by Diane Noble
Just then, activity at the front of the set caught their attention. A bouncy young woman Kate hadn’t seen before hurried across the room and onto the soundstage.
The woman looked up at the audience members seated in folding chairs on the risers and gave them a wide grin.
“Hi, everybody!” she called out. Her tone reminded Kate of a cheerleader at a pep rally.
The woman was dark-haired, petite, and high-energy. Her face looked vaguely familiar, but Kate couldn’t place her.
“My name is Daryl Gallagher,” she said. “I’m the assistant producer and director of the shows we’ll be taping this week.” She paused with a cute shrug, then continued. “Actually, that’s a pretty long important-sounding title for what I really do. I’m actually what’s called a GGF.” She raised a brow as if waiting for a sign that the audience knew what she was talking about. Then she laughed. “That’s Go-fer Girl Friday. But don’t you go calling me Gopher Girl.” She laughed again.
The audience laughed with her.
“Whoa...you’re good,” she said. “That’s what we want to hear. Laughter. Cheers. Sighs of ecstasy when something gorgeous comes out of the oven. And above all, we want you to look like you’re absolutely dying for a bite of whatever it is. Don’t drool, but look like you’re about to. The camera will be panning the audience, so your friends and relatives may even see your smiling faces on TV.” Daryl laughed again, glanced back at the studio kitchen behind her, and walked toward it as she continued her pep talk.
Kate was astounded at how the hotel had accommodated the network, letting them take over a conference room that backed up to the kitchen of the Bristol. The resulting studio kitchen looked as if it was part of the hotel, not brought in by truck the night before.
The kitchen was raised onto a platform about a foot off the main floor. On the platform were two large built-in refrigerators, two restaurant-sized ovens, and an island stovetop and sink combination—all set in cabinets that appeared to be custom made, straight out of House Beautiful. The floor had been laid with travertine tile, which picked up the color of the Tuscan-style cabinets. Utensils were in place, ingredients already measured out on the counter for the first taping, with measuring cups and spoons nearby, pots and pans within arm’s reach, and pot holders strategically placed.
The entire set looked warm and inviting, especially the four round bistro tables right in front of the soundstage. Behind the kitchen set, but hidden from view, was the Bristol’s kitchen. On the opposite side, an open doorway led to the hotel foyer.
“As I was saying,” Renee whispered to Kate. “I’ve got news about the ghost sightings...”
“What does that have to do with Faith Briar?”
Renee gave Kate a look that said she wondered if Kate had just arrived from Mars.
“People want to know if ghosts are real. If they can’t get through to Paul, they call me. I had three phone calls after I got home last night—all from members of Faith Briar.” She lifted her chin a notch. “Naturally, since I’m a member of the church board, they’re interested in my opinion.” She arched a brow and sniffed importantly.
“Oh, hush now,” Caroline said to her daughter. “Can’t you see this little cheerleader gal is about to get the ball rolling?”
Daryl bounded onto the soundstage and turned toward the audience. “We’ll do a run-through or two when the chef arrives. Susannah Applebaum is first up today.” She glanced at her watch with an irritated expression. “She should have been here by now. She always likes to say a few words to the audience before we begin.”
A lanky young man appeared from somewhere behind the set. He moved toward Daryl as if entranced by her vivacious beauty. Before reaching her, he tripped over a potted plant someone had placed at the edge of the set. He caught himself, grinned, then looked out at the audience.
“Hi, all,” he said with a half wave. He looked back at Daryl. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He flushed. “Susannah Applebaum told me I ought to drop in and introduce myself,” he said, regaining his composure. “I’m Armand Platt.” He doffed his chef’s hat and gave her an exaggerated bow.
“Yes, I know,” Daryl said. “The new intern here at the Bristol.” Her tone said she wasn’t impressed. “Straight out of culinary arts school, right?”
Armand didn’t seem offended by the dig. Instead, he flashed a good-natured smile. “That’s right. And Susannah said to tell you that if you need someone to fill in at any time, I’m your man.”
He grabbed a couple of wooden spoons from the counter and did a drumroll. Kate thought she saw his ears waggle. The audience laughed.
Then a chill fell over the room as a scowling Newt Keller strode in holding a clipboard.
“Where is everybody?” he demanded, glaring at Daryl.
“Everybody?” she said, frowning. “As in...”
“You know who I’m talking about. Ms. Prima Donna herself.” He laughed as if the sarcastic remark was a joke. No one laughed with him.
“Prima donna? Moi?” Susannah stepped out from behind the set. She was drying her hands on a tea towel, which she threw over her shoulder Emeril Lagasse-style. She’d obviously been working on something in the Bristol’s kitchen with Armand and had probably heard every word Newt said.
“I resent the implication, Newt. I think an apology is in order, not just to me, but to all the people you’ve stepped on in the past twenty-four hours.” She gave an exaggerated wink, obviously trying to keep the tone light for the audience’s sake. But the tension between them was thick.
He laughed. “You have to be kidding.”
“I’m not kidding at all,” she said, still grinning. Then she looked out at the audience and winked again before turning back to Newt. “Apologies can be terribly good for the soul. You might want to try one sometime.”
A spontaneous cheer rose from both the crew and the audience. Susannah beamed and bowed with a flourish. “See, I told you so,” she said to the producer. “They’ll love you for it.”
Newt stared at her for a heartbeat, then with a glare that took in stagehands, makeup artists, hair and wardrobe people, and the camera crew, he said, “All right, everybody, let’s get back to work.”
Susannah smiled sweetly. “I agree.”
“Whoa,” Caroline sang out from down the row. “For a minute, I thought there was going to be trouble right here in River City. Trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with—”
“Mama, we don’t need to hear you sing from The Music Man,” Renee said, then added under her breath, “‘Seventy-six Trombones’ will be next.”
“You can say that again,” LuAnne said. “I mean, the trouble with a capital T part. I feel it in my bones.” Murmurs of agreement rose from those who were sitting nearby.
Kate didn’t comment, but an ominous cloud settled over her. Trouble was lurking around the corner, and it wasn’t just because of a ghost.
Chapter Five
Renee elbowed Kate’s arm. “Look at this, will you?” She held out her cell phone and pointed to the screen. “I told you about those calls. Three more have come in since we sat down.” She tapped her phone. “I recognize the numbers—they’re all from Faith Briar members.” An eyebrow shot up. “Just like I told you.”
“Who wants your opinion?” Caroline said.
“That’s privileged information.”
“But I’m your mother.”
“You don’t even go to our church.”
“Well, the folks at St. Lucy’s are as concerned as those at Faith Briar,” Caroline said. “You wouldn’t believe how they’re taking sides. Some have quit speaking to each other. My friends call those who say they believe in ghosts Caspers.”
“Caspers?” Kate almost choked. “Really?” She glanced at Livvy, who was grinning.
“Appropriate, if you ask me,” Livvy said.
“Hush now, everyone,” Renee said. “It looks like they’re about ready to start.”
Kate turned her attention back
to the set. Newt Keller had fixed his sights on Daryl Gallagher. “So why are you just standing there? Let’s get the crew out here and do our run-through. Where are they, anyway?” The man surely had a split personality, Kate thought, one minute flashing a smile that would charm an angel, the next, spewing rude demands that could devastate the toughest of souls.
Caroline said in a loud whisper, “That boy’s mama didn’t teach him any manners. If he’d been a child of mine, I would have set him straight.”
Joe Tucker broke the tension with another Groucho imitation. “I’d hoped that little French chef would be here today. I’m looking forward to seeing her sashay around the kitchen.”
“Sashay, my foot,” Caroline muttered.
The young woman in the black smock was still standing in front of Susannah with an open suitcase full of makeup. She applied gloss to Susannah’s lips, then stood back to admire her work while a twenty-something man with a bleached spiky do teased, sprayed, and arranged Susannah’s chin-length blonde bob.
Susannah didn’t seem to even notice. Instead, she used the time to go over her script while the crew took care of the last-minute details on the set, testing the sound system, the camera angle, and lighting.
After the makeup artist left the stage with her rollaway suitcase full of powders and paints, Susannah glanced toward the back of the kitchen set as if looking for someone. She spotted Armand Platt standing off to one side, chef’s hat still in one hand, and gestured to him.
Armand glanced around to see if she was focused on someone behind him. Susannah laughed and beckoned to him to come over.
Kate couldn’t hear what was said, but Armand beamed and nodded vigorously.
Ten minutes later, it was obvious what the conversation had been about. When the run-through began, Armand was in the studio kitchen with Susannah, trying to remember where to stand and what to do. He bungled the first rehearsal so badly they had to start over again. Kate was amazed at Susannah’s patience.
During the second rehearsal, Armand fumbled a saucepan filled with melted chocolate, but both the crew and the studio audience applauded and cheered when he caught it without spilling a drop. He grinned and bowed with a flourish, doffing his chef’s hat once more. Kate thought the moment was priceless.
It was obvious Newt Keller didn’t agree.
The producer-director sat in his chair off to one side of the stage, his face rocket red, making Kate wonder about his blood pressure.
After a brief conversation with Daryl, he settled back and watched as Daryl gave Armand additional instructions about where to stand. One of the crew members hovered nearby, drawing chalk Xs on the travertine tile to help Armand remember.
“They’re giving the boy one last chance,” Renee whispered.
Kate nodded.
After another brief break and audience pep talk from Daryl, the show was ready to tape.
A hush fell over the studio. Daryl did the countdown, then pointed to camera one. The red light went on.
Susannah made her grand entrance, bowing and blowing kisses to the audience. She was dressed in her chef’s jacket over black slacks, looking every bit the part of a celebrity chef. Her smile and laugh were contagious as she bantered with the audience, then positioned herself in front of the camera, which was between the kitchen and the studio audience.
Camera two rolled noiselessly along an elevated track, above the kitchen.
“Today I’m going to start with one of my favorite recipes from my new cookbook, Chocolates to Die For. It’s a surprising combination of ingredients that will not only meld in taste; they’ll also melt in your mouth. You might think hot cocoa is good only for drinking around a campfire with s’mores, or for giving to the kids on a wintery day, but I think you’ll change your mind once you taste my sumptuous to-die-for chocolaté dos mundos.”
She bounded into the kitchen, smiling and twirling, mugging to the camera, and chatting at the studio audience as if she were best friends with each person sitting in front of her.
With Armand at her side, she measured the ingredients, explaining as she proceeded. “In Mexico there’s a saying, ‘In order for a cup of chocolate to be perfect, it must be hot, sweet, thick, and made by the hands of a woman.’” She grinned at Armand. “Sorry, bud, but that’s the saying.”
He saluted her. “I am but your student. What your hands teach, mine will attempt,” he said smiling.
Susannah turned again to the camera. “This luscious drink features whole milk, half-and-half, chocolate, cinnamon, Mexican vanilla, almond extract, and”—she looked up at Armand again—“drumroll, please.”
He grabbed a couple of wooden spoons and did his second drum solo of the morning with an even greater flourish. He finished with a cymbal-like crash of two saucepan lids. The audience loved it.
Susannah laughed. “I believe we’ve got a new Taste Network star in the making.” The studio audience clapped and cheered as Armand bowed.
“But don’t forget to stir the chocolate while you’re hamming it up.” She placed another wooden spoon in his hand and pointed him toward the stove.
“Now, back to the ingredients,” she said, picking up a small metal tin. “To give my chocolate drink an extra kick, we’re going to add a generous pinch of ancho and chipotle chilies.”
On a cue from Daryl, the audience gasped.
Beside Kate, Renee groaned and Caroline whispered, “She just ruined the whole thing.”
Susannah moved from the chocolate drink to Belgian chocolate bars, made with white chocolate, orange oil, crystallized dates, and walnuts.
“Each bar has layers of taste and texture,” she said. “What I call the surprise of chocolate.”
As the studio audience nibbled on samples, the camera panned the room.
After a short break during which Susannah’s nose was powdered and lip gloss reapplied, she came over toward the studio audience. She blew kisses to Kate, waved to a few others she’d met, then stepped back onto the stage.
“Remember, fellow Tasties, chocolate in its purity is a beautiful thing. That’s about it for now. From all of us at Sumptuous Chocolates, good-bye and God bless.” She blew kisses at the camera, then said with a wink, “Until we eat again...”
The studio audience stood and cheered. A flushed and obviously pleased Susannah grinned at them, then invited all to come up and enjoy a sample of the rich chocolate drink.
“Not so fast,” Newt roared. “We need to do this again.”
Susannah whirled toward him. “What do you mean, do this again? It may have some rough spots, but they can be edited out. It was a great show.”
“The humor was stilted,” he said, striding toward the stage. “Felt forced. The TV audience will pick up on it like that.” He snapped his fingers, then moved his piercing stare to Armand, who was leaning against one of the refrigerators, an ankle hooked over the opposite foot.
Newt pointed at the young intern. “He has no business horning his way onto Taste Network like this. You should have seen through his antics. He was just looking for a way to get his foot in the door. Probably wants a show of his own. And you fell for it. Worse, you encouraged it.” He stepped onto the stage, glaring at her.
A hush had fallen over the studio. Kate was almost afraid to breathe, wondering what was coming next. She didn’t have to wait long.
Susannah stared at Newt for a moment without speaking. Then something seemed to snap inside her. “You—” she said, closing the remaining distance between them with measured steps. “You have just said your last nasty words to me. I will not take this any longer. Your treatment of others is abusive and not to be tolerated.”
“Are you threatening me again?” Newt sneered.
By now Armand—no longer looking jovial—had moved away from the refrigerator. He walked over to Newt and shoved him.
“If you don’t take it as a threat from Miss Applebaum, you can take it as a threat from me. Don’t ever speak to her or anyone else in my presence with that ton
e. And don’t ever accuse me of trying to horn in on your network again. I wouldn’t work for you if my life depended on it.”
Newt gave him a sarcastic smile. “A threat, you said. Tell me what that threat would be.”
For a heartbeat, Armand just stared at the producer. “You don’t want to know,” he said. Then he took off his chef’s jacket and hat, threw them down, and stomped from the studio.
Susannah slumped against one of the kitchen counters, shaking her head slowly. “You know how much we love working for Taste, Newt. We want the network to succeed as much as you do. But you’re going to lose all of us if you continue to belittle us,” she said quietly. “I’ve warned you already. Here’s another to add to the growing list: If you speak to any of us again with disrespect, you’ll be sorry. You seem to forget that keeping us happy improves the ratings—and isn’t that what it’s all about? Ratings?”
“I’m the one who knows what works and what doesn’t for our audiences,” Newt said. “I’m the one who studies the demographics, who knows all the nuances of everything from overall programming to individual show content.” He took a step closer to Susannah. The cherubic smile had returned, but his eyes looked hard, even from where Kate was sitting.
“Since you’ve given me a threat, let me give you one,” he said. “There are at least a dozen top-notch chefs waiting to be part of Taste Network. If you don’t like the way I operate, you can simply go back to where you came from. One phone call, and I can fill your spot.”
“Yet another instance of your lack of respect for us,” Susannah said. “I’d hoped for better.”
“Hear, hear,” called out another voice. From behind the set, Birdie Birge suddenly appeared, looking madder than a wet Rhode Island Red. “That goes double for me—and probably everyone else within earshot. We’re gonna start taking numbers, next thing you know.”
Stiff-shouldered, she turned and followed Susannah through the doorway leading to the hotel foyer.
Kate let out a pent-up breath, grabbed her handbag, and hurried after them. She spotted both women at the bottom of one of the large twin staircases leading to the second floor.