July 16, 2010 @ 6:40 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
Chapter One
Chapter Two
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Three
Luke couldn’t remember a day when he’d had this much fun.
Even now, several hours later as he relaxed in the tiny parlor area of Milltown’s local boarding house, his mind continued to run the reel from this afternoon at Max’s Diner. The look of intense surprise on Ella Paglia’s pretty face when he’d introduced himself and Kurt, announcing she’d made the short list of contest finalists. The way her mouth dropped open, how her dark, smoky eyes had widened in disbelief.
Talk about shock and awe.
It was clear The Cooking Channel had been the absolute last thing on her mind at that moment. Luke found that kind of innocence refreshing. And to think, he’d come within a hair’s breadth of not making this trip with Kurt. Luke leaned his head back on the worn sofa and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander at will.
He’d been in the studio, finishing up another long twelve hour day of shooting three back-to-back episodes of It’s My Kitchen, I’ll Fry If I Want To. Twelve tortuous hours of listening to the constant demands and petty requests the show’s star, Sheila Morgan, made on the crew. The perfectly coifed blonde hair and willowy figure belied the whiny voice screeching orders in front of his camera all day long. Sure, on camera, she managed to convey sincerity and warmth, capturing an avid audience and devoted viewers. It was the cast and crew who suffered her wrath, both before and after taping.
This day was no different.
“Okay, people, that’s a wrap!”
Luke had breathed a deep sigh of relief at the producer’s words and shut the camera off. It had been another long day and his grumbling stomach reminded him that he’d skipped lunch. Again. For the third time that week.
Luke had rubbed his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen muscles that had long since grown stiff. It was a vain attempt to jar free the irritation that had been gnawing at his gut for the better part of the past few hours.
He should have been used to it, the constant demands and petty requests Sheila Morgan made on the cast and crew. Two years on the job, though, and he still cringed every time she held up a finger—flashing that annoying bright red nail polish that had become her signature trait—halted filming, and yelped, “Ex-cuse, me! This lighting is absolutely not right! Fix it, pu-lease.”
Luke remembered shaking his head in amazement at her insensitivity to those around her. He’d hooked the shutter cover of his camera in place. Women were beyond him, that’s for sure. His mother liked to say Sheila had ruined him for all women. He knew she chomped at the bit, wondering when her one and only son would finally settle down. Maybe even give her a couple of little Abneys.
Luke wondered about that too. He’d grown up with two parents who were still madly in love with one another. In fact, the day he’d left for college, he’d not missed the special looks that passed between his mother and father. While they’d missed him, they also looked forward to a life full of couple things. Luke wanted the intimacy he saw in his parents, the friendship and passion that flowed freely between them.
“Son,” his mom had held him just a moment longer than usual when he’d visited last Thanksgiving, “don’t give up on what God has planned for your life. The right woman is already on the scene. She just hasn’t introduced herself yet.”
“Sure, Mom.” What else could he have said?
“I mean it, Luke.” Marion Abney had propped one fist on an ample hip and stared up at him until he squirmed. “That Sheila woman has ruined you, hasn’t she? Not all women are like, son. There are still plenty of women out there who have their hearts and heads in the right place. Be patient.”
The truth was actually deeper than his mother knew, and went way beyond the annoying antics of Sheila Morgan. As frustrating as she could be, it was another woman entirely that was responsible for Luke’s reticent heart. He shuddered now as images of Tessa Shepherd paraded uninvited across the front porch of his mind.
His one serious relationship since making the cross-country move to Los Angeles had left him wounded…and wiser. Needless to say, it hadn’t ended nicely. Luke preferred to block the unpleasant memories from his mind and tried not to dwell in places he couldn’t afford to return.
Instead, he chose to concentrate on work. Between his duties on the set and Wednesday evening Bible study, his weeks filled up surprisingly well. The noise and friction on set seemed to follow him home at night, causing him crave nothing more than sanctity inside his nice, quiet Brentwood apartment. Forget about dating. With the hours he worked, the only women he came across were on the job. And spending ten hours a day with the likes of Sheila Morgan, or anyone like her for that matter, left a sour taste in his mouth when it came to industry dames.
Thanks, Luke thought, but no thanks.
So when Kurt had approached him that particular day, Luke’s interest was cautiously piqued.
“Hey, buddy,” Kurt had clapped him on the shoulder, “Long day, huh?”
Luke emitted a low whistle and grinned. “Aren’t they all? Man, how’re you doing?”
If Luke’s day had been long and trying—which it had—he couldn’t even begin to imagine Kurt’s day. He didn’t envy the man one iota; pitied him would be closer to the truth. Luke shuddered just to think of dealing with Sheila on a one-to-one basis. Maybe he was the lucky one, after all. Unlike Kurt, at least he got to stay behind his camera, relatively safe from the spoiled star’s barbed comments and petulant complaints.
Kurt had hooked a thumb in his front belt loop and leaned against the wall, watching as he’d wound the camera cord and stowed it in its case. “So have you made a decision yet?”
“Decision about what?”
“Like you don’t know.” Kurt had chuckled. “The new show. This is your chance, guy!”
The thought had crossed his mind, Luke had to admit. His buddy had landed a long overdue plumb role as lead producer on a new reality-based show for the network, and he wanted Luke to join the camera crew for that series.
Luke wasn’t convinced leaving It’s My Kitchen was the answer for him. When he did leave he wanted to make good and sure he wasn’t leaping out of the proverbial frying pan straight into a roaring flame. Things might get a little hot under the collar with the likes of Sheila Morgan, but Luke had heard enough industry horror stories to know she resembled a lamb in comparison to some of the other starlets his pals worked with.
Still, Kurt had been persuasive. “This opportunity has your name written all over it. You’d be my lead camera guy.” He’d high-fived Luke, a wide grin splitting his tanned face. “No more obscurity, man. You could call the shots yourself.”
Luke had rolled the camera into the supply closet and locked the door. “Really? It says ‘Luke Abney’, huh?”
“Might as well.” Kurt shrugged. “But that’s not all.”
“What?”
“The eight finalists will be decided the first of next month. And yours truly,” Kurt had thumped himself on the chest, “is in the very enviable position of personally advising each one of them that they are a viable contestant.”
Luke plucked his jacket from the closet, and stuck his trusty L.A. Lakers cap on top of his head. “No kidding? So you’re going to…what? Travel all over, making these announcements?”
“Yup.” Kurt had nodded as they headed for the elevator. “And I want you to go with me.”
“Me?” Luke had laughed at the preposterous suggestion. “Why?”
“Number one, you haven’t taken a vacation in the four years I’ve known you, Abney. In the two years we’ve worked together, I think I can count on one hand the number of days you’ve taken off.” Kurt began to tick the reasons off on his fingers. “Two, I have absolute knowledge that this show drives you as nuts as it does me. And three—why not? Take a week’s vacation, come with me, get a feel for what the show’s going to be like. Then you can make the decision on whether or not you’re ready to leave this one.”
“Is Janie really going to let you leave town for that long?” Luke had lifted his cap and repositioned it, glad when the elevator doors finally slid open.
Kurt laughed. “Only because she knows it’s the prelude to a job that will leave us more family time.” He shrugged. “A little sacrifice now, a whole lotta reward later.” A wry grin creased his face. “I’m sure she’ll be ready to share Daniel-duty again the minute I roll back into town though!”
Luke had no doubt. Little Daniel Finley was the apple of his parents’ eyes, but—in Luke’s opinion anyway—the little tyke could use a few lessons from Super Nanny. Maybe an introduction to the Naughty Mat from time to time…
“It’s going to be an incredible opportunity for someone. Might as well be you…” Kurt had held the elevator door open, even after Luke stepped inside. “It’s going to be a real kick to be a part of something new, Luke. With the TV reality craze going gangbusters, it’s no wonder our network has jumped on board.” Kurt had chuckled. “I’m just surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”
Luke had to admit Kurt knew how to make a tempting offer. Not to mention the guy was relentless and continued to press for an answer.
“I’ll think about it.” Luke had punched the button for the ground floor.
Kurt grinned and saluted as the doors slid closed. “That’s all I’m asking, man. Just think about it, okay?” His voice had faded as the elevator doors slid closed between them.
In the end—after more cajoling on Kurt’s part and more whining on Sheila’s end—Luke had opted for the cross-country vacation. The two weeks were winding down, but they’d served their purpose. He was returning to work refreshed. He’d even made a decision.
He was going to join Kurt’s team on the set of Restaurant 101. It would be a welcome challenge to be a part of something fresh. The decision to leave It’s My Kitchen wasn’t an easy one. He felt as though he was taking a real gamble. At least with Sheila he knew what he dealt with each day. It was kind of like that old saying he’d heard somewhere. “Do I go with the devil I know or the devil I don’t?”
Luke roused himself now, straightening on the sofa and glancing at his watch. He’d agreed to meet Kurt at Max’s Diner at seven sharp for a quick bite to eat. Ella would join them at eight to discuss the contest’s legalities and guidelines.
Luke couldn’t deny that the thought of seeing the pretty waitress again so soon was a pretty good one. He ran a hand over the pocket of his shirt, and then reached inside and pulled out the business card he’d stealthily tucked away as they’d left the diner earlier today. EDIBLE EATS BY ELLA was printed in neat block letters across the top, followed by a list of various catering services available, a website URL, and a telephone number below that.
Wishing he had enough time to look up the catering site on his laptop, but knowing he didn’t, Luke tucked the card inside his wallet and headed upstairs to his room. He had time enough to dash upstairs and freshen up a bit. A little cologne, a little Colgate, maybe pop an Altoid or two…
Luke grinned at the irony of the whole situation. Just a month ago he would have scoffed at the very notion of working on a reality series. It seemed like a guy could hardly turn on the tube these days without yet another reality show making its debut. He didn’t understand it. Weren’t the terms ‘TV’ and ‘reality’ an oxymoron? When he wanted a dose of reality, he certainly didn’t have to plop down in front of his entertainment center for it.
Now Luke had a feeling that Ella Paglia might very well change the way he looked at reality television. Forever.
*****
Ella stood stock still in the midst of the sea of clothes and scarves that now littered the floor of her bedroom. She hadn’t pulled a stunt like this since college, but—come to think of it—this whole thing kind of made her feel like a giddy school girl. She’d all but emptied out the closet, and still had no clue what to wear for the meeting with the Cooking Channel guys.
Ella smoothed nervous hands down the sides of her skirt, and examined herself again in the mirror. She’d found this skirt on the clearance rack of Dress Barn right after Chloe had been born. Proud of her fifteen dollar purchase at the time, now she worried that her closet contained nothing that would hold up to Hollywood standards.
“What am I going to do?” she wailed, unzipping the dark, pin-striped skirt, slipping out of it, and adding it to the heap at her feet.
“First of all, b-r-e-a-t-h-e!” Reggie, sitting cross-legged on Ella’s bed with Chloe nestled in her lap, spelled out the word with exaggerated animation.
“I don’t have time to breathe!” Ella snapped, and then stopped as both Reggie and Chloe stared up at her with wide eyes.
“Mommy’s a nervous wreck, Chloe,” Reggie continued to tease. “Can Chloe say ‘nervous wreck’?” She giggled and ducked as Ella aimed a discarded beret in her direction. “Hey, that look was actually really cute, El. Try it on again.”
Ella sighed and reached for the cap. “Yeah? You sure?” She sat it on her head and turned back to the full-length mirror behind the closet door. “But what about clothes? I certainly can’t parade into Max’s like this”—she pointed to her slip-clad body—“can I?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Reggie rolled Chloe over on the bed, tickling her. “I can think of a couple of guys who might like it!”
“Reg!” Mortified, Ella sank to the floor. “That’s it. I can’t go. I just can’t.”
“Mariella Paglia, must I talk you through everything? Of course, you’re going. And not only that—you’re going to wow the socks off these guys.” Reggie jumped from the bed and began pawing through the clothes.
Chloe sat up on the bed, her dark curls still damp from her bath, and clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “Wow, Mama. Wow, Mama.”
Ella reached for her and cuddled her close. “That’s right, Chloe-bug. Your Mama needs to wow these guys.”
“And Ella—” Reggie’s voice was muffled among the heap of material—“this whole adventure might be just the ticket you need to get out of here. Now don’t get me wrong—”she cast a furtive glance around the cramped space, just a hint of apology in her voice—“I love what you’ve done with the place, but…”
Ella followed Reggie’s gaze, taking in the dated floral wallpaper she couldn’t afford to replace. She tried to swallow the instant irritation trying to snake its way up her throat. Reggie meant well, Ella knew that. This old—and somewhat dilapidated—walk-up garage apartment, well past its prime, was the best her salary at Max’s would allow, while still enabling her to slowly chip away at the hospital and doctor bills.
As much as it had pained her to do so, she’d had no choice but to sell the two-story brick Colonial she’d shared with Stephen back in New Jersey. It was either sell it pay off a couple of the creditors or sit still and lose it anyway.
“Ella P, I know where that pretty little head of yours just went! And that’s not it at all. You know how proud I’ve been of you since Stephen—” Reggie let her words fade away and dropped her head in dismay, sending her sleek auburn ponytail cascading over one slumped shoulder.
Ella’s heart constricted. The roller coaster her emotions had been enjoying since Stephen’s death took yet another sudden upward turn. Honestly, some days she felt more like a mad woman, never knowing from minute to minute what her mood would be.
“I know.” Ella crouched on the floor beside her friend and wrapped her arms around her. “I’d be lost without you, you know that, don’t you?”
Reggie leaned her head against Ella’s. “So are you ready to get dressed and go show these guys that you’re just what they’re looking for? And you’ll be wearing clothes, all right. Very proper, very appropriate, very…Ella-like clothes.” She made a face and stuck out her tongue, eliciting delighted deep-throated chuckles from Chloe. “So relax, okay?”
“Okay.” She still wasn’t convinced she could do this. But she had to at least try, didn’t she? Otherwise, all her efforts—the tape, the memories, the time it had taken—would be in vain. Not to mention the time and effort Reggie had contributed to this project.
Right now Ella knew that Reggie was the only one in the world trying to help her make sense of this new life into which she’d suddenly been tossed without warning. She couldn’t bear the look of defeat she saw etched around her friend’s eyes this minute.
Poor Reg. Ella had lost track of how many times Reggie had fed her and Chloe over the past year. Too many to count, that’s for sure. The months after Stephen’s death had been tortuous and, just when Ella thought she might go stark-raving mad from grief, Reggie had stepped in. When Ella had found it virtually impossible to leave the house, let alone run errands and prepare even the simplest semi-healthy meals, Reggie made sure the dry cleaning got picked up, kept Chloe’s closet stocked with Huggies, and made frequent runs to the neighborhood taco shop for the spicy salsa they both loved.
She hadn’t been in a state of mind to make sense of it all then, but Ella now realized that Reggie had sacrificed weeks of her time—probably to the chagrin of Kristi Carmichael—to fly cross-country and care for her. She owed Reggie. No doubt about it.
Ella scooped up her daughter now and snuggled her close, breathing in the sweet scent of baby lotion and strawberry shampoo. In her arms she held a living, breathing reminder of why this venture was so important.
She’d been given a chance, a real opportunity to carve out a decent life for the two of them. If she’d never placed, she wouldn’t have been surprised and really not even disappointed. How many people entered these contests truly expecting to win, after all?
But she had placed, and now they wanted her to fly to Los Angeles and make her a part of the new series. If she won, it would mean a rebirth to her dream—she would operate her own restaurant. This could be it—the big break she and Chloe needed. A way out of the mountain of doctor bills and late credit card statements.
It was really happening. To her, Ella Paglia, the girl from the Jersey shore. This was opportunity knocking. She couldn’t let this door slam shut without giving it her best shot.
“Here!” Reggie popped out of the closet, clutching a pink skirt and a simple short-sleeved black sweater. “This is it, it’ll go perfectly with the beret. Don’t you think? Oh, El, this is…so exciting!” She hopped up and down, prompting loud squeals and more exuberant hand-clapping from Chloe.
Ella grinned. She couldn’t help it. It had been a long time since she’d seen and felt such displays of ‘happy’ in her house. It felt good.
Even if it also scared her silly.
*****
Luke fidgeted in the booth, resisting the urge to check his watch again. She’d be here when she promised, no use acting like a middle school kid and getting all restless over a girl. Anticipation pumped through his veins, and all he wanted to do was grin.
Even though he’d ordered the house specialty—tonight it was Max’s fried catfish and dirty rice—Luke didn’t feel one bit hungry. Just restless in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
Ella Paglia was clearly different from the other seven finalists. The last to be notified, Luke’s expectations of her hadn’t been that high. Each of the others—three women and four men—had been nice enough.
He could easily see any of them in front of his camera. They had “the look”, that elusive star quality that earmarked the difference between ultimate success and dismal failure. In short, they all seemed similar. Maybe too similar.
But Ella Paglia was…different. Unaffected. A real woman. Not like the plastic ones he’d become accustomed to in La-La Land. The gals who looked as though they had their makeup applied at Earl Shively and sported implanted body parts that looked anything but natural.
Ella had reminded him of home, of his high school days in Cleveland, long before he’d made the move to the West Coast. She embodied the wacky grace of Lucy Ricardo, the gentle spirit of Renee Zelwegger, and the exotic beauty of Salma Hayek—all rolled up in one petite, yet curvy, package.
“So,” Kurt folded his menu and settled back in the worn and squeaky booth, “Why the huge grin, Abney?”
“What do you mean?” Luke picked up his iced tea and took a long, slow drag through the straw. He knew the grin, but also knew he’d better wipe it off his face, and quick, before Kurt caught on. No way would his buddy let him live this one down.
Kurt nodded, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Uh-huh. Just what I thought.” He pointed a finger in Luke’s direction. “Just remember something, Abney. She’s a finalist. There’s several more just like her. I wouldn’t get attached just yet, if I were you.”
Heat inched its way up Luke’s neck and settled in his cheeks. Wishing he were beneath anything besides the bright overhead lights in the diner, he pulled at his shirt collar, suddenly feeling hot and stifled.
But mostly just irritated.
Kurt didn’t know what he was talking about. In the four years they’d worked for the same network, Luke could count on one hand the number of women he’d found appealing enough to ask out. Attractive on the inside as well as the outside, that is. And the number he’d actually taken out, even fewer. It certainly wasn’t like he was some scrawny-kneed junior high kid with a larger-than-life crush. He didn’t fall for women like…well, like some of the other guys at the network did. It was easy enough for Kurt to talk—he was happily married to a woman who adored him and the father of a cute, if rather precocious, three-year-old son.
“Hey, man, I’m just messing with you,” Kurt’s hearty laugh attracted the attention of a nearby table of women. “Don’t go all serious on me!”
Luke made a pretense of unfolding the white paper napkin that encased the silverware. He methodically set the knife and fork on the table and dropped the napkin into his lap. He shrugged, and then whispered, wishing the women at the next table would return to their own business and quit staring at them. “All I’m saying is she was—”
What? What was Ella Paglia, exactly? Beautiful—but in a natural, totally unaffected way? Charming—but without conveying any physical interest at all?
No description seemed to do. At least nothing he cared to share with Kurt. “Look, all I’m saying is she’s got what the network bigwigs are looking for.”
Huh? Where had that come from? Like he knew what the bigwigs wanted. Luke shifted in his chair again. Now would be a good time for the waitress to deliver their food. Before he went and said something equally foolish and meaningless.
And before he revealed that Ella Paglia had somehow crawled under his skin.
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