Expiration Date

by Devon Delaney

  “Can I help you?” Before Sherry could respond, Damien snatched the suitcase handle with a swipe of his hand.

  “Thanks.” Sherry tightened the crook of her elbow to keep the trophy from slipping through. The base of the shiny statue rested on her hip and shifted with each step she took. At the same time, she clutched the tray of remaining Spicy Toasted Almonds and Chickpeas.

  “Right this way.” Damien motioned Sherry and Erno toward the studio exit. He pocketed his phone long enough to unlock the door that was shut to unauthorized personnel. “Oh, I almost forgot. If you wouldn’t mind leaving the trophy with the receptionist, we’ll have the engraver put your name at the base of the spatula handle.” Damien let the door slam shut after Sherry and Erno stepped through. “Do you prefer we inscribe your name as Sherry Frazzelle or do you have a middle name you’d like to include?”

  With Damien’s question delivered, Sherry stopped short. Erno clipped her heels. The front row of toasted appetizer took flight from the platter and winged its way across the hall.

  “Sorry, you caught me off guard. I’m in the process of getting my name legally changed back to my maiden name, Oliveri. This’ll be the first time I’ll officially be an Oliveri again.” Sherry corralled some stray chickpeas with her foot into a neat collection before sidestepping them. “So, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d prefer Sherry Oliveri.” Sherry turned toward a door on her right. “This way?”

  “No, that’s the control room. The brains of the operation.” Damien scooted around Sherry to take the lead again. “Down this hallway. We have to duck through the main studio to get to the lobby.”

  Sherry noticed her father examining the next door they approached. “This way, Dad.”

  “Is there a men’s room around here?” Erno asked.

  “Right over there.” Damien indicated the direction with a head tilt as barking erupted from the other side of the door. “Bean, keep quiet.” Damien tapped the toe of his shoe on the door. “Carmell’s Jack Russell makes himself at home in her dressing room while she does her show. I need to check her contract. I might want to rescind the perk, citing continual noise violations.” His words had an edge as sharp as Sherry’s favorite paring knife. “Erno, head that way and you’ll see a men’s room symbol on the door. We’ll wait for you in Studio A. Be as quiet as possible when you come in. They’re on live now.” Damien pointed to the illuminated “Quiet Please” sign at the end of the hall.

  Erno shuffled past Sherry and was enveloped by the dark corridor.

  “I hope my dad can find his way.” Sherry stared in to the dingy abyss in front of her before glancing back. “His vision isn’t as sharp as it used to be in low lighting. I guess if the Governor found the men’s room, Dad can, too. Minus the entourage.”

  Damien was too busy checking his cell phone and murmuring to himself to acknowledge Sherry’s attempt at humor.

  Chapter 2

  “What was that?” Sherry’s feet refused another step. She braced her quivering arms against her sides to steady them. She bent her knees and assumed the “ready to bear heavy weight” stance. As her hands lurched backward, a few more legumes and nuts were ejected from the platter she carried. “Did you feel a tremor?”

  Damien’s phone squealed. He scrambled to click a button that ended the shrill alarm. “A tough storm is about to pass over us. I’m getting a tornado warning on my phone. Heavy thunder, intense lightning and hail possible, imminently . . . well, strike that, right now.” He brushed his finger across the phone screen. “There’s an ominous blob on the local radar. We’re in the bull’s-eye for the next ten minutes.”

  Sherry checked the hallway behind her. No sign of Erno. The muscles in her forehead constricted tighter than the skin of a sun-dried tomato. An army of chilling goose bumps advanced up her arms.

  “Listen, I’ve got to run to the control room and make sure operations are running smoothly. Sometimes a surge of electricity creates havoc at a low-power station like ours. I’ll get your equipment case to the receptionist, where you can collect it on your way out.” Another muffled boom echoed through the hall. “Head straight through those doors and wait in the back of the studio for your dad. Best place is behind the camera operator, Kirin. You won’t be in the way back there. And please, no talking.”

  Sherry jutted out her lower lip. Waves of silent pleas left her brain, begging Damien to stay with her, but his phone was his primary concern.

  Damien took off in the opposite direction and was soon out of sight.

  “If my ex-husband’s connection with me was as strong as Damien’s is to his phone, Charlie and I would still be married,” Sherry whimpered.

  Sherry was left alone, with the challenge of opening the door to the main studio with full hands. Fort Knox didn’t have such impenetrable doors. The obstacles facing Sherry were no less imposing than a monolith, and they must be soundproof, so knocking wasn’t an option. A quick survey of her surroundings confirmed there was no one else around to help solve her problem.

  Sherry’s first thought was if she had once solved the dinnertime quandary of satisfying her meat-and-potatoes-craving ex-spouse when her refrigerator contained only one portobello mushroom and a cup of leftover black rice, this dilemma should be a piece of cake. Her second thought was maybe her spontaneous cooking experiments were another reason why her ex-husband, Charlie, was dissatisfied with their marriage.

  “Why am I even thinking of Charlie at a time like this? You’re on your own, girl.”

  Sherry set her serving plate and trophy on the floor and leaned on the door latch. No movement, whatsoever. After another rumble of thunder shook the walls, she pounded on the metal door but was rewarded with only a muffled thud and a sore hand. Sherry guided her trophy and plate to the wall with her foot and stared down the unforgiving barrier in front of her.

  “Let me help,” a boisterous voice chirped.

  Sherry rotated around, arms poised to strike, and whacked Steele Dumont on his forehead.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Steele waved a laminated card across the sensor. The door unlocked with a resounding click.

  “I didn’t hear you coming.” Sherry picked up her food and hardware and walked through the open door. “My dad should be heading this way in a few minutes. Will he be able to get through without some sort of pass card?”

  “There’s always someone coming or going. He won’t have to wait long before he’s let in.” Steele closed the door with slow precision. He put his finger up to his lips. “One more minute and the segment’s over, so if you’ll wait over there, please.”

  Steele indicated a spot next to the giant camera being operated by a woman in a backward-facing baseball cap. “If I don’t get Carmell’s change of lipstick to her dressing room by the end of the next commercial break, there’ll be hell to pay.” Steele’s rubber-soled desert boots screeched without mercy on the linoleum floor as he reversed directions.

  Sherry took her position in the shadows at the back of the live set. As a result of holding her right bicep cocked in support of her trophy for an extended length of time, a twitch was developing. Might as well try to relax and enjoy the show until Dad shows up. I wish he’d hurry up. Sherry turned her attention to Carmell seated at the anchor desk centered on a slick wooden riser. The woman in pinstripes, garnished with a gemstone statement necklace, delivered the words on the monitor with the smoothness of vanilla pudding.

  “As you can imagine, making a better life for his family was what motivated Andre August Dahlback, a sack of onion bulbs slung over his shoulder, to settle in this part of Connecticut, and aren’t we all better off for his having done so? Augustin’s Founder’s Day celebration is the brainchild of the town historical society. The festivities promise to deliver as many layers of fun as one of Mr. D.’s onions.” Carmell’s head bobbed up and down, appearing to agree with her own assessment. Her eyes, the color of kale and the shape of a crosscut carrot slice, enticed the camera lens to move in for a close-up. �
��After the commercial break, Sunny Side Up with Carmell and Brett will be taking a turn from our, thus far, food-themed show to explore the top five habits people have that unknowingly offend others on a continual basis.”

  Carmell drummed her fingers on the desk. “Wow, I hope our producer isn’t sending me a message with that story.”

  The camera’s red light faded to black. Sherry studied Carmell as the anchor woman froze her toothy smile until the set lights lowered. As the lights lowered, so did the angle of Carmell’s lips. She pulled her cell phone from under the desk, held the device up to eye level, and shook her head. At the same time, Steele hopped up on set, only to be redirected with a wave of her hand.

  “Brett, four minutes. Be on set in four minutes,” an overhead speaker called out.

  Sherry was fixated on Carmell, who was pounding her fist on the wooden desk. Carmell’s lips were moving as if she was talking to herself.

  “I’m going to roll this bad boy back a few feet to frame a two-person shot. Watch your feet,” warned the woman steering the camera. “Kirin” was embroidered on the side of her cap. The camera operator stepped down from her perch and hauled the equipment backward. The woman hopped back up on her elevated seat and began extending and retracting the impressive lens.

  “Kirin, is that your name? Can I offer you a snack? I was in the cook-off this morning and I have some leftovers.” Sherry tipped the plate to show off the contents.

  “Yes, I’m the notorious Kirin of Studio A. I didn’t shoot you over in Studio B. My counterpart, Lucky, owns that territory. I see by your trophy you won first prize. Congrats.” Kirin pointed her elbow toward the shiny spatula statue without taking her hands off her camera’s controls. “I suspect there was no giant game show check to go along with the win. Between you and me, this place is a bit strapped for cash.” She released a puff of air. “Thanks for the snack offer. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait until after the next segment. We’re about to resume shooting and if my hands are greasy, controlling this monster could get dicey.”

  The words “strapped for cash” landed in Sherry’s ears with the subtlety of Bananas Flambé.

  Sherry pursed her lips. “They’re not greasy, but it’s your decision. I’m on my way out. I could leave a sampling with the receptionist out in the lobby. Kirin, I noticed the apron they gave me for the cook-off was printed with Sunny Side Up with Brett and Carmell but Carmell told me the show’s name was Sunny Side Up with Carmell and Brett. What’s the correct order of names?”

  “Both ways have been correct, but Carmell is on top currently. Brett’s been the morning anchor here for twelve years. Carmell is in her second year. The youngster swept in like a twenty-three-year-old tsunami and we’re all holding on to her coattails for dear life at this point. She made a suggestion, and the show title changed in an instant. Pretty amazing. I swear she has some invisible force making her quite powerful.” Kirin shrugged. “If you think the show’s name change sat well with poor Brett, think again. Damien Castle is her puppet. Don’t even get me started on Truman Fletcher’s role in all this.”

  A thunderous boom turned heads. Kirin mumbled an indecipherable collection of words as she peered into the camera’s massive viewfinder. The overhead lights surged with an impossible glow before flickering and dying out altogether. A despondent curse was exclaimed. A resounding crash and a dull thud echoed through the room. Sherry dared not move, visualizing the spaghetti-like maze of thick cables on the floor, the towering microphone boom at head level and a landscape of television monitors conspiring to stage a mechanical coup in the pitch black.

  “Attention, people.” The room din ceased. “Remain calm. The storm has knocked out power. We’re not sure why the generator has failed, but we’re trying to locate Mr. Castle to get some answers.”

  An almost inaudible voice added, “The penny-pinching owner has sure done it this time. You get what you pay for.”

  Kirin began humming to herself. Sherry wished she knew Kirin well enough to ask her to refrain from her eerie tune, which, in the enveloping darkness, was as unwelcome as grit on spinach leaves.

  “Has this happened before?” Sherry paused for a reply, but the woman never removed her face from the camera’s viewfinder. With no electricity to power the machine what is she looking at?

  “I can’t hold these anymore, so watch where you step. I have to put my platter down. My arms are on fire.”

  The lights burst on as Sherry stood.

  “Dear God.” Kirin leapt away from the camera, grazing Sherry’s foot with her combat boot. “Someone help Carmell.”

  There was a piercing scream and pounding footsteps. Sherry blinked hard to acclimate her eyes to the light. As her eyesight adjusted, she witnessed the monitor come to life. On the screen, she was able to make out the anchor desk amidst a flurry of background activity. Sherry pushed her face closer to the screen, in hopes of clarifying what a pile of clothing was doing in the middle of the camera shot. Upon further inspection, she was able to make out a head and upper torso among the clothes. Behind the desk, someone had his or her outstretched arms blocking full visual access to the scene. Orders were being barked.

  “This area must be cleared out. We need space.”

  Sherry grabbed Kirin’s arm. “Is that Carmell Gordy slumped over?” Sherry blinked hard in hopes the scene would present itself in a clearer light. “What’s the liquid dripping over the edge of the desk? Reminds me of the red wine syrup I make to go with poached pears.”

  The tips of Sherry’s fingertips went numb as a cold shiver overtook her body. The arm Sherry had a death grip on was shaking.

  “She might have spilled her smoothie. Wasn’t her smoothie green, though?” Sherry jumped back when she caught sight of someone approaching her from the side. She released Kirin’s arm. “Dad, there you are. Thank goodness.”

  “Sherry.” Erno threw up his arms. “You could have picked a more visible spot to wait for me.

  “This is where they told me to wait. I had no choice. What took you so long? I was really worried you wouldn’t be able to find your way back when the lights went out.”

  “Listen, I couldn’t make out what’s happening, but something terrible may have happened to Carmell Gordy,” Erno said.

  Sherry’s eyes darted back to the television monitor. People were crowding the periphery of the anchor desk, ignoring the directive being given to clear away. Sherry no longer saw any sign of what she thought were Carmell’s head and shoulders. She lifted her vision from the monitor to focus on the live commotion.

  “I can’t figure out what’s going on. One minute I’m waiting for you and watching the end of a report on the upcoming Founder’s Day celebration, the next I can’t see my hand in front of my face because all the power’s out. When the lights came back up, the scene was more panicked than the grocery store the day before a February blizzard. We’re obviously in the way here, let’s get going.”

  Erno massaged his chin with one hand. “Reminds me of an old saying . . .”

  “This isn’t a good time for your pearls of wisdom, Dad. We need to get out of here.” Sherry huffed and squatted down to retrieve her trophy and plate of food. She regretted not finding plastic wrap to secure the spicy treats on the plate but she hadn’t, so a steady hand was required to hold them in place.

  A clock on the wall caught Sherry’s eye. “Eleven forty. We’ve got to get to the store. You did leave a sign on the door saying you’d be opening late today, didn’t you?”

  “I may have forgotten that detail.”

 

 

 
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