A Taste of Fame
A Taste of Fame
The Potluck Catering Club #2
A Taste of Fame
A Novel
Linda Evans Shepherd
and Eva Marie Everson
a division of Baker Publishing Group
Grand Rapids, Michigan
© 2009 by Linda Evans Shepherd and Eva Marie Everson
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shepherd, Linda E., 1957–
A taste of fame: a novel / Linda Evans Shepherd and Eva Marie Everson.
p. cm. — (The potluck catering club #2)
ISBN 978-0-8007-3209-7 (pbk.)
1. Caterers and catering—Fiction. 2. Reality television programs—Fiction.
3. Women—Societies and clubs—Fiction. 4. Women cooks—Fiction. 5. Female friendship—Fiction. I. Everson, Eva Marie. II. Title.
PS3619.H456T37 2009
813′.6—dc22 2009023305
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
12.
Evangeline
—Mixed Up in Manhattan
14.
Lisa Leann
—Taste of New York
30.
Lisa Leann
—Half-Baked Accusations
32.
Evangeline
—Bubbling Betrayal
The Potluck Catering Club Recipes
Meet the Women of the Potluck Catering Club
“Excuse me?”
Kat Sebastian’s voice crackled through the phone line from her New York City studio. “Team Potluck will be featured tomorrow evening on our new reality show,
The Great Party Showdown
. It was a last-minute decision.”
I stood up and squealed into the phone as if I were a June bug who’d landed on a robin’s wing. “You’re kidding me!”
“I never kid. It’s too late to back out. We have your signature, and it is binding.”
My head spun and I aimed my derriere for the nearest office chair and sat. “Wait a minute, wait. I’m not sure the girls even remember signing your release, and now you’re saying we have to fly to New York? When? Tonight?”
Kat’s voice was clipped. “No, no. We’re airing an edited version of the submission tape your son shot of your team catering the Byrd-Dolton wedding. Then it will be up to America to decide if your team will continue in the competition.”
I ran my free hand through my hair, disregarding the havoc to my appearance. “Meaning?”
“If you make it through this round, a film crew from Stirring Productions will be in Summit View, Colorado, next week to tape your catering company in the next challenge. I’m faxing you the information you’ll need, including all the stats on the accommodations and the grand prize. That’s a carrot that should refresh your team’s memory.”
My fax machine started to purr as Kat said, “Call me if you have any more questions.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could find my voice, the dial tone hummed in my ear. I hung up and walked to my fax machine, which was perched on a nearby marble-topped table. I caught the first of several pages gliding toward me. I stared at the document. Kat was right, it all looked legal. Though “binding” was how she’d put it. I closed my eyes.
Who would have thought my son’s class project would lead to this?
During his spring break from college, Nelson had flown up from Austin, presumably for a bit of skiing. But instead of hitting the slopes, he’d joined my girlfriends and me and filmed our little Potluck Catering Company working the wedding of Becky Byrd and Allen Dolton, a young couple from church. At the time, Nelson had told us the footage was for a class project in his advanced marketing class at the University of Texas. Then he revealed he was also sending his tape to a TV reality show looking for contestants. Sure, we’d all signed off on the paperwork he’d handed out, but we were only playing along because he seemed so excited. No one wanted to squash his dreams. Besides, we figured reality would do that for us.
The fact was, reality had just given me a wake-up call. How would I ever tell the girls we were about to be on national TV?
I stopped to rub the beginnings of a headache in the center of my forehead. The real question was, how would I tell my husband? Henry would never go along with this.
I walked down the spiral staircase of my wedding boutique to my dessert bar by my front register and poured myself a cup of coffee. I took a sip then walked to the front window to watch the cars drive down Main Street. It was a beautiful July afternoon. The edges of the blue sky were embroidered with the silhouettes of jagged peaks that surrounded our mountain valley. Across the street I could see Clay Whitefield’s jeep parked in front of the Higher Grounds Café. As usual, Clay, our local reporter, was there looking for a story. But despite the fact that we’re practically colleagues, with the local paper carrying my advice column and all, I wasn’t about to give Clay the scoop, at least not yet.
I took another sip of my coffee and drifted back to my worries. My biggest problem was Henry. Things had been tense between us, and we’d made zero progress in our weekly counseling sessions with Pastor Kevin. News like this could … well … I shuddered.
I turned and walked through the shop’s plush sitting room to the kitchen in the back. I pushed open the swinging door and rinsed out my china cup in the stainless steel sink.
After I placed it in the drying rack, I looked at my gold Chico’s watch and saw it was already past five.
A few minutes later, I pushed the accelerator of my Lincoln Continental a few miles over the speed limit, keeping a sharp lookout for Deputy Donna and her speeding tickets. It was dangerous to speed when she was on duty, but I had a lot to do if I was going to prepare for an emergency meeting of our Potluck Catering Company. I felt my forehead knit. Who should I call first? Evangeline Benson Vesey?
I shook a “no” to myself. Poor Evie. She still saw herself as president of what was left of the old prayer club. Never mind that once I’d arrived to town, the club had morphed into a catering company. Sure, we still had our famous potluck meetings, complete with prayer and gossip. I mean, that was a bonus. Plus, it was always a treat to see the dishes my friends cooked up. Which reminded me, I’d have to remember to pull one of my emergency leek quiches out of the deep freeze.
I was afraid that, as good as it was, my quiche wouldn’t be enough to buffer news like this. This was enough to put the team into a fullblown panic. Sure, they’d been supportive of me during my recent marriage crisis, but just how far would their sympathies go?
I turned into the driveway of our luxury retirement condo overlooking Golden Lake. Sure enough, Henry’s truck was missing from the garage, which meant he was off fishing in the Blue River. I’d have to deal with him later. I checked my Crock-Pot steaming with a summer squash soup, added a dash of pepper, then hurried to the phone next to the kitchen table. I hesitated, then picked up the handset to dial Vonnie, knowing full well that my news would soon change our lives, for better or for worse.
I’d been taking a little nap in my favorite recliner with my dog Chucky, a king kong bichon, when the phone rang.
I reached for the portable handset I kept within arm’s length and said, “Hello?”
A Texas-accented voice rang out, “Thank goodness I caught you!”
I kicked the chair out of its reclining position and sat upright, shooing Chucky to the floor. His little white face peered up at me and his brown eyes filled with reproach. “Lisa Leann? You sound like you’re in a panic. Is everything all right?”
“I’m calling an emergency meeting of the Potluck Catering Club, tomorrow night at six.”
I slowly stood, stretching the kinks out of my back. “Oh dear. Is this about Henry? He hasn’t left you, has he?”
“No … Well, not yet.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” I walked from my darkened living room to where rainbows of light glinted through my baby doll sun catchers in my window above my kitchen sink. I held the phone between my ear and shoulder and poured water into my teakettle. I was so looking forward to a quiet cup of tea, a luxury I’d only recently been able to enjoy since Mother moved back home with Dad to their condo in the neighboring town of Frisco. Thank goodness that ankle of hers had finally healed.
“Is there anything you need me to do?” I asked.
“Well, I need a favor. Could we have the meeting at your house?”
I set the kettle on the stove and turned the heat on high, sighing as I thought of the chore of tidying up and dusting around my ever-expanding doll collection, which lined the shelves of my living room and filled every cranny of my home. “Why here?”
