Near the end of the show, Gianne called the night’s four competing teams up front and center. “Need I remind you, America, that it’s your vote that will decide the fate of these four teams. You decide which of these three will join the three teams who have already secured their place in our top six.”
The highlights clips of the four teams played as Gianne called their names. “Who will be eliminated? Will it be Team Hollywood, the Boston Bean Team, the Comfort Cooking Team, or the Wild Canjun Cooks?”
She rattled off instructions on how to vote by phone as well as each team’s number and said, “America, only you can say who will be joining our other contestants for next week’s show.”
The curtains parted, revealing the rest of the teams, including ours, the winners from the previous week. As we waved, a clip appeared on the JumboTron. I looked up to see Gianne say, “So, Donna, I love your shirt. ‘Go Team Potluck.’ ”
Wait, Gianne never said that to me!
My face appeared on the screen as I seemed to reply, “Yeah, ‘Go Team Potluck’ as in
go home
.”
Could they do that—splice comments together like that?
Gianne went live in front of the camera that panned back to our team, focusing on Wade and David. Gianne said, “Is our deputy from Colorado already partied out, or is she trying to keep those Colorado mountain men all to herself? You decide, America. Next week is a show I guarantee you won’t want to miss. Until next time,
ciao!
”
I was thankful when the studio lights blinked off, knowing that the eye of the camera was finally asleep. I stood and stretched, trying to get the kinks out of my back. I turned to David, who had been sitting between Donna and me, and asked, “What now?”
My handsome son said, “I don’t think we’ll have enough time to grab a sandwich. I’m wondering if the craft table is still open.”
Wade, who of course was on the other side of Donna, said, “Mike the cameraman told me pizzas would be delivered backstage after the broadcast.”
I smiled with relief. “That’s good news, dear.”
When the delivery company set out the pizza pies on the long tables backstage, I happened to be standing next to one of the Wild Cajun Cooks, Bubba. At least that’s what was printed on his green baseball cap. I’d guessed he traded in his chef’s hat for the cap as soon as the show went off the air.
At thirtysomething, Bubba had black, wavy hair and intense brown eyes. His chin sported a tuft of a goatee, which was shaved to look like an inverted triangle. He had a slight beer belly that pouched under a white undershirt that was flanked by an open, red plaid shirt. As I’d never met anyone who called themselves a Cajun, I was eager to make his acquaintance. I extended my hand. “My name is Vonnie from Team Potluck. You’re Bubba?”
He gave my hand a squeeze. “Bonjour, Beb, yes, I am the man you speak of.”
“It’s Vonnie, not Beb.”
Bubba let out a belly laugh. “I call all good-lookin’ women ‘beb,’ including my grandmother. It’s a Cajun thing.”
I laughed too. “Like a term of endearment?”
“Just like dat.”
“Your team looked good tonight, especially your jambalaya,” I said as I let my pepperoni pizza cool on its paper plate.
“You want my recipe, it’s yours,” he said. “I’ll write it up for you tonight.”
“Why, thank you. And while we’re chatting, I’m wondering if you have an opinion. Which team do you think will be eliminated tonight?”
“Ha! Which mean, I dunno. Though I guarantee it won’t be the Wild Cajun Cooks.”
“Or Team Potluck,” I said with a polite laugh. “We’re not on the chopping block tonight.”
“Good! I had wanted to meet the deputy beb. I think we could make some spice.”
I stammered. “Oh? Well, I’m sure she’s here somewhere.”
David must have sensed trouble and walked over. “Mom, can I get you anything?”
“Maybe a Sprite,” I said.
“You are one of the deputy’s beaus?” Bubba asked.
“Well, we are dating, yes,” David said.
“Mind if I give you a little Cajun competition?”
“Well, she’d be the one to tell you no.”
He laughed again. “Not many women do dat. Where she gone?”
So help me if David didn’t look nervous. “She and Wade are making a phone call.”
Bubba interrupted. “You let your woman alone with that
canaille
cowboy?”
“Pardon me if my French is a little rusty, but even if Wade is sneaky, as you suggest, I’m certain Donna will be okay,” David answered.
To my surprise, Bubba blurted, “The web say those two have a past.”
My mouth fell open. “By ‘web’ you mean the Internet?”
Bubba nodded.
“How could you have read about Donna on the Internet?”
He smiled at me kindly. “Excuse moi, the bayou has WiFi.”
I felt my face burn. “Of course, I didn’t mean …”
“Cher, the message boards say David is your bebe but was brought up by a Hollywood actress. How come?”
I felt a chill. “That’s really none of your business.”
His tone was warm and sympathetic. “Cher, now you a star. Everybody know your business.”
I brought my free hand to my throat. “What else did you read about me and my team on the Internet?”
“Enough dirt to make mud pies. If’n I was you, I’d get a blog so you can, as they say, spin your own truth.”
I blinked and turned to David. “What’s a blog?”
“I’ll explain later,” he said as Bubba’s team motioned for him to return to their group. After Bubba said his adieus, David and I grabbed our cans of pop and retreated to a quiet spot in the auditorium seating (away from prying contestants and cameras), where I tried to finish my pizza. “What’s this about Donna making phone calls with Wade?”
“She may have some sort of lead on the whereabouts of Pete’s mother.”
I felt shocked. “Thelma’s been gone nearly six months. Does Wade think she’s in New York?”
“Possibly. At least, one of his aunts thinks so, so he asked Donna to check the lead.”
“So Wade and Donna are playing detective?”
“Looks like it.”
I hesitated, then dared to ask him what was really on my mind. “David, what I’d like to know is, are you and Donna still dating? Or is she with Wade?”
“I think we’re an item, though with Donna, it’s hard to tell. Since this reality show started, we’ve been too busy to spend much time with each other. Though we usually catch up for dinner when we pull the same shift, which is more often than not.”
“Donna’s been spending a lot of time with Wade,” I whispered. “Supposedly to check in on Pete.”
“I know. I see her Bronco over at the trailer park.”
“Aren’t you concerned?”
“Well, yes, but I think that if I make a big deal about it, it will cause it to turn into one. I feel it’s Pete
with
Wade that gets Donna’s attention. If Donna finds Pete’s mom, then I don’t think she’d have any more reason to keep seeing Wade.”
I nodded. “That could be, but Bubba is right when he says she and Wade share a past—”
Before I could say more, Kat’s voice floated around us. “Everyone, please turn off your cell phones. Tonight’s contestants, I need to see you on the stage, pronto. All other contestants return to your assigned seats in the pit. We’re about to make an important announcement as soon as our doors are locked and secured.”
A few moments later, I was sitting in my place beside Team Potluck while four very nervous teams stood with Gianne Gillian on the stage before us. A spotlight hit Gianne as the theme music blared the show’s intro. Gianne was holding a folded card in her hand as she said into the camera, “America, I have the results of the votes.”
The JumboTrons panned the anxious faces of the teams, many of whom held hands or huddled together in nervous clusters. Gianne opened the envelope and stared. After what seemed like a full minute, she looked up and said, “The team that will be going home … will be … announced tomorrow morning in
The Great Party Showdown’s
all-new extreme kitchen.”
The theme music played again as the cameras panned the shocked faces of the contestants. Some simply blinked into the bright lights while others punched each other in the ribs with their elbows and grinned.
Gianne continued, “Contestants, tomorrow morning, a limo will pick up your teams at eight sharp to take you to the elimination reveal and to see your extreme kitchens as well as your catering assignments. Until tomorrow, good night, everyone.”
To say I was happy to return to our hotel room was an understatement. But my happiness faded when Donna scrubbed her makeup off and changed out of her “Go Team Potluck” tee into one of her black T-shirts under a light denim jacket.
“Going somewhere?” I asked, already in my pink nighty and matching bunny slippers.
She nodded. “Yeah, Wade and I are grabbing a taxi to follow up on a lead we got concerning his cousin’s missing wife.”
“I’m not sure Pete’s mom wants to be found.”
“That’s what I want to find out. Is she safe? Or, do I need to go back to Summit View and look for a body?”
“Oh, dear. What sort of lead do you have?”
“We hear she might be a waitress at one of the local all-night cafés. We’re going over to snoop around.”
“Be careful, okay?”
“Don’t worry, Vonnie. It’s only 10:30 and I hope to be back before midnight. Maybe I’ll have some good news.”
“Oh, I hope you do.”
Whether Donna was back before midnight, I can’t say, but when our alarm went off at six a.m., I was happy to see her tucked into her bed.
“Good morning, dear. Rise and shine. The team is meeting in the hotel coffee shop in half an hour.”
When Donna simply turned and pulled her pillow over her head and groaned, I decided I’d get up and hit the shower so she could sleep a few minutes longer. But after my shower, no matter how much bumping and banging I did, Donna didn’t budge from her nest of tangled covers.
Half an hour later, as I opened our door to leave for the coffee shop, I called over my shoulder, “Donna, we’re leaving for the studio in an hour. Do you want me to tell the team you need to rest a few more minutes?”
“Would you?” she croaked.
“Want me to pick up anything for breakfast?”
Donna sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. “Bagel and cream cheese, and coffee, black.”
When I saw she was getting up, I hesitated. “Did you find out anything last night about Pete’s mom?”
She shook her head. “Maybe a lead. I’ll tell you about it when you get back.”
But in all the morning’s rush, she never got a chance to tell me what she’d found out, or how long she’d been out with Wade. And I knew better than to talk to her about it in the limo. That thing was probably riddled with microphones and hidden cameras. Plus, now that I knew something called message boards was spreading dirt about our team, I vowed to be careful about what I said to whom.
When we entered the GE building, Amy was waiting for us in the lobby again. We followed her up the elevator to
The Great Party Showdown
kitchen on the thirtieth floor. Some of the other teams, along with Mike Romano and his camera crew, were already in position to capture our reaction to our state of the art kitchenettes.
All I can say is our little station was a caterer’s dream come true. When Lisa Leann opened the stainless steel refrigerator, she found it stocked with every item one could imagine. I opened the large stainless steel pantry and was amazed to see its shelves completely lined with every manner of baking pans, flour, sugar, and everything we had in our catering kitchen at Lisa Leann’s wedding boutique back in Colorado.
After each team had been filmed oohing and aahing over the kitchen sets, Amy had the cast of caterers stand in two different groups, the safe group and the group up for elimination. We watched Gianne as she waltzed through a kitchen door that was nothing more than a working prop. She was dressed in black slacks and a sparkling baby doll top in peach. Her thin, bare arms looked graceful as she clutched the card she’d held the night before. My, she was a skinny little thing.
“Good morning, teams. I’ve come to bring you news,” she said as the show’s contestants fidgeted. Once again she paused dramatically. “Our top two teams who made it through last night’s vote are… .” She pushed back a strand of her golden hair behind her shoulder as her blue eyes flashed. “Team Batter Up and the Wild Cajun Cooks. You may join the teams on the other side of the room.”
After much cheering and shuffling, Team Comfort Cooking and the Boston Bean Team stepped closer together in accordance to Kat’s off-camera directing.
Again, Gianne paused. “Boston Bean Team … I’m sorry to say your time with us is over. Comfort Cooking, you’ve been voted through to the next round.”
After all the hugs and tears, Gianne said, “Remaining teams, it’s time to go to your war rooms to meet the subjects of your next catering event. And here’s the big news. You’ll be hosting a fiftieth anniversary party.”
Soon our team stepped through the doorway of our private meeting room, which was just down the hall from the kitchen studio. Our war room glowed white from both the lighting and the color of the walls and furnishings. I couldn’t help but notice that the room would have been private if the walls weren’t lined with cameramen. My goodness, a person couldn’t even sneeze in here without it being on national television.
The room’s centerpiece was a large white table and chairs with an arrangement of yellow daisies. There was also a couple of large off-white sofas with a matching recliner, all accented with bright yellow and red throw pillows. Off to the side was a white desk that sported a yellow phone on top.
Very jazzy
. The walls were blank, except for a white erase board or two.
Seated at the table was an adorable couple who were probably in their seventies. He had thick gray hair and was dressed in a light blue polyester suit, right out of the seventies. She wore a gray A-line dress with gray pumps. I could tell she’d been in makeup, or all that gray from her dress and short under-turned hair would have faded her completely away.
Gianne, with cameras rolling, introduced us. “Team Potluck, this is Mr. and Mrs. Marino. They’ve been one of the lucky six couples to win a fully catered Golden Anniversary Party. And you, Team Potluck, will be their caterer. The invitations have already gone out, and we are expecting a crowd of 120 this Saturday night to celebrate the lives and marriage of this wonderful couple.