But Comfort Cooking was, so I broke from my group and went over to theirs. “Hello, girls,” I said. “I’m Goldie, as you probably already know, and I just wanted to tell you that I’m also from Georgia.”
“Oh?” one of the ladies said, sitting up straight like I’m sure her mama taught her to. She lightly touched the hollow of her throat with her fingertips, and I noted the sheen of red painted on manicured nails. “Whereabout?” Her perfectly arched brow rose a hint. There was nothing—and I do mean nothing—out of place about this woman. I remembered all the proper ladies I’d been exposed to as a child and young adult. My mother had been anything but pretentious, but my sister Diane could out-snob the biggest snob of all.
I was more like my mother.
“Alma,” I said.
There is a vast difference in Alma, Georgia, and Savannah, Georgia. Alma is primarily an agricultural community with streets named things like Soybean Road. Savannah boasts a population of 150,000 with streets named Victory Drive and Harry Truman Parkway.
“Oh,” the woman said, then smiled, showing perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. I thought she was going to make some snide remark, but instead she said, “My mama’s family came from Douglas, not too far away.”
“Really?” I felt myself beaming. “Who are your people?”
Before she could answer, I heard Kat Sebastian’s voice instructing all six teams to come up to the stage and stand in clusters. “Team members with team members,” she said.
I glanced around. “Where is she?” I asked.
My new friend (and, who knows, probable cousin) stood and said, “Mercy me. Who knows. Probably in the sound booth somewhere.” She looked to her comrades. “Come on, girls. Let’s see if we’re in or out.” She smiled at me again and winked. “Good luck, now.”
“To you too,” I said.
“Goldie!” I heard Lisa Leann before I saw her. She and the others were pulling their pink bib aprons over their heads. Lisa Leann was extending mine toward me, all the while heading in my direction faster than a train running way behind schedule.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I said.
I slipped on my bib apron and ran up the steps and to our place for the filming of the elimination. The cameras slid into place. The cameramen, wearing headsets with microphones, were speaking to each other and to the producers and director. Everyone else scurried into place. I leaned over from my position to check out the others. The Wild Cajun Cooks had just sauntered in, looking cool and collected.
Well, no wonder.
Kat Sebastian’s voice boomed from the great beyond. “About time, boys!”
I glanced up to the sound booth. Kat stood behind the glass, hands on her hips. Like Donna, she was young, but she sure was feisty. I decided there and then she had no idea about Amy and Bubba.
Bubba. I wondered what his mother had really named him.
Bubba called back, “
Laisez les bons temps rouler!
” Then he laughed heartily.
“Look here, Bubbs,” Kat shot back. “If you think that impresses me, you’ve got another think coming.”
“I merely said—” The smile held on his face, even as Kat interrupted him.
“I know what you said. Let the good times roll. Well, hear this: we can’t let the
cameras
roll until you all get here.
Capiche
?”
“She’s hot when she’s hot, no?” Bubba said to one of his team members.
I looked from Lizzie to Lisa Leann, then to Donna, to Evie, to Vonnie, and finally to the boys. It felt like we were in on Watergate, even before Woodward and Bernstein.
Then a shudder went through me when Kat said, “Team Potluck, pay attention now.” Now I felt like a fifth grader called to attention by her teacher.
After a few minutes of buzzing around, everyone came to order, and Gianne came floating out, all five-feet-eleven of her. Her thick blonde hair fell in waves down her back, which was exposed due to the lack of material on her sequined dress. “Hello, lovelies,” she said to our group, which stood stage right, a term I now knew meant to the left. Specifically we were standing down right, meaning we were near the stage’s apron, closest to the wings. Next to us was Team Batter Up followed by Team Tex Mex. We were the six remaining groups from the week before. Moving to stage left was Team Hollywood, Comfort Cooking, and finally, Wild Cajun Cooks.
Gianne then winked at our boys. “Hello, gorgeous,” she said in her best Barbra Streisand voice. “And gorgeous and gorgeous.”
After a few minutes more, the director said, “In five-four-threetwo …” and Gianne stopped flirting and got to work. “Hello, America! Our caterers have plotted and planned and performed to perfection. You, America, have voted! And today we have our winners.”
I felt my heart beating behind my eardrums, nearly drowning out anything else the leggy woman was saying. Beginning with Wild Cajun Cooks, she discussed what they’d cooked and then said, “Let’s see that video tape.”
“Okay, cut!” the director yelled. “Gianne, stand next to the ladies from Savannah, please.”
Gianne complied and the director said, “In five-four-threetwo …”
Gianne smiled at my new friend. “Comfort Cooking Team is from Savannah, Georgia. Judy, tell me: how are you ladies feeling today about your chances?”
“Well,” Judy said slowly, “we’re thinking they’re pretty good. We’re just thankful to the good Lord that he’s brought us this far and hope for more weeks to come.”
She beamed toward the camera, and I beamed toward Lisa Leann. “A believer,” I mouthed.
Gianne seemed a little taken aback, but she quickly recovered, looked up toward the rafters, and said, “Well, we’ll see …” Then back to the camera. “Okay, America. Let’s see what happened last time with our Ladies of Comfort.”
“Cut!”
Gianne moved to Team Hollywood. After the teams had been interviewed, Gianne took center stage and looked into the camera and waited for her cue. The director said, “In five-four-threetwo …”
“America, the moment you’ve been waiting for is almost here. Which team will leave us and which teams, Team Tex Mex, Team Batter Up, Team Hollywood, Comfort Cooking, the Wild Cajuns, or Team Potluck, will continue on to compete for the title?” She then moved toward our clustered team. “But before we announce the winner, we’d like to share a heartwarming story with you.” She looked directly at Lizzie. “Lizzie Prattle?”
Lizzie bristled beside me. “Me?” she asked.
“Yes, you.” She tilted her head and winked. “Can you step forward, please?”
Lizzie did as she was told but not without cutting her eyes and locking them with mine. I read them easily.
Uh-oh
. Maybe they knew what we knew. Maybe they were going to put Lizzie on the spot. Make her tell about Bubba and Amy.
Maybe.
I think we all held our breath, if you want to know the truth of it. Every one of us Potluckers standing on that stage was thinking the same thing:
They’re gonna make her talk
.
I watched as Gianne brought Lizzie center stage and then said, “Tell us a little about yourself, Lizzie.”
I’ve known Lizzie for a lot of years, so let me just say right here and now, that woman was very uncomfortable. She has never liked having the spotlight on her.
“My name is Lizzie Prattle,” Liz began. “I guess you all know that.” She smiled. So nervous, God bless her. “I’m married. I’m a wife, mother, grandmother …”
“Tell us about your children, Lizzie,” Gianne coaxed. “Tell us specifically about your youngest daughter.”
“Michelle?”
Michelle?
“Well, she’s married to a nice young man and—”
“Michelle is hearing impaired, is she not?”
“Yes.”
“And you communicate using sign language, is that not correct?”
I was beginning to see where this was going. And by Lizzie’s body language, so was she. “Yes,” she said.
Gianne looked at the camera. “America, last evening our cameraman— unbeknownst to Lizzie here—was in the hotel’s lobby when
this
occurred.”
The director yelled “cut” again, and then Kat called out from the sound booth. “Lizzie?”
Everyone’s attention went to Kat, who I noticed now had Amy standing next to her. “What you did last night was quite special. Our viewers will see you helping the young couple by using sign language, then show the three of you getting in a cab and riding over to Le Parker Meridian.”
“I didn’t see—” Lizzie began, but Kat cut her off.
“Our cameraman? Well, of course you didn’t. They’re good at their jobs. They didn’t follow you inside but were still there when the three of you came out. We’ve interviewed the young couple with the aid of one of our staff who also signs, and we’ll have them as special guests on our next show.” Even from where we stood I could see Kat smiling. I could also see the look on Amy’s face, and it wasn’t a happy one. I nudged Lisa Leann and with my eyes signaled that she should pay attention to what I saw.
That Lisa Leann is sharp. She caught on, said, “Got it,” and then returned her attention to Kat.
Gianne motioned for Lizzie to return to our group, then turned back to the camera, and after her cue, said, “Well done, Mrs. Prattle. Now for the elimination. America, prepare yourselves. Unbeknownst to our teams, this will be a double elimination. Two of our teams will not go forward after today. Who will it be? I’ll have the results right after this break.”
We cut, and large envelopes were brought out to Gianne. And there we stood, awaiting our fate. Five minutes later, and we knew what I could have easily predicted, seeing as the young couple was coming to the filming of the next show. We were “in.”
Team Hollywood and Comfort Cooking were out.
That meant Team Tex Mex, Team Batter Up, Wild Cajuns (no shock there), and Team Potluck would be competing in the next show.
After the two losing teams were escorted from the stage—with Comfort Cooking dabbing at their eyes along the way—Gianne announced the next event. “Here is your assignment, teams,” she said. “You will cater a fashion show. Again you have two thousand dollars and only a few days to cook up something wonderful. You will be contacted by the designer assigned to your group by no later than five this evening.” She grinned, then with a smile said, “But, in addition to preparing the food, you will also be responsible for creating a theme and working alongside the designer.” Again she smiled. “Well, don’t just stand there, teams! Go!”
“Well, it’s no wonder,” I said to the girls. We’d gathered in the room I was sharing with Lisa Leann while the men headed to the airport to pick up our fellows … and Faye Gage. “Absolutely no wonder at all. We all know that Comfort Cooking should not have been eliminated. If I were to guess according to the show, I would have bet my Aunt Martha’s money on Wild Cajuns getting the boot.”
Vonnie looked at me from one of the chairs. She looked one part worried and two parts perplexed.
Dear heavens, I’m starting to think like a cook!
“Evie,” Vonnie said, “do you even have an Aunt Martha?”
I did not. “That’s not the point, Vonnie, and you know it.”
Lisa Leann was pacing. She held a pink pen with feathers on the tip in her right hand, which she used to bop herself in the head. “Think, ladies. We have to think.”
“You mean about Bubba and Amy?” Goldie asked.
“Goodness, no. We’ll deal with them later. We’ve got until five o’clock to come up with a theme for the fashion show.”
“Are you planning to stay within the movie theme thingy?” Donna asked. She was stretched out on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles, shoes kicked off, black socks covering her feet, which she wiggled from time to time.
“Yes.” Lisa Leann stopped pacing long enough to answer. “Any ideas? Think of famous movies set in New York that might have a fashion show in it.”
“
How to Marry a Millionaire
has a fashion show in it,” Vonnie said.
“Good one, Von,” I said. Then added, “So does
That Touch of Mink
.”
“
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
does, doesn’t it?” Lizzie said.
“I think so,” Goldie answered.
“Well, we can’t do them all,” Lisa Leann said.
That’s when we all just kind of sighed and stared first at each other and then out the window and then around the room and then back to each other. Finally I said, “Why not?”
“Why not what?” Lisa Leann asked.
“Why can’t we do them all? Why can’t we have the designer make gowns from classic movies?”
Lizzie was sitting in the chair next to Vonnie’s. She sat up straight and said, “Like the gown Marilyn Monroe wore in
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
.”
“And Holly Golightly’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” I said.
“How many dresses do we have to have?” Vonnie asked.
Lisa Leann had brought the file from the show back from the studio and laid it on the dresser. She flipped through a few pages. “Six.”
“Let’s each pick one and suggest it to the designer then,” I said.
Donna bolted upright and off the bed. “I’ll be back,” she said.
She darted out the door, and in no more than a second she was back in, carrying her laptop computer. “I knew this thing would come in handy,” she said. She already had it open, and from the sound of it, it was booting up.
Booting
up. Now there’s a word for you.
“I’ve just about got this baby up and going,” she said, plopping back down on the bed. “We might be able to find copies of the gowns online and then maybe …” Her fingers flitted over the keys of her laptop, and then she said, “Okay, here we go. Who wants to be first?”
Lisa Leann nearly skipped to where Donna was sitting. “Me.”
“So, who do you pick?”
I could see the expression on Lisa Leann’s face changing. That girl is totally in her element when it comes to stuff like this, no doubt about it. “Oh, goodness! Let me think … it should be someone with a great sense of style and flare. Like me.”
“Oh, brother,” I said. Humph. It was going to be a long session.
By the time lunch rolled around, our fellows (and Faye) had joined us amid a flurry of hugs and kisses. Well, not so much hugs and kisses between Donna and Faye, but that’s another story. Once the initial “so, this is New York” and “how are you girls doing” were over, Lisa Leann said we’d best get downstairs for a quick bite to eat.