The Accidental TV Star (16 page)

The top crust on Cal’s pie undulated.

What the hell? I stepped closer to see how he’d managed the trick.

“This here’s Fresh Swamp Pie.” Cal stuck Gator’s jaws into the edge and used him like scissors going straight down the middle to cut open the top. “Get it, Gator.”

Snouts popped through the crust, then wriggling baby alligators the length of dollar bills sprang free.

OMG.

“Look at ‘em go. Now that’s height.”

I screamed. Sharp needles pierced the side of my hand.

“Don’t jerk away,” Cal said. “He’s just snapping in warning. He’ll let go.”

I screamed again, more from being freaked out than pain.

“Pop his little ears.” Cal smacked the gator’s head and the reptile released me.

I jumped back, scrambling to the top of the prep table. Will was already there. He yanked a spatula off the overhead rack and threw it at the scurrying alligators. One had chomped on the director’s ankle and one was preying on the cameraman.

“Stop laughing, Cal. Cage those damn things.” My hand started to throb and I lost it. “Now!”

Two of the creatures chased each other across the judging table, the way my little brothers chased each other around the living room. They powered through Will’s dessert and came away covered in sorbet and pixie powder. They went for my dessert next. The structure cracked and hard blown candy shattered to the floor.

I screamed and threw a spoon at Cal.

Cal dodged it and pointed at us. “Look at you two. Up on the table. Gators can climb, you know.”

I looked over and saw the beady eyes of a gator clutching the wire rim of the supply rack. He’d climbed up all the way to eye level. He looked angry.

“Aaack!” I hopped down and ran for the door.

“Run straight, not in a zigzag pattern,” Cal said, laughing between each word.

***

I thought about texting Ashley and Garrett but this was one of those things that would require too much typing. I pinched the side of my hand to distract me from the pain and laid back on the crinkly white paper that covered the table in the infirmary. I’d been triaged to a room, and now I was waiting. After the third time my epic ringtone went off, I took Garrett’s call.

“Who got it?” Garrett asked. “Who are the final two?”

“We don’t know, but since Cal let loose live baby alligators, odds are good for me and Will.”

Garrett whooped. “Where are you?”

I gave him the brief version and got silence on the other end. “Hello?”

The nurse walked in.

“Nurse is here, I’ve got to go.” I powered off.

“No worries, we film numerous animal shows.” The nurse typed on a computer tablet, prepping my chart. “We see this kind of thing all the time. The physician’s assistant will be straight in. She’ll give you a tetanus shot, an antibiotic shot, and a topical anesthetic so they can clean your hand.” She shook her head. “You’d have been better off being bitten by your co-star. Gator’s mouths are filthy.”

“Hmm.”

“Usually we see this on the animal sets only. Those culinary shows are getting too risky with their surprise ingredients.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of a surprise ingredient.”

“Well, we don’t have that many random alligator attacks in LA,” the nurse said as she left the room.

It wasn’t much longer before the physician’s assistant came in. Garrett walked in right after her. I thought he’d distract the PA, but he held my good hand and kept quiet. I looked up at him instead of watching the procedure. His lips were pressed tightly together and his jaw was clenched. I was glad he was there.

The sharp smell of antiseptic burned my nostrils. I winced and bit my lip. The cleansing treatment and numbing shot hurt worse than the incident.

“Nasty one,” the PA said. “Just a couple of stitches. Come back next week and we’ll remove them. Then you’ll be good as new.” She went on with further instructions about keeping the bandage dry and the wound moist.

I tightened my good hand on Garrett’s, ignoring the tugging sensation in my hand. “Are you done filming?”

“I’m on break. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks.”

The PA finished and Garrett led me to the exit. We were headed toward the parking lot when my cell phone went off. “Sara’s here. Gators are cleared. Please return to Studio Three for shooting of the selection segment.”

Final two. I stiffened and anxiety hit me. Reality shows thrived on drama. Cal’s stunt may have put him over. “I’ll be right there.” I clicked off.

“Stop whatever you’re thinking. You need a break. We should go home. They can film you tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m going back. The end shots never take more than half an hour.”

“You need to rest.”

“I need to fulfill my commitments.”

“It’s just entertainment, not worth your stress.”

Occasionally I could hear his family talking. “It’s a commitment. I’m keeping it whether you value it or not.”

Garrett shoved a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I’m saying. You’re pale. They’ve shot you full of medicine. And if I see that Cal…”

“You’ll say and do nothing. Because I can handle my own problems.”

Garrett didn’t contradict me, but he wore a stony expression. We went back to Studio Three. The damage had been cleared, but I kept a wary eye on the floor as Will, Cal, and I took our positions. Garrett leaned against the back wall, out of frame, and watched. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes constantly flicked between me and Cal.

Sara spoke to the camera. “Cal. You could have fried it, broiled it, or baked it and you would have moved on due to the strength of your dishes. But choosing to go Gator Tartar leaves me with no other choice.” She framed the cowering dog with her hand. “Cal. You’ve been scooped out. Please accept this doggie bag.”

Will and I began to bark and it hit me. I caught Garrett’s light green gaze and yipped as my mood rose.

Final two!

Chapter Seven

Garrett was still angry despite my win. He lay on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, brooding. Having to do a forced interview with Karla later tonight wasn’t helping his mood. I moved to the back of the couch and lay balanced on top. He was such an easy-going guy. I hated to see him upset.

He blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Did I tell you about the sixth gator? The cleverest, most vicious of all the pie gators?”

“You could really have been hurt. Hurt worse than you were.”

I wiggled my bandaged hand above him. “I wasn’t injured so badly that I couldn’t start baking. That cake batter aroma permeating your house means final two.”

He shifted, his light green eyes still showing his anger at Cal.

“So the sixth beast. He had more smarts than the other five.”

Garrett pinched his thumb and forefinger together. “His brain was this big; how clever could the wee reptile be?”

“While the other five scurried across the floor, dodging our running feet, Gator Six formed a strategy. He climbed.” I put my foot on the other side of Garrett’s legs, balancing above him. I held out a hand, wiggling it, more gecko than gator, but I was going for dramatic effect, not accuracy. “Will and I stood on the table screaming, watching the floor for the creatures. That’s when we heard the noise: the creak of the supply rack. You remember the supply rack?” Garrett nodded. My gaze rose. “Perched there, the living personification of wrath, furious at his removal from a warm pie was…”

“Gator six.”

“Gator six.” I pounced down on Garrett, straddling him, my knees on either side of his thighs, my hands above his shoulders. I kept the weight of my left hand on my fingertips instead of my bandaged palm.

Garrett ran his hands up and down my back in a comforting gesture. “I’d not have you hurt for a stunt, for ratings, for anything.”

“That’s very sweet, Garrett.” I imitated his accent.

Garrett slid his arms around my waist and drew me down to him. “And you were very brave? You fought off the creature?” He exaggerated the
r’s,
rolling them for me.

His body was hard under mine. Unyielding. “Nope, I jumped down and ran for the door, screaming, crying. I can only imagine the video. Blood dripping from my hand. Terror in my eyes. Vengeance in my heart.”

His lips twitched.

“Cal called me to apologize.”

“Right he should.”

“I thought he’d be on his way back to Louisiana. But he said he was going to stay and give it a go here. I really surprised me. I don’t know why, but it did. Gutsy.”

Garrett threaded his hand into the back of my hair. His eyes took on a bright distracted glow. I knew I should get up, but I liked the way he felt under me. I bit my lip, trying to make myself move away.

Garrett tightened his arm around my waist. “You smell like cake. I like it.”

The sensation of his hand flat on my back flooded me. I lifted my eyes to his and drew in a breath.

The oven dinged.

“That’s the wedding cake. Let me up.”

His fingers flexed, holding me firm. “Wedding cake?”

“Yep, wedding cake in the house.” I shifted free. “Scared, bachelor boy?”

“No.”

***

I’d been working on my cake for most of the day when Garrett came down and took a beer from the refrigerator. I eyed the beer as I stirred a bowl of cake batter. I had three more layers to prepare. “What are you drinking? Karla will be here within the hour.”

“I’m not doing the interview.”

“Yeah, you are. Your agent set it up. You’ll make nice. I’ll serve teacakes and work on my
Scoop Out
wedding cake in the background. When she pisses you off, look back at me and I’ll comfort you.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ve figured out a way around it.”

“Your agent said you have to do this interview. There’s no way around it.”

“Nah, the guys are coming over. I’m having a party instead. Karla can stay if she wants. Or not.”

“We’re not having a party. I have to prep for tomorrow’s show—the
Scoop Out
finale. Wedding cake. Final two contestants. You remember that, don’t you, Garrett?”

“I’m not asking you to cook. I’ll tell everyone the kitchen and the cook are off limits.”

“This is an interview about your
Haven Hill
premiere. You can’t blow it off or screw it up. It matters.”

“It’s just acting. Not brain surgery.”

“That’s your Dad talking. You’re really proud of this one. I know you are.”

“I won’t do an interview that helps her career.” He looked toward the window. “My own family won’t be there. My best friend’s overseas. The guys have been to so many premieres, they’d just as soon blow it off. You won’t be my date.”

I’d seen variations of this move at the trailer park. Joellen set up a job interview for Bobby and he got wasted the night before so he could blame not getting the job on the hangover. Jerry didn’t want to work so his shoulder acted up when opportunities came along. The cycle was endless. Just when I was caving about going out with the guy. “You’re not getting your way so you’re sabotaging yourself?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me. It’s just a party.”

The doorbell rang.

“Garrett, I’m serious. Let me send them away.”

Garrett headed to the door. “I got it, babe.”

Selfish man. I hated freaking fungible nicknames. My cell phone rang before I could go after him. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Houston area code so I took the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, Marissa,” a man said.

“Hi.” There was a pause of dead air. “Um, sorry, who’s calling?”

“This is your father.”

I went to my room and sank to the floor to take the call.

My father said, “I saw you on TV. You’re on a reality show. At first I was worried, because, you know. I was afraid you were going to drag us through the mud on one of those drunken party shows, but Karen said
Scoop Out
is more a talent competition and we watched it.”

I doubted my stepmother Karen watched much TV.
Too low-brow
probably. Ironic, my father was calling me now that I’m on TV when he never called at home. His calls and visits were less frequent than his child support checks.

When I didn’t answer, my father said, “I know we haven’t had much of a relationship. With your mom’s family, you can understand why I wouldn’t want to keep in touch or contribute to them. But I see now you’ve distanced yourself from them. A whole other state in fact.”

“I got your last birthday card,” I said. There had been a note inside for Mom, letting her know that he’d continue child support until graduation, but since I was 18 and not going to college, that was all he was obliged to pay. It hadn’t said anything about the payments he’d missed and Mom would never ask for them.

Awkward silence lay on the line.

“We saw on the opening intros that you’re going to college in the fall.”

“HCA.”

“Karen and I were thinking we could have you over for a meal when you get back in town. We can talk about my helping out with tuition.”

“Um. Thanks. I’ll um, I’ll think about it. I’ve got to go.” I wanted to be grateful or scream at him. Instead, I hung up and headed to the kitchen. Focus. Focus on the ingredients. I went to work and ignored the incoming guests and any greetings that flew my way. The partiers headed to the back, to the music and crowd outside. I had a plan and I was sticking to it. Garrett could screw up his opportunities if he wanted, but I wasn’t playing with mine. The oven dinged and I took out a layer to cool.

I took a drink of water and added more lemon slices to it. Great trick I’d learned from the studio shoots. Keep your vocal chords hydrated before you do your video. I blotted my face, smoothed my hair, and set my phone to record. “When cooking for a really epic event, such as a divorce party, a kid moves out of the basement party, or Grandma’s been busted out of jail, you want the dish to be right. So you need to practice. Make a trial run. Grandma didn’t bust out of jail on her first try and your cake’s not leaving the pan on its first go either.” I lifted the pan into view and talked about creating a sturdy base, then placed it on the counter behind me so it could serve as a backdrop.