“Yep,” he’d said, eyes twinkling behind reading glasses. “You’re locked in like a kid under curfew.”
I’d frowned for effect. “Chris … as long as we’re here in Summit View, there should be no problem, but I don’t know what I’d do about this office if we go to New York and—”
Chris raised his hand to stop me. “Think nothing of it. Jenna is home from college right now. I’m sure she’ll be happy to relieve you for a few days.”
Jenna, Chris’s daughter, taught me everything she knew about this job before leaving for college just a few semesters previous. Since then—and since the death of my father in the spring of this year—I’d taken a few online courses, broadening my mind and my skills, wanting to be the best for Chris. He’d offered me a job back when I had no skills to speak of. He repeatedly told me he hadn’t regretted it, and I felt confident in those words. Still, I wasn’t sure I was ready to give up the comfort zone of my office for the glamour of New York City.
Lately the office had been about anything but the law practice. Family from out of town—mostly my Georgia relatives—called during work hours because “Six o’clock is suppertime, and anything after that and we’re in bed.” They didn’t want to disturb me, they said, during “family time.” Funny, they didn’t mind disturbing me at work.
Add to them the reporters who called. Even People magazine’s editors called—but mostly …
My office phone rang, startling me. “Good morning,” I said, glancing at the digital clock nearby for clarity as to the hour. Yes, it was still morning: 11:30 to be exact. “Chris Lowe’s office,” I finished.
“Mom?”
“Olivia?”
“What are you doing?”
I sat straight in my chair. “Why, is something wrong? Something with the baby?” My daughter had given birth two months previous to an adorable baby girl, rounding out her little family to four. “Big Brother Brook,” as her oldest had come to be known, had taken the disappointment at not having another boy to play with in stride and had come to practically worship the cherub Olivia and her husband Tony named Ena, an old Celtic name I’d found in a book of unusual baby names. It still floored me that my typically stubborn, do-it-myself-thank-you-very-much daughter took my suggestion and ran with it.
“Ena is fine. Brook is fine too, before you ask. Listen, Tony took the day off from work today and—”
“Why? Is Tony sick?”
“Mom! What is this, twenty questions? Actually, we’re getting TiVo installed today, so Tony’s hanging around until the technician comes and, while he’s waiting, keeping busy doing some jobs on my honey-do list.”
I smiled. Tony was a fine husband. The finest. I was so proud my daughter had found such a man and married him. “So why are you calling, then?”
“Actually, Tony suggested you and I go out to lunch today. You don’t have plans, do you?”
I rolled my eyes. If I knew Olivia—and I do—she was up to something. My daughter, as much as I love her, works hard to make sure I’m on the straight and narrow at all times. Last year, when her father and I separated for a few months, she’d kindly opened her home to me. But when I’d gotten a job and then my own apartment, she frowned in disapproval. When a man—a friend of Chris’s—showed interest in me, she’d nearly gone into cardiac arrest.
My daughter is more the morality police with me than I ever was with her. Ever.
Not that I ever had to be. Nor did she; not really.
“No, I don’t have plans. I take my lunch at noon.” I glanced at the clock again.
“Okay. Want to meet at Higher Grounds Café?”
I nodded. “I’ll see you at five after.”
“Good. See ya then.”
I started to hang up, then brought the phone back to my mouth. “And Olivia?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re buying.”
Before I left for lunch I received a phone call from Lisa Leann— the winner of Most Calls to Goldie. This was our second of the day. “Goldie, what time will you be at the church? I’m asking because I think the girls should arrive early. Way early. Much earlier than everyone else.”
“Whoa, Lisa Leann,” I said, laughing. “Take a breath.”
“I’m here now,” she said.
“You’re where now?”
“At the church. Keep up, girlfriend.”
“Why are you at the church?”
“Because the big screen TV has been delivered, and I want to make certain the chairs are set up the way I envision them.”
The big screen TV. Hmmm. This whole thing was beyond anything I’d ever seen or heard of. With the whole town behind us, hoping for a win after tonight’s show, the board of deacons at Grace Church had voted to rent the biggest big screen TV and bring cable into the social hall, thereby allowing all of Summit View to watch the show together. The very same room where we’d served up Mrs. Rittenhouse’s party would be the setting for watching Team Potluck, along with three other catering companies from across the country, vie for the million dollar prize, as the other four teams still in the competition would compete the following week.
A familiar fluttering returned to the pit of my stomach. I’d felt it the first time immediately after Lisa Leann told us about the show, the evening we were at Vonnie’s house. It had hardly left me since. Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord, I prayed. I’ve never been to New York. I’m not cut out for New York. Tall buildings … subways … pickpockets. Please don’t make me go. Pleeeaaasssseeeee don’t make me go.
I sounded like Jonah sailing away from Nineveh.
“Goldie, are you listening to me?” Lisa Leann’s voice brought me back to reality.
“I’m listening.” I looked at the desk clock. It was noon. “Lisa Leann, I have to meet Olivia at Higher Grounds in five minutes so I have to go. But … what time do you want me there?”
“The show starts at 8:00. People will start coming in at 7:00 to eat. Oh, and again, don’t worry about the fact that you’ve not been at the shop helping cook this morning. Donna couldn’t make it either. But the rest of us were there and we’ll have plenty for the town to eat.”
“That’s nice of you. Lisa Leann, I have to—”
“Go. I know. Arrive by 6:30. Did I say that already? That will give us time to make sure everything is set and ready to go. Food wise, anyway.” She coughed out a laugh. “I’m as nervous as a cat! You?”
I stood, pulled open the bottom left-hand drawer where I kept my purse, and yanked it out. “Like nobody’s business. And I’m late. See you tonight.”
Donna was coming out of Higher Grounds as I was stepping up to the front door. “Hey, Goldie,” she said. She flashed her cell phone, still clutched in her right hand, as though she were showing her badge. “I just got off the phone with Lisa Leann. She said you were headed this way.”
I smiled at the pixie deputy I’d grown to love like my own over the years. She and Olivia had been school chums. They’d gone from Brownies to Juniors and finally Cadets in Girl Scouts. They’d been in youth group at church together. I fleetingly thought of Olivia, already seated in a booth beyond the glass front windows of the café, and her settled life versus Donna’s with her dangerous job, late-night hours, and the men who wondered which of them might finally win her heart. Why didn’t she just pick someone and get married?
“Hey, Donna. I’m meeting Olivia.”
Donna shut the door as she stepped onto the sidewalk, thereby blocking my entry. “Yeah. I just spoke with her. So, Goldie, what time’ll you be at the church?”
“Lisa Leann said 6:30.”
“Yeah, that’s what she told me too. Anyway … thing is, Goldie …” Donna shifted her weight until she stood with her feet about twelve inches apart. “What I’m wondering is … what chance do you think we have here? Of winning, I mean.”
I glanced toward the window, then back at Donna. “I don’t know, Donna. I don’t know much about the other contestants. Do you?”
“I did som
e research on the Internet. There’s some pretty good teams out there, and they’ve been geared up to win for quite a while. Lisa Leann sort of sprung this on us, you know?”
“I’m sure they’ll all beat us, then. All we need is for three of the other teams to get more votes than us tonight, and if that happens, we’ll never have to board that plane to JFK.” I pointed to the door. “I really have to get inside,” I said.
Donna looked behind her, then back to me. “Oh! Yeah, Olivia is waiting for you. Sorry. I guess I’m just a little stressed about all this.” She smiled broadly. “And you know me, Goldie. I don’t stress easily.”
That much was true. If Donna was stressed, the rest of us were doomed. I gave her shoulder a quick pat, then said, “You’ll be fine. We all will. This time tomorrow all this will be a memory, and then life will go back to normal in Summit View.” I sighed in anticipation at the thought. “Now, I’ve really got to get inside.”
We said our good-byes, and I hurried through the door and to the table where Olivia waited none too patiently. A moment later we gave the waitress two orders for captain’s stew with a side order of cornbread, which we’d split. The waitress said, “Be right back with your drinks,” and left, leaving the two of us alone in a roomful of people. I smiled at my beautiful child as I unfolded my napkin and placed it in my lap. “Lunch without the babies,” I said. “What will we do?”
Olivia returned the smile. “I know. I was thrilled when Tony made the offer. How often do we get to do this?”
“Not often enough.”
“Ena slept through the night last night,” she said. “First time.”
“Oh?” Small talk, I thought. She’s as good at it as her father. “What time did you put her down?”
“About eleven. She didn’t utter a sound until six this morning.”
The waitress returned with our drinks, and I took a hurried sip of my water. It barely made it down my dry throat. “Seven hours. You were never so good for me.”
Olivia smiled again, then leaned over, pressing her forearms against the table. “Mom.”
“What, Olivia? Go ahead and say or ask whatever it is you’re going to say or ask. Because I know you didn’t ask me to lunch to tell me about Ena sleeping all night. You could have done that on the phone.”
My daughter looked down, then raised her green eyes to me. I was caught, as always, by the adorable swirl of red curls that begins in a cowlick at the crown of her head and ends in a sweep near the top of her forehead, kissing the tips of her ears. “You know me so well.”
“I do indeed.”
She squared her shoulders. My, my, my, but wasn’t this going to be a good one. “Mom, can you explain to me exactly what is going to happen if you win tonight? I mean, will you actually go to New York City? And then what? Will you be running around the city with cameras following you everywhere? I’m just trying to get a grip on this.”
I scooted my chair up a notch and discreetly cleared my throat. “Here’s what I know,” I began, then paused when the waitress returned with our order and placed it before us. We said a quick blessing, and I nodded for Olivia to start eating while I explained. “There are eight teams left in the competition,” I said. I picked up my spoon and pushed the thick stew around the bowl. “Four of us will be seen tonight—you’re coming to the church, aren’t you?”
Olivia nodded; her mouth was full of food.
“The three teams who get voted through tonight will have next week off as four other teams compete. The winners from that show and the winners from our show will then compete in New York City.” I shoved meat and vegetables into my mouth.
Olivia took a sip of her “un-diet cola,” as she called it. Tall and slender, Olivia has never had to worry about her weight, even when pregnant, so no diet anything for her. I was grateful she’d not had to watch every calorie like her mother. “And what do you think your chances are tonight? Of placing in the top three?”
I put another bite of the stew in my mouth, shaking my head as I swallowed. “Slim and none. Donna was just telling me outside that the other teams have been gearing up for this for some time, and of course we haven’t.” I sipped at my drink, then added, “And I hear the other teams are strong too, and since the celebrity judge hated us, I’m sure we’ll slip into last place and be eliminated.”
Olivia visibly relaxed. “Good.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry, Mom, but I have to tell you, I’ve been worried.”
“About what? About your old lady actually winning something?” I frowned at her. “That’s not very nice, Olivia.”
“Oh no, no, no. Not about your winning. About you winning and leaving Dad here. Alone.”
I felt the hair on my head bristle on my scalp. Did Olivia know something about her father I didn’t? Since we’d ended our separation and returned to our marriage and to counseling, I’d not had any reason to be suspicious of Jack having another affair. Another in a long line of affairs, to be more precise. “Are you trying to tell me something, Olivia? Because if you are, just come out and say it. Do you know something I should know?”
It took a moment for understanding to register on my daughter’s face. When it did, she reddened. “Mom, no. No, nothing like that, I promise. I just … I’m worried about Dad.”
“In what way?”
She shrugged, dipping her head to the right and setting her spoon on the table next to the bowl of stew. “He hasn’t looked well lately. He’s out of breath when we talk on the phone, and when I see him I think he looks pale. Tony says I have too much Southern in me and I should quit worrying, that Dad is fine. But …”
I had to giggle at her “Southern” comment. Yes, we Southerners had pretty much cornered the market on worry. It’s a way of life with us. “Tony is right,” I told her. “Not to worry. Dad is fine. He had a physical last month after the school year ended, and the doctor proclaimed him a fine specimen for his age.”
Olivia’s eyes misted with tears. I reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Honey, what is it?” I asked her.
“I don’t know, Mom. It’s just that … with you losing your father a few months ago, I haven’t been able to help but think what it would be like to lose Dad. In spite of the things he’s done, I love him so much.” Her voice cracked.
I patted her hand and gave her my best Mother-knows-best smile. “Not to worry, Livvy. Dad’s fine, I’m fine, and we’re fine.” I sat back in my chair. “Now, let’s talk about how we’re going to celebrate Team Potluck’s loss tonight. Just you and me. What’s say we hit the outlet malls this weekend for a new outfit? My treat.”
Donna
8
High-Altitude Cooks
A line of parked cars flowed out of the lot and down both sides of the street outside Grace Church. I pulled behind David’s black Mazda 3 and got out. As I started past his car, his door popped open and he stepped out into the summer evening still dressed in his paramedic uniform. “Long time no see,” he teased, as we’d both just come from working an accident.
“How’s old man Carpenter?” I asked as he fell into step with me.
“He definitely had a heart attack behind the wheel. He was stable when Randall and I wheeled him into the ER.”
“Good. It could have been a lot worse, especially if that railing hadn’t held.”
We hurried through the church parking lot, squinting against the glare of two hundred setting suns reflecting on the windshields surrounding us. “I’ll drop by the hospital later to check in on him,” I said.
David gave me one of his famous smiles. “Mind if I go with you?”
I smiled back. “Why not?”
“How late are we?” David asked as we ducked into the church. I checked my watch and tugged on his arm. “Not a minute to spare, come on.”
We pushed through the double doors of the activity center. Heads turned to stare as light applause broke out. I was glad the lights were too dim for the crowd to see the flame of celebrity burning my cheeks.
&nbs
p; Abruptly, the crowd turned to gawk at the huge flat-screen TV, which was surrounded by greenery and speakers. Wade caught my eye as he stood and waved. “Over here!”
David and I hurried over and squeezed down the aisle to where Wade and his twelve-year-old cousin, Pete, were sitting. As I made my way to the saved seats, I could see most of Team Potluck sitting in the front row. It was too late to join them; Pastor Kevin Moore was already climbing the platform steps to stand next to the wide screen. He was dressed in jeans and a pink tee with the words “Go Team Potluck” printed in large letters. (The T-shirt was, no doubt, a gift from Lisa Leann.)
Microphone in hand, he said, “Friends and neighbors, we’re glad you could join our family at Grace in supporting our very own Team Potluck. Most of you know Team Potluck is trying to raise money to help our church. This couldn’t have come at a better time. This may, in fact, be God’s provision for keeping our land and building from bankruptcy and becoming a new condo development.”
So help me if my jaw didn’t drop. I had no idea we were playing to meet a real need. Not that a youth wing wasn’t a real need, but this bankruptcy thing put an entirely different spin on this contest.
More applause broke out as an electric guitar wailed the theme music for The Great Party Showdown through the TV’s surround sound speakers. The show was starting! Pastor Kevin said, “I’d wish Team Potluck good luck, if I believed in luck. Instead, I’ll wish them God’s favor. Say a little prayer, everyone, then pull out your cell phones and call in your votes at the end of the show.”
My fellow Potluckers, all in matching pink tees, stood, then turned and waved at the crowd as the room filled with thunderous applause. I kept my seat as Wade leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Nervous?”
I nodded as I tugged off my coat. Pete peered around Wade and waved. “Hi, Donna.”
I was struck by the twinkle in his blue eyes. I was proud of how well he’d done since I’d helped remove him and his siblings from the home of his abusive dad and still-missing mama. I’d been able to observe Pete’s progress whenever I stopped by Wade’s trailer for a bowl of his chili. Much to my delight, Pete had gone from an insecure kid who’d relied on the art of shoplifting to feed his siblings, to a young man with a future that would not likely include prison time. Wade was clearly doing a great job with the boy.
A Taste of Fame Page 6