A Taste of Fame (22 page)
I walked over to shake Denver’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you and the guys helping us out like this. I’ve been a big fan of yours since I saw you on
The Next Great American Band
.”
Denver smiled that sweet smile of his as his eyes twinkled. “Glad we were in town with the night off,” he said. “We wouldn’t have missed this opportunity to be in front of thirty million viewers for the world. So, thanks for thinking of us.”
After my chat with Denver, I turned my attention to the latest crisis. And with all the work going on, I was pleased to have a handyman on our team. Wade had just put the finishing touches on the entrance to the room. Instead of rolling out the red carpet, Wade had put together a gray gangplank along with life-size photos of our entire team as well as our celebrated couple. Wade had picked up the posters, which had been donated by the Kinkos store nearby. The cool thing about the pictures was that they’d been placed along the entranceway to make it look like Team Potluck and our happy couple were beckoning our guests to join us on board the SS
Constitution
. I walked up the gangplank and into the banquet hall, stopping to pretend I was seeing it for the first time. The tables looked exactly like the tables from the movie, complete with glass vases with two pink carnations, which were happily within our budget.
Before we went down to makeup and before our guests of honor and their guests started to arrive, we met in our war room to pray. David, to my surprise, asked if he could do the honors, and everyone nodded. We held hands as he bowed his head and said, “Lord, thank you for my friends and family who are here with me tonight. Bless our efforts. Bless the show, and Lord, please be with us here on the set. We love you. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”
I blinked back the moisture that was gathering behind my lids. That was one sweet prayer for a man who’d only come to faith since he’d arrived in Summit View last year. I said, with as much feeling as I could muster, “Amen!”
An hour later, as the cameras rolled, our guests started to arrive. Lizzie, dressed in her white tux with a black bow tie, greeted them. She helped the families sign the guest book and told them their table number so they could find their seat assignments.
While Mr. and Mrs. Marino sat at the head table, they were greeted by a constant stream of well-wishers. All the while, Nelson’s rented projector played his PowerPoint slide show to the delight of the crowd. After twenty minutes of continuous slide show rotation, Denver and the Mile High Orchestra were ready to swing. They played their rendition of “You Make It Easy to Be True,” a peppy love song from the movie, while Denver sang the lyrics.
Donna and David, the only ones on our team not wearing the white rented tuxes, began to waltz in front of the band. Donna had learned the steps to the dance from David only that afternoon, and I have to say, I was impressed by their performance. David was dressed in his own black tux, while Donna, who’d spent extra time in makeup, made a perfect Deborah Kerr, aka Terry McKay. She wore a short red wig that actually looked pretty good. She also wore a strapless ivory chiffon gown we’d gotten at 75 percent off at Macy’s. It was an amazing reproduction of Kerr’s gown. So much so that no one would ever guess that Vonnie had entwined, tucked, and tacked those dark orange scarves on that dress all by herself.
After the dance, the orchestra kept playing and Denver kept crooning while we served the plated chicken, rolls, and pears.
I couldn’t help but keep an eye on Teresa Juliette. She, along with Mr. and Mrs. Marino, sat at the head table. She was actually pretty quiet and sometimes appeared bored. (Not a good sign for this generally bright-eyed gal.) But the rest of our dinner guests were anything but reserved. With all the crying babies, the children running the aisles, and the mothers trying to make the children behave for the cameras, it was a pretty lively scene.
Later, after the guests finished dining, Donna and David reappeared and performed a little skit from the movie. First, they pretended to pull away from an embrace. As Donna walked away, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Oh, I should ask you, do you want kids?”
To which David said, “Lots.”
The banquet hall, full of Marino offspring, tittered in laughter as Donna pulled a microphone from a nearby stand. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Marino, on your fiftieth wedding anniversary and your many kids, their kids, and their kids and kids to come. But before we serve the cake, your eldest son has a few remarks.”
Anthony, who was wearing a chocolate brown suit, looked distinguished at forty-nine. However, he put his lips so close to the mic that his words buzzed. “Mama, Papa, I can’t tell you how proud I am of you. To think you’ve made it fifty years. What an accomplishment! Just like those love birds in
An Affair to Remember
, you met on the SS
Constitution
too. As I recall the story, Mama was a paying passenger, but Papa, you were the trumpet player who got the girl.”
The orchestra’s trumpet players played an enthusiastic squeal on their horns while everyone laughed.
Anthony held up what appeared to be a glass of pink champagne. “Here’s to you, Mama and Papa!”
The band cued up “You Make It Easy to Be True” as Wade and Nelson, looking svelte in their tuxes, brought over the cart with our heart-shaped cake. The rest of the team playing waitstaff scurried to refill the champagne glasses with our pink carbonated punch. (Well, we couldn’t afford the real stuff anyway.)
The guests began to clap, and some of them began to tap their glasses with their knives. “Speech, speech!” they called as the guests of honor rose to their feet. Donna handed Mr. Marino the mic, and he said, “First, I want you all to know how much I love you.” He turned to his wife. “Especially you, Marian, you’ve been a good and faithful wife.”
She kissed his cheek and leaned in to say, “You’ve been a good husband to me, Nicky, and a good papa too.”
Mr. Marino put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. That’s when I noticed how much the man was sweating.
Oh, my
.
He reached for his cloth napkin and dabbed his forehead and tried to catch his breath. “I’m not so good at speeches,” he said. “I’m better at love.”
Mrs. Marino ducked her head bashfully. “Oh, stop being so sexy,” she said while the crowd giggled.
“How can a man not be so sexy when he’s married to a beautiful woman like you,” he said as the family “awwwed” and chuckled again.
“Oh stop, Nicky.”
And he did stop. Suddenly, all the color drained from his face. His smile was replaced with a look of surprise as his legs began to buckle. David lunged to grab him by the arm but missed. In an instant, Mr. Marino lay at his wife’s feet.
By the time his wife and family had stopped screaming, David and Donna, in all their finery, were working in tandem to save his life. First, Donna unbuttoned Mr. Marino’s top button and loosened his tie while David put his ear to his chest. “I don’t have a heartbeat,” he told Donna. Donna pushed Mr. Marino’s forehead back, arching his neck. She opened his mouth to make sure his tongue wasn’t blocking his airway while David began to administer CPR. Kneeling next to the downed man, David locked his elbows as he began to push rhythmically on Mr. Marino’s chest. David looked up at the stricken Mrs. Marino. “Don’t worry. In real life I’m a paramedic.”
Donna stopped to take a breath, but before she continued her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation efforts, she gasped, “It’s okay. I’m a deputy.”
Wade grabbed the microphone. “Everyone stay calm. We have two emergency workers right here. An ambulance has already been called. The only thing we can do now is pray. Do you mind if I pray now?”
Shouts of, “Please do,” and “Yes, pray,” filled the room.
Wade bowed his head as the cameramen rushed in for a closeup. “Dear Lord, please bring Mr. Marino back to his loving family. We ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.”
Days later, our beautiful banquet complete with our wonderful band, the little romantic intrigues between Donna and the men on the set, plus our life-saving drama, aired as millions of viewers watched Donna and David save this great-grandfather’s life. To top it off, even the judges were complimentary. Brant said, “To say the event was completely dead would be a lie. Hear, hear to the heroic efforts of Team Potluck,” while the audience cheered.
Not to be morbid, but it didn’t hurt that our package included clips of Mr. Marino from his hospital bed, saying, “Those two lovebirds saved my life, you know. Not only have I survived a massive heart attack”—he chuckled till he coughed—“I’ve just survived a heart bypass.” His wife leaned in and kissed his cheek as he said, “Marian, you’re stuck with me for another fifty years!”
Mrs. Marino smiled. “Thank you, Team Potluck. You’ve given us hope and a future.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in Studio 8 H when our segment was over. After it aired, I could barely concentrate on the other teams’ anniversary parties. Not that I meant to daydream, but I didn’t really need to watch the competition to make my prediction as to tonight’s results. After a party like this, Team Potluck would surely be around to face another week, maybe even to go all the way to the top to receive that cool million dollars.
I gave a sigh of relief. Now I was free to concentrate on what I was really concerned about: whether or not Henry would be at the airport tomorrow. I just couldn’t guess. I wanted to see him, of course. But then, he would expect me to have confided in Nelson about my shameful past. But how could I?
One thing I knew for sure: whatever good the next day would bring, it would also bring sadness and sorrow for some. Maybe even us ladies from Team Potluck.
As soon as Goldie and I returned from the set, got undressed, and then redressed—me in a summer’s workout set and Goldie in a floral lounging gown, we set the room’s alarm clock for 5:00 in the morning. Goldie took the extra measure of dialing the front desk and asking for a wake-up call at 5:15. “Just in case,” she said. “As tired as we are, we might just sleep right through the alarm clock.”
She was right, there.
We then decided to call our husbands, first to find out if they were still coming to New York the following day, and second, to talk about how the show had been perceived by those watching in Summit View.
“I’ll call Samuel from the lobby,” I told Goldie, waving my cell phone at her. “You can call Jack from in here.”
Goldie looked something akin to horrified, I initially presumed because I felt I needed to go to another floor entirely in order to have privacy. “I’ll take my shower if you’d like,” she said. “I can wait to call Jack.”
I glanced at my watch. “No, no. It’s getting later than late here, and even though it’s two hours earlier back home, I’m tired, you’re tired, and we need to just make our calls and go to bed.”
Goldie raised her brows as though to protest, but then said, “Okay.”
As I reached the door she said, “But be careful down there.”
I laughed lightly. “Oh, Goldie. Surely you’re not scared for me to be in the lobby of
this
hotel, are you? I’m perfectly safe in spite of the hour.”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of the boogeyman, Liz. I’m more concerned about the cameras that might be lurking behind every fichus tree and work of art down there.”
She had a point. “Hmm. I see what you mean. Okay, I’ll be careful. I promise.”
I opened the door, stuck my neck out into the hallway, glanced to the left, then the right, and then looked back at Goldie. With a wink I said, “Coast is clear.”
“Don’t joke, Sherlock,” she said.
I slipped out the door and allowed it to click shut behind me before heading toward the elevators down the hall. Between my Keds and the rich, thickly padded carpets, my footsteps were muffled. Even Donna wouldn’t hear my trek toward the lobby, I decided with a smile.
I pushed the elevator’s down button, slipped my phone into the back pocket of my pants, and waited. Then I prayed,
Let this thing be empty when it opens, Lord
.
God was good. When it opened I was met with an empty carrier, which brought a sigh of relief. I stepped in, pressed “L,” then watched the doors slide shut. The elevator jerked once then began its slow decent.
It stopped. I looked at the floor buttons and saw that “9” was brightly lit. The doors slid open again. I looked at my feet, then stepped back a notch to allow a young man and woman to step in.
I sensed rather than saw some movement between the two of them. Looking up, I realized they were signing to each other. The woman glanced at me once, then continued in her frantic hand movements. Something was most definitely wrong.
“Hi,” I signed to them. “Can I help you with something?”
“Are you deaf? ” the young man, a handsome lad who appeared to be no more than twenty-one or twenty-two years of age, signed back.
“No,” I signed. “I have a deaf daughter. Is something wrong?”
At this point the doors opened and the lobby was mere steps away. I pointed toward the opening and signed, “Let’s go out here and talk.”
The young man allowed the woman and me to step out first and then followed. I glanced around the room as efficiently as I could to see if anyone from
The Great Party Showdown
might be about, but registered no one familiar. It appeared the theater crowd was returning and a good deal of life was still moving about near the lobby lounge. I turned back to the couple. “Tell me what is wrong,” I signed.
“My wife lost her purse,” the young man signed. “Her cash … her credit cards … her passport.”
I held up my hands for him to stop. “Let’s take this one step at a time.” I looked at the young woman. She had a round face, black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, and deep-set green eyes. Tear streaks made their lines from the red rims of her eyes to below her jaw line. “Where were you the last time you know you had it?”
She pressed her lips together and looked beyond my shoulder as though in thought, then said, “Seppi’s.”
“Seppi’s? What is that?”
