The Accidental TV Star (19 page)

Sara Sims and the director had eagle eyes on the proceedings. The cameraman kept steady between them. Hannah sat off to the side, but she also paid close attention to everything. Behind her, in the corner, sat Garrett. This was the first time I’d looked at him. I hadn’t wanted to lose focus. He winked at me. I didn’t know if he was missing a pre-premiere interview or ritual to be here for me, but I appreciated his presence. He’d shown a kind of loyalty I’d rarely seen in men.

“Time,” Sara Sims called. She moved forward.

I clenched my hands together, eager for her assessment.

“Beautiful. Excellent work, contestants.” Sara nodded at our cakes and walked past us.

Wait. Back up. Cake here. Finale. I want more of a critique. More praise. I caught Will’s gaze and he spun on his stool to face Sara. I got up. The cameraman moved past me, following Sara to the back half of the room.

Uh oh. My stomach sank.

“For a finale we want it all.” Sara dragged a curtain along a track, revealing two cook tops. They were set with covered dishes, cooking utensils, and skillets.

Oh no. A surprise challenge. Adrenalin washed away my exhaustion.

“We want an exotic reception dish. What’s more exotic than India?” She waved her hands over the table in a smooth gesture. “Curry. We’ve supplied you with twenty different types. Show the bride how to serve a dish other than rubber chicken.”

Curry. I trudged to the aisle, my feet leaden.

Will brushed by me and took the left table. He uncovered a lid, revealing twenty small bowls and one large pan of raw chicken. After a quick glance, Will reached for the small bowls. He shuffled the spices with the ease of a professional card dealer.

I swallowed and went to the table on the right. Underneath my cover, I had the same thing: a pan of raw chicken and twenty small bowls of colorful powder. I knew nothing about curry dishes except that they smelled rank when you threw them out a week later. I stuck my finger in each, tasting them, trying to fathom what to do with the powders. I must have looked like Bray sampling his lunch.

“You have twenty minutes, chefs. The clock starts now.”

Twenty minutes! For chicken! An uncooked middle was the worst error you could make with chicken. I sprinkled the chicken with the nearest three powders and threw it in the skillet. We’d also been given rice, so I set a pot to boiling, tossed in two yellow curries. I had no knowledge, so all I could be sure to do was prepare the ingredients to a perfect consistency.

The clock ticked down.

“Three minutes, contestants,” Sara said.

I drained the chicken. Taking my presentation plate, I made the letters
S
and
O
for
Scoop Out
with the rice and arranged the chicken on bottom of the plate. I wiped the edges clean with a towel and threw my hands in the air as Sara counted down.

“Three. Two. One. Time.”

She came forward with her tasting spoon. Her face was inscrutable as she tried my dish, both the rice and the chicken. Then she tried Will’s, then our cakes. She took a drink of water between each and moved to the front of the room. “Chefs, please come forward for the assessment.”

Will beat me to the front.

“Will. Your cake, while unusual and sophisticated, would be more proper for a divorce party than a nuptial celebration. The taste however is sublime.” Sara moved on to me. The camera followed. “Marissa. Your cake is a dream, a whimsical work of art that still manages to taste fresh and airy.”

I grinned.

Sara frowned and moved over to our curry chicken dishes. “Now for the reception entrées. Will, you can learn from Marissa’s presentation, but, the taste of your dish was a perfect combination of sweet and sour.” She turned to me. “Marissa, I must ask. Have you used curry before?”

“No.”

“It shows.”

My insides deflated and I tried to imagine how this would play out. Taste or presentation?

Sara moved to the front and took one of the doggy bags. The final one in what had been a substantial stack. “Marissa, clearly you have a creative flare and display skills sorely lacking by Will.”

Will stiffened.

“Will, you have a knowledge of unusual ingredients and the experience to put them together in a way that speaks directly to the palate.” Sara framed the image of the dog with her hands. The L-shape of her thumb and index finger left enough room to show the dog’s tail tucked beneath his body. She held it out to me. My heart stopped, then pounded.

“Marissa, while your potential is obvious, you have a lot to learn. Please accept this doggy bag. I do hope you’ll
pay
to eat in my restaurant one day.”

Tears burned my eyes and stung the top of my nose. I blinked to hold them back. I’d been prepared for this moment during every episode and now I was turning into Weeping Wilma. I put the back of my hand over my mouth, walked forward, and took the bag. Will howled in the background. I wanted to thank Sara for the opportunity, say something gracious, but I couldn’t. I’d lost. I’d lost it all.

The camera and Sara went over to congratulate Will.

I turned and walked straight to Garrett. He wrapped his arms around me and I leaned on his chest, feeling the hot wet burn of tears under my eyes.

Garrett whispered obscenities questioning Will’s parentage, skills, and perverse fondness for raw chicken. His support helped. I wiped my eyes and pulled back.

Hannah ran over to us. “Mic pack, Garrett. Microphone’s always on.”

Garrett tilted his chin.

“Sorry, Marissa,” Hannah said, sincerity in her cornflower blue eyes. “I was rooting for you.”

“Thanks.” My voice came out gravelly. I looked up at Garrett. “I have to go.”

“Back to the Herringtons?”

The Herringtons. Texas. A job at the mall. Away from you. My insides twisted and I pulled away feeling sick. “I’ll find you tonight. At your premiere.” I ran.

***

Instead of going straight to the Herrington’s, I went to the executive offices first. Despite how it had turned out, I wanted to tell Mr. Herrington how much I appreciated how a class at his studio led to the opportunity. I asked for directions to his office and went through eight hundred hoops to reach the upper floor of the building.

“Marissa, come in,” Mr. Herrington said.

His office was set up similarly to the one at his home, but larger with a conference table in the corner.

“Sorry to interrupt your work. I just wanted to stop by for a second and let you know what’s going on with
Scoop Out
. Thanks so much for arranging the class that led to me being on the show.” I swallowed. “I didn’t win, but it was amazing. Something I’ll always remember.” I wished I’d have been as eloquent with Sara. I’d have to write her a letter. And maybe send a congratulatory note to Will. Maybe.

He brushed my thanks aside. “I only arranged for you to win the kitchen-hand contest. I had no idea you’d end up as a contestant on
Scoop Out
. That was all you.”

I sank into one of the black leather guest chair.
He’d done what?

“Enough about this. Have you seen today’s entertainment segment?”

I shook my head.

“Check this out.” He cued up an image on TV.

Tween In
came on, and I watched Karla start her daily trashing of Garrett. My mouth tightened and I moved closer to the TV. Garrett didn’t deserve this.

Karla sighed. “So sad, they’re only expecting a small show of people for the
Haven Hill
screening tomorrow night. What can I do?” She shrugged. “Sometimes bad behavior has consequences.” The screen flashed shots of Garrett out partying with his buddies.

Witch.

Mr. Herrington picked up the receiver on his desk and made a call.

Garrett would never ask for help and no one would show. I took out my phone and texted my fellow contestants, then Sax, Max, Caz, Ashley, and Garrett’s family. With his family, I spent a long time typing on the subject of loyalty. I typed an invite to everyone I could think of, asking them to show up to the premiere tomorrow. With Sax and Max, I asked them to bring their fans for support too.

I looked up from typing when I overheard Garrett’s name.

“
Time Kick’s
almost wrapped. Leave Garrett in.” Mr. Herrington paused. “Then don’t pick up his contract for the next feature.” He clicked off and shook his head. “Idiots. I shouldn’t be involved in this minutiae.” He looked back at me.

I pointed at the TV. “Karla’s a liar. Garrett goes to work. He’s done his martial arts training. She really has a vendetta against him.” My sweaty hand tightened on my phone. “There’s something you should see.” I swallowed and my heart clenched at the thought of showing him my Karla video. Would he believe the recording? Would he blame me for not attending to my drink? Blame Garrett for throwing the party? Do anything with the evidence?

I held out my phone. “Check the video file. It’ll show you who Karla is.”

***

I had another issue to tackle. I phoned my father. “I’ve made my decision. I’ll be home by Friday.”

“Of course,” my father said. “We can meet at five for aperitifs. That’s pre-dinner drinks.”

I’m a chef and Mom’s a bartender; I know that an aperitif is a pre-dinner drink. I shook off my annoyance and smoothed my palms out over the paper where I’d written my response down. By writing it in advance, I’d hoped to be able to say what I had to say instead of turning silent like I usually did. “The thing is, I pondered the situation and I decided to take a page from your book and choose— one side of the family or the other, one degree or the other. Mom’s family is a mess and can’t help me with tuition, but they’ve always been there for me. I choose them and cooking. I can get better.” I hung up the phone.

Chapter Nine

The underground tunnel leading to the theater was distinctly colder than outside in the sunshine. The spaghetti straps and thin pale blue chiffon of my evening gown offered little protection from the temperature. Ashley had told me to borrow anything when I’d called her yesterday. I should have grabbed a wrap too. I rubbed my arms against the chill while I waited for Garrett to finish talking to his agent. They stood a few yards ahead. I didn’t think they’d seen me yet, and I didn’t want to interrupt.

“No one will touch you with Karla spewing her crap. It’s taking us all down. I need you to apologize to Karla. Now on the phone. Then in person. We can get her here and have her blog about this event.”

Garrett had a hard, firm set to his jaw and his arms crossed over his chest. “Never.”

His agent looked at the exit. “Farewell then.”

“It’s been a wild go.”

Her face pinched and the desire to control him flitted across her expression.

I agreed with Garrett. I walked up and laid my hand over his. He dropped his arm and threaded his fingers through mine. I noted the novelty of my pink fingernails against his skin. I never painted my nails. His hand was warm, secure, rough. He squeezed my fingers and smiled down at me. “Hiya.”

His agent pointed above ground. “At least go in through the tunnel. There’s like ten people up there, and half are press. It’s embarrassing.”

Garrett tilted his chin. “The movie’s good. It’s ten people with great taste.”

I tightened my fingers. “I’m here. I’m a fan. I know it will be spectacular.”

“That means everything to me,” Garrett said.

“Besides, so what if there’s only one person up there? If it was me, I’d want to be rewarded for my loyalty.”

Garrett nodded.

From the entryway, Max jogged up to us. “Let’s go.”

My shoulders eased. At least one guy got my message. Given Max’s star weight, he’d pull some people here. If any of them showed and if I counted the three hundred people it took to make the film, we’d probably have a full house. Maybe.

Garrett smiled. “Good to see you, but man, you don’t have to be here. I don’t want to sink you with me.”

Max crossed his arms over his chest and stared, conveying without words what he thought about that.

Garrett’s agent stepped forward. “Max, I hear you’re producing an anime action flick in conjunction with the art department?”

A muscle ticked in Max’s jaw.

“Is that a project with a part for Garrett?”

Max blinked. “Of course.” He narrowed his eyes. “If he wants it. Art Department.” His tone conveyed disgust.

“Aye, animate me.”

I turned and smiled at Garrett. Yay, him. He wanted that part.

Max held up his fist and Garrett bumped it. Casting done, Max headed for the exit.

Garrett’s agent called out to Max’s back, “I’ll be in touch about the contract.” She shook her head and pointed her finger straight up and then at Garrett. “I’ll call you when we get the projections.”

“You’re not leaving me then?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head. “That was a little tough love, to make sure you’re committed to your stubborn resistance.”

“I’m committed.”

“Okay then. See you up top.” She jogged to catch up to Max, moving fast. She overtook him before he turned the corner. “So, how happy are you with your representation?”

Left alone with Garrett, I made my move. “Have I told you how hot I find the tux-kilt combination?”

“Everyone loves the kilt. It’s our gift to mankind.”

“Uh huh.” I took both his hands in mine.

“You look beautiful, Marissa.”

“Thank you.” I stared up into his green gaze and the starkness of our surroundings faded away. My heart twisted. “I don’t want to leave LA without having gone out with you. As much as it will hurt to leave, it would hurt more to miss the opportunity. So, I have one week left. Are you free some night? To go on a date with me?”

“One night?” He tightened his grip on my hands. “I want more.”

My lips pinched and I shook my head. “Long distance doesn’t work.”

“Do I strike you as disloyal?”

“No. You’re the most loyal guy I know.”

“Have I mentioned I have a jet?”

As nerve-wrenching as the moment was for me, the way he asked struck me as funny. I let my lips curve up. “Maybe.”