And He Cooks Too (22 page)

Reese bit a lip before proceeding. “I need advice. Well, more like a crash course on public relations. They want me to promote the show’s new format. I’ve never been very good with the media.”

“You’re asking me? Doesn’t the show have a media relations person?”

Reese sniggered. “Leonie. My chances of obtaining any meaningful pointers from her are about as great as her becoming my new best friend.” Since her mother hadn’t yet had the pleasure of experiencing Leonie, Reese added, “You used to do public relations for a living. Even after you quit that job to raise the boys, you’ve been publicity chair on every charity event you’ve worked on.”

Her mother touched her chest. “I didn’t realize you knew all that.”

It still wasn’t easy to talk to her mother about those years. At first, she’d felt so betrayed by her parents’ divorce. Then, after her father’s sudden death, so guilty. But most of that early part had dissipated. And she’d also come to understand her parents’ sacrifice to give her a loving home those first years of her life. “I gave you a lot of guff when I was a young teen, but I still paid attention.”

“I never realized.”

Back to the subject at hand. “So? How do I talk to the media?”

“That’s easy. Remain yourself. Answer their questions, but don’t let them control the interview.”

Easy
. Her mother sounded like Nick, self-assured, unaware that just the thought of speaking to an interviewer could be threatening to others. “Remain myself. How many times have I heard that? But as soon as I’m around a reporter, my mind goes blank. I lose all sense of who I am.”

Her mother laid a hand over hers. “Confidence. It starts there. Feeling in control, knowing that you are the authority on you. You know you better than anyone else.”

There was more meaning in that comment than she was absorbing. It was one of those adages that made sense but really needed to be explored before you could make it your own. “Pretend you’re interviewing me, Mom. Ask me a question and see if I can apply what you just told me.”

“Okay.” Her mother changed position, acted like she was holding a mic in front of her. “Why did you leave
Solange
, one of the city’s best restaurants?”

Reese flung up her hands. “Geez, Mom. You go right for the jugular.”

“Just asking what any interviewer who’s done the least bit of research would ask. So tell me, why did you leave?”

Reese blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I, uh, left because I didn’t get the promotion I’d been promised.”

“Ahhhnk!” Her mother imitated the sound of a buzzer signaling an incorrect answer. “Try again.”

“What was wrong with that? It’s the truth.”

“Acknowledged. But an interview isn’t the same as a legal deposition. What is it you want people to know about why you left that place?”

“That Louis Fronton went back on his word.”

“Do you want to ruin his reputation?”

“That’s what he tried to do to me.”

Her mother eyed her as if expecting her to go on, continue to think through her response.

But she was stumped.

“Is that how you want people to know you, as vindictive?”

“Well, no, but I don’t want to be seen as a doormat either. Someone who got walked on by someone with more powerful contacts.”

“That’s how you don’t want to be known. What’s the flip side?”

Maybe she should have invested in a few self-help books instead of seeking her mother’s counsel. This discussion was getting much more difficult and complex than she’d anticipated.
Try again, Reese. What do I really want?
“I, uh, guess I want to be viewed as strong. In charge of my destiny.”

Her mother cracked a smile. “Now you’re talking. So how does that translate to the question I asked?”

She left
Solange
because she was strong and was in charge of her own destiny. “I want to make a name for myself in New York culinary circles. I thought I could do that by gaining experience in television.”

“Ahhhnk! Try again.”

“That’s no good, either? It sounded strong and in charge of my own destiny.”

“Too strong. And self-serving. Who cares that you want to make a name for yourself? How’s that going to enrich anyone else’s life?”

“I have to come across as some kind of humanitarian,
enriching
everyone’s lives?”

“Heavens, no! But you do have to appeal to others’ interests. How is your being on television going to do that?”

“You’re kidding. That’s what I have to do?” If that was the case, she was stymied. And a goner. She had no idea how to answer that question.

“Let’s take a break. How about more lemonade?” Her mother pulled the glass pitcher closer and poured two glasses.

Reese sipped her drink thoughtfully, savoring the cool liquid against her surprisingly parched throat. She’d never given much thought to how her cooking could help others. Pretty selfish. Nurses gave aid and comfort to the ill and injured. Teachers helped develop children’s brains. But, other than filling someone’s stomach, what did chefs contribute to society?

“If those brows hitch up much farther, I could place a hanger on them. What’s the matter? Did I stump the chef?”

“Completely. I can’t figure out how my cooking skills can come to the aid of humanity.”

Her mother tapped Reese’s glass with her own. “Congratulations. You’re almost there.”

“Really? Then why do I feel so far out at sea?”

“Let’s pretend again, only this time you’re a member of the audience. Aside from tuning in to gaze upon that hot young man’s pecs, why are you watching this show rather something on another channel?”

Why would she want to spend a half hour every week watching Reese Dunbar help her injured co-host prepare food? Better yet, in the months ahead, why would she watch Reese Dunbar’s own program? God, she’d never considered any of this when she decided she’d make her mark on the city via television. She’d just seized the idea, thinking it the fastest way to celebrity.

“Maybe I can help. Forget for a minute that you, Viewer Person, watch the show just to see Nick ripple his biceps. You’re watching this newcomer, Reese Dunbar, do her stuff. What’s she doing that catches your attention?”

Reese tried to step behind the camera and imagine herself on the other side, talking to her audience. “I guess I’m good at what I do. My technique.”

“Your expertise. Good start. You are good, Reese.”

Yeah. Progress.

“What else?”

“Geez, Mom. Wasn’t that enough?”

“Not by a long shot. What else?”

She closed her eyes, still trying to envision herself on camera. “I’m talking, explaining what I’m doing. And why.” Wait! “The viewer, she’s always been fascinated with food preparation, but nothing’s ever worked for her. Watching me, she realizes it’s because she’s never understood how food elements go together. Sweet versus salty, bitter versus sour. I keep my discourse simple, easy to understand so that others are not only persuaded to try a particular dish but are encouraged to make it themselves.”

Her mother nodded. “I’m so proud of you.”

Without realizing she was going to do it, Reese high-fived her mother.

Her mother stared at her hand. “I thought only the boys did that.”

“Seemed right. Thanks, Mom. You knocked apart the logjam that was keeping me from seeing what I was really about. You helped me find me.”

“Stop! You’ve already made me go misty. I don’t need to break down entirely.”

She sat back, drank more of her beverage, and felt the muscles behind her neck down into her shoulders relax. “I think I can face the media now.”

“Good! Now, let’s really talk. What’s going on between you and your co-host?”

“Honestly, Mom, I’m not sure.”

“Why is that?”

Normally, she would avoid discussing the men in her life at all costs. Her mother had the wedding planner on speed dial. But her mother had been such a big help with this media thing, some small nugget of information should be shared. “We like each other. A lot. He’s been to my place and I’ve visited his a couple times. But it’s a little complicated for work associates to see each other socially.”

Her mother eyed her. “Complicated?”

“I can deal with his aunt, the executive producer who hates me. As much as she tries to make my life miserable on set, I haven’t totally dismissed pursuing an off-set partnership in her catering business. That will just take time. It’s Nick I don’t know about. He’s the one who encouraged me to come on the show to get television experience, but he seems to have taken to the idea of our co-hosting like he wants it to be permanent thing.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I like him, Mom. I mean, I care for him. I don’t want to disappoint him when I eventually strike out on my own, which I still intend to do.”

“If he cares for you, won’t he be happy to see you doing what you want to do?”

She rubbed her thumb against the moist surface of her almost empty glass. “Ye-es. I suppose so. Do you really want me to spell it out?”

Her mother nodded.

“We had great sex, Mom. That’s what I meant to him.”

Her mother had the grace to blink, but she didn’t blush. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, I guess.”

“That’s all?”

“I’m in the midst of reinventing my life. That’s all I can handle for now.”

“All?”

“Okay, okay. I can’t stop thinking about him. My knees go weak at his mere touch. And being with him is—” She stopped, letting her mother imagine the rest. “But this relationship is only temporary. He’s not one for settling down. Knowing that, I have to keep up my guard. I don’t want to get hurt again. Like I did with Henri. “

Her mother squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you told me.”

Reese looked away, concentrated briefly on what appeared to be the mating dance of two bees as they flitted from flower to flower. Unsure how to shift topics, she tried humor. “Don’t subscribe to
Bride’s Magazine
just yet.”

Her mother leaned over and put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll keep that in mind. Even though I don’t want you to get hurt, don’t dismiss possibilities just because you’re afraid to risk your feelings.”

That was what worried Reese. She’d already crossed that line.

Chapter Eighteen

Several days later, as Reese studied a bunch of newspaper clippings fanned out before her, Jasper burst into her dressing room wearing a triumphant grin. “Nice going, Reese! You had those media types eating out of your hand.”

Their most recent interview thirty minutes earlier, this one with a nationally syndicated entertainment news show, had gone off without a hitch. Thanks to her mom’s coaching, she’d felt confident enough to adapt her philosophy to whatever format and strategy each new meet and greet demanded. “Out of my hand, huh? I’d rather it be from one of my dishes, but thanks. This is turning out to be a lot of fun.”

“It’s a hoot to be your straight man,” Nick added, having followed behind Jasper. These days, he was getting around under his own power on crutches.

“Straight man, my eye!” she shot back. “You don’t let any chance to set me up go by.”

She sent Nick a knowing look meant just for him. He shrugged. “And as a result, who’s garnering all the headlines?”

“True,” she admitted. She liked the publicity. And the on-camera jousting matches with Nick. Despite what she’d told her mother, her guard kept slipping where Nick was concerned. He was rapidly working his way into her heart. The realization scared and warmed her at the same time. With so much else happening in her life at the moment, she tried to shove those feelings aside but without much success.

Nick flipped through a few of the articles. “It really jazzes me to hand Deborah stuff like this to pass along to Leonie.” He flopped on the day bed, his usual place when he visited her dressing room, which was becoming more and more frequent.

“Does Deborah know why you’re being so helpful?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And she’s still on our side?” Jasper asked.

Nick scooped up one of the chocolate corduroy throw pillows scattered across the day bed and began tossing them in the air. “Leonie’s been on her case again. Called her a ‘brainless twit.’”

Kiddingly, Reese said, “And you couldn’t resist yet another opportunity to come to the lady’s defense.”

“I know she needs more than her share of handholding, but she’s the one who catches the brunt of Leonie’s wrath. We owe her. Plus, we need her on our side.”

Though she could have argued that she suffered more than Deborah from Leonie’s barbs, she changed topics instead. No point in putting Deborah down. “Is the good press enough to keep your aunt from interfering?”

Nick spun the pillow. “Leonie stop interfering? I doubt that will ever change. But she can’t argue with the huge response the new format has received.”

“Enough for it to continue?” Reese asked hopefully.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Both of you,” Jasper said.

Nick sat up on the bed, realization hitting. “Hot damn! We’re going to make the change permanent.”

“I prefer to use the phrase ‘indefinite continuation’ when it comes to our new format,” Jasper replied.

Worked for her. Extending her co-hosting responsibilities would allow her time to become more familiar with television production without having to commit to anything longer term just yet.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted their celebration. Closest to the door, Jasper went to open it.

“Oh. Sorry, Jasper.” Trudy slipped past him. “I didn’t know you were here. I just stopped by to uh, I wanted to ask Reese something. I’ll come back later.”

“That won’t be necessary, Trudy,” Jasper told her. “I was just leaving. Coming, Nick?”

Nick glanced from Reese to Trudy, as if reluctant to abandon Reese to Trudy’s girl talk. Eventually, though, he pitched the pillow and hobbled out. “I’ll be back later.”

Reese watched Nick go, irritated with Trudy’s timing. Had the PA caught on to their relationship and was deliberately trying to keep them apart? She tended to show up mostly at the times when Nick was around.