The Fatal Funnel Cake (8 page)

Chapter 10

F
or a few seconds, Phyllis was too surprised to say anything. When she was able to speak again, all she was able to get out was “Oh, my goodness!”

Joye let go of her, stepped back, and laughed. “You must think I'm a crazy woman, grabbing you like that,” she said. “I'm just glad I didn't have to go looking for you. You fell right into my lap, so to speak.”

“Why would you, uh, be looking for me?” Phyllis asked.

“Well, not for
you
in particular, I suppose. I meant the winner of the funnel cake competition. But that's you! Your funnel cakes are the best in Texas!”

“Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say—” Phyllis began.

“I would,” Carolyn interrupted her. She put an arm around Phyllis's shoulders. “There's no need for false modesty. You won fair and square, and it's even more of an impressive accomplishment when you consider that you'd never even made funnel cakes until last week!”

Joye Jameson's eyes widened. “Is that true? Oooh, this story just gets better and better.” She looked at the others. “Who are your friends?”

Phyllis was glad Joye had asked. It gave her a reason to get the focus of the conversation off of her for a moment. She introduced everyone, including Chet Murdock. The security guard pumped Joye's hand and said, “Gosh, it's an honor to meet you, Ms. Jameson. I haven't missed one of your shows in . . . well, since the show started, I guess!”

“That's very kind of you, Mr. Murdock. Or do guards have ranks, like captain or lieutenant?”

“No, just call me Chet. That'd be fine. More than fine. It would be great!”

“Okay, Chet,” Joye said, smiling and looking a little like a person on the verge of being overwhelmed by a large, friendly puppy. She turned back to Phyllis and took her right hand in both of hers. “You know we're going to feature the winning funnel cake recipe from the competition on my show?”

“Oh, my,” Phyllis said again. She was the one feeling overwhelmed now. “I remember you saying that on TV . . . but I never even thought . . .”

“Now, is that going to be all right with you?” Joye asked. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Mind?” Carolyn repeated. “Of course she doesn't mind. She'd be honored.”

Phyllis felt a little flash of annoyance. Carolyn needed to let her speak for herself. And yet, strictly speaking, her old friend wasn't saying anything that wasn't true.

“Carolyn's right,” Phyllis said. “I'd be very pleased—”

“Oh, but that's not all I'm going to do,” Joye broke in, sounding like someone on a late-night infomercial trying to sell greatest-hits CDs. For a second Phyllis wondered crazily if Joye had ever done anything like that before becoming a cooking show star. Joye continued, “I have something else even more exciting in mind. Do you want to know what it is?”

“I suppose so,” Phyllis said, feeling a little breathless from this whole conversation.

“I'm not just going to talk about your funnel cakes. I'm going to make some myself . . . and you're going to help me!”

“You mean . . .” Phyllis had to force the words out. “I'm going to be on TV?”

Carolyn squealed. The excited sound was so unexpected, especially coming from her, that Phyllis had to turn and stare at her in disbelief for a second.

She didn't have much time to be surprised, though, because Joye went on, “That's exactly what I mean. You'll do it, won't you, Phyllis? It's all right if I call you Phyllis, isn't it?”

“Of course—”

“Then it's a deal! Tomorrow we make the prizewinning funnel cakes for the whole world to see!”

“Wait, I didn't mean—”

Phyllis stopped short as she was about to say that she'd been replying to the question about whether it was all right to call her by her first name, not the business about being on television. There was no reason why she shouldn't take Joye Jameson up on that invitation, she realized. She didn't have anywhere else she had to be, and the idea of appearing before millions of viewers wasn't as intimidating as she would have thought it might be. Actually, the bleachers being used as seating for the audience at the broadcasts held just a few hundred people. Those were the only ones Phyllis had to worry about, since she couldn't see all the others out there on the other end of the broadcast. Decades of standing in front of a classroom full of students had long since dulled any fears Phyllis had of speaking in public.

Joye was looking at her with an inquisitive frown. “Didn't mean what, Phyllis?” she said.

“Nothing,” Phyllis said. She smiled. “I'd be happy to appear on the show with you.”

A part of her still didn't believe she was hearing those words come out of her own mouth, but it was too late to bring them back now. She was committed.

Sam echoed that sentiment by saying, “All right, it's a done deal, like the lady said. You don't need any ex–basketball coaches on your show, do you, Miss Jameson?”

Joye laughed and said, “Sorry, but not right now, Mr. Fletcher. Although we might do something about sports-related cuisine in the future. That's actually not a bad idea. Maybe something about dressing up your nachos and hot dogs with new and exciting ingredients. Thank you for the suggestion.”

“You're welcome,” Sam said with a grin.

Joye turned to Bailey and assumed a more brisk and businesslike attitude as she said, “You and Reed will talk to Phyllis and work out all the details?”

“Of course,” Bailey said. “Don't worry, we'll handle it.”

“You always do,” Joye said. Phyllis might have been mistaken, but she thought she heard the slightest undertone of something—she couldn't have said what—in the star's voice. Joye took Phyllis's hand again and was all smiles once more as she went on, “This is going to be great. I can't wait for tomorrow.”

“Neither can I,” Phyllis said, although the more skeptical part of her was still wondering what she had gotten herself into.

•   •   •

Joye went back to her dressing room. Bailey motioned for Reed Hayes to come over, and when the producer had joined them, she asked him, “Did you hear what Joye was talking to Mrs. Newsom about?”

“I couldn't help but hear,” Hayes said. He nodded to Phyllis and went on, “Hello, Mrs. Newsom. I'm Reed Hayes, the producer of
The Joye of Cooking
.”

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hayes,” Phyllis said. “Producing a show like this must be a wonderful job.”

“You'd think so, wouldn't you?” Hayes said. Before Phyllis could consider the implications of that question, he went on, “I'll have some papers for you to sign tomorrow before we go on the air, releases and other legal documents like that, you know. I'd have had them ready for you today, but, well, I didn't know Joye was going to ask you to appear on the show until just now.”

“If it's any problem—” Phyllis began.

“No, no, it's not a problem at all. It might be nice if our star let me in on her plans from time to time, but hey, I'm only the producer, right?”

“Reed,” Bailey said with a slight warning note in her voice.

Hayes smiled and shook his head. “Don't mind me. There's just a lot to keep up with, and my bark, as they say, is worse than my bite. I'm happy to have you appear on the show, Mrs. Newsom, really. If you could be here tomorrow an hour before we go on the air, that would be great.”

“To sign those papers, you mean?” Phyllis asked.

“Yeah, that and to get your makeup done, get you miked up and checked out, things like that. The show doesn't just happen. There's a lot of preparation.”

“I'm sure there is. I'll be here on time,” Phyllis promised.

Carolyn asked, “What about the rest of us?”

“I'm not sure the invitation extended to all of you . . . ,” Hayes said. “The set would be kind of crowded with so many of you up there.”

“I didn't mean that,” Carolyn said. “I just wanted to know if we can come watch Phyllis be on TV.”

“Of course,” Bailey said. “You'll be more than welcome. We'll even set up some chairs, so you won't have sit in the bleachers with the rest of the audience. Won't that be all right, Reed?”

Hayes nodded and said, “Yeah, no problem.”

Eve said, “We'll be like VIFPs.”

Carolyn asked, “What does that stand for?”

“Very important friends of Phyllis, of course.”

“All right, now you're just embarrassing me,” Phyllis said. “I don't want to be treated like some sort of celebrity. All I'm going to do is be on TV for a few minutes.” She looked at Bailey. “It will be for just a few minutes, won't it? Miss Jameson won't expect me to be on the show for the whole hour, will she?”

Bailey smiled and shook her head. “No, there'll be other segments besides cooking the funnel cakes. I don't know whether that will take two segments or just one. We'll work out those details with the director this evening at the daily production meeting. But you don't have to worry about that. We'll need you for ten to twenty minutes, tops.”

“I'm not worried about it, just curious,” Phyllis assured her. “I'll be available for however long you need me.”

“Great. Oh, and one more thing . . . Be sure and bring that blue ribbon with you tomorrow. We'll want to show it off.”

“I'll have it,” Phyllis promised. “Actually, you really ought to have Carolyn on, too. She won a blue ribbon for her dark and nutty Nutella drop cookies in that competition.”

“I'll take that up with Joye. You'll be here with Phyllis tomorrow, Mrs. . . . Wilson, was it?”

“Wilbarger,” Carolyn corrected her. “But I don't think that anybody needs to make a fuss over me. There are a lot of different winners in the cookie contest. There's only one best funnel cake in the state of Texas . . . and the woman who came up with it is the person who needs to be on TV!”

Chapter 11

S
uch modesty was unusual coming from Carolyn, who had always thoroughly enjoyed any recognition she received for her cooking and baking skills. But she was adamant about not stealing Phyllis's thunder, as she put it . . . so adamant that Phyllis began to wonder if it wasn't so much modesty as stage fright that prompted her friend's reaction. Just the very notion of appearing on TV seemed to make Carolyn nervous.

Phyllis couldn't really blame Carolyn for feeling that way. Over the next approximately twenty-two hours, she did her best not to even think about the millions of people who would be watching her. It really was sort of like an elephant in the room, though, hard to ignore and even harder to keep out of her thoughts.

At Peggy's house the next morning, Sam asked Phyllis, “Do you need to take all the ingredients for the funnel cakes with you?”

She shook her head. “No, Bailey promised that she would get the recipe and that they would have everything on hand for Joye and me when the show starts.”

“Must be nice to have somebody around to take care of all the little details like that.”

“Yes, I'm not sure Bailey gets enough credit for what she does to keep things running smoothly,” Phyllis said. “I don't think I've ever heard her last name mentioned on the show. Joye just refers to her as Bailey or her assistant, when she mentions her at all. But like that security guard said, it looks to me like Bailey does an awful lot.”

“I expect she's well paid. It's television, after all.”

Phyllis knew what he meant, but she wasn't sure he was right. From what she had heard, the stars and the executives got the big money, while everyone else in Hollywood made decent but hardly spectacular wages.

As the time to leave for the fair approached, Phyllis felt herself getting more nervous. She kept the feeling under control as much as possible, telling herself that everything was going to be all right. She was just going to do a little cooking in someone else's kitchen; that was all.

To get her mind off of it, she sought out Sam and found him in the kitchen getting a cup of coffee. She said, “I really owe you an apology. I've been so caught up in this funnel cake business, it totally slipped my mind that you have a contest tomorrow to worry about.”

He grinned. “I'm not worried about it. Got my Spam sushi recipe all ready to go.”

“It's a pretty complicated dish. Are you sure you'll be able to put it together there at the fair?”

“Sure. It takes a little longer than some things, I suppose, but a little pressure doesn't bother me.”

“I can understand that,” Phyllis said. “You've coached in a lot of basketball games that came right down to the last shot, haven't you?”

“Well, that's true.” Sam grew uncharacteristically solemn. “But when you've spent months in a hospital watchin' somebody you love slip away, you learn that most things folks get all worked up about don't really mean a whole heck of a lot after all.”

She put a hand on his arm and nodded. “Yes, I know what you mean,” she told him. Like the others in their little circle, they had each lost a spouse, and the pain of that loss was something they would live with every day for the rest of their lives. To try to lighten the mood a little, she went on, “If there's anything I can do to help you with the contest, all you have to do is let me know.”

“I appreciate that, but I reckon just havin' you there to root for me will be plenty.”

“I'll certainly do that,” Phyllis promised. She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

From the kitchen doorway, Peggy said, “I knew it! I knew that tall drink of water had to be smooching with at least one of you. Better keep an eye on him, Phyllis. He looks like a lounge lizard to me.”

Phyllis was a little embarrassed, but Sam burst out laughing. “I've been called a lot of things in my life, but as far as I remember, lounge lizard has never been one of 'em!”

“All I'm saying is that one man living in a house with three women . . . well, that's a recipe for hanky-panky,” Peggy insisted.

Phyllis said, “It certainly is not. Not when the man is an absolute gentleman like Sam.”

“Yeah, I'm chivalrous as all get-out,” he said, nodding.

“It's none of my business,” Peggy said with her eyes sparkling mischievously. “You just go on with what you were doing, Lothario. Don't mind me.”

“I was, uh, gettin' some coffee.”

“Uh-huh. Coffee.”

“Oh, goodness gracious,” Phyllis said. She knew Peggy was just joshing, so she wasn't really offended by the comments, but she was starting to get slightly annoyed. “Talk about making something out of nothing. I just gave Sam an affectionate peck on the cheek; that's all.”

“And that's all you've ever done?” Peggy wanted to know.

“Well . . . I didn't say that.” Phyllis felt her face growing warm as she blushed. Somebody her age shouldn't be doing that, she told herself sternly.

“I'll get out of your way,” Peggy went on, backing out of the doorway.

“There's nothing to get out of the way of,” Phyllis insisted.

Sam lifted his coffee cup and said, “Think I'll go upstairs and check my e-mail.”

“Fine.” Left alone in the kitchen, Phyllis sat down at the table. A few second later, she began to chuckle.

It was several minutes before she remembered to be worried again about her upcoming TV appearance, and she was grateful for the respite.

•   •   •

Since they had already seen all the exhibits at the fair during the past two days, there was no reason to go early today. They even ate lunch at Peggy's house, rather than at the fair, although they ate a little early to allow themselves plenty of time to get there.

Phyllis didn't eat much. She wasn't really hungry, and the last thing she wanted to do when she was nervous was to overeat.

On the way to Fair Park, Sam glanced over at her as he drove and asked, “Doin' all right?”

“Yes, I'll be fine. I just don't know why I agreed to do this. That's always the way it is. Someone asks me to go somewhere or do something, and I think it sounds like it would be fun or interesting, so I say yes. But then when the time actually comes, I just dread it and don't want to go.”

“But when you go ahead, you wind up enjoyin' yourself, don't you?”

“Well . . . usually,” Phyllis admitted.

“That's the way this'll be,” Sam said confidently. “You'll get there and you'll have a fine time. Just keep tellin' yourself that.”

“I'll try,” Phyllis said.

Traffic cooperated, so it was only twelve thirty when they reached the fairgrounds. Phyllis was supposed to be at the broadcast set at one o'clock, so that gave them plenty of time to park and walk into the grounds. The fair was busy, even though it was the middle of the week.

Carolyn pointed at several school buses in the parking lot and said in an ominous tone, “Field trips.”

“I know,” Phyllis said. “That sight brings up a lot of memories.”

“And not good ones, for the most part.”

Eve said, “I'm just glad we didn't have to worry about that in high school. The seniors always took a trip somewhere, but it wasn't like what the elementary schools did. I suppose the administration thought that by the time the kids were in high school, they were getting enough of an outside education on their own.”

“That's sure the truth,” Sam said.

Peggy said, “You know, I sort of envy the four of you, having all those shared experiences with the schools. Me, I helped my husband run his furniture stores. I don't have any old furniture store buddies.”

Carolyn patted her cousin on the shoulder. “We'll be your buddies, Peggy.”

“Yeah, while you're here. But what happens when the fair is over and you go back to Weatherford?”

“Well . . . we could come and visit again. Or you could come and visit us.”

“People say they'll do things like that, but we all know that when the time comes, they usually don't.”

“This will be different,” Carolyn said. “You'll see.”

Peggy didn't seem convinced, but she didn't say any more about it.

As they approached the Creative Arts Building, Phyllis spotted a familiar figure standing to one side of the entrance. Gloria Kimball was as sleekly blond and beautiful as ever as she stood there with a microphone in her hand. Her bearded, shaggy-looking cameraman had his video camera balanced on his shoulder as he pointed it at her. The two of them were probably recording another segment for the local TV station, Phyllis thought.

As she and the others started into the building, a woman's voice suddenly called, “Mrs. Newsom! Wait just a minute!” Phyllis looked over in surprise and saw Gloria Kimball walking quickly toward her, followed by the cameraman. Gloria went on, “Mrs. Newsom, could I have just a minute of your time?”

Surprised that Gloria Kimball even knew who she was, Phyllis was a little flustered as she stopped. Her friends came to a halt as well. Phyllis always tried to be polite unless someone gave her a reason not to be, so she said, “Well, I suppose so. But only a minute. I have to be somewhere.”

“Of course you do,” Gloria said with the same sort of smile usually sported by Joye Jameson. TV personalities seemed to be able to summon the expression at a second's notice. Phyllis wondered if their cheeks and jaws sometimes ached from smiling so much, or if they got used to it. “I'm sure you're a very busy woman, since you're famous now.”

“Oh, I'm not—”

“What else could you call it when you've created the best funnel cake at the State Fair of Texas? Don't be modest, Mrs. Newsom. That's quite an accomplishment. I'm Gloria Kimball, by the way.”

Carolyn said, “Oh, we know who you are. We used to watch you every day on
Gloria's Kitchen
, and we still see you sometimes on Channel 44.”

“You were always one of our favorites,” Phyllis added.

Gloria practically preened at being told they recognized her. “I'd really love to ask you a few questions about that special funnel cake of yours, if you wouldn't mind.”

“Well, I suppose that would be all right,” Phyllis said. “But like I told you, I'm sort of in a hurry—”

“This won't take but a minute.” Gloria lifted the handheld microphone, and before Phyllis fully grasped what was happening, the woman had moved beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “We're here live with Phyllis Newsom, the winner of the annual funnel cake competition here at the State Fair of Texas.”

Live?
This was going out on the air? Phyllis tried not to gulp nervously at the thought.

Without missing a beat, Gloria turned from the camera and said to her like they were old friends, “Phyllis, tell me about this wonderful funnel cake of yours.”

“Well, I, ah . . .” Phyllis took a deep breath and steadied herself. This was something of an ambush, she thought, but she could handle it. She began describing the maple pecan funnel cakes she had made the day before at the competition.

“Oh, they sound absolutely delicious!” Gloria said. “I don't suppose there's a chance you'd make some for me someday?”

“Well, I don't—”

“Tell me, how did it feel to win the contest? The way I understand it, in previous years the competition was an informal one among the concessionaires here at the state fair, but this year it became an official event and was opened to the public.”

“That's the way I understand the situation, too.”

“But the concessionaires, the professionals, if you will, still competed in the contest, so you were taking on the very best funnel cake makers in the world! You must have been thrilled to defeat them!”

“I wouldn't call it so much a defeat. I'm sure their funnel cakes were all wonderful.”

“But not as good as yours,” Gloria said, “because you won the blue ribbon! Can we see it?”

The ribbon was in Phyllis's purse, but she wasn't sure she should take it out and display it on camera. It had just occurred to her that maybe it wasn't a good idea for her to be talking to Gloria Kimball like this. After all, she had agreed to be on
The Joye of Cooking
and talk about her funnel cakes there, as well as helping Joye Jameson make a batch of them, so that was sort of like promising an exclusive to a reporter, wasn't it? Did TV personalities ever try to scoop one another?

Those questions were going through her mind as she glanced over at the entrance to the Creative Arts Building. Bailey Broderick stood there with a stunned, angry expression on her face, and as soon as Phyllis saw the young woman, she knew that she had indeed made a mistake.