Power Couple (4 page)

“How would you know? After all, in this house, it's the Cori show. All you think about is yourself.”

There was a modicum of truth in Maverick's words, but what he didn't realize was that I had no choice but to put myself first. If I hadn't, it would have been all about him, and I would have ended up without an identity. He was such a big presence, so beloved and revered, if I hadn't placed myself front and center, I would have been swallowed up by his image. Throughout our marriage, I'd been fighting to stay afloat. Fighting to keep up with him. Doing everything in my power to be deemed worthy of being his wife.

“If I only cared about myself, then why do I turn a blind eye every year when you go to Brazil?”

“That's part of our agreement.”

“That stupid agreement doesn't benefit me in any way, but I go along with it,” I yelled. “And what about your special birthday present that I get you every year? A selfish wife wouldn't go to the extremes that I go through to make sure her husband is happy. Listen, Mav,” I said, lowering my tone. “I don't want to separate. We can work this out, together,” I said pleadingly with tears running down my face. I snatched a tissue out of the fancy holder on my nightstand and tried blotting my eyes, but the tears kept falling.

“I'm so sorry, Cori, but this marriage is beginning to suffocate me,” he said in a gentle tone.

“What about the baby?”

“There is no baby.” The tenderness left his tone and was replaced with annoyance.

“The process is already in motion. There's a fetus that was created
from my eggs and your sperm. I finally selected a surrogate the other day.” The surrogate part was a lie, but I was grasping at straws, trying to hold on to my marriage.

“We haven't signed any papers, yet…no harm, no foul. Whoever you spoke to can keep it moving and be an incubator for another couple.”

“But it'll look bad if you walk away, now.”

“It's better to leave now than to wait after a kid has been brought into the world. As far as I'm concerned, that kid is a weird lab experiment. Any child that's chilling in a Petri dish and waiting for a womb doesn't stand a chance at a normal life.”

I had no idea that Maverick held such disdain for a surrogate birth. Obviously, his mother had forced her outdated viewpoints on him. “Using a surrogate doesn't impact a child's mental or physical health.”

“It's still weird as hell. Look, I've changed my mind. If we can't have a child the traditional way, then I don't want one.”

My hands trembled and my voice came out shaky. “Okay, forget the surrogate for now. But for the sake of both our careers, we need to stick together.”

“Are you saying we should stay together in name only?”

I was horrified by his implication of an open marriage. I'd already thrown away enough of my pride by giving him permission to go to Brazil once a year where he fucked as many Brazilian beauties as he could. After he returned home and after getting a physical where he was tested for STDs and HIV, our marriage resumed as if the vows hadn't been broken.

“Mav, all I'm saying is that neither of us can afford bad publicity, and after putting in ten years, we shouldn't simply give up.”

Maverick folded his arms. “Ten years is long enough for me…I want out!”

Though I was on the brink of erupting into more tears, I remained calm. Maverick was not thinking rationally and I had to control my emotions in order to fix this shit.

“Mavcor is the brand of a wholesome and virtuous married couple,” I reminded him. “A big part of your attractiveness to the network is based on the brand that we've both worked so hard to build. I doubt if any network would be interested in you if you were a bachelor or a separate entity from the Mavcor package.”

“If memory serves, Mavcor wasn't out there on the football field winning back-to-back Super Bowl rings; I did that shit all by myself,” he bragged, poking himself in the chest.

I brought up a few more reasons why separating would sabotage both our careers, but going back and forth with Maverick was getting tiring and I had to be on set in another hour.

“I realize I put you in a vulnerable position with the network, and I don't blame you for being upset, but I can fix it. I
will
fix it,” I promised. “Tamara will be back to work tonight—I'll give her a raise. Everything is going to work out.” Giving him a reassuring pat, I got up and began getting dressed. I sighed as I mentally prepared for a long day.

CHAPTER 6

T
he filming of the competitors waking up in their hotel rooms hadn't gone well. With cameras in their face, the group of nineteen had to repeatedly fake waking up. I had no pity for them. They wanted to be on television, and reshooting scenes was part of the game.

According to Ellie, who was present during the disastrous early morning taping, one of the male contestants—the dwarf—repeatedly and vigorously scratched his crotch, like he had a bad case of crabs. When he wasn't scratching his pubic area, he was clutching his dick as if holding onto a security blanket. He was asked to be mindful of keeping his hand out of his drawers, but it required about fifteen takes to get him to comply.

The producers loved kooky characters, but vulgarity and outright gross behavior was frowned upon.

Another contestant, fighting off sleep, had groggily insisted that she had to say her morning prayers before interacting with people, and of course, anything overtly religious was also a no-no. Her unwillingness to forgo her morning ritual had wasted an enormous amount of time, according to Ellie.

With the show running behind schedule, there was no point in me rushing to the Chelsea studio. I called the surrogate agency and told them to set up an appointment for me with a candidate who lived fairly close to Manhattan. Instead of meeting with the
individual at the agency or at a hotel, I said that I preferred to conduct the interview at her home. I deliberately gave the impression that I wanted a more personalized visit, when in all actuality, it was more convenient for my driver to take me to the surrogate than to sit around waiting for her to get to the city.

With Maverick threatening to leave, I didn't have time to be picky anymore. I needed to get that bun in the oven ASAP. It no longer mattered whether or not the surrogate ate meat—as long as she didn't drink alcohol or use drugs during the pregnancy.

Her name was Sophia Gainer, thirty-three years old and Caucasian. I knew she'd be the perfect gestational carrier the moment I entered her modest apartment in the Bronx and spotted a box set of my DVDs among her collection. There was a framed poster of me in her kitchen and she had copies of my three cookbooks displayed on the countertop.

“I'm your number one fan, and I'm so delighted to meet you,” Sophia gushed. “I can't believe that a big-time celebrity is standing in my humble abode.”

“Your apartment is lovely,” I commented.

“Thanks. I read about your inability to have a child on one of the blogs, but never in a million years did I think I'd be in the running to carry your child,” Sophia said, grinning and shaking her head in disbelief.

So far, I liked Sophia, but I needed to dig a little deeper to find out if I trusted her to carry my child. “Aside from wanting to help women who are unable to bear kids, what's the other reason for your interest in being a surrogate?”

“Well, Cori, I'm a military wife. My husband, Paul, is overseas in Afghanistan. Our boy, Ryan, is twelve-years old and he wants to follow in his daddy's footsteps, but he aspires to go even further. He wants to become a general one day, and as a parent, it's my responsibility to help him achieve his goals. Ryan attends a pres
tigious military academy in Pennsylvania—on scholarship. He'll be in the eighth grade in September. Even though his education is covered, we have to pay for his room and board and other miscellaneous expenses. And those miscellaneous expenses can really add up. He's currently attending the academy's summer program, taking advanced classes. We had to pay for summer school out of pocket.

“I want my boy to have every opportunity in life, but the rising cost of education makes me concerned for Ryan's future. He's not guaranteed a full ride when he's ready for college and we don't have any money saved.”

I nodded empathetically.

“As you're probably aware, the military doesn't pay a lot,” Sophia continued. “With Ryan's expenses and trying to buy a house in Pennsylvania, so we can be close to our son's school, we can use all the financial support we can get.”

Without a doubt, Sophia was a conscientious parent. I felt I could trust her to be as careful with my baby during gestation. But I had another question before making a decision. “How does your husband feel about your decision to become a surrogate—particularly for an African American couple?”

“He's all for it. He views it as another way for our family to serve our great country. As far as race goes, Paul and I don't see color.”

Good answer!

Sophia and I chatted for another thirty minutes and then I checked my watch and stood.

“The agency will be in touch with you soon, Sophia.”

“Will they let me know one way or another?”

I'd already made up my mind that Sophia was the one, and it was difficult keeping that information to myself. “You'll hear something by the end of the week,” I assured her.

During the drive to Chelsea, I called Ellie and instructed her to
rehire Tamara. “Tell her it was a huge misunderstanding and offer her ten thousand more a year. Let her know that Mav and I should both be home by eight tonight, and I'd like dinner served precisely at eight-fifteen. She can pick up a key from the concierge.”

I was grateful that Ellie hadn't asked why I'd changed my mind about Tamara. Not that it was any of her business, but I wasn't in the mood to think about my marriage crisis, let alone discuss it.

Next, I called the surrogate agency and told them I'd decided that Sophia Gainer was a good fit and asked that the paperwork be emailed right away. I'd have to forge Maverick's signature, but that wouldn't be difficult. In the course of our marriage, I'd signed his name hundreds of times. Whether Maverick liked it or not, we were going to have a baby with a surrogate. It was easy for him to insist upon a traditional birth when he didn't have to worry about ruining his body.

In a matter of minutes, Ellie called me back to let me know that Tamara had accepted my offer. “She was really happy and grateful,” Ellie said.

She was happy now, but her days were numbered. She'd be on the unemployment line the moment Maverick inked his new deal with his network.

“It's been crazy here on the set. Josh is in rare form,” Ellie confided.

“What's going on, now?”

“They've been giving the kids (“kids” was our nickname for the contestants) champagne to enliven them, but they're all acting a bit too loopy to film. A lot of them aren't following instructions, and it's really slowing down production.”

“Please don't tell me we're going to be working past eight because I can't stick around that long—not tonight.” With my marriage in crisis, my dinner date with my husband was too important to miss.

“There's also a bit of a problem with one of the celebrity judges,” Ellie informed.

“Which one?”

“Enrique. He canceled at the last minute, and I overheard Josh saying that he's probably hung over or lying up in bed with his latest boy-toy.” I groaned. “They're waiting for his replacement to arrive.”

“Who's the replacement?”

“I don't know, but I can find out if you want.”

“That's okay. I'm cool with whoever fills the spot as long as it's not Baxter Sinclair with his funky cologne and heavy British accent.”

“Should I remind casting of your aversion to Baxter?”

“They're well aware.”

“Is there anything you need me to do until you get here?” Ellie asked.

“No, not really,” I said absently. My mind was on Maverick and the seduction I planned for him after dinner tonight. Even though I wasn't exactly in the mood for anything kinky, desperate times called for desperate measures, and I couldn't think of a more appropriate time to make one of his filthy fantasies come true. I usually only contacted an escort service on Maverick's birthday, but I needed to indulge my husband's freaky desires. Too bad I couldn't delegate the task of contacting an escort service to Ellie, but some matters were simply too sensitive to entrust to others—even someone as loyal and discreet as my assistant.

The driver rolled into the lot, parked, and opened the door for me. Sauntering into the studio I wondered if the rest of the day would go smoothly or if there'd be one calamity after another. Having a heads-up on Josh's mood, I was braced for a long day of chaos and turmoil. But come hell or high water, I was getting out of there by seven-thirty.

The contestants were hanging around idly while a scene was
being set up, and they all murmured excitedly when I made my entrance. I waved at them without breaking my stride. I made it a point to limit my interactions with the kids. Not knowing them on a personal level made it easier not to care when they were discarded like yesterday's trash.

Ellie, along with my glam squad, hurried toward me. “Not now, not now,” I said, holding up a hand. “I need something in my stomach before we get started.”

“Would you like a green smoothie and walnut-kale salad with sesame dressing on the side?” Ellie quickly suggested.

“Sure, that sounds good.”

While Ellie was busy gathering the ingredients from the
Cookin' with Cori
kitchen, I visited the website of an escort service I'd used last year on Maverick's birthday. The service was known for its discretion, so I didn't have to worry about anything being leaked to the press, but God forbid if a hacker ever got hold of their files. I shuddered to think of the scandal!

I perused the photos and studied the face of a Russian, blue-eyed blonde named Katya, who was listed as bisexual. Perfect! Pussy-eating bitches drove Maverick wild. I wasn't into chicks at all, but I went along with it strictly to please my husband.

I looked at Katya once more, and decided that there was something about her close-set, blue eyes that bothered me. I checked out some other girls on the site, but for some reason, I went back to Katya. Those eyes of hers made her appear to be extra freaky. If Maverick's nasty fantasies were satisfied, he'd be less outraged when he discovered that I'd taken it upon myself to go ahead with the surrogacy plans.

After keying in all the pertinent information and paying the fee for the prostitute to make a house-call, I logged out of the escort service site and checked my email.

I smiled when I noticed an email from the surrogate agency. I printed the form, signed both my name and Maverick's and then faxed the form back. My husband had better think again if he thought I'd allow our budding empire to crumble over his momentary bout of marital boredom.

After being stuck in that miserable warehouse yesterday, I had a newfound appreciation for my massive dressing room with its bright-pink desk, comfy furniture, and every amenity I could hope for. Despite the bedlam that was ensuing on the set, my world was peaceful.

There was a knock at the door that I assumed was Clayton, anxious to get started on my makeup. The door cracked open and an exquisitely beautiful face with flawless makeup peeked in. “Hi, Cori!” From her tone, one would think that the spectacular-looking, leggy woman who entered my dressing room was a dear friend of mine, but I'd never met her.

“I'm Azaria Fierro; we met at the Emmys after-party last year. It's an honor to get the opportunity to work on your show. I'm one of the behind-the-scenes chefs at The Food Network.”

All of our behind-the-scenes chef positions were filled on my show, so this slut needed to get the hell out of my dressing room and go back to The Food Network.

“After working behind the scenes, you can imagine how super anxious I am about getting in front of the camera.”

“What?” I scowled at her.

“I'm filling in for Enrique.” She threw a wrist up to her forehead, mimicking nervousness, but there was nothing nervous about this aggressive woman. Today was her big break thanks to Enrique for not being able to hold his liquor. I wished I had a bucket of water for Azaria's thirsty ass. It was clear to me that she was going to try to outshine me and milk her moment for all it was worth.

From head to toe, she looked exquisite. Versace sunglasses pushed back on a head of thick, russet hair. She wore a stunning red dress that accentuated her prominent breasts and clung to her curves. A Chanel jumbo classic was slung over her shoulder and she wore strappy sandals that I could tell cost a mint. Who was this chick, and why had Josh replaced Enrique with her?

It was
my
goddamn show, and I didn't appreciate having female competition. Though I was attractive enough, I wasn't a sex goddess, not by a long shot. At five-feet-four and wearing a size eight, I was in excellent shape, but was considered short and chunky by Hollywood standards. Although I worked hard at being glamourous, I couldn't light a candle to this incredibly beautiful woman with a feisty personality to match.

“Nice meeting you, Azaria, but if you don't mind, I'd like some privacy before my glam squad team comes bursting through the door.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, looking wounded from my abrupt dismissal. Then, recovering quickly, she affixed a fake smile to her lips. “I simply wanted to say hello. I'll get out of your way. I'm sure your glam squad has their work cut out for them,” she added snidely before exiting.

Fucking bitch!
I snatched up my phone and called Josh. “I don't want that Azaria chick on my show. I don't understand why you'd pick an unknown chef to be a judge?” I barked at him.

“Azaria is a person to watch, and some of our network bigwigs are hoping to steal her from the Food Network.”

“What do they plan to do with her?”

“There's talk about a pilot for a thirty-minute daytime show.”

“But no one has ever heard of her.”

“Well, between you and me, Enrique's going to rehab and she's a shoo-in for his spot on
Cookin' with Cori.”

“That damn Azaria must be sucking a lot of network dick to be able to slide in here and take Enrique's job.”