Sugar: A Novel Part 21

I stared at the woman. Was she actually getting misty? If my fingers gripped any more ferociously to the sides of my fancy modern chair, I would rip off the veneer and be left with metal rods.

Stan nodded and slapped his knee with his index card, as though grateful to have made it through such a harrowing interview. "America, if you're anywhere but in front of your television this Sat.u.r.day night at nine o'clock, eight central, you are missing out. I'm telling you, these two people and, heck, the whole team of Thrill Me are going to knock your socks off. Thanks for coming in today, guys. Avery Michaels and Charlie Garrett, everybody!"

The crowd cheered, and peppy theme music played in the background. Bunny held my hand in hers as she turned to the camera. "Join us after the break when we get down and dirty about the growing back-to-school epidemic: cyberbullying. Back in a moment!"

The cameraman waved us off, and I saw the monitors cut to a commercial for a bathroom cleaner. Two production people were on us like flies, removing our mics and directing us off the stage.

"Thanks, kids," Stan said. He clicked his tongue to his cheek and made a pistol with his fingers, which he fired at a grinning Vic.

"Come back and cook for us sometime," Bunny said, though her words were swallowed by a woman who was standing in front of her and touching up her lipstick.

Margot took one look at my face and intercepted me with a grip on my elbow. She guided me to our waiting car while Avery and Vic stopped to talk with a gaggle of shrieking middle-aged women.

"That was horrible! Ridiculous! And insulting!" I fumed as she shoved me not very gently into the back seat of the limo. I could barely sit on the upholstery, I was so amped up. "Who said I slept my way to the top? I want to know! s.e.xist pigs!" I wasn't finished. "And that photo! You have an entire team devoted to our nondisclosure contracts and yet you can't keep one photo under wraps? You seem to haul out that privacy clause only when it suits you."

Margot looked entirely relaxed as she crossed her legs and draped one arm along the back of the seat.

I launched into another round. "And just so we're all clear, I did not sign up for this," I said, pointing past her ringlets to the set. "I am a chef. Not a-a doll you bring out for networking purposes. I have a brain! Opinions! A voice!"

By this point, my breathing was shallow. Little spots danced along the edge of my vision.

Margot appeared unfazed by my shouting. She c.o.c.ked her head, as if studying a still life. "First of all, the interview went well. Good job. You kept your composure when the Charlie of a few months ago would have crumbled under the pressure." She opened the minifridge and removed two chilled waters. She nestled one into the seat beside me even though I had certainly not indicated I wanted a refreshment.

"I have no idea who said the bit about your career trajectory." She shrugged. "Someone online? An old high school cla.s.smate who's bitter you were homecoming queen?"

I drew in a sharp breath. "I was never homecoming queen."

Margot kept talking as if she couldn't hear me. "Could have been a question Bunny or Stan formed on their own, under the general guise of 'detractors.'" She lifted one hand and let it drop onto her lap in complete resignation. "Who cares? Idiots will be idiots. You can't worry about them."

Realizing my mouth had gone dry, I cranked open the top of the water bottle with excessive force and some of it sloshed onto my lap. After a long gulp, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My heart still hammered in my chest. "So I'm just supposed to forget it? Ignore the fact that I had my integrity questioned on national television?"

Margo turned slightly toward me. Her pet.i.te frame seemed childlike in the expansive car. Her feet barely skimmed the floor mats. "You don't have to forget it. In fact, if you're smart, you'll use that slight as a rallying cry for all women who have felt like you do right now. You could turn it into a fantastic tweet and watch the conversation take on a life of its own."

"But it's not true." I implored her with my gaze to understand. "I'm not that person. And even a.s.sociating my name with that idea makes me want to rip someone's head off."

Margot chuckled. "That kind of reaction can make for good press, actually. Righteous rage could really work for you. We can start scheduling follow-up interviews today." She mused aloud about some possible headlines. "'Reality show star takes on s.e.xism in the workplace.' Too self-important. What about 'Reality show sweetheart takes a stand on s.e.xism.' That's better."

I gritted my teeth. "I don't want a rallying cry. I just want to work."

Margot paused a beat before speaking. Her tone softened slightly. "Charlie, I know this kind of thing isn't what you thought you'd be doing in Seattle."

I sniffed my disdain.

"However," she said, "you have a platform now. People are listening now. You say you have a brain and opinions and a voice. Well, use them. Take this moment when the world is stopping to listen and tell them what's on your mind. Believe me, they'll be on to the next curiosity soon enough."

The driver opened the door, and Avery and Vic got in.

"Those women were crazy," Avery said, shaking his head in what I supposed was the joy of a million male fantasies. "Autographs, selfies, videos. They couldn't get enough. You should have stayed, Charlie. They were totally asking for you."

I clung to my water bottle, my head spinning.

Vic must have noticed my silence because he reached over and patted my arm. "Charlie, don't worry about that photo. We had to use it because it's invaluable for debut publicity, but it had a shelf life and I think that shelf life is over. Don't you, Margot?"

Margot nodded. She squinted outside at a burst of sunlight. Sliding her sungla.s.ses over her nose, she agreed. "We won't use it again. The public will do more with it now than we ever could."

My throat remained parched. I guzzled the rest of my water bottle and gestured for Avery to hand me another. He obliged, but a shadow of worry crossed his easily readable face.

"Don't worry about her," Margot a.s.sured him when she noticed his gaze. "Charlie has a few things to ponder." She looked me with a thoughtful expression. "She'll figure it out."

I drank long and deep from the water bottle, surprised to find it was still unable to quench my thirst.

28.

IT'S not that I didn't fume. Oh, I fumed. I fumed for a good three days. And I got really proficient at fuming. But after my anger subsided, I had to accept the truth in Margot's words. This was a moment, just one moment. I could push through, and maybe even use all the attention to further my own goals. Nationally recognized as an excellent pastry chef? Ready to launch her own line of products? Already thinking about her first cookbook? Check, check, and check. I could play the game, I realized, and at the end, I could be the winner.

Plus, in my most shallow self, I had to admit that a little retail therapy never hurt.

For all of the discussions at Thrill surrounding what I would wear, what Avery would wear, his tux, my dress, when I finally got ready on the night of the debut episode, I did so without fanfare in my quiet apartment. I stood in front of my bed and fingered the gown that lay before me. I studied the winner of the mini-election held by all interested parties at Thrill earlier in the week. The comments of the Dress Parliament returned to my thoughts: Sebastian the stylist: Refined and elegant without looking like you're going to stop by the country club for a round of bridge.

Avery: Hot.

Lolo: Deliciously perfect.

Margot: Finally. Don't forget to wear lipstick.

Tova: The absolute opposite of prom. I so hated prom, didn't you? You look amazing, Charlie! Seriously! I can't believe you have those arms without ever even trying CrossFit. I want to hate you, but I can't when you're wearing that dress!

The deep emerald of the dress shone richly against the soft grays of my bedding. I ran my hands gently along the bodice and felt the comforting weight of the fabric, hoping that its permanence would steel the b.u.t.terflies in my stomach and scatter my second thoughts about the evening ahead.

Lolo had indulged me with a home visit earlier in the afternoon, and the result of her time and effort had made my hair and makeup look relaxed and pretty while still living up to the dress.

When it was time to get dressed, I carefully lifted the garment over my head and let it fall over my hips. After some maneuvering, I managed to coax the zipper up the back; I turned to my full-length mirror. For once in my life, I didn't feel the need to critique each inch of my body, each imperfection on my face. The dress hugged in all the right parts and made me feel very grateful to be a woman. The bodice was figure-formed but modest, a direct response to my request after seeing the publicity photos and being aghast that my b.r.e.a.s.t.s appeared to have perked up, grown up, and pushed out, all in the s.p.a.ce of one photo session. But as a beautiful counterpoint to the smooth cover of fabric on top, a slit ran in a clean and dangerous line up to the middle of my right thigh. I pivoted before the mirror, unapologetic in my admiration of legs that never saw daylight. Turns out, running in a kitchen at all hours was at least good for the calves.

My phone vibrated as I was slipping on the strappy heels Sebastian had chosen for me. Tova was texting their arrival at my apartment building. The limo was waiting out front. Tova had really worked hard for me over the past several weeks, and as a thank-you I'd suggested that we share a limo to the party. Needless to say, Tova was in favor of that kind of carpool.

I fidgeted with my new clutch during the elevator ride down but knew as soon as I stepped into Omar's view that I'd done all right.

"Ms. Garrett," he said with a slight bow. "You are ravishing."

"Thank you, Omar," I said. "You are kind to say so."

He shook his head, opening the towering gla.s.s door with a distinguished air. "Kind, perhaps, but honest, as well." He smiled and watched from the door as the driver helped me into the car, shutting the door with careful precision and then pulling slowly away.

"Charlie!" Tova said, reaching over the s.p.a.ce between our seats. "You look so gorge! I can't stand it." She was practically vibrating within a swath of sequins. "Charlie, this is my date, Donny Chu."

One look at Donny and I could guess Tova hadn't chosen him for this honor because of his membership in Mensa. He looked at me with what appeared to be a practiced expression. Unless I'd missed my guess, Donny's Botox injections and new cheek implants were responsible for his look of faux thoughtfulness.

"Lovely to meet you, Donny," I said. His fingers were long and clammy.

Tova leaned over to speak in a stage whisper, as though in addition to the burden of looking like an Asian Greek G.o.d, Donny also struggled with hearing problems. "He's an underwear model!" She gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled in return, wondering how recently Mike the cameraman had gotten the axe and predicting Donny would suffer the same fate momentarily.

Tova and Donny engaged in what only could be described as tonsil exploration, and I turned my back to them as much as I could without ripping a slit into the other side of my dress.

The streets of Seattle flashed by my window, and as we made our way through the city, I felt a deep and abiding loneliness settle in my chest. The night felt auspicious, and like something that should be shared with the people I loved. I thought with longing of the intimate party Manda had suggested hosting long before she knew I was expected at tonight's command performance. On an impulse, I knocked on the window separating our seating from the driver.

"Can we make a quick pit stop before going to the restaurant?"

A few minutes later, Tova and Donny barely came up for air when the car rolled to a stop outside Manda's house. My heels clicked with optimism as I hurried up the steps of the Henricks' front porch. When Manda came to the door, her hands flew up to her mouth.

"Oh, wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow, and wow." She reached for me and gathered me into an aggressive, spine-mangling hug. "Charlie," she said into my hair, "you are so beautiful." She snapped back to attention. "But what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the debut party."

I nodded toward the limo. "We're on our way. I made them take a quick detour." I grabbed her shoulders. "Can you come with me, Manda? Please? Just put on your favorite dress or pants or whatever and come."

"Charlie-"

I shook her shoulders a bit. "Manda, please. Tova is making out with an underwear model in the backseat of that limo, and I want to be with someone who knows me and loves me tonight."

Zara wiggled out from under the arm Manda was using to prop open the door. "Holy smokes," she breathed. "Auntie Charlie, you look like a movie star." She peeked behind me. "Is that a limousine? Am I dreaming this moment?"

Manda pulled her daughter back toward the house. "Charlie, I'm so sorry. I would love to come, but I can't." Her eyes were mournful. "Zara has her school open house tonight. They're putting on a little play, and she's the lead alien."

I looked down and noticed for the first time that Zara was in a purple leotard with matching tights. Her hair was pulled into severe Princess Leia cinnamon roll braids. My spirits sank.

"Of course you can't go," I said, forcing a brave smile. "I shouldn't have waited so long to think of it."

Manda looked as if she were about to throw herself in front of the limo as penance. "I'm so sorry, Charlie."

"Don't think one more minute about it." The resolve had returned to my voice. "I'm sorry to make you feel sorry. Now give me a hug, you Henrick women, and wish me luck on my grand ball."

Zara swooned into the skirt of my dress. "My auntie is going to a ball. This is the best day of my life." She pulled back abruptly. "Where's the prince?"

I made a face. "Gross. Who needs a prince? Princesses are totally capable of having fantastic times at b.a.l.l.s without having princes along."

Manda had grown conspicuously silent and was staring at a point beyond me. I turned and felt my stomach drop.

"Have a great time," Manda whispered, herding a protesting Zara back into the house before shutting the door with a definitive click.

I kept a vigilant focus on my feet as I descended the porch stairs. Kai waited for me on the sidewalk. He leaned against the worn pickets of the Henricks' fence. One side of his mouth pulled upward in a wry smile.

"Chef Garrett."

"Chef Malloy," I said, chin tilting upward at his cool tone.

"I'm a.s.suming you're not headed in for prep work in that get-up."

I met his gaze and fired back as much ammo as I could muster, which was no small feat considering what his eyes could still do to me. "Tonight is the debut episode. There's a party at Thrill. I think we talked about it a while ago, but I ..."

"Ahh," he said, nodding. "The debut episode. I remember. I'll be sure to set the DVR. See what you've been up to."

The cut of those words was intentional, I was sure. My chest rose and fell with rapid breathing. "I'd better go." My legs felt wobbly as I teetered away, all the afternoon's practice walking in heels a wash as I pushed toward the limo.

"Charlie, you look beautiful." His words sounded pained, but I didn't dare look back. Our damage was done.

"Say h.e.l.lo to Sunshine for me." The lilt of my voice made my meaning unmistakable. I allowed myself to turn as the driver opened the door to the back seat.

Kai's brow was creased. "Sunshine?"

I nodded but said no more. How does it feel, I wanted to fire off, getting spied on? At least your private moment wasn't broadcast nationally. Climbing into the limo, my hands shook as I took a gla.s.s of champagne from Tova. She grinned at me, cheeks flushed.

"Here's to the best night ever!" Donny was too busy downing what was left in his gla.s.s to clink with Tova and me.

I held my champagne flute in clammy fingers, letting the amber liquid grow warm before finally choking it down.

29.

THRILL had been transformed-from the security staff behind the velvet ropes, to the hired catering staff, to the restaurant itself. The bones of the place were still there-my nemesis, the fireplace, still crackled with a warmth that easily dispelled the fall chill. The long window on one side still framed the pretty courtyard view of the tree, glowing now with leaves dipped into autumnal gold. I was pretty sure the light fixtures in the dining room were the same as they'd been the day before. But everything else was different, sparkling, and new. All the tables and chairs had been moved out of the s.p.a.ce, and some patient and burly souls had replaced them with dozens of cl.u.s.tered seating groups. Chairs covered in tailored white fabric huddled around inlaid wooden tables set with dishes of tapas and small desserts. I didn't recognize any of the food, much less any of the beautiful people hovering around it.

Tova came from behind me and linked her arm through mine. "Charlie," she said, her voice low and loose after two flutes of champagne, "this is officially blowing my mind."

I smiled at a beautifully groomed couple who stood across the room, watching us. "I think those are famous people," I said through my smile. "Try not to be too obvious."

"What? Who?" The volume and pitch of Tova's voice would have been well placed in a physical education cla.s.s. "Oh, you are not serious." Her acrylic nails were starting to pinch through the fabric of my dress. "That's Damarius Reynolds and Emma Cary. I can't believe they're here! And together! Last week's USWeekly said they'd broken up."

I'd almost forgotten Donny was there, but he spoke up. He shifted slightly but retained his practiced sullen expression. "Damarius Reynolds is legend. He was so ripped in Revenge of Revenge. His ab definition was unbelievable."

"We are so going over there." Tova shook out the sequins on her skirt and smoothed her waistline. "Come on, Donny. Destiny calls."

I watched her walk away, Donny doing his best catwalk swagger behind her, and felt Avery's arm slide around my waist. He spoke into my ear, and I noticed I was taller than him in my heels.

"This is it," he said. "I about keeled over from a panic attack in the car. d.a.m.n Margot and Vic for making us arrive separately. I could have used your calming influence." He pulled away, and I marveled that he could square his shoulders and be faux relaxed after such a confession of nerves. "You look amazing," he said. I couldn't help feeling as if his compliment, along with the way he took a step back to appraise me, were for the benefit of those around us and not me.

"You cleaned up well, too," I said, still sporting a version of the smile I'd offered the Ripped Ab couple across the room.

Margot stepped into the admiration circle, and we exchanged the briefest pleasantries ever before she began guiding me around the room, introducing me to industry people. Grateful I'd brought along a clutch, I filled it quickly with business cards from her favorite agents (one talent, one literary who specialized in celebrity cookbooks), four different TV execs who had garnered thirty-nine Emmys among them, a personal trainer to the stars ("I make Photoshop obsolete"), and a red carpet's worth of celebrities. My mind spun in circles, and I tried my utmost to remain engaged with each person, though after a while the perfect faces started to run together. I couldn't remember if Celia or Frances was the distant cousin of Sophia Loren, if Mateo or Spike was the guy who had a new surfing reality show on the WB, or if it was neither of those guys and the show wasn't about surfing at all but about s...o...b..arding naked. Someone had said something about naked extreme sports, that much I did know.

Vic called the room to attention just as I was getting to know an earnest woman named Midge who worked at some sort of political e-magazine and wanted to know what I thought about Russia. In general. I was grateful to hear Vic clapping his hands for attention.