Part 22 (1/2)
”Welcome, everyone, to this evening's event. We are proud and grateful such a star-studded group of people has joined us for the debut of the most-talked-about show of the season, Thrill Me.”
The room pulsed with applause. I felt eyes studying me as Avery came again to stand by my side. Midge looked miffed to have been displaced.
”Tonight is all about indulgence,” Vic continued. ”The food, the wine, our beautiful surroundings, all you attractive people.” An appreciative chuckle rose from the room, though no one looked particularly surprised by Vic's compliment. ”We want you to enjoy yourself. We hope you feel as if this room and this moment is an escape from the harsh reality of the world outside. After all, in our business, we make shows about other people's realities so you don't have to face your own.”
This comment educed an enthusiastic round of applause. One of the naked surfers/s...o...b..arders even raised his gla.s.s to me from across the room.
”So settle into this evening,” Vic said. ”Find your seat, relax, and embrace all we have done to leave you feeling nothing short of thrilled.”
”Nice,” Avery said appreciatively as he tipped his chin to Vic. ”Working a crowd like that. Pipe dream for me. One day, maybe.”
I followed him through the crowd to the table by the fireplace that he'd pointed out as being reserved for us. I winced a little inside-this was the last place I wanted to spend any time. ”Are you familiar with the concept of verbs?”
He made a face while he gestured for me to take one of the white chairs. ”I'm sure that's a really great insult, but I don't know grammar. So it doesn't even work on me.”
I sipped from a gla.s.s of wine offered to me by one of the hired staff. The thought came to me unbidden, but I couldn't help noting Kai would have appreciated my joke. Kicking off my ghastly heels, I tucked them out of sight and reached for a plate of food to begin my emotional eating.
But moments after I'd successfully pushed him out of my mind, Kai returned and with a vengeance. TiffanTosh had found their way to our table, settling themselves on one of the cozy couches. I sat next to them in a wing chair, while Avery took one of two seats on another couch. We had been given very clear marching orders from Margot that Avery and I should spend a good part of the evening in close proximity, but we were not to act like a couple. When I reminded her that would not be an obstacle, as we were not, in fact, a couple, she shrugged.
”These things are fluid,” she said. ”There's no harm in letting people wonder.”
Avery and I had begun a discussion about the food on the table and what each dish might contain when a server approached our table and stood behind our only empty chair. ”Miss,” she said to me, ”are we still waiting for this gentleman?”
I glanced up from a plate of figs and goat cheese. ”Which gentleman?”
The server consulted her electronic tablet. ”My guest list indicates we are to expect one more in this party. Kai Malloy.”
I swallowed. Avery stopped talking midsentence.
”No,” I said coolly. ”I'm afraid Mr. Malloy won't be joining us tonight.”
”All right,” the girl said, drawing out her words. Her forehead creased. ”I'll mark it down here then. Change to party of four.” She looked doubtful, as though she suspected I was in the habit of lying about seating arrangements.
”That was weird,” Avery said, his voice forcibly perky. ”I thought you told Margot about the change in reservation a few weeks ago.”
”So, party of four then.” The server still hovered by the empty chair. She appeared to be having trouble with her stylus and kept tapping the tablet with increased irritation.
”Party of five.” Tova sat down in the empty s.p.a.ce on Avery's couch in one, sparkly motion. ”You don't mind, do you?”
I was pretty sure Tova's eyelashes were fake, but I was entirely certain there was a reason she was batting them at Avery's surprised face. I'd merely have to hang around long enough to find out.
”Yes. I mean, no. Of course we don't mind. I certainly don't. Do you?” Avery's question, I supposed, was intended for the rest of us, but he kept his eyes on Tova as if they were meeting for the first time.
”Tova,” I said, my mouth full of chocolate hazelnut bread pudding. ”Where is Donny?” Let's get that underwear model over here to fill that chair!
”Oh, Donny,” she said with a one-shouldered shrug. Already the name sounded foreign on her lips. ”He's talking shop with a Victoria's Secret model.” Tova appeared to be much less bothered by that statement than the average American woman.
I was grateful when the overhead lights dimmed a few minutes later. I sank back into the cus.h.i.+ons of my chair and willed myself to stop looking at the empty chair directly across from me. Time to watch our crowning achievement, I said to myself. Look alive. Look happy. Look like you've earned this moment.
The theme music for the show played, and I found myself transfixed by the intro. One by one, the main ”characters” filled the outsized flat screen that had been rented for the occasion. First our faces appeared, expertly made-up, followed by our first names in sleek white lettering. Avery and Tova huddled together, whispering to each other about what was happening on the screen. Avery did lean across Tova to nudge me when my name and face appeared during the opening sequence, but after a few minutes in, I knew that my viewing pleasure was going to be a solitary one.
In Vic and Margot terminology, the ”story arc” of the first episode centered on how I came to join the crew at Thrill. I saw Avery as he'd looked when he approached Chet with the idea of bringing me on board. Unknown to me at the time, cameras had rolled when Avery had called me in New York. They caught every part of his reaction and my voice on speakerphone as I'd opened the rhubarb tart, the label maker, the boxes. It all seemed like a lifetime ago. Watching it unfold in front of me, seeing the smug triumph on Avery's face when I said yes, I felt the joy of that moment whittle down to a feeling I recognized as regret.
Tova squealed after seeing her first interview, educing an appreciative round of laughter and applause from the other viewers in the room. When she and I met for the first time, some hidden camera had captured the look on my face, one of surprise and maybe a smidge of annoyance.
”But you grew to love her, didn't you, Char?” Macintosh Rowe asked loudly, and the room again rumbled with laughter. Tova hid her face in Avery's shoulder in mock embarra.s.sment.
I watched the rest of the episode, marveling that all the people around me, and all the people sitting at home in front of their TVs, were witnessing scenes from my life. Edited scenes, for sure. Pretty-haired scenes with sweeping sound effects. Scenes where I was courted, wooed, and brought to a new place without realizing the whole thing would be replayed in front of millions. Scenes that represented a part of me, certainly. But scenes. Chapters. A few sentences here and there. I stole a glance at the empty chair, wis.h.i.+ng someone who knew the whole story could sit here with me and remind me who I really was.
Full lights came on again, and the room erupted in cheering and applause. I smiled and kept smiling when Avery stood and pulled me to my feet beside him. Tova looked up at us, grinning and clapping. TiffanTosh, looking impossibly elegant as they draped limbs around each other, clapped appreciatively.
Some idiot at the back of the room started chanting for a speech, and the idea took hold. Avery looked at me with bug-eyes, and I knew he was not going to be the one to address the crowd, at least not without another stiff drink and a tranquilizer.
I turned my face toward the group, feeling my cheek muscles twinge after so much smiling.
”Thank you,” I said. ”Avery has nominated me to talk, as he's suffering from a bit of stage fright these days. Did anyone catch us on Rise and s.h.i.+ne, America last week?”
Avery laughed and made a silencing motion with his hand. ”Quarantined,” he said and was rewarded with hearty laughter.
”Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone,” I said. ”It's great to have you all here to celebrate with us.” The empty chair was staring me down, so I lifted my gaze to where Margot stood in the back of the room. Her somber expression had a way of jolting me back into the importance of this situation. ”Many of you know what it feels like to work hard and finally get to the place you've devoted so much time and so much of yourself to.”
My throat tightened. I took a deep breath and smiled. ”I've been working in kitchens for a long time. Some of them were large and impressive and intimidating.” I remembered the feeling of despair when I'd arrived at L'Ombre and thought I'd never get the hang of how to roll out a single pastry much less please Felix and Alain. ”And some of those kitchens were out-dated, cramped, and crawling with the st.u.r.diest of all creatures, the Manhattan c.o.c.kroach.”
I saw a few nods of recognition. Margot remained immovable, focused on me.
”And all this time I've been working toward achieving a view like this, a view from the top of a long, hard climb.”
I paused. My cheeks trembled with the effort of keeping the smile in place. I looked at the expectant faces gazing my way and realized I'd stopped talking for too long. Margot made a sign for me to wrap it up.
”So now I have my view,” I said. Macintosh cleared his throat. I looked down but couldn't seem to focus on what he was trying to tell me.
”Char,” Avery whispered. I turned to him, startled when I realized I was crying. ”Are those happy tears, Charlie?”
I shook my head, tears falling freely now. I wiped one cheek with the back of my hand and saw streaks of mascara smeared on my fingers. Looking across the crowd, I felt utterly, completely, irrepressibly alone. My gaze stopped on Margot, who was making no attempt to hide her disappointment.
”What does a girl do,” I said, the words choking me, ”when she doesn't like the view?”
The question hung in the air-even the music of wine gla.s.ses and china stilled for a moment. I picked up my clutch, heavy with the business cards of people who now watched me with wide eyes as I walked out the door.
It took me two blocks to realize I'd left my shoes behind.
30.
”NOT bad,” I said aloud to my empty apartment. ”Seven extra grams of grated nutmeg makes all the difference. Best cinnamon-streusel pumpkin m.u.f.fin ever. Or at least so far.” I opened my eyes, making a slow a.s.sessment of my kitchen. Four other batches of pumpkin m.u.f.fins littered the countertop, many of them on their sides after I took one bite and impatiently tossed them aside. This batch, the fifth, was the queen of the bunch.
”I do have some reservations about the pecans.” My fluffy panda-head slippers slapped on the wood floors as I walked back to the oven. Holding my b.u.t.ter-smudged working recipe up to the light, I considered the next round of alterations. ”I wonder about almonds. Or no! Pistachios!” I made a hasty note and groaned when I heard the buzzer announcing I had a visitor who wanted to come up the elevator.