The Pampers commercial ended and a voice John hadn’t heard in almost two months spoke to him from the television. “You made it back just in time,” Georgeanne said from the twelve-inch screen. “I’m about to add a shot of sin, and y’all don’t want to miss this.”
“What the hell…” John muttered, and sat forward.
Georgeanne picked up a bottle of Grand Marnier and poured about a shot into a bowl. “Now, if you have children, y’all will want to set aside a bit of the mousse before you add the liqueur, or liquid sin as my grandmother used to refer to all alcoholic beverages.” Her tilty green eyes looked into the camera and she smiled. “If you must abstain from alcohol for religious reasons, are under the age of twenty-one, or if you prefer your sin served straight up, you can choose to forgo the Grand Marnier altogether and add a little grated orange peel instead.”
He stared at her, like a dumb mesmerized rodent, remembering the night he’d served her a big dose of straight-up sin. Then the next morning, she’d whacked him with a stupid little doll and had accused him of using her. She was a lunatic. A vindictive crazy woman.
She wore a white blouse with a big embroidered collar and a dark blue apron that tied around her neck. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and little pearls dotted her earlobes. Someone had made an effort to subdue her overblown sexuality, but it didn’t matter. It was all there. It was there in her seductive eyes and full red mouth. Surely he wasn’t the only one who could see it. She looked ridiculous, like a Bay Watch babe playing at a cooking show. He watched her spoon mousse into little porcelain pots and keep up a steady stream of chatter at the same time. When she finished, she raised her hand, parted her lips, and sucked chocolate from her knuckles. He scoffed because he knew, he just knew, she was doing that shit for ratings. She was a mother, for God’s sake. Mothers of a young daughters shouldn’t behave like sex kittens on television.
The television suddenly went black, and John became aware of Virgil for the first time since Georgeanne’s face had flashed on the screen. The owner looked stunned and a little white beneath his tan. But other than shock, his face gave nothing away. Not anger, nor rage. Not love, nor a sense of betrayal, for the woman who’d left him at the altar. Virgil stood, tossed the remote on the couch, and without a word, walked out the door.
John watched him go, then turned his attention to the other men. They were still in a discussion about body fat. They hadn’t seen Georgeanne, but even if they had, John wasn’t sure they would realize who she was. Who she was to him. Who she was to Virgil.
* * *
Georgeanne felt as if she were falling. She’d taped six shows, and the feelings got only slightly better each time. She told herself to relax and have fun. She wasn’t on live television, and if she messed up, she could stop and start over. But still, her nerves churned in her stomach as she looked into the camera and confessed, “I don’t know if y’all know this, but I’m from Dallas- the land of big hats and big hair. I’ve studied cuisine from all over the world, but I earned my spurs cooking Tex-Mex. When most people think of Tex-Mex, they think tacos. Well, I’m going to show you something a little different.”
For over an hour, Georgeanne chopped mangoes, chilies, and tomatoes. When she was finished, she pulled an already-prepared, simple yet elegant dinner with a Texas theme out of the oven. “Next week,” she said, standing beside a vase of black-eyed Susans, “We’re going to take a break from the kitchen, and I’m going to show you how to personalize your picture frames. It’s real easy to do and a lot of fun. See y’all then.”
The light on top of the camera blinked off, and Georgeanne let out a deep breath. Today’s taping hadn’t gone too badly. She’d only dropped the pork loin once and read the words wrong three times. Not like the first show. The first show had taken seven hours to tape. It had already aired a few days ago, and she was so positive that her chocolate mousse had bombed with the viewers that she hadn’t the nerve to watch it herself. Charles had seen the show, of course, and had insisted that she wasn’t boring and didn’t look fat and stupid. She didn’t trust him not to humor her.
Lexie stepped over several cables taped to the floor and walked toward Georgeanne. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” she announced.
Georgeanne reached behind her back and untied her apron. She was wired with a portable microphone.
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll take you.”
“I can go by myself.”
“I’ll take her,” a young production assistant offered.
Georgeanne smiled her gratitude.
Lexie frowned and took the assistant’s hand. “I’m not five anymore,” she grumbled.
Georgeanne watched her daughter go and pulled the apron over her head. One of the conditions to her doing the show was that she be allowed to bring Lexie to the tapings. Charles had agreed and had given Lexie the title of “creative consultant.” Lexie helped with ideas, and she came to the studio and helped Georgeanne prepare the finished dishes beforehand.
“You were great today,” Charles greeted her as he emerged from the back of the studio. He waited until her microphone was taken away before he put his arm around her shoulders. “Viewer response from the first show looks real good.”
Georgeanne gave a sigh of relief and looked up at him. She didn’t want him to keep her show because of their personal relationship. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to be nice to me?”
He placed his mouth at her temple. “I’m sure.” She felt his smile when he said, “If your numbers stink, I promise I’ll fire you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed the side of her head, then pulled back. “Why don’t you and Lexie have dinner with me and Amber?”
Georgeanne grabbed her purse from behind the kitchen counter that served as part of the studio set. “Can’t. John is picking up Lexie tonight for their first visit.”
Charles’s brows drew together over his gray eyes. “Do you want me to be there with you?”
Georgeanne shook her head. “I’ll be okay,” she said, but she didn’t think she would. She was afraid that after Lexie left, she’d fall apart, and she wanted to be alone if she did. Charles had been a very good friend, but he couldn’t help her now, not this time.
Three days after her return from Cannon Beach, she’d told Charles about the trip. She’d told him everything except the part about the sex. He hadn’t been happy to hear she’d spent time with John, but he hadn’t asked a lot of questions either. Instead, he’d given her the name of his ex-wife’s attorney and reoffered the half-hour television show. She’d needed the money and had accepted with the conditions that the shows be taped instead of live and that Lexie be welcome to accompany her.
A week later, she’d signed a contract.
“What does Lexie think about spending time with her father?”