I took a deep breath and tried to relax and enjoy the view. With any luck, this trip was only a free vacation, not a trip to the poor house. I’d be back on the job a week from tomorrow, and the public’s memory of this episode would have already started to fade.
Right, Lord?
Once our limo arrived at Rockefeller Center, we walked past the plaza fountain and its golden statue of a boy grasping fire. “What’s that supposed to be?” I asked.
David said, “That’s Prometheus. He’s from Greek mythology.”
“What’s his story?”
Our college student Nelson beat David to the answer. “He was said to be a Titan. He stole fire from the gods for mankind.”
“Oh, dear,” Vonnie said, “do New Yorkers really believe that?”
Lizzie, ever the librarian, shook her head. “No, Von. It’s just a symbol of acquiring technology.”
With Prometheus behind us, we stepped into the welcoming lobby of the seventy-story GE building. A young woman dressed in a tailored tan pantsuit said, “Welcome, Team Potluck, to
The Great Party Showdown
. My name is Amy Snyder, and I’m Kat’s assistant.”
She turned on her heels and led us past the lobby’s candy shop and three high definition screens, all showing
The Great Party Showdown
highlights. She then led us to the elevator bank and said, “We don’t have a second to waste. I’m taking you to hair and makeup so we can get an interview of you to roll in tonight’s live program.”
An elevator ride later, I was walking into a room filled with mirrors and makeup artists. As several members of our team met the artist who would be working with them, I was greeted by a young woman with black dreadlocks and flashing brown eyes. She was wearing indigo jeans and a white T-shirt that exclaimed
The Great Party Showdown
in bold, orange letters. She said, “My name is Sasha, I’m here to make you beautiful.”
“I’m Donna. Can’t you just leave me to look like my crabby old self? ”
Sasha laughed. “Rough day?” Before I could respond, she pulled a large jar of orange and brown powder twirled with red hot candies from a shelf above her station. “Here, let me make you a cup of my tea I use to relax my guests.”
“Sounds good,” I said, watching as she put a couple of heaping teaspoons into a Styrofoam cup before adding hot water from a steaming thermos. She handed me the cup, and I took a sip.
“Why don’t you sit tight while I work on your friend here,” she said, beckoning Nelson to her chair.
“Don’t I get some tea too?” he asked.
Sasha laughed. “You, my friend, don’t look like you need to chill.”
A few minutes later, a styled, pancaked, and powdered Nelson was sent to the green room, and I sat in Sasha’s chair. She fingered my curls then pulled out a headband for me to wear while she applied a heavy coat of makeup, concentrating on eliminating the dark circles under my eyes. I didn’t protest until she began to tweeze my stray brows.
“Ouch!”
“Trust me, Donna. It’s just that I’m going for an overall look of vitality,” she said. I quieted and let her have her way until she pulled out a small plastic container of false eyelashes.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said as she began to apply glue to a fine line of disembodied lashes.
She turned me so that I couldn’t see the mirror and began to apply the synthetic lashes to my eyelids. “If you don’t like them, we can always take them off before the glue dries.”
She finished her sticky job then fluffed out my curls. When she turned me back to the mirror, I stared at a stranger.
“Is that me?”
“Sure is. Now why don’t you head for the green room on the seventeenth floor? You’ll see it off to the right when you get off the elevator.”
When I entered the room, I was met with applause as I was the last Potlucker through the door. “You win the title of best makeover,” Lisa Leann crowed while David and Wade stared, slack jawed. Wade stood. “Donna, you’re …”
“Beautiful,” David said, finishing his sentence and standing next to him.
“Thanks,” I said as I sat on the old tan couch next to Vonnie. She patted my knee. Luckily, I had on such a thick layer of paint no one could even tell I was blushing. But before the makeup could melt off my burning cheeks, we were greeted by Kat Sebastian, the producer. She wasn’t at all what I’d imagined.
She was about six feet tall, skinny as a stick, and dressed in black, a color that contrasted with her pale skin. She had piercing brown eyes that she hid behind a pair of black plastic spectacles, and a pierced eyebrow that sported a small gold hoop. Her dark hair was swept into a rather chic ponytail that hung at the nape of her neck. But the thing that got me was she was probably all of twenty-seven.
“Glad to see you all made it.” She glanced at the clipboard she was carrying. “I’ve come to take you to our studio, down on 8 H. I’m going to get you miked so you can make some quick comments for tonight’s program.”
“You don’t mean we’re going to be on the
Saturday Night Live
set?” Nelson asked, his eyes wide.
“That’s the one,” Kat said. “Now, if you’ll follow me.”
Once our little group gathered inside the studio, we walked into a large pit, which was filled with cameras, light poles, and folding chairs. We looked at the elevated stage in front of us, which sported the judges’ desks and chairs and a couple of JumboTrons. Flanking either side of the stage were smaller sets with easy access to the pit.
Wade tapped me on the shoulder and pointed up. I turned around to see that the pit we were in was surrounded by elevated seating that looked large enough to hold a small army. “Wow,” I whispered.
Kat said, “You and the other teams will be seated here in the pit tonight, but for now, I want you to follow me to the stage we’ve set up for your spot, which we’ll roll into tonight’s show. One of our interns will get you miked up so we can start.”
The next thing we knew, Team Potluck stood under the glare of light while Kat’s voice floated down to us. “We’ll start in just a minute as soon as Gianne comes out of wardrobe. By the way, love the shirts. Go Team Potluck.”
“Yeah, ‘Go Team Potluck’ as in
go home
,” I responded.
“What was that, Donna?”
I squinted my eyes into the blinding light. “Nothing,” I said. “Just feeling a little homesick.”
“It’s too soon to feel homesick,” Kat said, “and with the numbers you’ve helped bring in, it looks to me you could be in town a while.”
Nelson’s voice was filled with hope. “We’ve got numbers?”
“The show pulled in an audience of thirty million last week.”
“Dear me!” Vonnie stammered.
Soon, Gianne Gillian, in a glittering black gown cut down to her navel, came rushing down to our set. She had a handheld microphone and was fidgeting with a device in her ear, presumably to hear private instructions from Kat.
Gianne made quick work of our interview, which was full of smiles and polite answers. She seemed to focus a lot on the male members of our team.
She said to Wade, “Welcome to New York. Are you homesick yet?”
Wade put his hand on my shoulder. “Not as long as I’m surrounded by the people I love.”
Gianne turned to David. “I hope you’ll soon discover that New York has a lot to offer.”
What, was she batting her eyes at him?
David grinned. “I’ve always loved New York.” He reached for Vonnie and gave her a hug as he placed his hand on my other shoulder. “But Colorado’s my home now.”
As soon as we were done, Amy led us to the craft table for a bite to eat while Gianne continued a bit of solo banter on the stage we left behind.
All too soon, we were seated in the pit with the other six teams still in the competition when the theme music blared and the live audience cheered. My heart began to pound with the realization that we were about to go live before thirty million souls.
After the rock music theme played, the cameras panned the cheering audience and contestants before focusing on Gianne in a close-up. “America, last week you voted three teams through to next week’s round of our top six. That means another unlucky team will not be joining us tonight. Sad to say,” our hostess continued, “but Team Café Mocha has been eliminated from the competition.” The JumboTrons showed a clip of Team Café Mocha from Seattle zapping whipped cream on top of steaming mugs of coffee. The crowd gave them a sympathy clap.
“But good news; we’ve got the three teams that have already qualified for next week’s competition and they are in the house. First, let’s say hello to Team Potluck!”
The lights came up and the camera panned to show our team sitting in the audience. When we realized we were on camera, we smiled and waved to the cheering crowd.
“Next, let me welcome Team Tex Mex from San Antonio, Texas.”
The crowd cheered again as the Texans stood and swished their bright yellow skirts.
“And last but not least is Team Batter Up from New York City.”
The all-male catering team, dressed like the New York Yankees, stood and gave the victory sign while the crowd went wild.
“I guess we know who the hometown favorite is,” Gianne said as the applause died.
Soon, Gianne was introducing the four teams competing tonight, showing previews of their catered events. “Tonight, America, we’ll see Team Hollywood, the Boston Bean Team, Comfort Cooking, and the Wild Cajun Cooks, all catering their own events back home on location with one of our celebrity judges observing. Only three of these four teams will join us in the next level of competition.”
Lisa Leann whispered loud enough for our row to hear, “We’re safe, at least till next Tuesday’s vote.”
Soon we were watching the first produced catering package, which showed Team Hollywood catering a ten-year-old girl’s birthday party. This bevy of wannabe starlets dressed like Jeannie from the old sixties sitcom
I Dream of Jeannie
. They made their young guests sit on large pillows while they belly-danced tiny éclairs, bite-size pizzas, and what looked to be Cheez Whiz on top of crackers around the room. The peppy Isabelle Salazar was their guest judge and she made a show of clapping and snacking. It looked like a lot of fun till a bit of secret footage showed frozen pastry éclair and pizza boxes in a trash can.
After the clip, Gianne turned to the panel of celebrity chef judges. “Teresa Juliette, we’ll start with you. What do you think of Team Hollywood’s event?”
Teresa, wearing her white chef dress, waved her sparkling spatula and said, “These cooks seem to think the four food groups are fast, frozen, instant, and chocolate. And what were they thinking about those costumes at a child’s birthday party? I’ll give them an F for not only having bad taste but for not knowing how to cook.”
Our old friend Brant Richards countered, “Who cares? Beautiful girls don’t need to cook. Their beauty makes everything more appetizing whether it really is or not. My recommendation, America, is to vote this team through.”
Isabelle Salazar, our Brazilian judge, had been wearing a black cape. She stood and flung it off her shoulders to reveal a hot pink genie costume of her own. The live audience went wild as she began to gyrate behind the judging table as the theme music from Jeannie played. She shouted, “I’m with Brant. Let them dance!”
When we went to break, Lisa Leann said, “I thought this was a catering program, not
Dancing with the Stars
.”
Goldie leaned over and whispered into my ear, “What next?”
We found out when the music cued again. Lisa Leann’s face appeared on the JumboTron as her
Dancing with the Stars
comment aired for the world to hear. The crowd roared, but Lisa Leann slid down her chair until she realized she was live on camera. She sat up and waved and said, “Honest to Betsy, if you TV folks are going to sneak around and record everything I say, then expect to hear the truth, and as Jesus said, ‘The truth will set you free.’ ”
The crowd hooted and clapped with glee.
Next, the Boston Bean Team package began to air. This all-men’s team once again wore their sailor hats made of newspapers while they dished up fresh lobster, boiled red potatoes, and, of course, Boston baked beans to serve their local Rotary Club. Judge Brant Richards had been on hand as their on-site judge, but he looked as bored as he was when we’d hosted him in Colorado.
When Gianne asked him what he thought of the experience, he said, “Sorry to say that though the food was good, the theme was boring.”
“What theme?” Judge Teresa asked as she waved her “wand.” “As far as I could tell, the only theme was lobsters and paper hats. Team Boston Bean, America wants you to get creative. If you stay in this competition, next week you’re going to have to demonstrate your party theme with your food and décor.”
Judge Isabelle, who had re-draped herself into her cape, said, “I agree!”
The final two teams of the night did a little better. The Comfort Cooking gals of Savannah, Georgia, hosted a Chamber of Commerce black-tie event based on an “Oscar Awards Night” theme, with a local comic emceeing the Savannah Woman of the Year Awards. It was hardly a surprise when the gals from Comfort Cooking, all dressed in black cocktail dresses and pearls, got an award for Outstanding Savannah Women. The party was topped off with large helpings of chicken and dumplings, corn bread, black-eyed peas, corn on the cob dripping with butter, and pecan pie with homemade vanilla ice cream.
Later, the Wild Cajun Cooks of Baton Rouge, who seemed a bit tipsy on camera, served up fried gator balls, boudin sausage, and plates of jambalaya, much to the delight of the on-site judge, Teresa Juliette, who seemed to enjoy dancing to the Cajun band. One close-up had her shouting, “Fabulous!” as she popped a sausage into her mouth. The camera panned back as she jigged to a couple of blazing fiddles from the band.
Both teams got rave reviews from the judges. “My only criticism of the Wild Cajun Cooks is they put too much sauce in their sauce, if you know what I mean,” Teresa Juliette said.
“It’s impossible to put too much sauce in a dish,” Brant countered.
The camera panned to where the Wild Cooks, a group of large, sweaty men, were seated. They laughed as though this was all riproaring funny. But I was really too tired to see the humor.