Death of a Bacon Heiress (4 page)

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Authors: Lee Hollis

BOOK: Death of a Bacon Heiress
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“Where to?” he growled.
She had absolutely no idea.
She had left the detailed directions to the TV studio—so carefully printed out before the trip and placed in an envelope—on the desk in the hotel room.
There was no time to go back and get them. It was now past nine o'clock.
“I'm taping an episode of
The Chat
this morning!”
“Good for you,” he said, unimpressed.
“Do you know it?”
“Yeah, it's that show with all those clucking women. I get that every night at the dinner table with my wife and her sister.”
“Do you know where they tape it?”
“Yeah, actually their studio is—”
Hayley cut him off. “Take me there, please! Now!”
“But, lady . . .”
“I don't have time to talk! I need to get there right now!”
“I know, it's just—”
“Now! Now! Now!” she shrieked, pounding her fist on the glass divider that separated them and jolting him into action. As he swerved away from the curb and into passing traffic Hayley sat back, relieved she was finally on her way.
And then, after a few seconds, the car stopped again.
“What's going on? What are you doing? Why did we stop?”
He looked at her wearily through his rearview mirror. “We're here.”
“What?”
Hayley looked out the window. The studio building was half a block from the hotel. If she had walked she would have gotten there faster.
The fare was a whopping two dollars and some change and that was mostly because it was the base fare.
She hurled a five at him through the divider and clamored out the door. “Thank you!”
She raced into the lobby where a harried production assistant was waiting for her. “We've been trying to call your cell for the last hour. What happened?”
Hayley had meant to charge it when she went to bed, but of course that never happened, because after all she hadn't even remembered to take off her clothes before going to bed, so the battery had probably died during the night.
“Never mind. There isn't any time to explain,” the girl with thick black glasses and a T-shirt with
The Chat
logo on it said, as she ushered Hayley into an elevator and up to the eighth floor where she was then led into hair and makeup.
A very fabulous, very gay, very large black man with earrings and a purple blouse that flowed down his ample belly like a caftan grabbed her by the arm and forced her down in a chair.
He took one look at her hair and shook his head. “Girl, you got hair going in every direction. It's like a large crowd running out of a burning building! Not to worry. Calvin's got you covered.”
He made her feel slightly more relaxed. She turned to the production assistant. “Do you have an iron? I'd like to smooth out my shirt and pants before the taping if there's time.”
“I'm sure we can find you one,” the production assistant said, before glancing up from her clipboard. “Now, did you bring the ingredients for your bacon dish?”
Hayley's mouth dropped open.
She hadn't brought any ingredients.
She had submitted her recipe via e-mail to the show's producers, but no one had said anything about providing her own ingredients.
She was about to go before a national television audience and prepare Bacon-Wrapped Jalapeño-Stuffed Chicken Thighs with no bacon, no chicken, and no jalapeño to stuff it with.
This did not bode well for her first TV appearance.
Chapter 5
After a hair and makeup session that was as speedy as a NASCAR racing pit crew changing a tire, Hayley was bundled into a silk robe and quickly ushered down a hall to a door while her shirt was being pressed.
The panicked production assistant lightly tapped on it.
There was a growl from inside. “Come in!”
The assistant turned to Hayley and forced a slight smile before gently opening the door.
A loud booming voice was in the middle of a tirade. “I'm not just going to sit here and take this! If you people can't do anything about it, then I will!”
It was Rhonda Franklin.
Hayley's whole body shrunk from fright.
She had read the gossip pages.
Temper tantrums on the set.
Twitter feuds.
Scathing op-ed pieces excoriating any public political figure who disagreed with her very strong, strident views.
Rhonda Franklin did not suffer fools lightly.
And right now Hayley was the biggest fool in the building for daring to show up to prepare a bacon dish with no ingredients.
Hayley jumped as she heard something smash against the wall inside the dressing room.
She pictured Rhonda hurling her phone across the room.
“Don't hover outside! I hate people who hover! Get the hell in here already!” Rhonda bellowed.
The production assistant grabbed a fistful of Hayley's silk robe and gave her a strong shove into the dressing room.
Rhonda was in an orange pantsuit, her dark brown hair in curlers, and her face caked in makeup. Her frame was large and imposing and her piercing green eyes stared at the shaking production assistant with a laserlike focus. “Whose brilliant idea was it to put me in this orange pantsuit? I look like a mutated pumpkin!”
“I'm sorry, Rhonda, I don't know who—”
“Well, find out, and when you do send him or her to my dressing room! Now!”
The production assistant nodded vigorously and skedaddled, leaving Hayley to face the TV host's wrath alone with no obvious means of defense.
It took Rhonda a few seconds to realize there was someone still in the room. “Who the hell are you?”
“I'm . . . I'm . . .” Hayley couldn't remember her own name. “I'm on the show today . . . making bacon. . . .”
What the hell was she making?
Her mind was a blank.
Rhonda was unamused.
“Bacon-wrapped Hayley . . . I mean jalapeño. . . .”
Rhonda suddenly brightened. “Stuffed Chicken Thighs? Oh my God, is it you? Are you Hayley Powell?”
Hayley managed a nod and a half smile.
“I saw the show notes! That's one of your best recipes ever! I can't believe I'm finally meeting you! I'm a huge fan!” Rhonda squealed, her arms outstretched as she lumbered over and grabbed her in a tight hug.
Hayley felt as if her bones were cracking and she couldn't breathe.
But the pain was nothing compared to just a few seconds earlier when she imagined Rhonda was going to physically pick her up and hurl her out of the dressing room.
“I was so excited when I heard you had agreed to be on the show! I never miss your column! You crack me up with your stories! What a hoot! I have to say—”
A man's voice interrupted her.
“Excuse me, Rhonda. I just wanted to drop by to say a quick hello before we go on the air. . . .”
Rhonda's megawatt smile dimmed slightly and she rolled her eyes, annoyed as she did a quick half turn toward the door. “Okay, Bradley, see you out there.”
Hayley glanced at the gentleman standing in the door frame.
Tall, gorgeous, with curly brown hair.
His handsome face was very familiar.
Bradley lingered a few seconds longer, but Rhonda had already turned back to Hayley. “Do you know I had never even heard of a Lemon Drop Martini before you wrote about it?”
Bradley shrugged and walked away.
And that's when it dawned on Hayley. “Was that Bradley—?”
“Cooper. Yeah. He's on the show today,” Rhonda said, before leaning in and winking at Hayley. “Between you and me, he's a bit needy.”
Hayley's knees buckled.
She had just been in the same room with Bradley Cooper.
“Look, I want to show you,” Rhonda said, taking Hayley by the hand and leading her over to a small cupboard, which she opened to reveal a fully stocked bar. Prominently displayed in the front were the necessary ingredients for Hayley's Lemon Drop Martini. “I figured we can have one after the taping!”
Hayley was overwhelmed by Rhonda's charm and effusive personality. She was so different from the angry, intimidating Rhonda who was bellowing when she'd first entered the room.
Hayley caught the time on a Mickey Mouse clock hanging on the dressing room wall.
9:50
AM
.
The taping was scheduled to begin in ten minutes.
She had to tell someone she didn't have the ingredients for her recipe.
She took a deep breath and blurted out, “Rhonda, I forgot to bring the ingredients for my bacon recipe and I don't know what to do.”
She closed her eyes, expecting the first, less friendly Rhonda to come charging back.
But she didn't.
Without missing a beat, Rhonda said softly, “Do you have a list?”
She did.
In the front pocket of her slacks, which were at this moment being ironed.
She had put it there last night before her cocktail hour (or hours) with Liddy and Mona for safekeeping because she knew she would be wearing those pants to the TV taping.
She told Rhonda where her list was.
“Lily! Get in here!” Rhonda shouted.
A preppy redheaded girl in a stylish top and designer jeans and wearing red-tinted wire-rim glasses suddenly appeared through a side door that connected to another room.
“There's a piece of paper in Hayley's pants that are being pressed right now. Go get it and hightail it over to the Whole Foods around the corner. Buy everything on that list and be back in ten minutes!”
“Right!”
She flew out the door.
With a smile, Rhonda turned back to Hayley. “That's Lily, my personal assistant. She's so much more reliable than any of the idiot hipsters they got working on this show. Most are here because they're the lazy spawn of some network executive or corporate sponsor. Lily's different. She's worked hard to get here.”
Hayley still couldn't believe all this was happening.
She was in New York.
Hanging with Rhonda Franklin in her dressing room.
And they had just blown off Bradley Cooper.
It was like a dream.
She was jolted back to reality by something crawling up her leg.
Startled, Hayley looked down to see a potbellied pig at her feet, his snout up underneath her robe, sniffing and snorting.
Hayley jumped.
Rhonda clapped her hands. “Pork Chop!” She bent down to pet the little pig.
Hayley was impressed by Rhonda's limber move given the bulk of her body.
Rhonda lifted the pig and he nuzzled her ample breast. “How are you doing, my little piggly wiggly?”
“There he is! He's always breaking free to explore!”
A statuesque woman in a bar-code-print paneled silk dress with a feathery hat and dark sunglasses swept into the now crowded dressing room. She picked up the leash that was attached to a diamond-studded collar the pig had around his neck that was probably worth more than Hayley made in a year.
“I hope he hasn't been bothering you,” the woman purred.
“You know I love this pig!” Rhonda cooed, planting five kisses on top of the pig's head. “Olivia, this is Hayley Powell, the chef I've been raving about.”
“Chef” was a fancier title than Hayley deserved. She just experimented in her kitchen on occasion and wrote about it.
“A pleasure, Hayley,” Olivia said, holding out her hand, waiting for Hayley to take it. She quickly obliged and the woman continued. “I never miss reading your column when I'm visiting the island.”
Hayley knew exactly who this woman was.
Olivia Redmond.
Heiress to Redmond Meats, the leading supplier of meat products in the country, if not the world, with a specific emphasis on bacon, their top seller. The family owned a sprawling estate on Mount Desert Island, which they opened to the public every Fourth of July for a catered barbecue that employed almost as many locals as the ones who attended as guests.
Olivia's father had passed away after a long illness not too long ago and she was left pretty much the whole enchilada, and was installed as the company's new CEO. The
Island Times
did a story on how there was a lot of company infighting over Olivia taking over, but Olivia's father had enlisted an army of lawyers before his death to insure his only living child became the sole heir and dominant shareholder, so there was very little the Board of Directors could do to stop it.
Rhonda gave Olivia a light kiss on the cheek and handed Pork Chop back to his mommy. “So glad you could make it. How could we do a Salute to Bacon without you?”
“Well, we're running three ads during the show, so I'm sure the audience will be sick of hearing about Redmond Meats by the time I show my face in the fourth segment,” Olivia said.
“Darling, you're needed in makeup,” a heavily accented man's voice said.
Hayley's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the bronze-skinned Adonis in the doorway, whose muscled arm flexed when he reached out to touch Olivia on the arm. He was in a tight-fitting polo shirt and crisp dark slacks. He had dreamy brown eyes and matching curly hair and his voice was deep and melodious.
This had to be Nacho.
Olivia's famous polo-playing Argentinean husband.
Olivia had first spotted him modeling in a two-page cologne ad in
Vanity Fair
magazine and just had to have him.
And she got him.
In record time.
The world's dreamiest trophy husband.
“I better go. The makeup folks are going to need as much time as they can get to fix this,” Olivia said, her face flawless and wrinkle free even though she was in her mid to late forties.
“Get out of here! You're beautiful!” Rhonda yelled, smiling.
Nacho put a hand on the small of her back to lead her out.
Hayley sighed when he turned to go. His butt was perfection. Like a Greek statue at a museum.
The next hour was a blur. Much like the night before with Liddy and Mona in the hotel room.
The pretty personal assistant, Lily, returned with a bag full of food and Hayley was escorted to a private kitchen away from the set where she was able to marinate her chicken thighs. Usually she preferred to allow the thighs to marinate overnight, but she was in a time crunch and her segment was set to begin at 10:45. She heard wild applause in the distance as the show's hosts were introduced and the show got under way.
The first production assistant returned with Hayley's blouse and slacks, which were freshly pressed and scented. Then she was whisked back to makeup and hair for a final touch-up, where a flat screen TV on the wall allowed her to watch the ladies gush over Bradley Cooper, whom they were interviewing.
Once they finished with Bradley, Olivia was brought on with her potbellied pig, Pork Chop, with whom the audience instantly fell in love. Olivia talked about Bacon Week and how her favorite meat had always gotten a bad wrap. Hayley didn't see the rest of the segment because she was whisked backstage with two other chefs who looked equally nervous.
Hayley was placed behind a small cooking station with all her ingredients and plates and utensils. The hot lights started to slowly melt the caked gunk on her face and she feared her mascara would smear and make her look like a raccoon on national TV. But there was no time to worry because suddenly Rhonda closed in and, holding a microphone in front of her face, asked her about what she was going to prepare today.
Hayley had no idea what was happening. She had no clue what she said as she rolled chicken thighs up to stuff cheese and jalapeño peppers inside before wrapping bacon strips around the thighs and securing them with toothpicks. She was surprised when Rhonda opened an oven door and pulled out the finished dish and then picked up a nearby fork to taste it. A staffer must have pre-prepared the recipe so they could try some on the show. Hayley hadn't even thought of that.
Rhonda moaned in ecstasy and rubbed her belly and then put an arm around Hayley and shoved the microphone in her face one more time. Again, Hayley had no clue what Rhonda asked or how she responded.
The audience erupted in applause, and that's when Hayley caught a glimpse of Liddy and Mona in the front row of the bleachers, on their feet, spastically clapping their hands and whooping and hollering.
Then the red light on the camera flicked off and everyone moved back to the main set for the show's wrap-up.
Hayley closed her eyes.
A magnificent sense of relief washed over her.
It was over.
Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell
After an exciting few days in the Big Apple, I think I'm finally coming back to earth and reality.
My e-mail in-box has been flooded with requests for the recipe that I prepared on the show, so today I would love to share it with you.
I've been kid free lately, so I invited my brother, Randy, and his husband, Sergio, over for dinner the night after I returned home from New York to try one of my favorite new cocktails, a Mexican Martini, before serving my now famous (at least in local circles) spicy Bacon-Wrapped Jalapeño-Stuffed Chicken Thighs.
Dinner was delicious, and the cocktails were flowing when my brother remarked that it was amazing how much I love bacon (I eat it almost every day, cholesterol be damned!), especially after the incident early on in my marriage to my ex-husband, Danny.
The story Randy was referring to happened just after Danny and I tied the knot and rented a tiny one-bedroom house on Crooked Road with an equally tiny backyard.
Like most newlyweds, we were on a very tight budget and always trying to save money anywhere we could, so for our eggs and bacon we would run up the road to the Jones Family Farm on Saturday mornings and load up on fresh eggs and bacon at a low price that fed us for a whole week!
One Saturday, Danny left to pick up our eggs and bacon and was gone for almost an hour. I started to worry, and was about to call Mr. Jones to see if he was still there, when Danny pulled up in his truck. I heard him burst through the back door to the kitchen and went to meet him to make sure he stored the eggs and bacon in the refrigerator. (He sometimes was easily distracted, once leaving an unopened carton of ice cream on the counter to melt into mush.)
As I met him in the kitchen, the first words out of my mouth were, “What in the world have you done, and where's my bacon?”
Danny just stood there in the middle of our tiny kitchen, a big dumb smile on his face and a tiny bundle in his arms wrapped in a dish towel. He unwrapped the towel to reveal a baby piglet.
My gut told me to take the piglet back to the Jones farm immediately, but I'm a sucker for a cute animal, so I was instantly smitten. I never even heard Danny say, “This will save us a ton of money. We can raise him and then he can provide us this coming winter's bacon and pork supply.”
Apparently his words were drowned out by my cooing as I cuddled the adorable piglet in my arms and whispered in his tiny ear, “I'm naming you Bubba.”
Well, it wasn't long before Bubba was eating us right out of house and home and costing us our hard-earned savings, which was a pittance to begin with since I was pregnant with my daughter, Gemma, and not working.
Within a week, Bubba rooted and ate our entire vegetable garden, destroyed every inch of our backyard (which emptied out our already small savings account). We tried satisfying Bubba's huge appetite with grain from the feed store and any leftovers that we had begged and hoarded from our neighbors and friends.
Even though Bubba was high maintenance, I still loved the little pig.
Except he wasn't so little.
After eight weeks, he was already a whopping sixty pounds.
Whenever Bubba's antics stressed me out, Danny would pipe up and reassure me that it would all be over in a few months and we would be chowing down like kings during the cold winter months!
Again, I'm not really sure why I didn't hear this.
By the time Bubba was six months old, he was a jaw dropping 280 pounds! And he was no longer popular with the neighbors. He had broken through our little wooden fence, trampling and eating Mrs. Gray's entire prize flower garden. He terrorized some neighbor children who were having their first campout alone in their backyard when he broke down the fence and began rooting around their tent for food, all the while snorting and grunting. The poor kids' terrified screams about a hideous monster lurking about had every neighbor with a shotgun (which on the island is just about everyone) running around the street and into the woods in search of the Bigfoot-like mythical creature. Luckily we managed to lure Bubba home with some celery sticks until things settled down.
His rampage continued into late fall. He ate another neighbor's fresh fruit and veggies she had bought at the farmers' market when she left them on her steps while carrying her other groceries into her house. And what was almost the last straw, the police showed up in our neighborhood because some tourists riding their bikes called 911 to report being attacked by a wild boar.
In Bubba's defense, he was just saying hello. He was a very friendly pig. But his presence was a toll on our neighbors and our now overdrawn bank account.
Finally, the day came when it was time for Bubba to—how can I say it?—pay us back.
On the day Danny loaded him into a borrowed trailer and headed out, it dawned on me that my big sweet boy was about to become a pile of bacon.
I cried and swore I wouldn't eat a piece of bacon ever again! Especially not my Bubba! I would become a vegan! Yes, I was that distraught.
When Danny returned home, I couldn't even go to greet him. I was curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me, a complete blubbering mess. He handed me a package of store-bought bacon for our winter freezer and an envelope stuffed with money.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, sniffing.
“Pig farm outside Belfast. The owner thought Bubba was a nice, good-looking, unusually large pig, so he bought him to be a breeder pig so he can sire a whole bunch of giant pigs!”
Bubba had been given a reprieve!
He was no longer on death row!
And I was still able to eat bacon.
I just stopped thinking about where it came from.
One way to do that is to have a strong Mexican Martini designed to help you forget just about everything.
 
 
Mexican Martini
 
Ingredients
1 ounce blue curaçao
1 ounce your favorite tequila
½ ounce Midori melon liquor
½ ounce triple sec
Favorite fruit to garnish (optional)
 
Add ice to a shaker, then pour all of the ingredients. Shake and strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish if you wish, then be prepared to be wowed.
 
 
Bacon-Wrapped Jalapeño-Stuffed Chicken Thighs
 
Ingredients
Package of boneless, skinless chicken thighs
1 8-ounce package pepper-jack cheese
1 small jar sliced jalapeños
1 package thick-sliced bacon
1 bottle mesquite (or your favorite flavor)
Toothpicks
 
Marinate the chicken thighs in your favorite marinade flavor for at least 45 minutes or even overnight for more flavor. Slice the cheese into
-inch slices. Remove two jalapeños per chicken thigh from the jar and set aside on paper towel. Place one piece of bacon per chicken thigh on a plate.
To assemble, lay a chicken thigh on a piece of bacon. Put a slice of cheese on the thigh, followed by two jalapeño slices on top of cheese. Roll chicken thigh up so the cheese and jalapeño are stuffed inside. Then wrap the bacon strip around the thigh and secure with toothpicks.
Repeat until all the thighs are done. Grill for about 25 minutes and enjoy!

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