Archive for July, 2010
July 30, 2010 @ 6:39 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Seven
A strange mixture of apprehension and excitement drove Ella from the comfort of her bed at the Radisson the next morning. It might not be the Beverly Hills Hotel, but the Rodeo Drive Radisson was none too shabby either. Reggie—back at home in Milltown with Chloe—had offered her LA apartment up for the ten days. But Ella had opted to stay nearer the studio, with the other contestants.
As much as she would have loved to bask in her surroundings this morning—spending time in the over-sized tub, nibbling the chocolate-chip cookies left on her pillow the night before—Ella knew she didn’t have the luxury of time to do that. At least not right now.
Today was the first official day of the contest and her roiling stomach had been the first to recognize it. Popping a Tums, Ella shucked her pajamas and turned on the shower. Forty-five minutes later, she was dressed and downstairs, waiting for the cab the concierge had called.
It looked like a typical LA day. At least it fit the image Ella had in her mind of what Los Angeles should be. Sunny sky, balmy weather, lots of busy, tanned people. She scanned the street, trying to catch a glimpse of the cab. In each direction, people crowded the sidewalks. The pace was quick and full of energy.
Just liked she’d imagined.
“Ella!” Torrie’s voice interrupted her thoughts just as a Yellow Cab pulled to a stop at the curb. “Is this your cab?”
She turned and smiled as Torrie rushed to join her. Nodding, she jerked a thumb toward the waiting car. “Want to join me?”
“Yes! Please!” Torrie laughed as she climbed into the backseat after Ella. She reached into her backpack, pulling out something that resembled a pair of chopsticks. Gathering her long hair in her hands, she maneuvered the platinum locks into a knot, and then secured it with the sticks. Ella watched with amusement—and a little awe—as Torrie finished the task and sank against the back of the seat.
“Whew. That was close, wasn’t it?” Torrie’s words came in a torrent of energy, her Alabama drawl totally captivating. “Thanks for the ride, Ella. Why, I’d be waiting another ten minutes, at least, if you hadn’t been so kind.”
“No problem. To be honest, I’m glad to have the company.”
Ella was surprised to find she meant it. Her dismay at seeing Luke laugh and joke with Torrie last night was all but forgotten. It seemed silly in the light of day. Ella was in LA for one reason alone; she didn’t need to lose sight of that. It sure felt like a dream right now, but she was playing some high stakes—she and Chloe’s future rested in what happened over the next ten days. Nothing else mattered.
Ella surveyed Torrie’s outfit, impressed that the girl could pull off such an eclectic pairing. A turquoise skirt with multi-layered ruffles struck her about two inches above her knees, and a snug white T-shirt hugged her bodice and accentuated the girl’s tanned complexion. But what really grabbed Ella’s attention were the turquoise boots on Torrie’s feet. Ella had to hand it to her. It remained to be seen if Torrie could cook, but the girl could sure pull off an outfit.
Fifteen minutes later, the cab pulled up to the security gate at Dreamcaster Productions and Ella fumbled in her purse for her ID badge. She rolled down the window and handed the uniformed officer both hers and Torrie’s ID. When he handed them back, bidding them a good day, Ella looked at Torrie and they both laughed.
“I can’t believe I’m here.” Ella stared out the window as the cab maneuvered past several buildings and sound stages, including the one where Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman had been taped a few years back. Finally the car came to a stop in front of a rather plain-looking building with a single door in the front.
As Ella climbed out and held the door for Torrie, another cab pulled up next to them. Dirk, Ben, and Henry emerged, large McDonald’s sacks in their hands.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Henry held up one hand in mock protest. “We’re here at The Cooking Channel to impress the pants off the judges with our…um, shall I dare say…culinary genius. So why in the world am I eating breakfast out of a McDonald’s bag, right?” He grinned as half a sausage biscuit disappeared inside his mouth.
“I have one thing to say, guys,” Torrie’s pert nose wrinkled in disdain. “Gross!”
The other three contestants were already inside. The studio anteroom had undergone a transformation overnight. The tables had been removed and now eight metal desks were arranged in two neat rows. The kitchen lay front and center, a massive island of gleaming stainless steel appliances and some of the brightest overhead lighting Ella had ever seen. She slipped into the last seat on the second row, just as Nathan Charleton—who she recognized from the night before—took his place at the head of the room.
“Good morning, contestants. I trust everyone had a restful night’s sleep? No tossing, no turning, no worrying about today, right?”
Nervous laughs accompanied his words and Ella relaxed a bit. She turned to smile at the person next to her, a little discomfited to find that it was none other than Patty, the pixie. “Morning,” she whispered.
Patty nodded, although a bit reluctantly, and turned away. Ella wished she’d been paying attention when she sat down. Maybe she’d have grabbed the spot where Torrie now sat. Even the dead-center front seat seemed like a jewel compared to where Ella now sat.
“Welcome to Sound Stage C, here at Dreamcaster Productions. You’re new home-away-from-home for the next ten days. As you already know, the network is looking for three things when considering which chef will earn his own restaurant.” Nathan Charleton ticked them off on his fingers. “Personality. Performance. And a culinary point of view.”
Ella fidgeted in her seat. Culinary point of view? What was that?
Her anxiety from earlier came flooding back with the mention of that one term. She glanced around her. Even Patty seemed nonplussed as she gave her full attention to Nathan Charleton. Ella suddenly felt very alone.
“Just the fact that you’ve all made it this far—” Nathan Charleton’ spread his arms wide—“is huge. After all, we had over thirteen thousand entries. And out of those thousands of chef wannabes…we’ve chosen the eight of you to come here to LA to compete for your very own restaurant.”
Tingles ran up and down Ella’s spine. She didn’t know if it was from excitement or sheer terror. The energy in the room alone was almost palpable, and Ella felt herself being pulled along with it, in spite of her own set of fears and apprehensions.
Take it one task at a time, she tried to coach herself. One task, one activity at a time. It was all she could do anyway, right? No need to borrow anxiety from tomorrow when she had more than enough heaped on her plate for today.
“Ready for your first challenge?” Nathan Charleton continued. “Here to get you started today is a man I know you’ll recognize. One of The Cooking Channel’s very own—grill master, Marcus Jordan!”
Ella straightened in her chair as the legendary chef jogged right past her on his way to the front. When had he come in? She couldn’t believe it—Marcus Jordan, in the flesh. Henry, sitting in front of her, turned and wiggled his eyebrows. Ella assumed he must be impressed too.
“Good morning, people. Welcome to The Cooking Channel, and welcome to your very first challenge. We want to waste no time in getting you broken in…really well.”
Marcus Jordan grinned and moved to a long table, set up on the far side of the room. “On this table are—” he pulled the cloth that covered the table, revealing a mountain of various foods—“just about every ingredient you can imagine. You will create an egg dish. You will have exactly thirty seconds to pick out the ingredients you wish to have in your dish and then you’ll have thirty minutes to prepare and set up a tray to demo that dish. Any questions?”
Deidra stuck her arm high in the air. “One question. Will we be taking turns in the kitchen?”
“Good question, but…no. Everyone will be working simultaneously.” He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “Two refrigerators, four ovens, six ranges, plenty of work space. You’ll all work together.”
Ella’s mind raced to egg dishes. She’d make an omelet. Stephen always said her omelets were the best. Somehow Ella doubted these judges, particularly McAllister Pruitt, would be as partial to her cooking as Stephen had been. She might be an okay cook with family and friends, but Ella knew the real test was about to begin.
*****
Luke, Kurt, and a couple more guys from the crew slipped into the back of the studio just as Marcus Jordan called the contestants to the front. He gave each of them a starched white apron with the network logo splayed across the front.
Luke watched, smiling, as Ella wrestled with hers, trying to get it tied behind her back, before finally pulling the strings to the front and tying a huge knot.
He’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of those great curls this morning, but he couldn’t tell much about her hair from here. She’d pulled it back into a knot low on her neck and, except for a few stray strands here and there, it seemed secure and unmoving.
Swallowing his disappointment, he eased into one of the vacated desks. He hoped Ella didn’t see him. Or the others either, for that matter. He sensed that this contest was crucial for Ella, and he didn’t want to do anything to get in the way of that.
“Ready, contestants?” Marcus Jordan stood aside as the finalists took their places around the table of ingredients. “On three. One…two…three!”
The next few seconds were a blur of activity. Luke tried to track Ella’s movements, but all eight contestants moved at break-neck speeds. If Luke hadn’t known what they were doing and why, he’d have thought it was one of the funniest sights he’d ever seen.
Dirk and Deidra both went for a small dish of—something, Luke couldn’t tell from his seat—and ended up spilling most of it between them. Without missing a beat, Deidra scooped up the contents and plopped them onto her tray. Even Patty, the mousy, quiet one, was in on the action. She scurried from side to side, reaching between people, stealthily filling her own tray.
“Okay!” Marcus Jordan called time and everyone backed up, laughing. “Fun, huh?” He nodded. “Well, it’s about to get even more exciting. You’ll now have thirty minutes to prepare your egg dish. But remember, you also need to prepare, and have ready, a demo tray.”
Luke watched Ella. Her eyes never left Marcus Jordan and, even from this distance, he could tell she was in culinary heaven. He couldn’t wait to watch her cook. Luke rose with the others and took his place behind the camera on the right side of the kitchen. He knew it was too much to hope that Ella would be working at the station where he filmed, so he wasn’t too disappointed when he turned out to be right.
For the next thirty minutes Luke’s focus was on his work. He filmed Cowboy Ben and Patty the Pixie—the crew had coined nicknames for each of the finalists—capturing their every move, zooming in tight when Patty began to do some fancy chops that impressed even Luke.
Wow. Who knew the woman had it in her? Although his mind never completely left Ella, he was drawn into the excitement of the contest as the aroma from sautéed onions and roasted peppers began to waft his way.
*****
Ella put the finishing touches on her demo tray: a pinch of parsley, a teaspoon of oregano, and two whole bay leaves. Finishing with a full minute and a half to spare, she backed into a corner, joining Dirk, as the other six scrambled to complete their tasks.
That’s when she saw him. Or part of him.
The part of Luke Abney’s blond head that peeked from behind the camera and tripod. Today he was dressed down—jeans, a lawn-green pull-over shirt, and tennis shoes. Ella lifted a hand to her hair, suddenly conscious that in the flurry of the past half hour some strands had come loose from the knot and now hung in damp ringlets against the back of her neck.
No time to fix it now though. Marcus Jordan called time and Ella joined the others back at the desks, her attention fixed on the chef. Luke Abney might pique her interest on some level she was yet to understand, but Marcus Jordan held the key to a vault of useful information. Ella was determined to glean all she could from this legendary grill master.
She listened as he explained the basics of demo-ing a recipe, jotting mental notes for future reference. When you think you’re speaking slowly enough, take it down another notch. Learn to work the counter appliances backwards – the camera likes to see the front of the food processor. Ella felt the fresh beads of perspiration as they dotted her upper lip. Between the pressures she was feeling from Marcus Jordan’s words and the heat from the intense overhead kitchen lights, the studio was beginning to feel something like a sauna.
Weariness crept into the muscles in Ella’s neck and her head ached with the amount of knowledge she’d tried to tuck away. She looked forward to retreating to her room at the Radisson, spending an hour soaking in the tub, and then a long telephone call home to Chloe and Reggie. She just hoped she could manage all three without falling into a deep sleep first.
One thing remained: the demo.
Ella had drawn to go third, so she watched closely as Torrie and Ben went before her. Torrie was nervous and stumbled a bit over her words, but even her mistakes—when made in that lilting Alabama drawl—seemed to only add to her charm.
Ella’s heart went out to Ben though. She had a feeling this gentle cowboy would be more at home in ranch house kitchen. Not only did he jumble his speaking, but he spilled almost a fourth of a cup of flour on the floor, never quite recovering after that.
Ella took her place behind the counter, eyeing her tray one last time before she began. Certain everything was in place, she waited for the cue from Marcus Jordan to begin. When it came, she opened her mouth and, amazingly enough, the words began to come.
Ella moved about the kitchen—cracking the eggs, stirring in the heavy cream, and chopping onions—with ease, feeling surprisingly at home. By the time she’d flipped the Western omelet onto a serving plate, added a sprig of mint for garnish, and set it before the panel of judges, Ella had managed to forget about all about Luke Abney.
Free Fiction Fridays, summer reads, writing
July 29, 2010 @ 6:23 am | Filed under: Soul Food,Uniquely Me
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| Free photo collage created with Smilebox |
living simply, summertime memories
July 28, 2010 @ 6:36 am | Filed under: Books,CFBA Reviews
A Book Review: Lucky Baby by Meredith Efken
Reading and reviewing Meredith Efken’s Lucky Baby is like taking in a long, cool drink that refreshes the heart of a mother in a way that is totally unexpected—but greatly appreciated. With the pressure to either 1) become a mother or 2) be a SuperMom, this novel’s main theme of a mother’s love is absolutely relevant in today’s culture.
I found the stark honesty rang true and I think many moms will recognize themselves or someone they know in Efken’s well-developed characters. The story itself is engaging, with a literary technique called magical realism which includes some elements of fantasy in a realistic world. The emotions run high in this book, and this raises the intensity level in several parts of the story.
All her life, Meg Lindsay’s mother told her what a disappointment she was. Try as she might, Meg never measured up, and the emotional bruises still hurt as an adult. In Meg’s opinion, no one could be a worse mother than the woman who gave birth to her—that is, until Meg has a child of her own to care for.
Two young girls lived in an orphanage in China. Unwanted because of a deformity and the lack of family registry, Little Zhen An was destined to spend her childhood in the orphanage. Her only friend was a slightly older blind girl, Wen Ming.
After Meg and her husband, Lewis, adopt one of the girls, Meg’s love for her new daughter grows daily, but the tension, fear, and uncertainty of motherhood drive Meg to the brink of despair. Fearing that she is becoming the kind of mother she hates, she fights circumstance, rebellion, a loving but at times tense marriage, setbacks, and the native selfishness that lives in all of us.
Meg’s journey is a magical one as East meets West and as imagination aligns with reality. Lucky Baby spans the world, bridges the gap between heart and soul, and shows that the greatest power on Earth is forgiveness.
Meredith Efken is the author of the critically acclaimed SAHM I Am series that traces the friendship of a group of stay-at-home mothers through their emails to each other.
She has been a finalist for the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice award and the ACFW Book of the Year award, and critics use phrases like “charming,” “fresh,” and “pure delight” to describe her humorous yet insightful comedies.
Her newest book, Lucky Baby, broadens her literary horizons with a story full of mystical and spiritual wonder about an American family that adopts a child from China and the blind orphan girl who strives to create a family for herself in a lonely world.
In addition to writing, Meredith is also owner of the Fiction Fix-It Shop, which offers freelance fiction editing and writing coaching, with the mission of encouraging other writers to reach their full potential. She serves on the steering team of her local writers’ group and volunteers as an online teacher for American Christian Fiction Writers.
In her “spare” time, she and her husband enjoy learning Argentine tango and hanging out at the local bookstore. She studies Chinese and Welsh on a semi-random basis and plays keyboard and sings with her church’s worship band. She and her husband have two lively daughters, one very naughty snowshoe cat, and one very lazy Great Dane. They all live in a ramshackle Victorian fixer-upper in Nebraska.
July 27, 2010 @ 8:33 am | Filed under: Food and Drink
Ingredients
- 3/4 cup cornmeal
- 1 1/4 cups flour
- 1/2 cup sugar
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 2 teaspoons red pepper flakes (adds an extra “kick” – you can leave it out if you want!)
- 1 cup milk
- 1 eggs, beaten
- 1/4 cup oil
- 1 (15 ounce) corn, drained
- jalapenos, chopped, to taste (I like a LOT, Mike – not so much!)
Directions
- Mix cornmeal, flour, baking soda, salt, and red pepper flakes together. Add milk, egg, sugar, oil, corn and jalapenos.
- Pour into heated and oiled cast iron skillet (I used the wedge cast iron pan that belonged to my grandmother).
- Bake for 25 minutes at 400 degrees.
This is a SCRUMPTIOUS recipe – ENJOY!!
July 26, 2010 @ 6:17 am | Filed under: Family,It's a Girl Thing,Pure Sunshine
My heart is full.
I am fresh off of our girls-only weekend and it was all I had hoped for, and more!
We met on Thursday afternoon, drove to San Marcos, and spent the next twelve or so hours shopping the outlet malls. Of course – we also made time for an awesome dinner, breakfast with Jordan and Elizabeth, and lots of bonding time in the hotel room.
Then “Phase II: San Antonio!” We loaded all our luggage and our San Marcos purchases and headed further south…to San Antonio, where we checked into the Hyatt on the Riverwalk. The littles swam “on the roof”, while we talked and laughed and – honestly – just enjoyed the fact that we’re family.
And what a great family…what a great group of ladies.
Shawn:
Shawn is the eldest of the six grandchildren – but only by three months. She was always my partner in crime during our growing up years and I have nothing but fond memories. Even though we spent a LOT of time in trouble! Shawn is also the one who stood with me in front of the mulberry bush in Mama & Dad’s yard on Dudley St. and belted out Delta Dawn as only two ten year olds can.
Shawn is married to David, and they have two beautifulful daughters – Brittani and Ashleigh. Brittani joined us for the first time on this trip and it was amazing for me to get to know her as a young adult. She is almost twenty and will be married in December. Getting to know her, and seeing her vibrant personality and the deep care she has for her family, made it evident what an awesome mom Shawn is.
Sharlyn:
Sharlyn is married to Chad and they have three amazing daughters. Twins – Brooklyn & Kennedy, and Macy.
What I admire most about Sharlyn is her ability to drink in life, but in the most calm, most serene way imaginable. When you are around her, you feel nothing but tranquility, and this quality shines through her daughters.
This was Kennedy’s turn to join the group for the annual girls weekend and I had a blast getting to know this little beauty a lot better! She is a jewel and a little mini-me of her beautiful mom.
Stefanie:
I have several stunning pictures of Stefanie and her family and I started to use one of those.
But the truth is that this picture of Stefanie’s family is a brilliant representation of the essence of Stefanie.
She is the heart of the party. I love this girl to pieces. She loves life and watching her enjoy it just makes you want to dive in and do the same!
Stefanie is married to Brian. They have three gorgeous children: Shaggy, Daphne, and Scooby. Oh wait…! Make that Braxton, Makynah, and Brayden!
These women shared my childhood in ways that will be known to only us. We made countless memories together, and those memories will forever be a part of the landscape of my life.
But this weekend – and each one like it that we spend together as adults – we make new memories.
And now…
These memories are the ones that will also be a part of our children’s lives.
I like that.
And I love them!
Family, grandchildren, summertime memories
July 24, 2010 @ 6:37 am | Filed under: 5 Minutes for Mom,The Solid Rock
I blogged over at 5 Minutes for Faith. Here are my thoughts on joy!
July 23, 2010 @ 11:17 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Six
Dreamcaster Productions
Los Angeles, CA
Ella stood outside the impressive Beverly Hills Radisson. She caught sight of her reflection in the moment just before the doorman pulled open the heavy glass door. Thanks to Reggie, she was dressed in classy olive Dior separates. Ella didn’t dare think what the original price tag must have read. Reggie had stifled Ella’s objections by claiming the outfit had been a virtual steal at a charity auction. Either way, Ella felt a little like a fish out of water.
Looking at her reflection though, she had to admit the outfit worked. At the last minute she’d opted to leave her hair loose and now the mass of curls spiraled over her shoulders.
Not bad. Maybe, for this moment in time anyway, she could almost pass for an L.A. girl.
“That’s the idea.” Ella muttered under her breath.
“Ma’am?” The elderly doorman lifted thick, bushy gray eyebrows in polite question.
Ella shook her head, embarrassed to have been caught talking to herself. “Nothing.” She shrugged, sucked in a deep breath, and summoned up her most courageous smile. “I’m ready.”
She could see the hint of amusement in the man’s kind eyes. He tipped his hat and smiled as he held the door for her. “Very good, ma’am. Enjoy your evening.”
Ella stepped inside, staring in awe at the expanse of marble floors that seemed to run for miles in all directions. Deep reds and muted greens dotted the massive lobby, appearing in everything from the luxurious overstuffed sofas and chairs, to the thick rugs on the floor, to the floor-to-ceiling draperies that hung suspended from huge wrought-iron rods.
She moved forward with hesitation, half expecting someone official-looking to pop out of the shadows, grab her by the arm, and tell her she didn’t belong here. The nicest hotel she’d stayed in was on wedding night with Stephen, when they’d spent the one night at the Doubletree, before moving to a more affordable economy motel for the remainder of the honeymoon.
This—she looked around, her palms growing sweaty—this was the type hotel she’d only seen in movies, never believing she’d actually be a guest in one!
“Ma’am?” A deep voice behind her startled Ella.
I knew it! She scrambled for the words to convince the man she was a part of The Cooking Channel party that was meeting here tonight. Ella’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding like mad, as she turned. Not even ten steps inside, and already her worst nightmare was coming true.
A short, portly man, dressed in traditional hotel concierge attire, stood with his hands tucked behind his back, a friendly smile on his round face. “Can I direct you somewhere, ma’am?” His features creased as his smile widened. “I know this place can be somewhat confusing. May I help?”
“Y-yes.” Ella swallowed, relief all but choking her. “That would be great. I’m looking for”—she glanced down at the scrap of paper clutched in her hand—“the ExCaliber?”
“Yes, of course, ma’am.” The man nodded again, and then gave detailed directions in quick, choppy sentences.
Ella hung on every word, all the while thinking how humiliating it would be to miss some crucial detail, wind up in some forsaken part of the hotel, and end up right here all over again, asking once more for the simple directions.
Concentrate. Ella inhaled deeply, willing her body to obey. Concentrate.
“Thank you,” she nodded at the concierge even as she turned down the hallway he’d indicated. Anxious to reach the restaurant before her addled mind refused to recall the directions, she listened to the steady click-clack, click-clack of the black Manola Mary Janes that Reggie had insisted she borrow. For what seemed like the thousandth time since climbing aboard the airplane in Baton Rouge earlier today, Ella wondered if she’d completely lost her mind by daring to go through with this. She felt like a fish out of water, not quite sure whether to dive headfirst into the dark, scary waters ahead, or do a back-flip and swim as hard and fast as she could for the familiar.
The bright neon sign just ahead announced she’d found the restaurant. And without any casualties, at that. Ella glanced down once more at her skirt, sucked in a raspy breath, and reached for the doorknob. This was it, ready or not.
“Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore,” Ella muttered.
*****
Ella’s fist tightened around the strap of her purse and she hiked it a little higher on her shoulder. She was thankful for something to hang onto, even if it was just a handbag. The room was filling up—twice as many people milled about now than fifteen minutes ago when she’d first arrived. Ella wondered who they were. There were only eight contestants, right?
She glanced around her. Mustard-color walls framed the room, and the sage green carpet felt thick and spongy beneath Ella’s borrowed wedges—again, courtesy of Reggie. Just a couple of paintings graced the wall—abstracts, maybe?—but other than that, the room boasted an air of simple elegance. Chic.
At least Ella’s idea of chic.
“Ella, have you had a cup of coffee yet, dear?” Marnie Barrows, who’d introduced herself as a sound stage employee of the network when Ella arrived, placed her arm around Ella’s shoulders. Robust and jolly and—if Ella judged right—somewhere in her mid-fifties, Marnie’s ready laugh was deep and throaty, hinting at too many years of indulging in a pack or more of Marlboro’s a day. “What about a pastry? The strawberry ones are to die for.”
“Not yet.” Ella could have hugged the woman. Just when she wished she could catch a cab back to LAX and board a return flight to Louisiana, Marnie’s infectious enthusiasm grounded her. “Thanks though.”
She glanced at the serving table, laden with every conceivable fruit and pastry imaginable. “Everything looks wonderful.”
“Well, that’s a perk of being a part of The Cooking Channel, doll. If nothing else, we can always feed you!” Marnie’s husky laugh was somehow reassuring and Ella felt a pang of disappointment as the older woman strolled away.
“He-ey,” a twenty-something with waist-length platinum hair and a zillion-watt smile had somehow materialized next to Ella, “Are you a contestant, too?”
The distinctive lilting drawl was a dead give-away to the girl’s Southern roots. “Yes, I’m Ella.” Ella ran her hand down the hip of her skirt, then stuck it out. Hopefully this southern beauty wouldn’t notice how badly her hands were perspiring.
“I’m Torrie. With an ‘ie’. Torrie Tyler.” She shook Ella’s hand and her smile grew even bigger. “Isn’t this excitin’?”
“Very exciting,” Ella found the long drawn-out syllables of Torrie’s speech comfortable. Not quite the same as a Louisiana drawl, but close enough to do. “Are you from Alabama, Torrie?”
The girl flipped a long lock of hair over one shoulder as she nodded. “Mmhm, Mobile. Have you ever been there, Ella? To Mobile?”
“Uh, no. No, I haven’t.” Ella tried not to stare at Torrie. But this girl was a knock-out. A real Southern bombshell. Now that she’d had a moment to take inventory, Ella felt a little in awe of this tall, leggy beauty queen with the Zoom-white smile and the honeyed voice. Ella could just picture it now—America voting between her and Torrie the amazing Alabamanite. Ella couldn’t swallow the giggle in time. Even I would vote for Torrie. What kind of competition would that be?
Torrie’s topaz eyes flickered in uncertainty and Ella regretted the giggle. The last thing she wanted was to alienate a contestant. If she was going to spend ten days away from home and from Chloe, then she’d need all the friends she could gather around her. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head and smiled at the girl. “I’m nervous, I guess…”
“Oh, I understand.” Torrie’s tone was forgiving as she reached out and squeezed Ella’s hand. “Believe me. I’m nervous, too!”
The talking around them hushed, accentuating a rustle of activity at the far end of the room. Ella and Torrie turned as a rather tallish man in black slacks and a gray ribbed short sleeve sweater stepped up to the microphone.
“May I have your attention, please?” The man’s salt-and-pepper hair sparkled beneath the bright, round lights of the above the makeshift stage. He waited till the room quieted.
“On behalf of The Cooking Channel, I want to welcome you all to the Los Angeles area and to our contest. My name is Nathan Charleton and I will be the host of Restaurant 101. I hope you enjoy your rooms here at the LA Radisson Beverly Hills.”
The man stopped, glanced around the room, and stuck one hand in his pocket. “The next two weeks will be busy ones. Your days will be long. They will be difficult.”
Ella ignored the shudder of apprehension that kept trying to wiggle up her backbone. Nathan Charleton’s bright smile did little to cover the reality of his words. This competition was for real, and it was going to be tough.
“Tomorrow,” he continued, “You’ll be introduced to the sets at Dreamcaster Productions, especially Sound Stage C.” He paused again, and Ella couldn’t help but wonder if it was done for dramatic effect only. The whole room seemed to suck in a deep breath, holding it until—finally—Nathan Charleton turned loose of a grin and spread his arms wide. “But it will be a magnificent journey. One you will be glad you took.”
Ella blew out her breath, and gave Torrie a hesitant smile. The girl shrugged her slim shoulders and lifted perfectly arched eyebrows in a way that seemed to say, okay, here we go. That’s how Ella felt too. Ready or not, they were off…
*****
Luke leaned against the wall, near the back of the room, as Nathan Charleton began his introductory speech. That’s when he glimpsed her. Standing next to a tall girl with white-blonde hair—why did women all want hair that color anyway?—she wore a slim brown skirt, a blue blouse, and she clutched a handbag like she was scared it’d run off if she didn’t.
Luke felt the grin crawl across his face. He’d been looking for her, and had just about decided she wasn’t here. He inched forward a couple of feet to a better vantage point. He felt the grin grow wider. No wonder he’d almost missed her. Her hair was different—it was straight and long, replacing the wild mass of dark curls he remembered. He wished she’d left the curls alone. He liked them.
“Why are you grinning?” Kurt nudged him, and handed him a cup of coffee. “Did I miss something?”
“Thanks, man.” He took the cup from Kurt and shook his head. “No, Nathan’s just getting started.” Raising the cup to his mouth, he blew on the hot liquid while his eyes searched for Ella again.
“Not the girl again, Abney!” Kurt’s elbow in his rib nearly dislodged the cup.
“Careful, man,” he whispered as he reached up to finger the burned spot on his upper lip, “And be quiet, okay?” He feigned an air of irritation. “Show some respect while our man Charleton is talking, how about it?”
Kurt grinned, but at least he quit talking.
Luke didn’t want to small-talk anything that had to do with Ella Paglia. They’d had one more phone conversation since their original all-night phone marathon. They’d talked about everything and yet he’d never felt so liberated while talking to a woman before. He wanted to tell Ella things. She asked questions and seemed to really wait with expectancy to hear what he had to say.
He’d filled Kurt in on just the necessary, just the fact that the conversations had taken place. As expected, his friend was cautiously encouraging.
“Just be careful, dude. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Though he didn’t add it, Luke knew his buddy had been thinking, ‘don’t let this gal twist you in knots like the last one did.’
One thing Luke knew for certain. Ella Paglia bore no resemblance to Tessa Shepherd. He had no idea at this point whether a real relationship would develop between him and Ella. He’d like to see it happen. But he also knew that he’d not go back on the lessons he’d learned the hard way at the hands of Tessa. His priorities were finally in alignment with his principles again, and he couldn’t afford to let anything—or anyone—come between him and God again.
Not even Ella Paglia.
He’d dated enough women in the industry to know he didn’t want to do it again. He wasn’t saying there weren’t good women in show business. He just knew they’d have to share his passion for God if they were to share his heart. And that combination was proving harder to come by.
Luke Abney had been burned for the last time. He knew better now, and wouldn’t make the same mistakes he’d made in the past. Taking a long sip of coffee, he eyed Ella Paglia over the rim of his cup, trying to ignore the warning bell sounding in his head. The one telling him to quit staring at the pretty waitress with the head full of missing curls. The one he’d thought about for the past two months—since he’d last seen her at the tiny diner in Milltown, Louisiana.
He’d better not lose sight of why she was here, on his turf. To compete on a reality TV series for a chance to have the network sponsor her own restaurant. And if she won—how could she not win?—that would make her—
Luke drowned the remaining coffee and focused his attention on Nathan Charleton’s final words. But not before the fatal thought eked its way into his head.
Ella Paglia would be just like all the other Hollywood women.
*****
A half hour later Ella stood in line at the food table, finally acknowledging the fact that—besides the itsy bag of pretzels on the airplane—she’d had nothing to eat since early morning. Sandwiched between two other contestants—Deidra Holloway, a thirty-something African-American and Henry Williamson , a youngish-looking guy from Nashville—Ella tried to force her body to relax.
She’d made it through the tough part.
Meeting each of the seven other finalists had proven to be much less painful than she’d imagined. A couple of them—especially the homemaker with the pixie haircut from Iowa—seemed almost as nervous as Ella felt. Once the eight of them were brought on stage and introduced, it almost felt as though—in that one, brief instant—they became a team of one instead of a group of individuals competing for a solitary reward.
That was especially true as they stood together, facing the sea of faces in front of them, faces that—it turned out—belonged to producers, set designers, and hair and makeup people. It looked to Ella like everyone who had a connection with the upcoming show was in attendance here tonight.
She reached for a croissant, and tried to push the thought of Luke Abney from her mind. Disappointed when she didn’t see him during the earlier introductions, now she felt only relief. She wasn’t sure what that brief spark of connection had been about in Milltown, but she was certain a distraction as cute and attentive as Luke, the camera man, was the last thing she needed during this competition.
“Do you feel like we’re being served our Last Supper?” Deidra forked a slice of cantaloupe and slid it onto her plate. “You know, like tomorrow we’ll be fed to the wolves or something.”
Ella grinned and chose a couple of orange pieces. “Or something.”
The panel of judges had made it clear that the days ahead of them would be strenuous, at best. Intolerable, at worst. Listening to Henry’s corny jokes in front of her and Deidra’s worried comments behind her, it was hard to imagine that these were the very people she’d be in fierce competition with beginning first thing in the morning.
Henry turned and reached for a napkin. “Hey, ladies. Did you know Spock had three ears?”
Ella glanced at Deidra, who shrugged and popped a grape into her mouth. “No, Henry. Tell us about Spock’s three ears.” She smiled at Henry. He, at least, wasn’t letting the pressure of their circumstances get to him.
“The left ear, the right ear, and the Final Front-ear!”
Deidra groaned behind her and Ella laughed out loud. “Boy, get yourself on out of here!” Deidra waggled a finger in Henry’s direction, but Ella could tell Henry’s stupid joke had eased some of the tension.
“Please don’t tell me that’s the entertainment we have to look forward to for the next ten days,” Deidra whispered as Henry walked away with his full plate of food. “That was some more corny joke, don’t you think?”
Ella agreed, but she made a mental note to hang around Henry when the competition got rough. She could think of worse things than keeping company with a person with a penchant for bad jokes.
Taking her plate, Ella joined another group of contestants at a nearby round table. One of the men in a chocolate brown Stetson cowboy hat—Ben, was it?—stood as she walked up and pulled out the chair next to him.
“Thanks.” Ella scooted in and hoped they’d continue their conversation. She took a tiny bite of her tuna croissant, trying to remember the names of the two other finalists at the table. One was the pixie-cut lady from Iowa. She sat across from Ella, her eyes downcast, seemingly intent on studying the pattern in the ivory tablecloth. Ella’s heart went out the woman, who could quite possibly be even shyer than Ella felt.
“Hi, I’m Dirk.” The dark-headed man on Ella’s left nodded. “You remember Patty and Ben?”
Patty and Ben. Ella smiled and nodded, reciting the names of her tablemates in her mind. “It’s nice to meet you all.”
Ben, a quiet-mannered blond with a shy smile, had been the one to hold her chair. Now he leaned over and whispered in Ella’s ear. “Don’t let Patty scare you. She’s been staring at all of us that way.”
Ella picked up her cup of tea, taking a sip as she sneaked a peak in Patty’s direction. Nearly spewing the liquid right out again, Ella choked back a cough as her eyes met Patty’s smaller, beady ones. Eyes that seemed to stare right through Ella, giving her the chills in a very Munsters kind of way. The lady looked too meek and demure to be of any harm, but Ella was convinced those eyes of hers could bore a hole right through a solid piece of wood.
Ben only chuckled, but Dirk leaned in close to Ella’s ear. “You know it’s not all about talent, right?” He nodded in Patty’s direction. “Some of us just make for great TV, you know?”
Ella swallowed hard. She hoped her smile made it to her face, because right now she suddenly felt too tired to know anything for certain. The long flight, the seemingly endless introductions, and now Dirk hinting that this competition wasn’t all about skill—Ella’s mind balked at taking in any more new stimuli.
“Well, if it isn’t Ella Paglia.”
Ella froze, a muffin clutched in one hand and a napkin in her other. Mr. Blond. Luke. She would now recognize that husky voice anywhere, and instantly her senses felt as though she’d sent them on vacation. She felt her eyes widen as she accidentally wiped her mouth with the tip of the muffin, then dropped both—the pastry and the napkin—in embarrassment.
Satisfied that it was official—she couldn’t be more humiliated—she twisted around in her chair. “Luke,” she tried to sound surprised to see him, but figured the squeak in her voice was enough to let him know the truth.
Tall and lanky, Luke Abney towered above her, his blonde hair just slightly tousled, a grin spreading across his tanned face. Dressed in black jeans and shirt, he looked like he belonged in front of the camera, rather than behind it.
Ella struggled to locate her voice. “How…how are you?”
“Fine.” He nodded and knelt down so that he was eye-level with her. “And you?”
“Good. Great.” She looked around the room. “It’s been amazing so far. Unbelievable, really…” Her voice trailed off, not certain what to do or say next. She could feel the curious stares of her tablemates. All of them, not just Patty.
“Mr. Bl—Luke,” she smiled at him, then spun around, “meet Dirk…Patty…and Ben. This is…Luke.”
“Hey, I remember you.” Dirk stood and shook Luke’s hand with enthusiasm. “You were with Kurt Finley, right? The day I found out I was a finalist?”
“That was me.” Luke stood right behind her now, and Ella was conscience of his hand being mere inches from her shoulder as he spoke. “It’s good to see all of you again. I wish you well in the contest.”
Luke’s fingertip barely grazed the fabric of her shirt as he said his good-byes and moved on. Ella chided herself for being silly, for thinking that the likes of Luke Abney had somehow taken an interest in her. Dirk’s comment reminded her that Luke had met each of them already. Who’s to say he wasn’t friendly and attentive with everyone?
Ella waited as long as she felt was appropriate, pretending to pay attention to Dirk and Ben’s animated conversation on the upcoming NFL play-offs. Then she turned her head, her eyes scanning the crowd, trying to pick out the dark jeans and shirt—
There he was, not six feet away, leaning against the wall, and laughing with…Torrie!
“That’s right,” she heard the blonde’s lilting voice, “Torrie—with an ‘ie’.”
Ella spun around before he could catch her staring and dropped her napkin in her plate. Just as she figured. Luke Abney was no more interested in her than he was in…Patty!
Ella smiled at the small woman across from her, suddenly feeling just as out of place as this woman looked.
Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads, writing
July 23, 2010 @ 10:57 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Five
The flight home from Louisiana was delayed a couple of hours and, by the time they finally landed at LAX, it was nearly seven o’clock. Luke’s stomach grumbled that it needed some dinner but Kurt, once on the ground, was intent on only one thing: Getting home to Janie and Daniel.
Luke unlocked the door of his apartment and stepped inside. He flipped on a light switch, tossed his keys onto the breakfast bar, and walked to the refrigerator. The steady hum of the fish tank was the only sound marring the still quietness. Pulling out a bottle of water, Luke glanced toward the tank. He’d asked elder Mrs. Norman, from the apartment below him, to feed the fish while he was out of town. Right now he was trying to remember when he’d asked her to feed the trio last. Yesterday? Today?
He bent over the tank and peered closer. “Hmm.”
Luke took a long sip of water and then set the bottle down and reached for the fish food. “Sorry ‘bout that, guys.” He sprinkled the brown caplets across the top of the water and watched Mannie, Moe, and Jack swim with feverish speed to the surface.
Getting the tank, and the fish, had been a virtual afterthought during one grocery run to Wal-Mart. Sort of like a consolation prize because he couldn’t have a dog in the apartment. Besides the outrageous pet deposit his landlord required, the long hours at the studio would leave the poor animal cooped up inside more often than out. So one Saturday last month as he was pushing the cart down the shampoo aisle, he’d glimpsed the large overhead sign that read PETS. Of course, this meant pet food, for the most part, with the exception of iguanas and fish.
Hence…Mannie, Moe, and Jack.
Kurt had laughed when he’d learned of the newly acquired tank and fish, but Luke had shrugged it off. It was easy enough for a guy like Kurt to poke fun. He had a beautiful wife and adorable son at home. Not to mention the golden-haired retriever that ran laps around the Finley’s large suburban back yard. The consummate family man for five years now, Kurt had lost the sense of what it meant to be a single guy in LA.
And what it meant to come home to an empty apartment night after night.
Luke gathered his bottle of water, poured some peanuts into a small Tupperware bowl, flipped off the kitchen light, and retired to his leather chair in the corner of the room. This was his spot to relax, the place he unwound frazzled nerves at the end of each long day. He wondered what Kurt and his other married buddies did, fairly certain their rituals didn’t include sitting in semi-darkness, enjoying a cool drink and a salty snack.
Luke leaned back and closed his eyes.
There was a time—and not all that long ago—when he’d have been out with his single buddies, having a nice dinner or hanging out at a local pub. But that had been before Tessa, and certainly before he’d reexamined his life and found it most wanting in the spirituality department. Back then, it had been all about the fun, and how much fun could be had in a single night on the town.
It shamed Luke now to think how far he’d allowed himself to stray from his conservative Mid-western upbringing. Fortunately, he’d made it through those tumultuous years without either of his parents finding out about some of his more embarrassing shenanigans.
When he’d met Tessa, he thought his life had changed, and for the better. It changed, all right, but not in the ways he’d originally thought. Sure, he’d put other women out of his mind, reserving all his attention for Tessa. But her social life had made his own resemble a Boy Scout camp. Tame, in comparison with the wild parties and dimly lit clubs she loved so much.
It hadn’t been his scene, but he’d loved Tessa and thought she’d loved him, so he’d tagged along wherever she wished to go. It had felt right at the time, like they were forming their own traditions, their own experiences together, as a couple. It wasn’t until after the pain of the breakup, he’d realized that letting go of who you were in favor of becoming more like the person you were with was no tradition at all. And their experiences? Well, most of the time the two of them had a few too many drinks to even enjoy their nights out.
It had started out with petty jealousies and Tessa’s incessant penchant for shameless flirting. Knowing that her provocative dress and teasing mannerisms angered him, she’d promised to stop. For real, this time, she’d say. And she would, until the next time they went clubbing and the lure of attention was just too much for her to ignore. Still, when she’d packed her things and announced she was leaving, he’d been shocked. He thought they were building something solid, something permanent.
Luke scrubbed a hand across his face now. What a fool he’d been, to believe that his future actually lay with a woman who put herself before anything and everything else. He’d never been drawn to shallow people before his move to LA; what had happened?
It hadn’t been until a few weeks after Tessa had moved out that Luke realized the answer to that plaguing question. By then the scent of her perfume was but a memory, completely gone from his clothes and his sheets. Once she’d been purged from his surroundings, from the things he touched and smelled and viewed each day, the truth came into focus.
He’d let go of God somewhere along the way. At what point he exchanged his daily Bible reading time for a couple of beers out with the guys or what point he’d begun to crave the noise of some club over time alone in devotion, Luke didn’t know. All he knew was that all of a sudden he was very much alone in his apartment. No Tessa. No more noise. No more distractions.
No real relationship with God.
It hadn’t been a pain-free walk back to where he should have been all along, but it had been an easy one. After a few weeks, he’d come to realize that he was the one who’d abandoned the relationship, and not God. Finding comfort in knowing He’d been there all along gave Luke the reassurance he needed to stand up to his buddies and say no to the meaningless evenings out on the town. Instead, he’d taken to nights like these in his apartment, times of soul-searching and truth-seeking. He’d had his fill of shallow treats and temporary pleasures. He craved substance now, and wanted this kind of quality in all parts of his life.
Including relationships with women.
If that meant he’d not find that in this town, then Luke knew that was something he’d have to face one day. At that time, some difficult decisions would have to be made. He’d carved out a very nice career path for himself at The Cooking Channel and he enjoyed his work. But he wouldn’t settle in love again. Love wasn’t about settling, it was about sharing heart and soul with someone who valued you for yourself.
Luke popped a few peanuts in his mouth and chewed. But what if God were to send him the right woman? Send her right here—to Los Angeles? Luke tugged his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, opened it, and pulled out the business card he’d carefully tucked inside. He stared down at it, his eyes going over and over the small, printed words. ELLA PAGLIA.
Luke reached for his cell phone and flipped it open. He stared at the key pad, trying to decide whether to go for it, or not. It was seven-thirty here on the West Coast, which meant it was…what, nine-thirty in Milltown? Luke battled with himself. She might be tucking her daughter into bed. She might be asleep herself. Or—
“Come on, Abney,” he chided himself out loud. “You can come up with a list of ‘reasons why not’ as long as your arm. Or—” Luke sucked in a deep breath and punched in the printed number on the card—“you can call her and see what happens.”
Luke grimaced. He remembered all too well that a misplaced phone call can mean the kiss of death to a potential relationship. In all his years of dating, he’d never managed to get a good handle on when to call/not call a woman. His relationship with Tessa had only intensified his fear of the phone.
“There are phone rules, Lukie.” She’d pouted, one hand on her slim hip. “You should know them by now.”
The rules, he’d come to realize, were subject to change without prior notice and very often were at the whim and mercy of Tessa’s ever-changing moods. Nothing seemed to emphasize the difference between the sexes like the telephone. And not the stereotype that women like to chat and men like to have quick, informative conversations. Luke knew men who could talk your ear off and women who insisted on getting straight to the point.
The real difference lay in call counting. Women knew who called whom last. Women knew exactly how many times each of you has called the other over the last month. Women knew that you ended the last phone conversation with ‘I’ll talk to you this weekend’ and then didn’t call until Tuesday. Women knew that it’s been 4.5 days since you last talked on the phone. A woman knows these things and she believes they matter.
Luke had found himself in these murky waters with Tessa more times than he’d like to admit. It wasn’t like he tried to see how many times he could get it wrong. Men, it seemed genuinely don’t know who called whom last. For real. Looking back, Luke knew it was just another sign of trouble in the relationship that he’d been to starry-eyed to notice.
The small business card felt heavy in his hand. His heart thumped with uncertainty, and his mother’s words echoed in his head. Don’t allow this bad experience with Tessa to rob you of what God has for you, Son. Do you hear me? Funny how his mom seemed to have a better grasp on what God’s ultimate plan was for his life than Luke did.
He stared down at his phone. What was the worst that could happen? She wouldn’t be home? She’d be too busy to talk? What? He’d better make a decision soon, before it got to be too late.
*****
Ella paused while brushing her teeth, listening. Sure enough, her cell phone jangled again. Still clutching her toothbrush, she made a made dash across the hall to her bedroom where the phone was plugged into the charger. Glancing at the caller ID, she shrugged. Not a number she recognized, although the area code was the same as Reggie’s.
“Hew-o?” She’d forgotten about the toothpaste.
“Ella? This is Luke. Luke Abney.”
Ella’s mind went into a tailspin. Luke Abney—Mr. Blond? Between her pounding heart and a mouthful of toothpaste, her throat felt clogged and tight. She ran for the bathroom on legs that were all of a sudden about as much support as a column of Jell-O. Covering the phone with her other hand, she leaned over the sink and spit.
“Luke.” Ella tried to clear her throat without sounding like she’d just swallowed a mouthful of pool water. “Hi. How…how are you?”
“Good, thanks. Listen…is this an okay time to talk?”
“Sure…” Okay time? Ella scrambled to remember the parting words of The Cooking Channel team before they’d left Milltown earlier today. Had she agreed to a phone meeting? Had they asked for something and, heaven forbid, she’d forgotten?
“I wasn’t sure I should call this late. I know you have a small daughter and all.”
Luke Abney’s voice was quiet and mellow in her ear. He sounded neither rushed or business-like and, as the implication of what this meant began to dawn on Ella, she swallowed against the rush of adrenaline that seemed to push through her veins like a freight train.
“Chloe.” She nodded in the darkness of the bedroom. “Yeah, she’s fast asleep.”
“I was just thinking about you and I remembered I’d picked up one of your cards from the diner, so…”
“Oh!” Ella perched on the edge of her bed, her mind in a desperate race to connect the dots. He was calling because he was thinking about her? He wasn’t calling on official contest business? “Did…did you make it home okay?” She laughed nervously. “I guess you did. You are calling me from LA, right?”
Luke’s chuckle sounded close. “Yes, I’m sitting in the living room of my apartment. And, to answer your question, we made it home just fine. Easy flight. No major bumps. And I had an aisle seat. That’s important to us tall guys, you know.”
“Do you live in Los Angeles? Close to the studio?” Ella crawled across the bed and leaned against the headboard, pulling her knees beneath her chin. Somehow the image of Luke Abney sitting somewhere in his apartment while talking to her felt very intimate. Not sure what to do or say next, she closed her eyes tight, hoping she wasn’t coming across as some star-struck high school kid.
“Brentwood, actually. In a little apartment. Want me to describe it for you?”
“Sure.” Ella opened her mouth in a silent scream. Just wait till Reggie heard about this! She’d never believe it in a million years. Ella heard a faint rustling on the other end of the line and assumed Luke was moving around.
“Okay, let’s start in the kitchen. Small, galley-style kitchen. Pine cabinets. At least, I think they’re pine.”
“And dishes?” Ella reached down and pulled the quilt up around her legs. “What kind of dishes do you have?”
“Oh, man, you don’t even want to know the answer to that question, do you?”
He laughed again and the sound of it caused something deep in her stomach to flip. She gripped the quilt, leaned her chin on her knees, and listened as he opened what she assumed were the cabinets.
“I have…let’s see…three, four…I have five plates. Plain white. Four cereal bowls, eight glasses and…hang on, this could take a while…” He counted out loud. “Sixteen coffee mugs.”
“Sixteen!” Ella laughed. “Why so many cups?”
“Because everyone knows I like coffee and evidently everyone thinks I need a new cup for each and every birthday that rolls around.”
“Ah, I see.” Ella nodded. “I get candles. Lots and lots of candles.”
“Oh, yeah?” His laugh was soft in her ear. “I’ll remember not to buy you a candle for your next birthday then. Maybe you’d like a mug?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Ella’s heart hammered inside her chest. How was it possible that things felt so easy with this man? She couldn’t remember ever feeling this kind of intimacy on this level.
She’d shared a passionate love story with Stephen for sure. But they had been high school sweethearts. Ella couldn’t remember ever not loving Stephen. He was as much a part of her as her arm or her leg; an extension of her.
But this…This was different. Luke was a virtual stranger and yet he felt so familiar. The feelings he stirred in her were completely new and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of them, and certainly didn’t know what to do with them.
“The rest of my place is about as non-descript as the kitchen, I’m afraid. Brown leather chair and sofa, a few bookshelves, lots of books. Oh…I can’t forget the fish.”
“Fish? You have fish?” Ella smiled in the darkness.
“I do. Three fish. Mannie, Moe, and Jack.”
She laughed out loud. “Chloe loves fish. I think the aquarium is her favorite place. Next to McDonald’s, that is.”
“Me too. Chloe and I must have a lot in common. Which does she like better, the burger or the nuggets?”
“Nuggets, hands down.”
“Me too! Ketchup or barbeque sauce?”
“Neither. She dips them in mayonnaise.”
“What?”
Luke’s deep laugh made Ella’s skin grow warm. She pressed a hand over her flushed face, still not quite believing this was happening. A whimper from across the hall snapped her back to reality.
“Oh, Luke? I hear Chloe waking up. I’d better check on her.” She paused, not sure how to handle this. She wanted nothing more than to keep talking to this man, but at the same time she didn’t want to be too presumptuous. “Do you want me to let you go or—”
“I’ll wait.”
Ella pumped her fist in the air and resisted the urge to jump up and down on the bed. “You sure? It could be a few minutes?”
“Take your time. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads, writing
July 23, 2010 @ 8:53 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Four
Ella stood outside the diner. It wasn’t often she entered as a customer, and the feeling was a strange one. She glanced down once more at her skirt, smoothed an imaginary wrinkle, picked a piece of white fuzz from her sweater, and willed herself to be brave.
“Here goes.” She raised her head with resolution, pulled open the door, and found herself staring straight into familiar blue eyes.
“Hello, there.” Taller than she remembered, Luke Abney wore khaki Dockers and a white button-down shirt that looked like it had been starched within an inch of its life. The purple Lakers cap was missing tonight and his blond hair was even more gorgeous than Ella had imagined it. She reached a self-conscious hand to her own hair, glad the heavy-duty conditioner she’d used this afternoon had managed to tame the often unruly curls.
And thank goodness she’d left that goofy beret on the bedroom floor.
“Hi,” Ella hesitated as he reached out for her hand. This might be how they did things in Hollywood, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to walk into the diner hand-in-hand with a virtual stranger. Especially not in this town! She tried to jerk her hand back, but he’d already grasped it in his own, and was now giving it a hearty shake.
“Oh.” It’s only a hand-shake, you silly ninny…
His deep blue eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled down at her. “I’m glad you could make it. Kurt’s inside, waiting for us.” He gestured with his other arm. “Shall we?”
Ella nodded, hoping the smile she’d ordered her face to produce was duly in place. Then she walked toward the back corner table unsure where these steps might ultimately take her. But…it was time to find out.
“Ella,” Kurt Finley stood stretched out his hand as she approached, “It’s good to see you again. Thanks for taking the time to meet with us tonight.” He motioned for her to sit. “I understand you have a small daughter, right?”
“Um, yes. Yes, I do.” Ella paused when she realized Luke was holding her chair for her. “Thank you.” She smiled and felt her lips tremble with the movement. When Luke’s eyes held hers just a moment longer than necessary, Ella was pretty certain her insides did a complete flip-flop. Trying to save her composure, she looked away quickly and tried to focus on Kurt’s question. “Chloe.” She nodded. “She just turned two.”
“Ah, the two’s.” Kurt took the seat across from her. “Are they terrible yet? Any coloring on the walls? Temper tantrums? Sudden attachment to the word ‘no’?”
Ella laughed and raised her eyebrows.
“Yep, that’s right. You guessed it.” Kurt settled back in his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. “I have a rug rat of my own.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown leather wallet. He slid a glossy two-by-three snapshot across the table. “This is Daniel. He’ll be three in a few weeks.”
Ella leaned forward and studied the picture. A miniature version of Kurt, minus the gray temples, the small boy wore a mischievous grin and had just a hint of the smattering of freckles that would one day trail across his nose.
“He’s very cute.” She smiled. Did he expect her to pull out photos of Chloe now? That wouldn’t be appropriate, would it? This was business, right? They were here to basically interview her. Ella shifted in her chair, unsure.
Luke, in the seat next to her, took care of it for her. He pushed the photo back to Kurt. “Yeah, yeah, buddy, you got a cute kid. We believe you, right, Ella?” He winked at her and placed his hand on the back of her chair in a conspiratorial manner.
“Okay, I can take a hint.” Kurt chuckled and pulled a laptop from his case. “Let’s get down to business. But for what it’s worth,” he paused and glanced at Ella, “Luke here is my Daniel’s favorite babysitter. Aren’t ya, bud?” Kurt snorted as though he’d just unveiled a national secret.
Ella managed a grin, all too aware of Luke’s hand a mere inch or two from her back. She risked a peek his way and was surprised to see a slow pinkish flush begin to creep up Luke’s neck. Embarrassment only made him more attractive. She made a mental note to not clue Reggie in on this detail. Her best friend would have a field day if she knew the way Ella’s pulse seemed to stage a run-away in this man’s presence. No, it was better to keep that arsenal of information to herself.
“Okay, Ella, why don’t we start with me telling you the basics of the contest.” Kurt moved on.
“Sure, that’d be great.”
“Restaurant 101 will be taped at Dreamcaster Productions in Studio City. It will be The Cooking Channel’s first venture into a reality series.” He paused to make sure she was following. “We’re bringing together seven other chefs, besides yourself, and we’re going to see what happens when we put you in front of a camera.”
Ella felt herself cringe and hoped it didn’t show on her face. Her insides felt like jelly on a merry-go-round. She forced a smile and nodded.
“Each week we’ll introduce a new challenge. Each chef will be asked to complete that challenge and then the judges will deliberate. One chef a week will be eliminated until the final week. Then we’ll step things up a notch and there will be two elimination ceremonies and the final award.”
Ella released a sudden puff of breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She sank against the back of her chair and felt Luke’s fingers graze the smoothness of her sweater. She’d almost forgotten his hand was there…
“I know. Intense, huh?” Kurt shrugged and grinned. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”
“About that final award…” Luke pointed to Kurt. “Let’s give her some incentive, man.”
Kurt planted his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, obviously pausing for dramatic effect. Ella got the distinct feeling that these two had this routine down to a science. What she couldn’t afford to forget was that there were seven other finalists with dreams as large as hers. The contest was sure to be fierce, a guaranteed fight to the end.
“Yes, please,” Ella tried to talk around her rising trepidation, “throw me a bone!”
Kurt chuckled again. “How’s this for a bone? The last chef standing in Restaurant 101 will earn the pleasure of running their very own restaurant. Complete with their chosen theme, menu specialties, and a wait staff just itching to make your dream a reality.”
“Oh, wow.” Ella clasped her hands together, speechless.
On the one hand she wanted to celebrate, maybe scream or jump up and down, that she’d even been selected as one of the finalists. But the practical Ella, ever the consummate realist, hated to waste the emotion when this was the mere beginning of a very long, very tedious journey.
“Pretty fantastic, isn’t it?” Luke’s voice was warm and low next to her.
“No kidding.” She grinned and looked at him, a jittery flutter in her stomach startling her when his deep blue eyes locked on hers. Between the intensity of his gaze and the intimacy in his voice, her insides were standing at attention. If Kurt hadn’t been sitting directly across from her, Ella didn’t know if she’d have the power to tear her eyes away from Luke.
He leaned in close now and spoke in a mock used car salesman voice. “And just think. This could all be yours for the low, low price of…your privacy, your pride, and the ability to let television cameras capture your every slip-up!”
Ella laughed out loud, grateful that someone at this table had the courage to talk about the elephant in the room—that undeniable truth that made this whole adventure a risk that almost wasn’t worth taking.
Winning would require sharing herself in the most personal, public way possible. If she did well, The Cooking Channel viewers would celebrate with her. If she failed miserably, all America would be talking about it at the company water cooler.
Would she be able to stand the heat? Or should she get out of the kitchen now?
*****
mox▪ie n 1. ENERGY, PEP 2. KNOW-HOW, EXPERTISE
3. COURAGE, DETERMINATION
The words peered up at her from the worn pages of Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, a graduation present she’d received—how long had it been—eleven years ago?
Ella traced her finger over the page. Eleven years since high school graduation, when most days it seemed like no more than a handful. Where had the time gone? And why—if so much time had passed—did she still feel so much like that insecure seventeen-year-old girl she’d been back then?
Moxie. Reggie had used that word earlier, the one Stephen had loved to tease her with. That five-letter, two-syllable word continued to run through her mind like a child through a playground, long after she’d tucked Chloe in for the night, and then gone to bed herself.
She’d finally thrown back the covers, shuffled to the bookshelf, snatching up the dictionary on the way to the kitchen. Here she still sat—swaddled in a pink terry cloth bathrobe, sipping a cup of hazelnut coffee that would insure she remained wide-awake for hours to come, and pondering the black-and-white printed words in front of her.
Energy and pep. Ella snorted in the stillness of the small kitchen. Yeah, right. Those were two things she rode like a roller coaster at Coney Island. Up one day, down the next. Then the cycle started up all over again.
It hadn’t always been this way. Before Stephen’s diagnosis, every day resembled a vacation in some small way. Whether it was an unexpected cup of coffee in bed, a midnight phone call when he traveled, or simply lying next to him in their bed, quietly talking until they drifted off to sleep, it hadn’t mattered.
Each day had seemed bright, full of promise and new opportunities. Opportunities they’d longed for, embraced, dreamed about.
Opportunities like the contest.
No! Ella batted at the thought, trying to shoo it from her mind. No fair. She hated it when that happened, when Stephen’s voice seemed to whisper to her conscience, entwining distant cherished memories with circumstantial details of her life today, until she could no longer distinguish reality from a figment of her longing.
Memory was a wonderful thing. With the exception of their beautiful baby girl, these memories were all Ella had left of Stephen. But they were bittersweet.
Holding her close one minute, piercing her heart the next.
She stood now and walked to the sink, dumping the last cool remains of a cup of coffee she should have never fixed in the first place. Anchoring her palms on the counter, Ella shut her eyes against the wave of images trying to sneak across the screen of her mind.
Stephen holding Chloe for the first time. Stephen smiling at her from the door as he left for an early morning jog. Stephen giving her a thumbs-up sign when she’d finally nailed the Panini recipe—
“Woooo…” Ella blew out a long breath and walked back to the table, sinking with weak legs into her chair. The recipe. Suddenly it all made sense—her hesitancy during the taping, the uncertainty that had continued to plague her about this contest.
Sending in her contest entry meant sharing a part of Stephen with the rest of the world. A part she’d held locked safe inside for the past year. The part that was hers alone.
Her eyes drifted back to the open dictionary. Know-how and expertise. Funny how those two words seemed to have nothing to do with energy and pep. Yet they both defined the one attribute she desperately wanted to possess. You have such moxie, Ella-girl! Stephen’s proud voice echoed in her mind. How often had he whispered those words? I’m so very proud of you.
Would he still be proud of her today? What if—Ella shifted in her chair, tugging the sash of her robe tighter—what if he’s looking down on me now? She cringed. Was he proud of the way she barely dragged herself out of bed each morning? Proud of the way she carried Chloe to Saturday morning Mommy & Me time, dressed in faded sweats and a slicked-back ponytail? Proud of the way she still avoided church each Sunday, mentally crossing yet another week from the calendar she carried in her mind?
“Stephen, I’m a mess.” Whispered anguish ripped from Ella’s gut, clawing its way to her lips, and then spewing into the hushed silence of the kitchen. She’d run the gamut over the past twelve months. Grief. Loneliness. Anger. Ample tears for each emotion had been duly shed, and yet there always seemed to be more tears.
But the sensations erupting from Ella now were different, and she knew it.
This had nothing to do with Stephen. She’d lost her first love, sure, and she’d grieved for him. But now she’d lost something else and, without it, she was nothing.
She’d lost herself.
Somewhere between the slew of casseroles that’d been brought in during the weeks following the funeral until this very moment—sitting at the table in her bathrobe long after the clock in the living room had struck midnight—Ella Paglia had lost herself.
Courage and determination. Her eyes sought out the third, and final, definition. Blurred by tears that refused to fall, the black-and-white printed page danced before her eyes. Slowly but methodically, it emblazoned a new truth into the furthest recesses of her soul.
She could do this. She would go to Los Angeles and participate in Restaurant 101. She’d give it her all. Not only could she do it, but she’d do it well. It wasn’t about the winning. Not winning the contest anyway. Ella shut the dictionary and pushed it away. The winning wasn’t in the contest. It was in her. If she could find a way to press through, to somehow tap into that moxie Stephen had believed she possessed…
If she could uncover long buried courage and determination, then maybe…just maybe, she’d find herself in the process.
Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reading
July 22, 2010 @ 6:08 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock,The Writing Life,Uniquely Me
There is nothing that sucks the joy out of creativity – that inate ability to build and mold and design amazing things from the God given instinct that dwells deep in one’s bones – than overthinking. Over-analyzing.
Writing by instinct and getting it right can only happen when my heart and head align with His will. When my own will is supple and pliable, the molding process is relatively painless and the creations seem to flow.
It’s like riding a bike. You don’t read directions on it. You don’t read a book about it. And when you hop on that bike, you don’t recite left, right, pedal, balance, steer. You just do it. And the more you don’t think about it, the better it all seems to go.
And soon, you’re soaring fast, and with flair. Like pastel handlebar streamers whipping in the wind and colored beads in the spokes humming their rhythmic beat with each seamless rotation of the bike wheels.
I try to trust my instincts because they’re good and hearty instincts. I don’t want to worry about ruining the talent or stifling the creativity because I know that would be the worst possible use of my abilities, as limited as they feel some days. But that’s not the woman I want to be. Nor the writer.
So I’m writing like a woman who just simply doesn’t know any better right now. Putting it all out there. Little bits in this synopsis. Chunks of my heart in that manuscript. Layers of who I am in all of it.
Will these words ever see the light of day?
I don’t know the answer to that.
There was a time when that doubt alone was enough to stifle the creativity. To cause me to second-guess, summoning about six kinds of self-doubt that all but clogged the veins of inspiration.
But now I simply write.
I have gained this real, amazing confidence in just putting it out there and doing my very best to create without too much thinking. Without too much censoring, too much second-guessing.
I am a woman who is governed by passion. By love. By the simplistic things in life.
But more importantly than all of these I must be governed by His will and that beautiful principle of….becoming what I’m meant to be.
It’s all about those God given instincts. Not necessarily about getting every word right every time.
***********
In other news, I’m off today for an exciting few days with the cousins!
It’s our annual girls-only summer trip, and I can hardly wait! Last year, we left my place, drove for two hours, finally stopping for lunch in an amazing little cafe that turned out to be only forty-five minutes from my house! Don’t ask…WE DON’T KNOW !
But it’s those moments with these women (and their precious daughters) that make these trips something that I look forward to for months in advance!
So I’m off to appreciate a few more of those {apron} ties that bind in the best possible kind of way!
Chapter 4 of MELROSE MIRACLE will be up tomorrow though – tune in!
