The afternoon sun spilled through a wide window sheathed in white drapery sheers, bringing light to a room accented in bold gold, maroon, green, and white. The two beds were decked with thick mattresses, and I imagined myself leaping to get into bed at night. There were six pillows resting against the cherry headboard of both beds and a neck roll pillow that matched the thick comforter.
Next to the window, swathed in accent drapes, was a comfy chair and next to it a round table topped with a basket filled with fruit, chocolates, nuts, and bottles of water.
“Look at this,” I said to Goldie, pointing, then turned to find her peering into the bathroom.
“Crabtree and Evelyn bath products, Liz! I love that stuff.”
The bellhop gave his speech about the bed and bath collection being of the exclusive Hilton Serenity Collection, that he hoped we enjoyed our stay, and—wink-wink—he hoped we won the grand prize on The Great Party Showdown. I felt myself blush, said, “Thank you,” then slipped a tip into his gloved hand.
When the door closed behind him, I turned to Goldie and she to me. Then we smiled. Then we grinned. Then we grabbed hands and jumped up and down, whooping and hollering.
Giggling, we fell onto one of the beds then sobered. I stole a quick glance at my watch. “How much time do we have before they pick us up?” Then, answering my own question, said, “Two hours.”
“I get the bathroom first,” Goldie said, springing from the bed and bounding over to where her luggage was standing near the wall.
I propped myself up on my elbows. “Just think, Goldie. In two or so hours, we’ll be sitting near the first row in The Great Party Showdown audience.”
Goldie pressed her hand against her stomach. “Woo! Butterflies.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” she said, then repeated it as she stepped into the bathroom.
I looked after her and said, “Amen.”
Donna
17
Tea Time
What had I been thinking when I’d agreed to work till two a.m.?
By the time I got home and finished packing everything I thought I’d need into a giant duffel bag, it was time to squeeze into Vonnie’s Taurus and speed down I-70 toward DIA.
You’d think my companions, Vonnie, Fred, and David, would have had enough compassion to let me grab a couple of winks, but between their excited chatter, all I could do was dream of a nap on the plane. But fat chance for that, since my seat assignment was smack between David and Wade. Nice going, Lisa Leann. I owe you one, I thought, knowing she’d helped Kat with the seat assignments.
With these two lovesick guys patting my arms and exclaiming, “Oh Donna, this” and “Hey Donna, that,” I finally snapped. “Guys, we’ve got at least a whole week to visit, can’t you just let me catch up on my beauty sleep for an hour or two?”
“Sorry, Donna,” Wade said.
David countered, “She asked us to be quiet.”
I responded by squeezing my eyes shut and counting to ten as their bickering continued.
Finally, I traded seats with Vonnie. “Sorry, guys, it’s been fun, but I’m going to have to take a break,” I said as I crossed the aisle. But to my chagrin, I discovered Vonnie had been busy blabbing our business to her seatmate, a gentleman in his seventies. This kind-looking chap was just too curious to leave me alone.
“So, you’re that deputy on The Great Party Showdown, I hear.”
“Mmmhmm,” I said, shutting my eyes, unhappy to discover that my blatant attempts to lose consciousness did nothing to dissuade this man from conversation. He continued to pepper me with questions about the reality program and my personal life until we finally parted at baggage claim in the JFK airport. “Good luck,” he called as he picked up his brown, battered suitcase and headed out the door to the stand of taxis.
I waved back, still feeling as grumpy as ever, though I managed to behave.
But now, even after a power nap at the hotel, I was still in a state of grump. And how could I not be, with Vonnie humming “Jesus Loves Me” the entire time she settled into our room, opening and closing suitcases, drawers, and the closet, and even steam ironing her clothes? When I yanked off the covers, she asked, “Was I disturbing you, dear?”
I tried to lie, but my voice showed my stress. “Of course not.”
“Sorry, dear,” she said as she patted my shoulder.
Moments later, I ducked into the elegant bathroom to grab a quick shower before I stepped into a pair of black slacks topped by an oversize tee that Lisa Leann had designed and ordered through an Internet site. The words “Go Team Potluck” blared in large, hot pink letters across my chest.
Wade, of course, had balked about wearing anything with a hint of pink, but Lisa Leann had been firm. “It shows everyone you’re on our side,” she said. “You are, are you not?”
A few minutes after I dressed and towel-dried my hair, a stretch limo whisked me and the entire team through the streets bordered with storefronts and sidewalks teeming with people, to the GE building at Rockefeller Center.
“How was your flight?” Lizzie asked Nelson, who was dressed in our team shirt and sitting next to his proud mom.
“Delayed,” he said as we sped through Manhattan. “I only just made it to the hotel a few minutes ago.”
Lisa Leann beamed. “Just in time for this next phase of our adventure. You ready?”
Nelson nodded, his green eyes flashing. “You better believe it.”
I only wished I could share his enthusiasm, but the truth was I hated being on TV just as much as I hated missing so much work. I had bills to pay, and rent. If I missed just one payment, that would be enough for old man Burnett to force me out of my mountain bungalow. He’d been itching to do that anyway, knowing he could get a lot more rent out of a new tenant.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax and enjoy the view. With any luck, this trip was only a free vacation, not a trip to the poor house. I’d be back on the job a week from tomorrow, and the public’s memory of this episode would have already started to fade.
Right, Lord?
Once our limo arrived at Rockefeller Center, we walked past the plaza fountain and its golden statue of a boy grasping fire. “What’s that supposed to be?” I asked.
David said, “That’s Prometheus. He’s from Greek mythology.”
“What’s his story?”
Our college student Nelson beat David to the answer. “He was said to be a Titan. He stole fire from the gods for mankind.”
“Oh, dear,” Vonnie said, “do New Yorkers really believe that?”
Lizzie, ever the librarian, shook her head. “No, Von. It’s just a symbol of acquiring technology.”
With Prometheus behind us, we stepped into the welcoming lobby of the seventy-story GE building. A young woman dressed in a tailored tan pantsuit said, “Welcome, Team Potluck, to The Great Party Showdown. My name is Amy Snyder, and I’m Kat’s assistant.”
She turned on her heels and led us past the lobby’s candy shop and three high definition screens, all showing The Great Party Showdown highlights. She then led us to the elevator bank and said, “We don’t have a second to waste. I’m taking you to hair and makeup so we can get an interview of you to roll in tonight’s live program.”
An elevator ride later, I was walking into a room filled with mirrors and makeup artists. As several members of our team met the artist who would be working with them, I was greeted by a young woman with black dreadlocks and flashing brown eyes. She was wearing indigo jeans and a white T-shirt that exclaimed The Great Party Showdown in bold, orange letters. She said, “My name is Sasha, I’m here to make you beautiful.”
“I’m Donna. Can’t you just leave me to look like my crabby old self? ”
Sasha laughed. “Rough day?” Before I could respond, she pulled a large jar of orange and brown powder twirled with red hot candies from a shelf above her station. “Here, let me make you a cup of my tea I use to relax my gu
ests.”
“Sounds good,” I said, watching as she put a couple of heaping teaspoons into a Styrofoam cup before adding hot water from a steaming thermos. She handed me the cup, and I took a sip.
“Why don’t you sit tight while I work on your friend here,” she said, beckoning Nelson to her chair.
“Don’t I get some tea too?” he asked.
Sasha laughed. “You, my friend, don’t look like you need to chill.”
A few minutes later, a styled, pancaked, and powdered Nelson was sent to the green room, and I sat in Sasha’s chair. She fingered my curls then pulled out a headband for me to wear while she applied a heavy coat of makeup, concentrating on eliminating the dark circles under my eyes. I didn’t protest until she began to tweeze my stray brows.
“Ouch!”
“Trust me, Donna. It’s just that I’m going for an overall look of vitality,” she said. I quieted and let her have her way until she pulled out a small plastic container of false eyelashes.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said as she began to apply glue to a fine line of disembodied lashes.
She turned me so that I couldn’t see the mirror and began to apply the synthetic lashes to my eyelids. “If you don’t like them, we can always take them off before the glue dries.”
She finished her sticky job then fluffed out my curls. When she turned me back to the mirror, I stared at a stranger.
“Is that me?”
“Sure is. Now why don’t you head for the green room on the seventeenth floor? You’ll see it off to the right when you get off the elevator.”
When I entered the room, I was met with applause as I was the last Potlucker through the door. “You win the title of best makeover,” Lisa Leann crowed while David and Wade stared, slack jawed. Wade stood. “Donna, you’re …”
“Beautiful,” David said, finishing his sentence and standing next to him.
“Thanks,” I said as I sat on the old tan couch next to Vonnie. She patted my knee. Luckily, I had on such a thick layer of paint no one could even tell I was blushing. But before the makeup could melt off my burning cheeks, we were greeted by Kat Sebastian, the producer. She wasn’t at all what I’d imagined.
She was about six feet tall, skinny as a stick, and dressed in black, a color that contrasted with her pale skin. She had piercing brown eyes that she hid behind a pair of black plastic spectacles, and a pierced eyebrow that sported a small gold hoop. Her dark hair was swept into a rather chic ponytail that hung at the nape of her neck. But the thing that got me was she was probably all of twenty-seven.
“Glad to see you all made it.” She glanced at the clipboard she was carrying. “I’ve come to take you to our studio, down on 8 H. I’m going to get you miked so you can make some quick comments for tonight’s program.”
“You don’t mean we’re going to be on the Saturday Night Live set?” Nelson asked, his eyes wide.
“That’s the one,” Kat said. “Now, if you’ll follow me.”
Once our little group gathered inside the studio, we walked into a large pit, which was filled with cameras, light poles, and folding chairs. We looked at the elevated stage in front of us, which sported the judges’ desks and chairs and a couple of JumboTrons. Flanking either side of the stage were smaller sets with easy access to the pit.
Wade tapped me on the shoulder and pointed up. I turned around to see that the pit we were in was surrounded by elevated seating that looked large enough to hold a small army. “Wow,” I whispered.
Kat said, “You and the other teams will be seated here in the pit tonight, but for now, I want you to follow me to the stage we’ve set up for your spot, which we’ll roll into tonight’s show. One of our interns will get you miked up so we can start.”
The next thing we knew, Team Potluck stood under the glare of light while Kat’s voice floated down to us. “We’ll start in just a minute as soon as Gianne comes out of wardrobe. By the way, love the shirts. Go Team Potluck.”
“Yeah, ‘Go Team Potluck’ as in go home,” I responded.
“What was that, Donna?”
I squinted my eyes into the blinding light. “Nothing,” I said. “Just feeling a little homesick.”
“It’s too soon to feel homesick,” Kat said, “and with the numbers you’ve helped bring in, it looks to me you could be in town a while.”
Nelson’s voice was filled with hope. “We’ve got numbers?”
“The show pulled in an audience of thirty million last week.”
“Dear me!” Vonnie stammered.
Soon, Gianne Gillian, in a glittering black gown cut down to her navel, came rushing down to our set. She had a handheld microphone and was fidgeting with a device in her ear, presumably to hear private instructions from Kat.
Gianne made quick work of our interview, which was full of smiles and polite answers. She seemed to focus a lot on the male members of our team.
She said to Wade, “Welcome to New York. Are you homesick yet?”
Wade put his hand on my shoulder. “Not as long as I’m surrounded by the people I love.”
Gianne turned to David. “I hope you’ll soon discover that New York has a lot to offer.”
What, was she batting her eyes at him?
David grinned. “I’ve always loved New York.” He reached for Vonnie and gave her a hug as he placed his hand on my other shoulder. “But Colorado’s my home now.”
As soon as we were done, Amy led us to the craft table for a bite to eat while Gianne continued a bit of solo banter on the stage we left behind.
All too soon, we were seated in the pit with the other six teams still in the competition when the theme music blared and the live audience cheered. My heart began to pound with the realization that we were about to go live before thirty million souls.
After the rock music theme played, the cameras panned the cheering audience and contestants before focusing on Gianne in a close-up. “America, last week you voted three teams through to next week’s round of our top six. That means another unlucky team will not be joining us tonight. Sad to say,” our hostess continued, “but Team Café Mocha has been eliminated from the competition.” The JumboTrons showed a clip of Team Café Mocha from Seattle zapping whipped cream on top of steaming mugs of coffee. The crowd gave them a sympathy clap.
“But good news; we’ve got the three teams that have already qualified for next week’s competition and they are in the house. First, let’s say hello to Team Potluck!”
The lights came up and the camera panned to show our team sitting in the audience. When we realized we were on camera, we smiled and waved to the cheering crowd.
“Next, let me welcome Team Tex Mex from San Antonio, Texas.”
The crowd cheered again as the Texans stood and swished their bright yellow skirts.
“And last but not least is Team Batter Up from New York City.”
The all-male catering team, dressed like the New York Yankees, stood and gave the victory sign while the crowd went wild.
“I guess we know who the hometown favorite is,” Gianne said as the applause died.
Soon, Gianne was introducing the four teams competing tonight, showing previews of their catered events. “Tonight, America, we’ll see Team Hollywood, the Boston Bean Team, Comfort Cooking, and the Wild Cajun Cooks, all catering their own events back home on location with one of our celebrity judges observing. Only three of these four teams will join us in the next level of competition.”
Lisa Leann whispered loud enough for our row to hear, “We’re safe, at least till next Tuesday’s vote.”
Soon we were watching the first produced catering package, which showed Team Hollywood catering a ten-year-old girl’s birthday party. This bevy of wannabe starlets dressed like Jeannie from the old sixties sitcom I Dream of Jeannie. They made their young guests sit on large pillows while they belly-danced tiny éclairs, bite-size pizzas, and what looked to be Cheez Whiz on top of crackers around the room. The peppy Isabelle Salazar was their guest
judge and she made a show of clapping and snacking. It looked like a lot of fun till a bit of secret footage showed frozen pastry éclair and pizza boxes in a trash can.
After the clip, Gianne turned to the panel of celebrity chef judges. “Teresa Juliette, we’ll start with you. What do you think of Team Hollywood’s event?”
Teresa, wearing her white chef dress, waved her sparkling spatula and said, “These cooks seem to think the four food groups are fast, frozen, instant, and chocolate. And what were they thinking about those costumes at a child’s birthday party? I’ll give them an F for not only having bad taste but for not knowing how to cook.”
Our old friend Brant Richards countered, “Who cares? Beautiful girls don’t need to cook. Their beauty makes everything more appetizing whether it really is or not. My recommendation, America, is to vote this team through.”
Isabelle Salazar, our Brazilian judge, had been wearing a black cape. She stood and flung it off her shoulders to reveal a hot pink genie costume of her own. The live audience went wild as she began to gyrate behind the judging table as the theme music from Jeannie played. She shouted, “I’m with Brant. Let them dance!”
When we went to break, Lisa Leann said, “I thought this was a catering program, not Dancing with the Stars.”
Goldie leaned over and whispered into my ear, “What next?”
We found out when the music cued again. Lisa Leann’s face appeared on the JumboTron as her Dancing with the Stars comment aired for the world to hear. The crowd roared, but Lisa Leann slid down her chair until she realized she was live on camera. She sat up and waved and said, “Honest to Betsy, if you TV folks are going to sneak around and record everything I say, then expect to hear the truth, and as Jesus said, ‘The truth will set you free.’ ”
The crowd hooted and clapped with glee.
Next, the Boston Bean Team package began to air. This all-men’s team once again wore their sailor hats made of newspapers while they dished up fresh lobster, boiled red potatoes, and, of course, Boston baked beans to serve their local Rotary Club. Judge Brant Richards had been on hand as their on-site judge, but he looked as bored as he was when we’d hosted him in Colorado.
A Taste of Fame Page 15