A Taste of Fame (21 page)
“Take this opportunity to visit with the Marinos, then you’ll have three days to put your themed event together. You’ll have a budget of two thousand dollars, given to you by Spring Forth Energy Water. With that budget, you’ll be responsible for the food, entertainment, additional waitstaff, if needed, and a themed décor. Are you up for the challenge?”
We all hooted and clapped while Gianne opened a black leather satchel and pulled out a couple of envelopes with “Team Potluck” handwritten across them. “Here’s an American Express Card with two thousand dollars already preprogrammed into it.” She handed Lisa Leann a standard, sealed envelope. “We thought you’d also like to see Mrs. Marino’s winning entry.”
Lisa Leann mumbled a thanks as Gianne continued, “Good luck, Team Potluck and Mr. and Mrs. Marino.”
Gianne left, but the cameras kept rolling while we greeted and congratulated the couple while Lisa Leann pulled a notepad and pen out of her briefcase. Nelson opened the envelope containing the winning entry and read it to our gathered group.
My Nicky and I, in all our fifty years together, have never had a wedding or anniversary celebration. We were married by a justice of the peace but never had a chance to celebrate even with a honeymoon. You see, Nicky and I got pregnant on our wedding night. Baby Anthony was only the first of nine children. So there never was any money or resources to celebrate “us.” It’s not that we haven’t celebrated our lives together, we have. We celebrated with the births of our children, their birthdays and graduations and their children. But now, we’d like our loved ones, our nine children, their husbands and wives, our twenty-two grandchildren, and five greatgrandchildren, a clan that totals over fifty people, plus our dear friends, to join us as we celebrate our fifty years of marriage. Spring Forth, would you please give us the opportunity to share our joy with our friends and family?—Mr. and Mrs. Nicky Marino.
I sniffed, suddenly thinking of my own first husband whom I lost to the Vietnam War and all the memories we never shared. Then I thought of my own sweet Fred, who had later built a life with me. But I wouldn’t be selfish and dwell on my own private heartaches and joys. We had a party to help plan. I reached over and touched Mrs. Marino’s hand. “That was beautiful,” I said. “How did the two of you meet?”
She patted her husband’s knee. “I was coming back to New York by steamer after visiting my grandparents in Italy. Nick was a member of the ship’s band, a trumpet player.”
He grinned. “She caught my eye on the dance floor. But I had a time of it getting around her chaperone. She was just nineteen, you know.”
Mrs. Marino giggled. “You were all of twenty.”
He squeezed her hand. “Now, a little over fifty years later, I’m still stealing kisses from you.”
“Don’t talk so sexy,” she scolded.
Lisa Leann, who had been scribing notes, looked up and said, “My, it reminds me of the movie An
Affair to Remember
with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr.”
Mrs. Marino looked surprised. “Nicky took me to see the show when we landed back in New York. It was our first date on dry land.”
“Really?” Lisa Leann said as if she’d just discovered oil on her property. “Well, that gives us a lot to work with. I can hardly wait to get started.”
Henry’s final words the day before I’d left for New York had rocked our relationship.
Things had been tenser than usual, so when I caught him sitting at the kitchen table, I’d decided to serve up a peace offering. I pulled out one of my chocolaty cheesecakes and cut him a generous slice before dousing it in thick homemade whipped cream. I sat it in front of him, along with a fresh cup of coffee. “You’ve been quiet today,” I said as I joined him with my own piece of cake. “Is there something you want to talk about?”
He shoved his fork through the cake and looked up. “Lisa Leann, I’m only going to say this once. Please don’t go to New York.”
I’d been afraid he’d ask me to stay, but my hands were tied. “Thank you for telling me how you feel, Henry. But that contract Nelson had the team and I sign is iron clad, at least according to that attorney, Chris Lowe. I don’t have a choice.”
Henry chewed thoughtfully. “But you can get out of it if you really wanted to. Right?”
“Not possible.” I patted his hand. “But why are you so worried?”
He pushed back his plate and leaned back in his chair, leaving his hands on the table. “Lisa Leann, how can I trust you after you betrayed me? How can I trust you in New York? If you really want our marriage to work, you’ll find a way to stay home.”
“Come with us,” I begged. “Then you’ll see. Henry, you’ll see my heart belongs to you.”
His reply stunned me. “I’m not coming.”
“But why?”
“I don’t think my heart is strong enough to reinvest it in you and all your shenanigans.”
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. In that instant I, for the first time in my life, couldn’t imagine my future.
I was a pretty good actress, and I hoped that the girls didn’t suspect what I was going through. Of course, they knew about my past affair, and they also knew how much I regretted it. Though I’d never told them that my marriage might now be over. I was too ashamed.
I could keep my churning emotions together during the day, but at night I soaked my pillow with tears. I only hoped Evie hadn’t noticed my midnight sniffling as I prayed myself to sleep.
It was Friday afternoon, and I’d been working in our
Great Party Showdown
kitchen when Henry called me for the first time since I’d left for New York. When I saw his number pop up on my caller ID, I grabbed my cell phone and literally ran for the kitchen door. The trouble was, I wasn’t quick enough to escape Mike Romano.
As I jogged down the hall, Mike was at my heels, recording my every word. All I could hope for was that his camera’s microphone wasn’t sophisticated enough to record Henry’s end of the conversation, though I couldn’t be sure. “Henry! I’m so glad you called. I miss you so much.”
“Do you?”
“Of course. I wish you were here.”
“That’s why I’m calling. Fred, Samuel, and Vernon have been trying to get me to commit to coming to New York with them next Wednesday.”
“That would be wonderful. I would love to see you, and I know Nelson would too.”
“What exactly have you told Nelson about us?”
I dodged into the women’s restroom, chagrined that the “women” sign didn’t stop Mike. He charged right in behind me. I opened a stall door and slammed it shut, giving the lock a twist before I flushed the toilet.
“Nothing.”
“You mean he doesn’t know about you and Clark?”
I lowered my voice to a whisper while the toilet continued to gurgle. “It’s over. Why would I tell?”
“It’s being hinted at on
The Great Party Showdown
’s message boards.”
My heart gave a thunderclap instead of a beat. “No!”
“I’ll read it to you: ‘Word is Team Potluck is working on an event themed
An Affair to Remember
. After Lisa Leann Lambert’s outburst that the ‘truth will set you free’ on live TV earlier this week, we’re wondering if she has anything to say about other memorable affairs. There is a buzz that she herself may have some truth that needs to be freed in this regard.’ ”
I gasped and flushed the toilet again to cover my cry of, “Oh, Henry. I’m so sorry.”
“You’d better talk to our son.”
“I will. I promise,” I said, wondering how I could possibly get any alone time with him without Mike or all the hidden cameras that were rumored to exist. Besides, how would Nelson react? Would he hate me? I hung my head. Probably.
I walked out of the stall and washed my hands, giving Mike a glare.
“Just doing my job,” he said for the umpteenth time today.
I walked back to the kitchen with Mike trailing behind me and returned to my pastry cookbook. I tried to turn my thoughts back to this contest. If I didn’t, I’d go crazy.
I took a deep breath. How glad I was I’d filled one of my suitcases with cookbooks and notebooks on catering ideas. They were all coming in handy for this challenge. Though it was too bad I didn’t have any cookbooks to help me figure out what to do about my personal life. All I had was God.
I had to stop and secretly laugh at myself. Wasn’t God all I needed?
Sorry, Lord
, I prayed in the depths of my heart.
Please, only you can turn my marriage disaster into a miracle
.
I walked back to the countertop and turned the page of my cookbook before running my finger down a strawberry sheet cake recipe. This would be perfect. I checked my watch. I could hardly believe it was already Friday afternoon, the day before the Marino’s anniversary party. I had to hurry to get my order in for strawberries before the market closed.
Vonnie was already opening the boxes of fresh pears I’d ordered earlier for our caramel pear side dish while Lizzie was going over our recipe for chicken tetrazzini. Evie was on her cell phone checking on our order from the prop house for our linens, china, crystal, and silver place settings. I was so proud of her, as she’d even managed to order dark orange fabric chair covers to cover our padded folding chairs. Our set was going to look just like the ship’s dining room set from the movie, which had been brightened by captain’s chairs in dark orange.
I stopped to look around our work area. All our other team members were busy with assignments. Wade was picking up the tuxes we’d wear as the waitstaff, while Nelson was in our conference room, which we laughingly called our war room, with his computer making a PowerPoint presentation of Marino family photos. He’d spent the morning scanning them onto a disk at Kinkos and then intermingling the photos with famous lines from the movie, like “Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.”
While he’d been at the printers, he’d had time to use his cell phone and connections to follow up on some leads for a band. Not that paying for a band was within our budget. However, Nelson had heard that Denver and the Mile High Orchestra was playing a concert at a church in New Jersey tonight. He had a call in to their agent to see if they would still be in the area tomorrow and if they’d be willing to help us out on national TV.
Wouldn’t that be something if they could?
The hardest part of our theme, besides the unfortunate comparison to my love life, was trying to work with Donna. She wasn’t too keen that I’d given her the assignment to act out a little romantic skit with David. “I’m no Terry McKay,” she’d said when I’d told her of my idea.
“But you’ll play Deborah Kerr’s part beautifully,” I’d encouraged. “Plus, David is a natural for Cary Grant, or should I say Nickie Ferrante. Besides, he’s the only man here with black hair.”
“Why can’t we hire a couple of real actors?” Donna had challenged.
“Have you seen our budget? We have to wear every hat on the menu: caterer, waiter, and of course, entertainer. That is, if we want to have both food and décor. When the money is gone, we’re done.”
I realized I was staring into space and frowned. I had to stop contemplating my so-called affairs and get back to work. It was already four in the afternoon. We had exactly twenty-four hours till showtime.
I hadn’t had a minute to talk to Nelson since Henry had called the afternoon before. There was too much to do and no privacy. The team and I had worked late into the night. When we’d finally gotten access to the banquet room late last night, Nelson, Wade, and David had been busy setting up chairs, linens, and place settings, along with our array of props and decorations, until the wee hours of the morning.
But the guys weren’t the only ones burning the midnight oil. The girls and I had slaved in the kitchen till nearly three a.m. We’d all stayed busy chopping and stirring, that is, all except Donna. She constantly had to ward off one of the lovesick Cajun cooks who was up late peeling shrimp in the kitchenette next to ours.
Mike Romano, of course, got all of Bubba’s advances on tape, complete with Donna’s cross remarks. She finally stopped grating carrots and put her hand on her hip. “Cajun cooking and cooks just don’t agree with me, Bubba.”
“Ah, but you have to taste the spice to know that you like it.”
“What you call spice, I call trouble.”
“Trouble can be a good thing. It’s hot-hot in a kiss.”
“Trouble can be poison,” she countered. “And poison’s just not on my diet.”
I grinned.
Touché, Donna
.
We’d all gone back to the hotel to catch a couple of hours of sleep and grab a quick shower. But now that we were back at the banquet hall, our hard work was abundantly apparent. The small round and square tables we’d rented were covered in crisp white linen and set with crystal goblets, silverware, and silver cream and sugar bowls. In addition, our beautiful china salad plates rested at each place setting. Each plate was topped with crisp greens with all the trimmings, including grated carrots, slices of purple cabbage, and red cherry tomatoes. Sterling silver dressing boats that were filled with both creamy Italian and raspberry dressing sat ready on every table.
In the back hallway, our chicken tetrazzini, caramel pears, and rolls were warming on large china dinner plates in heated catering trays, ready to serve. But the grand finish was our strawberry sheet cake, which has been sliced, layered, and shaped into a large heart and covered in elegant white icing with pink trimming. It stood on display on a rolling cart near the entrance to our bash. But the cake’s crowning glory was the rice paper printed photo of our happy couple looking good enough to eat.
But that wasn’t the half of it. Miracle of miracles, Denver and the Mile High Orchestra had said yes to Nelson’s invitation! In fact, they were already setting up their brass instruments in front of our extra-long paper backdrop that we’d applied to the back wall. The backdrop was nothing more than a continuous print of a cruise ship railing topped with a blue ocean and a bluer sky. Above the band, dozens of paper seagulls swayed in the drafts of refrigerated air that poured from the vents. These birds had been hung by Wade from threads attached to the crisscrossed metal framework that supported the acoustic ceiling tiles.
