Archive for the 'The Writing Life' Category

September 3, 2010 @ 6:29 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

             MELROSE MIRACLE

by Staci Wilder

 

Chapter Twelve

 

            “So you’ve spent some time working on your TV skills.” Nathan Charleton, in his uniform of black slacks and gray sweater, addressed the finalists. “But remember, the cooking still has to look effortless. That’s where the The Cooking Channel’s kitchen and culinary staff—or K&C for short—come in.” He paused and grinned. “Did you think Marcus Jordan or Dario Patali did everything on their own?”

            Ella glanced at Torrie, sitting next to her, and raised her eyebrows. Was she the only one who’d not known the hosts had people behind the scenes? But the blank look in Torrie’s eyes was enough to let Ella know she wasn’t alone.

            “To help you understand more about what goes into preparing one of our shows, the grill master himself is back with us today.” Nathan Charleton gestured toward the back door of the studio. “Marcus Jordan, folks!”

            Ella felt the same surge of excitement she’d felt earlier in the week. After years of watching the chef in action on TV, it was almost surreal to see him bound past her in the flesh. The tall and slim, curly-headed chef looked even more boyish in person than he did on screen. The energy was the same though. Ella knew that whatever today held, the bar would be raised.

            She leaned forward, pen in hand, willing herself to concentrate on Marcus Jordan and what he had to share with them today. Meeting this chef and sitting in on his lectures had been little more than a daydream just weeks ago and Ella knew this was a once in a lifetime experience. But as thrilled as she was to be sitting here in front of Marcus Jordan, one thing still thrilled her more.

            Knowing Luke Abney was somewhere near.

            She smiled, remembering last night. Her eyes felt a bit gritty this morning from lack of sleep. At breakfast she’d had to down a third cup of coffee for an extra jolt of caffeine. Even so, nothing could dim the way she felt this morning. There was a lightness to her, a sense of excitement and adventure, that she hadn’t felt in such a long time.

            And it was because of Luke.

            They had sat in the lobby of the Radisson talking until two a.m. They talked about everything and nothing, all at the same time. After their marathon phone conversation a few months ago, Ella thought she’d known the basic Luke Abney trivia. He was from Indiana and loved apple pie, baseball games, and the LA Lakers. His favorite color was blue and he’d dreamed of being a veterinarian when he was a little boy. He lived in a small apartment in Brentwood, but his favorite spot was his parents’ farmhouse in Bloomington. The long, wraparound porch with the wooden swing, to be exact.

            Last night, they’d filled in the many layers put into place during that phone conversation. Time seemed to fly by. In a matter of hours, Ella felt like she’d known Luke Abney all her life. Somehow it didn’t surprise her. There had been something almost electric between them since their first meeting. Still, the intimacy of the details he’d shared with her—as simple and inconsequential as they might seem to others—was everything to her. Luke Abney had shared himself. Ella had experienced that once before—with Stephen—and she knew that anything less than that was unacceptable.

            Maybe that’s why in the middle of her happiness this morning there also rested an unease. Stephen. He seemed to be all around her today. In the sound of Chloe’s voice on the phone this morning. The scent of his cologne still clung to the suitcase in her hotel room. This caused uncertainty in her emotions, almost like a warning of some kind.

             Ella wanted to ignore it, had, in fact, done a fairly good job of it so far. But even as she pushed all thoughts of Luke and Stephen and even Chloe from her mind as she focused her eyes on Marcus Jordan, Ella knew that something was different.

            It would be different from now on—

            Ella jumped as Marcus Jordan’s voice boomed right in front of her.

            “I’d like to introduce you at this time to what I like to call “my secret weapon”—Miriam Goldsmith, come join me please!”

            Ella twisted in her seat to get a look at the tiny woman making her way to the front. Even shorter than Ella, she was fifty-ish with short gray hair and a huge smile. Marcus placed an arm around Miriam’s shoulders and pulled her close.

            “Miriam is my sous chef. Translated that means she is my right-hand. I really could not do my show without Miriam and the rest of the K&C staff. They are the ones who enable us to do our jobs.” Marcus handed the microphone to Miriam. “I’m going to turn the podium over to you, Miriam.”

            Ella joined the other finalists in a standing ovation. Miriam grinned, waving them back in their seats.

            “Thank you,” the older woman’s voice was soft and kind as she held up two fingers. “The K&C staff is divided into two departments. First we have the cooks and food stylists who actually develop and style the recipes for television. They are the ones who make the food look gorgeous.”

            Henry, on Ella’s right, reached over and nudged her. “Hey, El, can I borrow a sheet of paper?”

            Ella glanced at his desk—completely bare—while she flipped to the back of her notebook and removed a couple of clean sheets. She grinned at him and shook her head. Typical Henry. Funny to a fault, and almost never fully prepared. Ella wondered how far he’d make it in the competition with his lack of organization.

            “Second,” Miriam continued, “is the writers and the editors. The editorial staff works together with the chefs to create recipes for the shows. Then they take those recipes and write ‘break-downs.’”

            Ella scribbled the word and then waited for the definition.

            “A break-down is an action script for a show. Each episode is literally broken down action by action. This way the chef or the host knows what to and when to do it.”

            Ella squirmed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about all these new revelations. Maybe she’d been naive to think that the likes of Marcus Jordan or Kendall Brooks simply walked into a kitchen and proceeded to whip up one amazing meal right after the other—in front of a camera. If so, maybe she should feel relief right now at learning that even the network greats had lots of help.

            But all Ella felt was worry.

            Up to this point she’d known about the teleprompter, the cue cards, the time cards, and the importance of switching from one camera to the next seamlessly. Now Miriam was telling them that each segment is broken down into separate actions, telling her where to be and when to be there.

            Ella shuddered and chanced a peek in Torrie’s direction. The girl had her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed closed. If Ella hadn’t felt so overwhelmed herself by this fresh onslaught of information, she would have laughed out loud. She knew how Torrie felt. Her earlier premonition had been right.

            The bar had been raised.

            From this point on, the seven remaining finalists would have to give it their all. Less than that, and the loss of concentration and initiative would be just enough to send them packing.

            Ella straightened her back and made up her mind. She’d learn how to do the . break-downs. Face the teleprompter with courage. Show the camera no mercy. Whatever it took, she’d master it.

            She’d come way too far and had way too much at stake to risk going home now.

*****

           Nathan Charleton was issuing the day’s challenge to the seven finalists.

          Luke could hear it all from where he sat in the control booth. Munching on a PB&J sandwich, he leaned back in his chair and propped his tennis shoe-clad feet on a corner of Kurt’s desk.

            “Today each of you will be given a break-down from an episode of Marcus Jordan’s nationally acclaimed cooking show Just Grill Me. You’ll have thirty minutes to read the break-downs and you’ll each have a ten-minute consult with Miriam right before you’re set to begin filming. Miriam will walk you through the break-down. Then tonight—”

            The host paused and Luke quit chewing, straining to hear what he already knew would come next.

            “Tonight another one of you will be eliminated from the contest.”

            Luke swallowed hard. It felt like the peanut butter had coated his throat, suddenly dry. He folded the last two bites of sandwich in a paper towel and stuck it back in the Ziploc baggie. Tossing the whole thing into the trash can beneath Kurt’s desk, he took a deep breath then blew it out in one loud huff.

            “What’s wrong with you?” Kurt punched a button, filtering out all sounds from the sound stage below them, and pulled off his headset.

            “Nothing.” Luke shrugged, then grinned. “Everything?”

            Kurt swiveled in his chair and picked up a can of soda. “Hmmm. It’s the waitress again, isn’t it?”

            “Don’t call her that, man.” Last night, Luke had learned the story of why Ella had gone to work at the diner in the first place. How the big, burly Max had looked out for her. How hard she and her baby girl had it in the months after her husband’s death.

          Now this protectiveness he felt toward her seemed like a big billy club he carried in his hand. Just daring someone to mess with Ella.

          “I mean…she’s more than that, you know?”

            Kurt took a long swig of the cola, then sighed. “Sure she is, man. Hey, Luke, you know I didn’t mean anything by that comment. Really.”

            Luke only nodded.

            “Wow.” Kurt whistled softly. “You’ve got it bad, dude.”

            Luke nodded again. “I know.”

            Kurt seemed at a loss for words. Luke couldn’t blame him. No doubt he was throwing his buddy a curve ball. Nobody—least of all, Luke himself—ever expected Luke Abney to fall this hard or this quick for a woman.

            “Here’s the thing,” Luke faced Kurt and planted his elbows on his knees. Kurt wasn’t exactly the one to go to for female advice, but he was the best Luke had at the moment. “I…I like her. I mean…we’ve only talked a little. But I know I like her. A lot. I know that I like her a lot.” He kept nodding his head. “I know this.”

            Kurt laughed, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Oh, man! It’s much worse than I thought. Luke Abney, have you gone and fallen in love behind my back?”

            Love? Luke straightened. He hadn’t given that word a second thought since Tessa. The truth was, he was no longer certain what love was. Maybe he’d never known. He thought he had a great love with Tessa and look how that turned out.

            He shook his head now. He didn’t want to think about Tessa right now. “I don’t know about that…about love, that is. But,” he spread his hands, “I want a chance to know Ella better. But what if she leaves before we have that opportunity?”

            Kurt just stared at him. “You’re not serious, are you?”

            “What do you mean?”

            Kurt’s chair popped as he leaned forward and rapped Luke on the head. “This is the twenty-first century, dude. You know, cell phones and email and airplanes and—”

            “Okay!” Luke held up his hands in surrender. “I get your point. I get it.”

            “So,” Kurt spoke very slowly, as though to a first grader. “If the pretty girl goes back to Louisiana you will call her.” Kurt picked up the cell phone laying on his cluttered desk and waved it in the air. Then he turned to the computer and tapped on the keyboard. “And you’ll email her. See how easy that is?”

            Luke grimaced at Kurt’s good-natured mocking, but as much as he hated to admit it, he felt better. Somehow blockhead Kurt had made this whole Ella Paglia deal seem like it could work.

            “Okay then,” Kurt picked up his headset and jerked a thumb toward the control room door, “Better get downstairs, lover boy. You have a challenge to tape.”

*****

            Ella paced the perimeter of the green room, the dreaded blue card clutched in her hand. Muttering to herself, she rehearsed the break-down: when she’d brush the lobster with oil, which counter she’d be using for her food chops, and how long to grill the quesadillas on each side.

            Each of the seven finalists had been given one of Marcus Jordan’s famous recipes. She’d drawn the Lobster-Toasted Garlic Quesadillas. In less than fifteen minutes a stage hand would show up at the door, beckoning her to the studio floor.

            “That’s not very encouraging, is it?” Dirk’s question broke the silence of the room. He pointed to the couch.

            Across the room, Patty lay face down on the sofa. The poor woman had drawn first again. Ella had been sitting in the overstuffed chair when Patty came back from her demo. She’d entered as quietly as before, but had walked straight to the sofa and lay prone. An hour and a half later, Ella didn’t think the woman had moved a muscle.

            “Should we…shake her?” Ben’s words were whispered. “Nudge her or something? You know, make sure she’s breathing?”

            Dirk grinned. “Sure. Go ahead and do that, Ben.”

            Ben lifted the brown Stetson from his head and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. “I think she’s probably all right.”  He glanced up at Ella. “Don’t you?”

            Ella giggled in spite of her own nerves. She nodded. “I think she’s fine. She’s just recovering right now.”

            Ben’s sigh filled the green room. “Personally, I think she’s got the right idea. I may pass out myself after I finish cooking up some Marcus Jordan braised pork ribs.”

            Ten minutes later, Ella stood behind the counter in the studio kitchen, thinking that she, too, might join Patty on the sofa. If she ever lived through this demo, that is. She licked her lips and smoothed the white apron over her hips.

            “Okay, Ella,” Marnie called, “On five…four…three…two…one!”

            Ella opened her mouth to speak, but then remembered she’d forgotten to smile into the camera. She clamped her mouth closed again, then gave her best Colgate grin into what she hoped was the right camera.

            And hopefully not Luke’s camera.

            “Today I’m making Lobster-Toasted Garlic Quesadillas.” She turned the smile up another notch. The judges had wanted to see more of her, right? What did that mean, exactly? More personality, Ella supposed. “First I’ll take this lobster—isn’t he a beauty, folks?” She held the lobster up just in time to see Marnie motion toward the other camera.

            Remembering her Colgate smile just in time, Ella spun around with the lobster, her eyes wildly searching for the second camera. As she did, Ella felt her shoe begin to slip on something wet. Confident that she could regain her footing, she tried to find her place on the teleprompter.

           “We’ll need to lay this lobster down on a flat surface and rub him with some oil and seasonings—!”

            Ella lost her battle with the wet spot on the floor. It happened so fast it seemed almost impossible to believe. Yet here she was. On the floor. Still clutching the lobster. And the cameras were rolling.

            That split-second thought was enough to propel Ella into action. On her feet again, she carefully stepped over the water puddle on the floor and dropped the lobster onto the counter with a loud plop! Her eyes found the camera, but not the teleprompter. “And that, folks, is for the experts. Please don’t try that at home!”

            Ella’s heart sank to her knees, though she kept the Colgate grin in place. She’d probably just blown her chance in this competition. Only one thing brought her any consolation. She hadn’t broken the cardinal network rule.

           Don’t ever stop the show!

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads, writing

August 27, 2010 @ 6:17 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

             MELROSE MIRACLE

by Staci Wilder

Chapter Eleven

             Luke sat on the worn leather sofa in his apartment and stared at the clock on the wall. Eight-fifteen. He sighed and leaned forward, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his jeans. The contestants should know by now which of them had made it to the next round.

            Ella should know by now.

            The thought of Ella leaving LA before he really even had a chance to get to know her did something funny to Luke’s stomach. It was crazy, really. This wasn’t his style, mooning over some lady he barely knew. Heck, he didn’t even moon over the ones he did know. This was new territory for him, a space he hadn’t explored since…

            Well, since Tessa.

            The thought of Tessa Shepherd made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He’d once loved her fiercely. Was prepared to give her the moon, had she asked for it. He had, in fact, given her something far more precious. His heart. And she had stomped on it so hard that Luke wouldn’t have experienced more pain if she’d walked on his bare chest in a pair of her four-inch stilettos.

            Of course, he hadn’t been without blame. Leaving his mid-west values behind in Indiana, he’d reached out and grabbed all he could hold when he first arrived in Los Angeles six years ago. Late nights, wild parties, and pretty women—all were available for the taking.

            But then he’d met Tessa and had felt like he had at last come home. At last he’d felt free to shed the glitz of Tinsel Town and bare his heart and soul to someone who shared his passions and his morals. Only Tessa hadn’t been that person. One mention of his hometown values and she’d started deleting herself from his life, one pair of shoes at a time.

            But this wasn’t fair, his drumming up past hurt at the hand of Tessa. It wasn’t fair to Ella, and it wasn’t fair to him. The two women couldn’t be more different from one another. Tessa had been self-centered, more focused on her own career and needs than anything else.

            Ella had a child that came first. A little girl. He knew this from the initial bios that Kurt had shared during their cross-country trek. He knew this competition meant far more to her than she let on. Maybe that’s why he felt such an unexplainable tenderness toward her, almost a protectiveness. Her motives were noble, at least he thought they were.

            Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d been wrong about a woman.

            Luke paced the length of the small living room. Then he sat some more. Then he did a few jumping jacks. By the time he’d stretched on the floor to do a set of sit-ups, he realized that only one thing would really soothe his uncertain emotions. He sat up and reached for the Bible on the coffee table. Scooting around, he leaned his back against the sofa and flipped through the soft, worn pages until he found it. Psalm 1.

            Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.

            Luke read the verses again, then dropped his head forward, resting his forehead on his knees. How many times had this set of scriptures spoke comfort to his questioning mind and bruised spirit? Too many to count, he knew that.

            He’d learned an important lesson the hardest way possible—through experience. His mother had always been fond of saying that pain was her best teacher. She’d been right. After his breakup with Tessa, his enraptured view of Hollywood and all it had to offer began to dim. It was as though he’d had blinders covering his eyes and at last they were stripped away and he could see again.

            Where once he’d seen only the glitz and glamour of a city known for indulgence, he now knew it for what it really was. Just another city. Large, wealthy, and full of super stars. Yeah, maybe so. But what Luke now knew was that even superstars with mega-hit movies were just regular folk. At the end of the day, they brushed their teeth and went to bed, much the same as he did.

            Only Luke could now lay his head on his pillow with a peace in his heart.

            He’d never risk that peace again. Not for a job. Not for LA.

            Not for a woman.

            That’s why he had to make a move, one way or another. If Ella was as real as he felt she was, then he didn’t want to let an opportunity to know her better pass him by. But he’d need strength if she turned out to be in search of only what the Hollywood scene could provide for her.

            The strength to simply walk away.

            “Lord,” Luke mumbled the prayer out loud. “You know I want your will. Guide my footsteps. Direct my words. Let me follow wherever you lead me. Even if it’s not what my heart wants to hear.”

            By the time the clock on the wall read eight-forty-five, Luke had showered, changed into a fresh pair of pants and shirt, and was locking his front door. He knew Kurt would call him crazy and most of his other friends would think he’d flipped out. But he had to know if Ella was staying in LA.

            He had to know tonight.

 *****

             Ella went with the others to the corner ice-cream shop. Over milkshakes and banana splits, they celebrated surviving the first round of eliminations. Ella felt her place in the group was shaky, at best. She’d have to find a way to give the judges what they were asking for. But as she sat and nibbled on her waffle cone, she had no idea how to do that.

            Everyone else felt good, she could tell. Torrie talked nonstop, barely giving anyone else time to get a word in edgewise before jumping to a new topic altogether. Even Patty had agreed to join them and, while she wasn’t really participating in the conversation much, she did nod in agreement and give a furtive smile from time to time. Ella was more convinced than ever that Patty just needed a friend. She purposed to try harder to be that person for Patty.

            “Hey, Cowboy,” Henry tossed a wadded straw wrapper Ben’s way. “There are two men in jeans and Stetsons in the kitchen. Which one is the real cowboy?”

            “Oh, no, here we go again.” Deidra threw up her hands.

            Ella grinned as Ben turned a pretty shade of pink.

            “Dunno.” He shrugged. “Which one?”

            “The one on the range.” Henry howled, slapping his palms on the table. “Get it? Range? Like, home on the range?”

            “WE GET IT, DUDE.”

            Ella cringed at Deidra’s hateful tone. Henry’s jokes did tend to wear a little thin, particularly after fifteen of them and a very long day in the studio. But you certainly couldn’t fault the guy for trying to keep things light and humorous. Ella appreciated that, even if she could have done without the corny one-liners.

            “On that note, I think I’ll head back to the hotel.” Dirk pulled his ball cap on and stood up. “Anyone want to walk with me?”

            Ella held up her hand. “Me. I need to get back to the room and call home anyway.”

            “Hey, it’s still early yet.” Torrie’s pretty mouth turned down in a mock pout. “You two are party poopers.”

            “That’s us.” Dirk grinned and tapped Torrie’s shoulder. “But this is one party pooper who will have had his eight hours of beauty sleep and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow’s challenge.”

            No one had an argument—pretend or otherwise—so Dirk and Ella waved their good-byes and walked the two blocks to the Radisson. Ella bid Dirk a good-night as he turned the corner in the lobby, headed for his first floor room. Ella started for the elevator when she heard her name.

            She spun around, shocked to see Luke Abney standing in the lobby. Ella started toward him, then glanced around. “What—what are you doing here?”

            He moved closer, and in that one motion she noticed several details. Details that made her heart rate pick up and the now familiar flush to creep up her neck. Things like the neat line in his khakis. The way his button-down shirt hung untucked. The fact that he wore flip-flops and she could see his feet. Silly details that she’d never admit to another human being. But details that caused her heart to flutter in a way she’d never expected to feel again.

            “I came to see you.” He stood in front of her now—no more than a foot away—looking down at her with such frank honesty in his blue eyes that it almost took her breath away. “I wanted to make sure that you…that you weren’t…”

            Ella nodded. “I get it. You wanted to make sure I wasn’t the one eliminated, right?”

            His grin was sheepish, but she loved it. Loved that he wanted to check on her. Loved that he was standing here, close enough for her to reach out and touch.

            “Yeah, something like that.” He stared down at her and his grin widened.

            “What?” Ella felt self-conscious beneath his gaze. She reached up to wipe at her mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

            Luke shook his head and stepped even closer. With one hand, he reached out and fingered a curl that hung over her shoulder. “You’ve got your hair down,” he whispered huskily.

            Ella’s heart skipped a little beat. She couldn’t have taken her eyes off of Luke Abney right then if a gun had been held to her head. Nor did she want to.

            “I like it like this.” He let go of the curl and it jumped back into place. “You know, curly, free. It’s you.”

            Ella finally found both her breath and her voice and she laughed out loud. “Easy for you to say, mister! I’d like to see you try to tame these curls at six o’clock every morning. It’s not easy, let me tell you.”

            Luke laughed and shook his head. “I’m sure it’s not.” He glanced around the lobby, still littered with groups of people. “Hey, do you want to sit for a while? Just talk?”

            Ella hesitated, thinking of the phone call home she needed to make and of the early morning wakeup call she’d requested. Then she looked into Luke’s blue eyes again and knew there was only one answer to his question.

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads

August 20, 2010 @ 8:55 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

     MELROSE MIRACLE

by Staci Wilder

Chapter Ten

            Ella’s exhilaration barely lasted through lunch.

            As she and the other contestants filed back into Sound Stage C after a rather loud and festive lunch at a nearby bistro, it was clear something was up. The two rows of metal desks had disappeared from view and three more sets of cameras and tripods peppered the studio floor. The kitchen lights remained ablaze, but the round, overhead lights above the studio were dimmed.

          The result was an instant charge of energy.

          Or dread, Ella wasn’t really sure.

            “Welcome back, contestants.” Nathan Charleton motioned for them to cluster to one side of the room. “I trust you had a pleasant lunch. You’ll be glad you’ve had plenty of nourishment because—” he paused and pointed at the group—“this afternoon’s challenge will lead to what you’ve all been waiting for. The first elimination ceremony.”

            A chorus of groans echoed what Ella felt.

          This was it. The contest was on, no doubt about that now. Up till this point they’d felt and operated as a single team. But now the gloves—or Chef’s mitts—would come off and may the best chef among them win. Anticipation wiggled around in Ella’s stomach and she tried to embrace it rather than fight it. This was why she’d come three thousand miles in the first place, wasn’t it? To win the contest that would guarantee a safe future for Chloe.

            The truth could not be avoided. As much as they liked one another and as well as they got along, the contest would boast only one winner. In the end, it would come down to which one of the eight held up under the pressure, delivered culinary delights, and provided an entertaining performance.

            Ella held her breath as the host continued.

          “This is your challenge. You will each prepare the dish that won you a place in the finals. You’ll have two hours to prepare both the dish and a demo tray. After presenting your demo to the judges panel, you’ll be individually rated then you’ll prepare for the elimination ceremony. Tonight—” Nathan Charleton’ voice dropped an octave—“one of you will go home.”

             The three judges were introduced and again the three points of judging were covered: performance, personality, and culinary point of view. Ella still wasn’t sure what the latter meant. This afternoon’s challenge left no time for her to mull it over though. She had twenty minutes to prepare her cue cards and do a dry run-through before the contestants began filming.

            The earlier butterflies in the pit of her stomach now seemed to be having a block party inside her. Swallowing an acrid taste in the back of her throat, Ella found a quiet corner and rehearsed the steps of her demo. Her winning entry had featured her grandmother’s Vegetable Panini, a dish she could—just like Reggie had said—make in her sleep. She concentrated now on the prep work ahead of her: the vegetable chops, heating the griddle, slicing the baguettes.

            This first crucial challenge differed from the previous ones in another way. Before, each finalist was allowed to sit in during each demo and challenge. Beginning today, they’d be sequestered in the green room both before and after their own demo. It added another layer of mystery to the goings-on, making it virtually impossible to know how well one stacked up in light of the remaining contestants’ performances.

            Ella had drawn second demo and now she sat huddled in an overstuffed purple armchair, waiting for a stagehand to come fetch her when it was her turn. Deidra, Ben, and Kim occupied the matching couch. Torrie sat cross-legged against the wall, twirling her braids in her hands. Dirk and Henry lay flat of their backs on the green Berber carpet. All were quiet, just waiting.

            “Hey, check it out,” Dirk, from his spot on the floor, pointed to the walls. “The green room is really green. I’ve always wondered that.”

            It was an observation, but if Dirk was expecting a response Ella was certain he’d be disappointed. Their minds were too occupied at the moment to absorb anything of substance—even something as minute as the color of the green room.

            “How do you think Patty is doing out there?” Deidra was the first to voice it.

            Ella straightened in her chair. She’d been thinking about Patty too. The woman was an enigma to the rest of the group. She fascinated Ella every bit as much as she startled her. With her short, dark pixie cut and waif-like features, she appeared as harmless as a feather on a china dish.

             From a distance, that is. Face-to-face with those small beady eyes and firmly set lips was enough to make Ella back up a step or two.

            “She’s doing fine,” Ben piped up from his corner of the couch. “Haven’t you watched her in the kitchen? She’s a whiz with her chops. If you ask me, that spooky persona is all an act.”

            Ella stared at Ben. Was it possible that someone could have their head in the game deep enough to effect a persona, for crying out loud? It was all she could do to function well as…herself…let alone trying to feign a false front just to throw the others off balance.

            “I don’t know…” Torrie didn’t sound convinced.

            “Wait a minute.” Deidra held up a finger. “I think Ben may be on to something. She was the only one that didn’t go to lunch with us today, right? Something about having an appointment or something like that? Well, when we were leaving the restaurant, I saw her at a table off to the side. By herself.” Deidra’s voice was emphatic, and she jerked her neck as though to accentuate each word. “What happened to that appointment, I ask you? She didn’t have one, that’s what!”

            Ella giggled. “Deidra, that’s a stretch. Give the woman a break. I mean, she freaks me out to, but I don’t think she’s sinister or anything.”

            “Hmph, maybe not,” Deidra crossed her arms. “But that woman’s got some real bad mojo going on up in that head of hers. You know what I’m talking about now!”

            The doorknob to the green room clicked and all seven of them turned to the door. Patty walked in and took a seat in a metal folding chair nearest the door. She nodded curtly, acknowledging their presence, but then hid her head behind a dog-eared copy of California Living.

            Ella watched as Dirk sat up and stared, first at Patty, then at each of them. He raised his eyebrows in question, but she only shrugged her shoulders. They’d all love to ask Patty how the demo went, but no one really knew how to approach her. Ella didn’t know what the deal with Patty was, but she did know she envied the woman right now.

            The door opened and a stagehand poked his head inside. “Ella Paglia?”

            Ella sighed and stood up.

            Patty had another challenge behind her—at this moment, a position Ella envied.

*****

            Luke’s chest tightened as he watched Ella walk to the center of the kitchen and take her place behind the counter. Almost like he was nervous for her. Or maybe he was just nervous right along with her, that was more like it. It wasn’t that he feared she’d flub up or make some awful error. All the contestants made mistakes; the competition didn’t require perfection. But it did require releasing your personality in front of a camera and being at ease with your movements and actions.

            Ella had the latter down pat, Luke was convinced of that. She moved about the kitchen with a grace that captivated him, handling the pots and pans and ladles and mixers with the greatest of ease. It was the former part—the personality issue—that troubled him.

            In Milltown, at Max’s Diner, Ella’s personality had been larger than life. Funny in a very unintentional way, her comedic expressions and quick wit had added wonderful layers to her naturally quiet persona. Here, in the studio kitchen, she was reserved, holding something back from the camera.

            Luke feared she held back the very thing that could win this contest for her.

            He and the other crew members had the distinct advantage of seeing all eight contestants in action. It tickled Luke the way folks reacted with a camera trained on them. Some of them—like that woman, Patty—become an animated version of Superwoman.

          Luke nearly fell off his stool the first time Patty had opened her mouth during filming. The mousy, timid housewife vanished and in her place stood a ball of pure energy, tossing knives and pepper mills around like she was Tom Cruise in Tequila Sunrise. It beat all Luke had ever seen.

            Then you had folks like Ben. And Ella. People with unmistakable skills and resources. But they tended to hide from the camera instead of reaching out and embracing it. For something to be appealing on a TV screen—whether it was the food or the chef—it had to be over the top.

            Okay, Ella, show me what you’ve got. He eased behind his camera and waited for Marnie’s countdown. Ernie, another camera guy, would be taking the opening sequence of shots, so Luke used this time to zoom in tight on Ella’s face. Show me that beautiful smile, Ella.

            “Three…two…one!”

            On cue, Ella smiled into the camera and made her opening speech. Luke didn’t move a muscle as he watched, following her every move. Introducing her recipe—Luke wasn’t even certain what a panini was—he locked back into position as she turned on the grill then moved to the far counter to begin her chops.

            Focusing the camera on Ella’s hands, he watched as she lined up eggplant, zucchini, and onions, then began to slice them with the ease of a pro. Her fingers—short and slim—were topped by neatly manicured nails, covered in clear gloss. Luke knew her hands would look awesome on-screen. He couldn’t say the same for everyone else he shot. Take Patty, for instance. The woman was a whirling dervish in the kitchen, but her hands looked like they needed a good long soak in a bowl of Madge’s Pamolive.

            Ella finished the vegetables and reached for a basket of sliced baguettes. Working with one piece at a time, she spread a thin layer of pesto sauce, then layered slices of eggplant, zucchini, onion, tomato, mozzarella, and roasted red peppers. Sprinkling it all with salt and pepper, she then slid the sandwiches onto the griddle and placed a heavy iron skillet on top of them.

            “You can use a panini maker if you want,” She spoke clearly and without hesitation. “But I like to make these sandwiches the way my grandmother taught me.”

            Ella paused and grinned at the camera, pointing to the heavy skillet. “So I just use any old cast iron pan I have around. They’re just weighty enough and press the baguette in much the same way as an expensive panini maker.”

            Good job, Ella! Luke wanted to shout out loud. She’d made it personal. Shared a little of herself with the camera. Now if she could just relax into it…

*****

            Ella trailed down the hallway behind Dirk and Henry. Torrie walked on one side of her and Deidra on the other. Just behind them came Patty, Ben, and Kim. The motley group somehow reminded Ella of a bunch of kids, walking the long barren school hallway to the principal’s office.

           They entered Sound Stage C as a group of eight. But only seven of them would return in the morning.

            Ella’s lunch—was it only seven hours ago that they’d all been laughing and cutting up at Tony’s Bistro?—felt like it was lodged somewhere between the base of her throat and the middle of her ribcage.

             Never could she remember being quite this nervous. Even walking the long church aisle to meet Stephen at their wedding and her planned C-section with Chloe seemed like a cakewalk in stark contrast to the panel of judges she was about to face.

            Ella didn’t know what kind of stakes the other seven had in this competition, but for her, they were high. Winning this meant an opportunity to carve out a future that would utilize her talents and passions and also provide a generous and stable income for Chloe. It was a long shot; she’d known that going in.

           But now that she was here, Ella intended to give it everything she had to make it all the way.

            They entered the dim studio. The three judges sat behind a long table, a single row of track lighting illuminating the space. Just behind them, cloaked in semi-darkness, stood McAllister Pruitt, himself. The lunch-turned-stone in the pit of her tummy rolled over as Ella glimpsed the man who held the key to her future.

          The eight contestants walked to the center of the room and took their places. When they were settled, Nathan Charleton stepped forward.

            “Tonight we’ve reached the very first elimination ceremony. You’ve been introduced to the judges, but now let me tell you a little about each of them. You’ll be seeing them a lot over the course of this competition. First up, Tom Fogelman, Senior Vice President of Programming and Production here at The Cooking Channel.”

          Nathan Charleton took a couple of steps and smiled. “The pretty lady next to Tom is Heidi Turner. Heidi’s role with the network is that of VP of Marketing. And last, but certainly not least, we have Jordan Elliott, well-known TV broadcaster.”

            Ella surveyed the three judges, but could get no real feel on just how tough or how lenient the trio might be. Each of them smiled and waved at the contestants as they were introduced, but it was clear by the expressions on their faces now that they were all business.

            “Now for the icing on the cake, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to present Mr. McAllister Pruitt.” Even Nathan Charleton’s voice contained a timbre of awe.

            Ella’s fists clenched in anticipation at her side as the tall, daunting man stepped from the shadows, and came to stand before them.

            “Good evening,” He nodded and looked each of them squarely in the eyes before continuing. “It’s my great pleasure to welcome you all to Los Angeles, but more specifically, to this competition. At one time, not so many years ago, I was in the same position you are right now. I had a dream, and that dream was to operate my own restaurant.”

            Ella found herself relaxing as McAllister Pruitt began to share his background. She leaned forward in interest, finding it amazing that a man of his stature would be this candid.

            “I came from a family that could barely afford to place the basics on the table, let alone purchase the extras we all enjoy today. I began to experiment with bits of this and pieces of that—all leftovers from the meal before. I cultivated a love for experimenting with food.” He smiled. “I still love to experiment.”

            Ella could relate. Some of her best concoctions had been mistakes gone right.

            “I finally lassoed my dream after ten grueling years. Now I want to help one of you lasso your personal dream. One of you will walk away from this competition with your own restaurant.

            Not a sound was heard as McAllister finished speaking and retreated to the corner. Ella hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath, hanging on to every single syllable out of the man’s mouth. She blew it out in a long, soft sigh.

           “Contestants, we want to thank each of you for your participation in Restaurant 101.  Obviously, the network saw something exciting in each of you or you wouldn’t even be here. But as contests go, there can only be one winner and tonight we’ll take the group down to seven.” Nathan Charleton gave one last look at the finalists, then turned to the panel. “Judges, I’ll turn it over to you now.”

            The one named Tom stood and picked up a sheet of paper from the table in front of him. He ventured a small smile as he began to speak. “I want to second the comments our host, Nathan Charleton, made. All eight of you show amazing potential and we’d love to be able to keep all of you. But tonight we are asking the following people…to stay.”

            Ella felt her stomach drop the remaining distance to her knees and she forgot how to breathe. Without thinking, she reached out to clutch both her neighbor’s hands. In some remote corner of her mind she realized she’d grabbed hold of Patty’s hand, felt a half-second’s resistance, and then the warmth of Patty’s skin as the woman returned her anxious squeeze.

            “When I call your name, please step forward. Dirk…Deidra…Henry…”

            Ella stood frozen as Henry released her hand and stepped forward to join Dirk and Deidra. She felt Patty move in a little closer to her, and found it somehow oddly comforting.

            “Torrie…Ben…Patty…”

            Patty gave Ella’s hand one last squeeze, then joined the others in line. Ella felt sick. This wasn’t how she’d imagined it. Being plucked out during the very first round of competition.

            “Kim and Ella, we have a few comments to make about your performance in the studio today.”

            Ella nodded, rubbing her clammy palms along the side of her denim skirt. She watched as Heidi, the lone woman on the panel, stood.

            “Let’s start with you, Kim.” She nodded in his direction. “There’s no question that you are a skilled chef, particularly with Asian and Asian-inspired dishes. You’ve impressed us with your knowledge of foods. What we’re not seeing, however, is the ability to speak clearly and concisely. This is a trait that any good TV host or hostess must possess.”

            Ella saw Kim nod his head in acceptance. Her knees buckled a little further when Heidi turned her gaze her way.

            “And Ella. You’ve got definite style, and a real flair for cooking. Just like with Kim, it’s obvious that you, too, have a vast knowledge of kitchen operations. What we’d like to see more of though—and haven’t yet—is Ella.” Heidi stretched her arms wide. “Let us see who you are, Ella. All of you.”

            Ella tried to smile, but wasn’t sure if she’d been successful. She just wanted this moment to end. Whatever the outcome…

            “Ella…we’d like you to…stay.”

            Like a punctured balloon, Ella felt her lungs give out and a burst of air shot through her. “Oh…” A mixture of relief and excitement and a sadness for Kim almost overwhelmed her. She took Kim’s outstretched hand.

            “Good luck,” he nodded to her.

            The next half hour passed in a blur of motion and activity as the group bid their farewells to Kim. When they’d all waved to him as he drove away in a cab, it was a moment of bitter sweetness.

            As the remaining seven sat together, rehashing the day’s events and that night’s elimination ceremony, Ella couldn’t help feeling a bit like a knobby-kneed school girl who had won the spelling bee by default. She listened to the chatter around her, marveling that some of the other contestants had the confidence to openly boast about their progress thus far.

            As near as Ella could tell, the competition was just heating up. And—if today was a clear indicator of things to come—the road to restaurant ownership via this particular route would be bumpy, at best. She was ecstatic that she was still in the game, but her heart ached that it was at the expense of someone else’s dream.

            Tonight, Kim’s dream had been sacrificed.

            Whose would be next?

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads

August 13, 2010 @ 8:55 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

   MELROSE MIRACLE

 

Chapter Nine

 

            The next morning, Ella made sure she left in plenty of time to snag one of the front desks in Sound Stage C. She felt surprisingly refreshed after a decent night’s sleep and looked forward to the day, wondering what challenge was next on the docket.

               Kim Yung Lee, the only Asian contestant, walked in right behind Ella. “Good morning.” He bobbed his head toward her, his dark hair waving with the movement. Quiet up to this point, Kim had impressed them all yesterday with his egg fu yung demo.

           After a few minutes of conversation, she learned the forty-five year old Kim owned and operated his own Chinese restaurant in Lubbock, Texas. But the family business was failing and this was Kim’s way of trying to save it.

          Torrie, Ben, and Dirk walked in about that time and Dirk—hearing Kim mention Lubbock—turned the topic of conversation to Texas Tech, his alma mater. “Hey, you missed a great time last night.” Torrie settled into the desk next to Ella’s. She dropped her backpack to the floor and leaned forward, planting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “A lot of the crew came out with us. That cute camera man—you know, Luke—he came too.”

          Ella hoped her face showed no emotion. It wasn’t like she cared what Luke Abney did, or who he saw. Or did she? She couldn’t deny the effect he had on her when he was close by: rapid pulse, heart flutters, flushed cheeks…

           No doubt about it. Luke made her heart do weird—yet somehow delicious—flip-flops. Remnants of their conversation still danced in the corners of her mind, making it difficult to hide the smile that was aching to crawl across her face right now. She resisted it, though, grabbing a pencil instead and doodling on her tablet.

            It wasn’t like she cared what Torrie thought. This was Ella’s first experience with this kind of attraction, or chemistry—or whatever this myriad of feelings might be labeled. She wasn’t even sure herself yet how she felt about them. For sure she wasn’t ready to confide them to others.

           It had seemed like there had been a mutual connection back in Milltown, and again on that amazing all-night phone conversation. But the past few days in LA seemed to suggest otherwise.  Almost like she was just one of the gang—someone he spoke nicely to because it was a part of his job.

         “I wanna get to know him better,” Torrie continued, tossing one long platinum braid over her shoulder. “Away from the crowd, you know?” She grinned and Ella felt her stomach plummet. “Some good ‘ol one-on-one time.”

            “Sounds…like a plan.” Ella pulled another notebook from her duffel and pretended to read through some notes. When Torrie took the bait and did the same, Ella blew out a soft breath.

            She needed to get her head in this contest and off of Luke Abney. She sneaked a peek at Torrie. Why in the world would Luke give Ella a second glance when the likes of Torrie Tyler was around?

            The morning session started up at 10 o’clock sharp, and not a moment too soon for Ella. Now that she was ready to put Luke on the back burner of her mind where he belonged, she was ready to throw herself headfirst into the day’s challenge. A fresh zeal burned inside her, an urgency to make the most of this incredible opportunity. If she worked hard and showed the network what she was capable of, maybe…just maybe…this contest would change the course of hers and Chloe’s life.

            “Welcome to Cooking TV 101.” Nathan Charleton began, “Today you’ll learn the basics of live cooking. When you watch Kendall on Meals in Minutes or Toula on Toula’s Home Cooking, what the audience may not realize is that it is a live television performance. Done…in real time.”

            Ella shifted in her chair as Dirk, on her right, whistled softly. That was something she hadn’t realized. The idea was slightly terrifying. Filming for a taped segment sounded daunting enough, but to film for a live feed? Yikes…

            Nathan Charleton nodded at their responses. “Because of this, there is a cardinal rule in our network. A rule that can never be broken, no matter what.”

            Ella grabbed her pen, waiting.

            “A chef can never stop the show. Remember that.”

            Ella heard Dirk mumbling the words as he, too, scribbled furiously on a notepad.

            “Okay, let’s get started.” Nathan clapped his hands and a line of men and women filed into the studio, coming to stand at the front. “Today you’ll meet a few of the folks who make a cooking show possible.”

            Luke Abney was the last to enter. He ended up directly in front of her desk and Ella felt the now familiar tug at her tummy. For the briefest of seconds their eyes locked and—though it was fleeting—time seemed to halt. Ella felt as though this man were looking inside her soul. She straightened in her chair and lowered her eyes, trying to concentrate on the introductions as Nathan Charleton announced each name.

            “…Marnie Wilson!” The host paused as Marnie—just as energetic as she’d been at the meet-and-greet—took a deep bow. “Marnie is our stage manager and she will become your very best friend.” He gave a knowing nod. “Believe me, Marnie is absolutely crucial to your success in this competition.”

            For the next fifteen minutes Marnie explained the use of the dreaded teleprompter and time cards. Ella was amazed at how much useful information she was able to soak up in the short amount of time. The teleprompter would not—contrary to what she’d thought—keep going if the host quits talking. Instead it is regulated to the speed of the host’s voice; if he speaks fast, the teleprompter speeds up, if the host slows it down, the teleprompter matches it.

            “Time for the first challenge of the day.”

            Ella looked up from her notes at Nathan Charleton’ words. Besides the host, the front of the room had been cleared. She didn’t know if she felt more relief or more disappointment that Luke Abney no longer stood in front of her.

            Each contestant was given a task card. These were aqua blue note cards with a given assignment printed on them. Ella heard Torrie groan as she read hers. She turned hers over slowly, her earlier confidence in the day taking a dip.

            Stretch the time, it read. Obviously she’d have to ad-lib, waiting for Marnie to give the signal that there was extra time to fill. It wouldn’t be difficult.

            Ella sighed. It was just out of her comfort zone, was all.

*****

             From behind his camera, Luke zoomed in on Ella’s face. He could see a tiny vein in her neck throbbing wildly and his heart wrenched. She was nervous.

            Come on, Ella, you can do it. He tried to send her telepathic encouragement and he thought that, just for a second, she looked right at him. Not just at his camera, but at him. His breath caught in his throat until she looked down, at some notes in front of her, and the spell was broken.

            He waited for Marnie’s countdown and kept an eye on the stage manager’s arm as it went high into the air.

            “In five…four…three…two…” At one, Marnie’s hand came down and Luke pushed the red button, instantly sending Ella Paglia to the live feed. His throat felt tight and dry as he put his eye to the lens.

            “You want your filling to be rich and creamy,” Ella looked up from the batter she was mixing and smiled into the camera. “Make sure it is mixed well, then pour it into your prepared muffin tins.”

            Luke grinned. Thatta girl! If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought Ella was an old pro at this. He glimpsed Marnie out of the corner of his eye and watched as she gave the signal to stretch the time. There was the briefest gleam of panic in Ella’s dark eyes as they widened at the camera. She paused and Luke held his breath. Keep talking, Ella, don’t stop. Even he knew the cardinal rule of the network. There was flexibility with a lot of things, but not the cardinal rule.

            “I remember as a kid I’d love to help my mother make pies and cakes,” Ella’s smile was back and she was shooting from the hip, filling the time with an anecdote. “My very favorite recipe was a cherry cheesecake—very similar to the one we’re making today.”

            Marnie gave the sign for a commercial break.

            “So when we come back, we’re going to taste these beautiful mini-cheesecakes. Don’t go away.” Ella finished the sentence in a rush of air and then sighed, loudly. Her lapel mic crackled and the contestants and crew laughed. It was clear to everyone that Ella was glad to have this challenge behind her.

            Luke shut the camera off and backed away from the tripod. As Ella passed in front of him on her way back to her seat, he held up both thumbs. “Good job,” he whispered.

            “Thanks,” she whispered.

            Luke reached out without thinking and squeezed her fingertips. He glimpsed the flitter of surprise in her eyes and let go quickly. It wasn’t like him to act on spontaneous impulses—particularly when it came to grabbing a pretty gal’s hand. But there was something about Ella that tugged at his heart. Made him want to reassure her. Care for her. Let her know he was around if she needed him.

            He ignored the pang of disappointment that swam around in his gut when Ella continued on to her seat. Last night’s encounter in the shopping district on Melrose had been much too short. That brief conversation with Ella had done nothing except make him want more time with her.

            Of course, seeing the modeling agency where Tessa was a client had been jarring, to say the least. He’d not known the agency had changed locations and seeing the sign last night had temporarily brought all the craziness from the “Tessa years” sharply back into focus. It hadn’t been until later, when he was lying wide-awake in bed, still thinking about his chance meeting on the street with Ella that something very clear began to seep into his thoughts.

            Everything he’d thought he’d wanted in Tessa, everything he thought he’d found—had ultimately been nothing more than a mirage of the heart. Yet, in Ella, those very things were alive and well. So close to him, close enough for him to reach out and grasp, if he wanted.

            If only he knew Ella felt the same way…

 *****

             Ella all but melted into her seat. Her heart still raced from the rush of adrenaline that had pumped like fuel through her veins while on camera. She knew her cheeks were hot and flushed. Normally that would embarrass her, but right now she didn’t even care.    She was floating—riding the relief of having another scary challenge behind her. Luke Abney’s unexpected touch had been like the cherry on a sundae for her. As she’d walked by, she’d glimpsed the victory she felt gleaming in his own eyes. As though he shared the moment with her.

            Relaxing, she watched the final two contestants take their turns. She and the others bit back laughs as Dirk’s comical expressions grew even more outrageous as he tried—rather unsuccessfully—to make seamless switches from one camera to the next.          

             Torrie’s task was called the “swap-out”—placing one pan in the oven and pulling out another of the finished result. The real trick was to do this while never breaking your train of speech, something Ella knew Torrie could do with ease.

            What no one anticipated, though, was that in her haste to finish her segment in time, Torrie pulled the unbaked pan of brownies from the oven instead of the finished one. Ella saw it before Torrie, and her heart ached for the girl. She shouldn’t have worried though. Torrie’s giggles at her own mistake proved infectious and soon even Marnie and Nathan Charleton chuckled with her.

            If Ella had any reservations about how Torrie Tyler would fare in this competition, they flew out the window at that moment. Torrie had the entire studio eating out of her hand. With southern charm and a voice of honey, Torrie knew how to do something Ella feared she’d never learn herself: Torrie was comfortable in her own skin. It worked for her and—this time anyway—earned her a standing ovation.

            Ella rose with the others, reaching out to hug Torrie as she came back to her seat. As she did, she caught sight of Luke Abney standing beside his camera. A big grin crawled across his face and he raised one thumb in the air again. Releasing Torrie, she returned the signal to Luke, knowing her own smile mirrored the one on his face.

            Torrie might have received the standing ovation. But Ella had received something far more. She’d conquered another fear today and, in her celebration, she’d found another soul who—in his own quiet way—clearly celebrated with her.

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads, writing

August 6, 2010 @ 6:31 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

 MELROSE MIRACLE

 

by Staci Wilder          

 

                         Chapter Eight

 

            Ella had been soaking in the tub for only ten minutes when she heard the knock on the door. Tempted at first to ignore it, she sank lower in the water, loving the way the lavender scented bubbles tickled the sides of her neck. She closed her eyes and allowed the hot water to soothe tired muscles. If she wasn’t careful, she might just fall asleep—

            The knock came again, this time louder. Ella blew out a sigh and stood. She reached for a thick white towel, and then draped it around her dripping body. Easing out of the bathroom, she tiptoed across the carpet, trailing a line of water behind her. One glance in the peephole told her the visitor was Torrie.

            “Hey,” she opened the door just enough to see most of the girl’s face. “What’s up?”

            “Were you in the shower?” Torrie’s tone was immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry, honey. Listen, a bunch of us are going out for a bite to eat. Want to come?”

            “I don’t think so, thanks.” Ella wished she had the energy, but all she wanted was to finish her bath, talk to her baby, and slide between the sheets.

            Torrie peeked around her, looking inside the room. “You mean you’re staying in tonight?”

            “Afraid so.” Ella grinned, thinking of her bath water growing colder by the minute. It didn’t seem as though Torrie were in any particular hurry. Ella stepped back, making sure the door hid her from anyone that might be passing down the hallway. “Come on in.”

            Torrie walked in and dropped her purse on the end table. She spotted the chocolate-chip cookie left by the hotel staff the night before and reached for it. “You mean you haven’t devoured this yet?” The girl’s eyes danced with glee. “They are so yummy!”

            “Go for it.” Ella pulled the towel tighter, trying not to compare her own curvy body with the model-straight form of Torrie. “You eat it.” She shrugged. “Too many Weight Watcher points, anyway.”

            “Hm?” Torrie took the cookie and sank onto the sofa. “Weight Watcher has points now? I’ve never been to a meeting. Are they fun?”

            Ella laughed. Was this girl for real? “Fun? Uh…no. Don’t think ‘fun’ is the word. Necessary, maybe. At least for some of us.”

            Torrie broke off a large chunk of cookie and held it up. “You sure?”

            Ella waved a hand. “Be my guest.” It was disappointing to watch the delectable goodie disappear, but that was at least fifteen WW flex points she wouldn’t be tempted to spend, after all. Thank goodness for small favors, even when they did come in the form of Torrie—with an ‘ie’.

            “I’ll be back in a second, okay?” Ella grabbed a bottle of water and set it on the coffee table in front of Torrie. “Make yourself comfy. I’m going to put something on besides this towel.”

            In the bathroom, Ella let the water drain from the tub, frowning as the lukewarm liquid spun from sight. So much for her relaxing bubble bath. Grabbing her robe from the hook behind the door, she slipped it on and then ran a comb through her damp hair.

            “You sure you don’t want to go out tonight?” Torrie asked as Ella flipped the bathroom light off. “It’ll be fun. There’s sure to be some cute single men there…”

            Torrie hung the term out there like it was a much sought-after, long-cherished prize. Just there for the plucking.

            Ella sank onto the opposite end of the sofa and shook her head. “I’m sure.” She gestured toward the bed. “I’m calling it an early night.”

            “You have a little daughter, right?” Torrie pointed to the silver-framed photo on the nightstand.

            Ella reached for it and handed it to the girl. “Yes, this is Chloe.” She smiled with pride. “She’s my little bundle of sunshine.”

            “And Chloe’s daddy?”

            Ella stared at Torrie, not quite believing the girl had the audacity to ask the question in such a blunt way.

Torrie’s blue eyes rounded with dismay. “I’m sorry! That was rude, wasn’t it?” She tapped the photo and then handed it back to Ella. “Cute little girl. She looks like you. So you’re divorced then?”

            Ella stared down into the picture of the smiling toddler. Chloe did look like her. “She has her father’s personality.” Stephen had been full of life—loving people, adventure, and their life together. “And no,” she said quietly, “I’m not divorced. My husband, Chloe’s father, passed away a couple of years ago.”

            “No way!” Torrie’s mouth hung open in shock. “But you’re so…young.”

            Ella remembered a time not that long ago when she’d felt as invincible as Torrie now sounded. Too vital to succumb to life’s hardships, and certainly too young to lose a husband.

            “Well,” she hedged, “young or not, here I am.” Ella didn’t feel the need to share the intimate details of her life, or her loss, with Torrie.

            “So what was it like?” Apparently Torrie  wasn’t picking up on her vibe. “I mean, to lose your husband. And to have a baby on top of all that. Whoosh…” The girl tossed a long lock of her platinum hair over one shoulder and made a face. “How did you survive it?”

            There were some days Ella still wasn’t sure she had survived. Days when single parenthood loomed dark and endless. Nights when loneliness knocked on her bedroom door, offering nothing more than tormented memories and a cold spot in the bed next to her.

            “Ella?” Torrie’s voice, still inquisitive, softened. “I’m asking too many questions, aren’t I?” She at least had the decency to look properly chagrined.

            “No, that’s okay.” Ella pulled the sash of her robe tighter. “I lost the love of my life. My best friend.” She shrugged. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

            “Oh, wow.” Torrie stared at her. “I’m sorry, Ella. I can’t even imagine.”

            No, Ella didn’t suppose the girl could imagine. Until they were faced with it, how could anyone really relate to this kind of loss?
            “I guess I’d better scoot. The others will be waiting for me.” Torrie stood. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and come with us?”

            “Not this time.” Ella forced a smile. “You have fun, okay?”

Torrie hesitated. “If you change your mind, we’ll just be down the block. Sal’s Pizza.”

            “Got it,” Ella smiled. She couldn’t help but like this girl. Whether it was the Southern drawl or the childlike innocence, Ella really liked this Torrie with an ‘ie’.

            After turning her skin to a prune-like state, Ella dressed in her pajamas and climbed into the bed with her cell phone. Punching in Reggie’s number, she waited impatiently as it rang. Once…twice…three times…

            “Hello?” Reggie’s voice sounded frazzled, not at all like the normal, placid person Ella knew and loved.

            “Reg? It’s me. Is everything okay? Is Chloe alright?”

            She heard Reggie stifle a giggle on the other end of the line. “Your daughter is absolutely fine. Me, on the other hand, well…I’m a mess!”

            Ella smiled and sank back against the fluffy pillows, relieved to hear her best friend laughing. “Let me guess. She spit her peas out at you. Or…no, wait, I know! You gave her a bath and she splashed you.”

            “Bingo.” Reggie hadn’t sounded this tired in ages. “I don’t know how you do it, Ella. Motherhood is hard work.”

            “Tell me about it, sister!” Ah, maybe this arrangement wasn’t working out too badly after all. Ella was experiencing an opportunity of a lifetime and Reggie was exploring life beyond herself.  Not a bad trade, if you asked Ella.

            “Hey, El.” Reggie must have changed positions because there was a moment of static and then her voice, close and clear again. “Have you tried Mocha Lights yet?”

            “Mocha Lights?” Ella frowned. “Oh! You mean the coffee shop you told me about? No, haven’t had time yet.”

            “Do me a favor?” Reggie’s voice took on a wistful tone. “Go there soon, okay? And have a caramel macchiato for me. Promise?” Reggie pressed. “Will you do that?”

            Ella laughed. Reggie might be having a grand time with Chloe but it was woefully apparent that she missed the perks of her LA life.

            “Sure, I can do that. One caramel macchiato for you, and something considerably lighter for me.”

            When Ella punched the off button five minutes later, she felt a bit sorry for her best friend. And more than a tad sorry for herself. Reggie might be missing her life here in Hollywood.

            But Ella missed her baby girl.

 *****

             Luke hadn’t wanted to go out.

            Now—three hours later and packed like a sardine in a booth with Ernie, a fellow crew member, and three of the contest finalists—he still didn’t want to be here. Sal’s was jumping tonight, even if it was a Monday night, and the noise level alone was enough to give a guy a migraine.

            Add Torrie Tyler to that equation and the headache only grew.

            Not that Luke didn’t like the girl. He didn’t even know her, for Pete’s sake. She seemed nice enough and, he had to admit, he liked listening to her talk. But after three hours, even the most melodic of voices tended to grate on a man’s last nerve.

            “So anyway, my Mama said no way could I work there.” Torrie went on with her story, leaning in close to his right side. “But I took the job anyway, eventually working my way from fry girl right on up to short order.” She shrugged her slim shoulders, which were bare except for two skinny spaghetti straps. “It wasn’t a glamorous job, but it’s where I learned to cook.”

            Luke nodded. “Impressive, really.”  He caught Ernie’s eyes across the table. Rescue me, man! Ernie grinned and gave him the thumbs up sign. “Hey, we all have to start somewhere, right?” Luke stifled a yawn.

            “That’s so true.” Torrie’s eyes grew large and she stared hard at him. “What about you, Luke? What was your first job?”

            Oh, Lord, I don’t want to be here. The prayer slipped from his mind heavenward. When would he learn to pay attention to his instincts? He hadn’t wanted to come out in the first place. He should have stood firm and stayed home, no matter how pathetic Ernie’s cajoling became.

            Luke knew the truth, knew why he’d come tonight even though it wasn’t his custom to keep late nights during the week. He thought Ella Paglia might be here. When Kurt had said they were meeting the contestants for dinner at Sal’s, he just assumed Ella would be a part of that group.

            But she hadn’t shown up, and Luke was sorry he’d come.

            “You know what?” He forced a smile he hoped was brighter than he felt at the moment. “My story would bore you. Really. And…oh—” Luke glanced at his wristwatch—“would you look at the time. I’m afraid I’ve got to run, guys.”

            “Really?” Torrie set her mouth in a mock pout. “Can’t you stay a few more minutes?”

            Already Luke was pushing on Andy, a fellow crew member, making him get up so he could slide out of the booth. “No, I’d better not. I’ll see you soon.” He tossed a final wave to the group and headed for the entrance.

            When he pushed open the door and sucked in a lungful of fresh air, it was none too soon.

*****

            The cab pulled up in front of a classy-looking strip of cafes and specialty shops on Melrose Avenue. Nestled between a baby boutique and a nail salon was Mocha Lights. Ella handed a couple of bills to the cabbie. “Keep the change.”

            The man nodded, briefly, his eyes meeting hers in the rear view mirror. “Thanks, ma’am. Want me to wait?”

            Ella glanced at the coffee shop, which seemed to be alive with both, patrons and activity, in spite of the late hour. She shook her head. “No. I think I’ll be here a while.”

            Stepping back from the curb, she narrowly avoided bumping head-first into a passer-by. The sidewalks were full of people. Many of the surrounding shops seemed to be open, though it was well past normal business hours. Ella had always heard that folks on the west coast didn’t start their days until later. They must end them much later as well.

            Taking in a deep breath, Ella pushed open the door to the coffee shop and walked inside. Mocha Lights seemed to be a cozy combination of Starbucks and a local library. While a full coffee bar stood on the left-hand side—complete with bar seating and individual tables—rows of dark mahogany bookshelves, at least seven feet high, lined the right-hand side of the space. While there must be at least thirty people in the small store, the fragrant aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and the quiet reverence around the bookshelves lent an air of quaint elegance to the place.

            Ella waited in line to place her order from a tall kid with a long shaggy haircut working behind the counter.

            “Can I help you?” He brushed the hair from his forehead and squinted at her.

             “Sure. How about a grande caramel macchiato? With skim milk and no whipped cream, please.”

            “’Kay. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.” He handed her the change and motioned with his head. “Feel free to look around while you wait.”

            Ella nodded and moved aside to make room for the next customer in line. Pushing her wallet back inside her purse, she made her way toward the bookshelves. Many of the books were worn with age or use, but all were neat and in alphabetical order. It wasn’t until she’d pulled a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, followed by a gently used version of Catcher in the Rye, that Ella realized the shelves housed beloved classics.

            She didn’t recall ever seeing a coffee shop quite like this one, and wished she’d visited Mocha Lights before now. She’d been inside for less than five minutes and already it felt more homey to her than the room she’d occupied for the past several days at the Radisson. Ella made a mental note to thank Reggie for recommending this spot.

            She turned a corner and made another delightful discovery. Behind the shelves, tucked in a small yet cozy alcove, about half the size of her hotel room, were half a dozen stuffed chairs and large floor pillows scattered about the space. Pleased with her find, and anxious to return to the reading area with a couple of good books, Ella walked back to the counter just as the teen finished making her drink.

            “Thanks.” She accepted the steamy cup of coffee. “Are you always this crowded?”

            The boy grinned and nodded. “Pretty much. It’s a rad place, huh?”

            “Yeah, really rad.” Ella smiled, thinking of the rowdy group of high schoolers who frequented Max’s Diner back in Milltown, and how much they would enjoy a trendy hang-out spot like this one.

            “Have you worked here long?” She perched on a stool and watched as he poured more milk into the steamer.

            “Most of this semester.” The boy nodded, and pushed a lever, sending a hissing noise into the air around them. “Micah’s a good boss.” He tossed his head, sending the thick wave of bangs far enough from his eyes so he could see her better. “Have you met Micah?”

            Ella took a cautious sip of the hot drink and shook her head. “This is my first time here.”

            “Really?” The kid smiled for the first time, revealing a mouth full of braces. “I bet it won’t be your last. This place is addictive.”

            “I’m sure it is.” Ella glanced around, fully understanding how this charming coffee shop with its shelves full of timeless works of literature could be a definite drawing card to a select crowd. She smiled at the boy. “And I’m sure you’re right. I’ll most likely be back.”

            “Normally Micah is here. I’m Lex, by the way.” He sheepishly reached out to shake her hand.

            “Hi, Lex. My name is Ella.” She smiled at Lex, thinking how handsome the boy was when he smiled.

            “Micah had to run an errand or he’d be here now. You should check us out on Tuesday nights.” He used his thumb to motion toward the back. “That’s the book club night. I think the group is reading Mansfield Park right now. By Jane Austen.”

            Lex reached across her and picked up the top brochure from a small stand on the counter. He opened it up and pointed to a highlighted paragraph. “Or maybe you’d be interested in Blended Hearts? They meet once a month, on Friday nights.”

            Ella frowned. “Is that a singles group?” She clenched her fist and stuck it in her lap, reminded once again how naked her ring finger felt without her solid gold wedding band around it.

            “No.” The boy laughed. “That’s what most people think at first though. It’s a support group for single parents. They talk about issues with their kids.” He shrugged and looked up as the front door swung open again and a new string of customers streamed inside. “Stuff like that.”

            “Uh huh. I see.” Ella took the brochure and stuck it in her bag. “Well, Lex, it was nice to meet you.” She smiled at him and was rewarded with a lop-sided grin in return. “I think I’ll look around a bit more and then head out. But I’ll be back.”

            Twenty minutes later Ella regretfully closed the copy of a biography of  T.S. Eliot and gave a last wave to Lex, who was still busy behind the counter. Already she looked forward to the next opportunity to visit Mocha Lights.

            Outside on the sidewalk, she paused to glance inside the baby boutique, and then walked a little further, doing more window shopping. It was getting late and she really should be heading back to the hotel, but she was reluctant to end the most peaceful evening she’d had so far in Los Angeles.

            “Ella?”

            She whirled around, already recognizing the husky voice of Luke Abney. Her heart hammered as she searched for her voice. “Luke! Hello! Wow…I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

            Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ella could have kicked herself as she gazed up at him. Coming up with cute comebacks and memorable one-liners certainly wasn’t her forte.

            His grin lit his entire face, somewhat shrouded by the now familiar purple Lakers cap. “You know what?” He reached out and took her by the elbow, gently pulling her out of the way as a noisy group traipsed past them. “I didn’t expect to see you either.”

            Ella felt her cheeks turn hot and she was grateful for the darkness. How long would it be before Luke Abney noticed she always managed to blush a disturbing shade of red whenever he spoke to her?

            He looked down at her, his fingers still lightly on her arm. “How are you?” His voice, low and so close to her ear, sent shivers of—anticipation or dread, Ella wasn’t sure which—dancing up and down her spine. Three short simple words and yet, combined with the intimacy of his tone and his touch on her skin, they created such intensity inside her that Ella didn’t quite trust herself to speak.

            She nodded. “I’m good,” she finally managed to utter.

            “You did great today.” He edged even closer. “Is it okay for me to say that? Does it make you even more nervous knowing that people are watching you?”

            Ella felt all she could do was nod again. She finally looked up at him, knowing that to do so was the same as giving her knees permission to quake and her heart justification to speed up.

            If he only knew. Yes, Luke, it does make me more nervous. But not for the reasons he’d thought. It was knowing that Luke Abney’s deep blue eyes followed her every move on set that caused her pulse to do a little break dance of its own inside her.

            “Thank you.” She managed to smile. “And yes, it’s okay for you to talk about the show. And yes—” she gave him a playful punch in the arm—“it does make me nervous knowing I’m being watched so closely.”

            He laughed, and Ella loved the sound of it.

            “I have to hand it to you. And to the others, for that matter. I don’t see how you guys do it.  I’ve worked behind the camera for years now and I’m still amazed that anyone can cook, talk, and keep up with the camera changes—all at the same time.”

            Ella relaxed, enjoying his easy banter. They walked together for a while, talking, not really paying attention to the time or where they were. It wasn’t until they reached a corner a couple of blocks away that Luke paused. Ella glanced up at him, noticing subtle changes on his features. His grin had been replaced by brows now knitted in thought, and he worked his jaw as though irritated.

            “You okay?”

            Her words seemed to  startle him, but he recovered quickly. “Sure, fine.”

            He smiled down at her, but Ella felt the warmth of it was now forced.

            “It’s getting late. I guess I’d better hail a cab.”

            Luke jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “My truck is parked a few blocks back. Want me to give you a lift?”

            Five minutes earlier and Ella might have accepted. But now there was something she couldn’t quite pinpoint in Luke’s mannerisms that puzzled her. He’d been totally into their conversation and then—boom!—something had claimed his attention.

            “No, no. That’s okay. I’ll just catch a cab.”

            A door opened in the corner shop and Luke jumped. They watched as two people—a man and a much older woman—emerged, locked the door, and rounded the corner. Luke blew out a breath and smiled down at her.

            “You sure? Because I don’t mind taking you back to the hotel.”

            “I’m sure. Really. I’m sure you had errands or plans tonight. I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

            “Nothing special.” Luke shrugged, but his grin was genuine and bright again. He hailed a passing cab and helped her climb inside. Ella found it impossible to take her eyes off of his as he shut the taxi door between them.

            “Bye.” She watched his mouth form the word as he stepped back onto the curb, and she fought the overwhelming urge to push open the cab door and take him up on the offer of that ride home.

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, writing

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.

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, summer reads, writing

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.

Tags: 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.”

Tags: Free Fiction Fridays, Staci Wilder books, summer reads, writing

July 23, 2010 @ 8:53 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three             

 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. 

Tags: 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!

Tags: Staci Wilder books, writing