Grill Me, Baby (23 page)

“Isn’t it ironic that last week both of you were ready to disown Mic after the show and now you’re pledging family loyalty?” Tiffany gave him an accusing look. “What’s going on, Pop?” 

“Don’t be disrespectful. We heard Michaela’s been given another chance. But she still needs to beat that shady Latin chef, right?” Mom asked.

“Paolo is not shady.” Even if he was her teasing tormentor and formidable competition, Michaela felt compelled to defend him. “He’s just full of himself and determined to win. I need to come up with a gimmick that’s better than his.” 

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Mom said with her usual abundance of self-confidence. 

“We’d better get cracking,” Aunt Magda said.

“Do you know what you’re up against? What is his gimmick?” Mom’s face was a picture of tough ambition as she focused on a worthy new cause—her oldest daughter.

As soon as Michaela finished filling Mom and Dad in on Paolo’s gimmick, the room began to buzz with advice, given in rapid-fire succession, as each family member tried to outshine and out shout the other. When the cacophony escalated to an ear-splitting pitch, Michaela covered her ears and was tempted to ask them all to leave. But she kind of liked the fact that her whole family was united for her cause. It was a welcome change to the usual criticism doled out by her parents. 

“Hey, everybody. Shut up and listen up. I’ve got it!” Tiffany cried out, getting their undivided attention at once. Her blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed pink with excitement. “I have the perfect idea. You can’t say no until you’ve heard me out, Mic.”

“I’ll be the one to decide that, Tiff. What is it?” Michaela cast a wary eye on her wily little sis. Tiffany’s ideas were legendary in the Willoughby household. Like when she’d finagled the neighborhood boys who owned cars to give her rides to school so she wouldn’t have to take the school bus…and she was only eleven. And when she’d set up a lemonade stand spiked with the vodka she’d “borrowed” from their parents’ liquor cabinet.

Tiffany took a dramatic breath and looked around the room as she commanded center stage. She grinned broadly, obviously thrilled with her plan and enjoying all their attention. “Here it is in a nutshell. You invite only male viewers to enter a contest and then…”

“But that’s copying Paolo,” Michaela cut in. 

“Who cares? War is war. Don’t get hung up on the tactics, just the outcome.”

“No, I’d rather come up with something else. Keep in mind we’re running out of time.”

“That’s why you should hear me out before you start objecting. Okay?”

“Okay,” Michaela agreed reluctantly.

“The guys will be invited to email or Twitter you with a personal message about how they got into shape after battling weight gain,” Tiffany said. “Then the winner is invited on the show and you pamper him with a special, healthy meal. And you wear that hot red dress I bought you!” She snapped her fingers and made a dismissive gesture. “Giada, move over and let Mic take over.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Michaela said, stifling a groan. “That puts me in the same category as Paolo and—”

“No it doesn’t,” Aunt Magda said. “I like Tiffany’s idea.”

“Me too,” Aunt Willow chimed in. “It sounds like ‘The Biggest Loser’ combined with those Kathi Lee
Today Show
segments, ‘Everyone’s Got a Story’. People love an inspirational story.”

“Well, I have to agree with my sisters on this.” Mom nodded. “The premise works, Michaela. You can create a low-calorie meal to satisfy the contestant.”

“And end it with decadent love bites,” Tiffany added, her blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Decadent love bites?” Dad repeated, looking appalled. Hearing her burst of giggles, his blustery reaction seemed to amuse Tiffany to no end. Nothing made her happier than to shock her family, especially their stuffy dad. “Really, Tiffany. That’s pushing it!” He gave her an admonishing look. “You are out of control, young lady.” 

Everyone but her parents laughed along with Tiffany. “Don’t worry, Pop, Mic’s love bites are tempting, but harmless.” Tiffany offered him the open tin of pastel-colored
macarons
. “Here, have one.”

“You call those love bites?” Mom arched an eyebrow at Tiffany. “Did you come up with the salacious name?”

“It was my idea. I came up with it, Mom,” Michaela said. 

“Taste one,” Tiffany urged. “They’re Mic’s take on a French
macaron
and they are amazing.”

“Oh my God, a light bulb just went off in my head!” Aunt Willow turned to Dad. “Lawrence, do you know how we can get an 800 number? We can make it 1-800-luv-bite and make it l-u-v instead of the usual way,” she said, spelling out the letters. “The contestants can either call in with their story or visit a website called luvbite.com and leave a message!”

“We can do a Facebook page too!” Aunt Magda added eagerly.

“Whose show will be filmed first?” Tiffany asked.

“Paolo’s will be filmed in the morning. Mine will follow right after.”

“Lawrence, our daughter is in dire need of our help,” Mom announced.

“That sounds a bit dramatic,” Michaela said.

Mom ignored Michaela’s objection as she pressed Dad. “Why don’t you call in a few favors and get Michaela some press in the
Miami Herald
and on the radio?”

“I was already planning to offer help, Sylvia,” Dad replied, giving her a look of reproach.

“Good, then I’ll take care of getting the 1-800 number set up,” Mom said.

“Now the question is, what should she call her segment?” Aunt Magda asked.

“Uhhh, we need to brainstorm that one.” Tiffany tapped her temple.

Aunt Magda’s face lit up. “I know. How about
The Pleasure Palate
?” 

“Mmmm, hmmmm.” Tiffany giggled. “Love it and so will the men.”

Dad cast a stern eye toward Tiffany. “I’m not happy about the name or the concept. It sounds sleazy.” 

“I agree with Dad. I don’t want to put myself out there like that,” Michaela said.

Tiffany waved a dismissive hand at her. “Oh, please, don’t be miss-ish. You want to win, don’t you?” 

“Yes, but…” Michaela said. 

“No butts, unless it’s yours sheathed in that little red dress.” Tiffany’s blue eyes twinkled as she let out a hoot of laughter. 

Michaela rolled her eyes, but she had to admit it was nice to see her family rallying behind her as a unified force. She was most surprised by her parents, who usually couldn’t stand being in each other’s company, let alone holding a civil conversation. Today, they seemed to have bonded over helping her. There was nothing like two proud, competitive lawyers hell-bent on winning.

“Alrighty then. I’ll set up the website and record the message. All you have to do is give me a good headshot of you. Better yet, make it a full body shot.” Tiffany chortled. “In a string bikini.”

“Now I know you’re kidding,” Michaela said. “Forget it.”

“I was kidding about the bikini, but serious about the rest. Aunt Magda, you’re the social media diva. Can you somehow post a message on the Internet dating sites about Mic’s show?”

Aunt Magda beamed. “Absolutely! I’ll see what I can do.” 

“What can I do to help?” Aunt Willow asked.

“You can help Michaela choose the winner,” Tiffany said.

Aunt Willow looked inordinately pleased. “I would love to.”

“Hello? People, I haven’t agreed to any of this,” Michaela protested. “I’m not sold on the idea. It feels like I’m pimping myself.”

“You need to look at the end goal,” Mom urged.

“The Willoughby name is at stake and we’ve got your back. You are going to win!” Dad declared, pumping his fist in the air.

“If we blitz the Internet with your contest, it’ll give you an edge over Paolo,” Aunt Magda said. “Thousands of viewers can be reached through Facebook and Twitter.”

“And just think of the lucky guy who gets chosen,” Aunt Willow said kindly. “You’ll make his day.”

“You always say the nicest things, Aunt Willow. And you’re a wonderful help, Aunt Magda.” Michaela looked at her relatives, touched by their passionate enthusiasm. “Thank you, everyone, for being here and supporting me.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s all nice, Mic, but you better remember one crucial thing,” Tiffany said.

“What?” Michaela asked.

Everyone’s attention zeroed in on Tiffany as she grinned at them with an impish expression. 

“Sex sells and I’m your new pimp,” she proclaimed, gleefully ignoring the collective gasp.

Dad’s face darkened with disapproval. “I am not impressed, Tiffany. That is very crass of you to say to your sister. Why do you get a perverse joy from saying outrageous things?”

Shrugging off his tirade, Tiffany giggled and popped another love bite in her mouth. “Mmm, these
are
good! You’ve outdone yourself, Mic.”

Chapter Seventeen

Claudia stood in the living room clutching her new cell phone with a white-knuckled hand as she waited for Bobby to pick up. They were two hours behind in Alberta, making it seven o’clock in the morning there and nine in Miami. She had just hung up after another alarming phone call from Max Weintraub, the Woodbridges’ lawyer. The thought of them taking Mikey away made Claudia’s blood run cold. Bobby needed to know what his parents were up to so he could stop them! He also had to be told about Mikey. That part worried her because he would be furious that she had kept the news from him.

When Bobby didn’t answer, Claudia was about to leave a message, but Mikey started to cry and she didn’t want Bobby to hear him in the background—not yet. She hung up and ran to the baby carrier on shaky legs.

“
¿Qué pasa, nene?
” she cooed softly, peering into her son’s red, scrunched-up face. She picked him up and carried him to the sofa. When his mouth nudged her breast, she felt her milk let down instantly. It was barely two hours since he had last nursed, but knowing Mikey’s voracious appetite, he was probably hungry again. She remembered the Leche League lady’s caution that sometimes she might feel like she was nursing nonstop while the baby was building up her milk. Breastfeeding really was all about supply and demand. 

Claudia kissed the top of Mikey’s head as she lifted her blouse and lowered the flap of her nursing bra. At least she could feed him well, she thought, as Mikey latched on and slurped like a thirsty sailor. 

For what seemed like the millionth time, Claudia gazed at Mikey’s little hands in awe. They were shaped just like Bobby’s, with square palms and long, tapered fingers. Hands not meant for hard labor in the remote Canadian oil sands. She had no idea what her husband did out there, but she knew it had to be risky, otherwise how could he be making so much money?

The cell phone rang, startling her.
Oh God, was it Bobby returning her missed call?
As she picked up the cell, Claudia felt a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment when she saw it wasn’t Bobby calling back, but Señora Fuentes from down the hall. 

“
Hola, niña
, do you want a break? I can come over around noon and watch Miguelito for you,” Señora Fuentes offered.

“That would be wonderful. Just come in. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

“
Perfecto
. I’m making
arroz con pollo
, so I’ll bring you some.”

“
¡Qué rico! Gracias
,” Claudia said, grateful for a visit from the kind widow. What would she have done without Señora Fuentes? Claudia longed to share Mikey with the rest of her family, especially her mother, but Mamá still couldn’t get her visa squared away. At the rate her mother was going, Mikey would be walking before she got here!

As soon as Señora Fuentes arrived, Claudia hugged her and then sat down to devour the tasty chicken and rice lunch the widow had brought. When Claudia finished, she fed Mikey again before Señora Fuentes took over and shooed Claudia away to take a relaxing bath. 

Grateful for the reprieve, Claudia squeezed lavender-scented bath gel into the tub and filled it with hot water, swishing it to form bubbles. She stepped in and closed her weary eyes as the frothy water covered her from neck to toes. Her thoughts inadvertently turned to Bobby again. How would it be when he finally returned? 

In a dreamy trance, she ran a soft, soapy washcloth down her throat and across her tender breasts, remembering Bobby’s fevered touch when he made love to her. She longed for him so much her whole body ached, but they had unfinished business and there were no guarantees that Bobby wouldn’t take off again on another adventure, new son or not. If he did it once, he might do it again. 

Would he see Mikey as an end to his dream of starting his business of yacht chartering? Now that she had Mikey, Claudia wouldn’t be able, nor would she want to join Bobby to work beside him on the yachts. Sailing the open seas was no place for an infant. Would Bobby feel shackled by being a dad? They had always talked about waiting at least five years before having kids because Claudia was so young and filled with wanderlust, just like Bobby.

She exhaled a morose little sigh. As soon as they talked, Bobby would want an explanation for everything, starting with why she never went to stay with her family in Argentina and ending with why she had neglected to tell him she was pregnant with his baby. There was no getting around it though; she had to tell him now. 

All too soon, the bath water cooled, along with her nerve, and Claudia reluctantly got out and dried off with a fluffy towel. Rather than call him again, she decided she would send him a text with her new cell phone number. As she wrapped her damp hair turban-style in a towel, she heard a cell phone ringing. She donned her mauve silk kimono robe—a Valentine gift from Bobby last year—and then joined Señora Fuentes on the living room sofa. 

“Was that my cell phone I heard ringing?” Claudia asked, wondering if Bobby had tried reaching her.

“
Sí
,
I answered it,” Señora Fuentes said, not taking her eyes from the TV screen. She was engrossed in watching a Spanish
telenovela
.

“Who called?” 

Señora Fuentes pursed her rouged lips. Even in a housedress, the Cuban widow always made an effort to look put-together with nicely styled gray hair, pearl earrings and makeup. “I don’t know. It might have been the wrong number. I couldn’t understand anything, the reception was terrible.”