single and all come up to you with bouquets of flowers to try to win your affection but you turn them all down.” That wasn’t what we had planned for the monologue but it was actually a really good idea. It’s amazing when creativity just comes to you spur of the moment.
“I like it,” said Corinne.
“So you’re single?” I asked again, even though she’d already answered. Just to be sure, you know. “I don’t really keep up on the tabloids.”
“Yes,” she said. “And I try to stay out of the tabloids.”
“That’s good,” I said. “I can just see them now… ‘Holmstrom Goes Home With This Saturday Cast Member!’” I motioned in the air with my hand like I was calling out a headline.
“Right,” said Corinne through a laugh. “Couldn’t have that.”
“You wouldn’t like the guys around here anyway,” I said, waving nonchalantly. “They’re all damaged comedians with mommy issues.”
“Is that so?” she giggled. “What about you?”
“Me?” I was surprised that she had turned it on me.
“Yeah, you,” said Corinne. “Are you a damaged comedian with… daddy issues?”
“No,” I said. “I probably also have mommy issues like the rest.”
“You’re cute, Tab,” said Corinne. There was an odd fire burning in her eyes as we looked at each other. I’d seen that kind of fire before. It was desire. I wanted to test my pulse but I was sure that would look undeniably weird. I had promised myself for every New Year’s Resolution over the past who knows how many years that I would make an effort to be less weird.
“I—“ I said, stammering. “I mean, me? No, I mean… thanks?”
“I just like… funny women,” admitted Corinne with a sheepish smile. “It’s my weakness.”
“I, um… if I heard you correctly—“
“You did,” said Corinne curtly.
“Okay,” I said, feeling quite nervous now. I took my notebook from my lap, rolling it up, and half waved it across the coffee table at Corinne. “Good. Productive. I think we’re going to have a great show.”
“I think so, too,” purred Corinne. She was beginning to drip with flirtation. I think that she was so used to getting what she wanted that being assertive had become second nature to her.
“Nice,” I said, standing up now. Corinne watched me with a smile permanently etched on her face. “I’ll let you know about the sketch. And I’ll let production know you’re ready for a walk through. Cool?”
“Cool, Tab,” she said.
“Thanks Corinne,” I said, feeling in a hurry to get out of there. I don’t know why. Just excitement. Nerves. “Gotta get moving!”
“Goodbye,” I heard Corinne say as I anxiously rushed toward the door and let myself out.
CLICK HERE TO SEE IT ON AMAZON
AN EXCERPT FROM: CHEF CUTEGIRL
*
I REALLY COULDN’T believe it. After going through the rigorous audition process, which included multiple interviews, references from people I had worked with, and a number of kitchen demos, I had actually made the cut. I was offered a spot on Hot Chef, the most well-known cooking competition show in all of reality television. I mean, this was the big time. Chefs who won the title of Hot Chef went on to open their own restaurants and build their own empires. Even chefs who didn’t win often hit the big time, getting their own television shows and cookbooks. Hot Chef was a career-maker and I was going to be on it. Mind… blown.
And the best part? This season was going to be fil
med in my hometown of Chicago. I didn’t even have to travel. I had home field advantage. I knew the culinary world in my city. The scales were tipped in my favor. This was going to be Emily Gold’s time to shine. I was determined to win.
You might have heard the name Emily Gold and thought, oh yeah, she’s head chef at Maison du Faisan in Chicago. She’s been featured in the Sun-Times as a young chef to watch, the 30 best chefs under 30. She was number 17. And, yeah, Maison won a James Beard award with Emily at the helm.
No biggie, right? Actually, it was a biggie. It was exciting and thrilling and it made me so happy that my culinary career was really taking off. I had worked so hard for this, starting as a dishwasher when I was only 13 years old. And now, at 30, I was going to be on television, competing on Hot Chef, trying to make my face, my name, and my food known throughout the country.
It was a dream come true. I had cooked my ass off, given up so much. The hardest thing to give up in my mad career chase was my love life. As a chef, you work tirelessly. We’re talking a lot of 18 hours days. And as the head chef of a popular restaurant, it’s even more difficult to maintain any semblance of a social or romantic life. Your world revolves around the restaurant. Most of the time, people in the restaurant world, chefs and front of the house alike, get involved with one another. Hey, you’re at work so much and you really only interact with this small group of other people. It can get incestuous. You start to factor people out of being a potential partner because they dated someone you dated last year. It’s a small world when it comes down to it, and it’s just a bit smaller when you’re a lesbian like me.
The cooking world is very male dominated. Lots of bravado and all that. Lots of sexism. Lots of male chefs think they’re hot shit and that you, as a woman, will just drop your panties at even the hint that they might want to screw you. No, sorry boys, I don’t play for your team. My type is the cute and innocent waif. The Audrey Hepburn type. Not some hairy-chested, burly idiot. And there are a lot of hairy, burly idiots in restaurant life. Ugh. Avoid.
Dormitory Dearest: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 17