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.
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