Deep Dish (29 page)

T
hey’re coming!” Lisa leaned so far over the bow of the
Maggy Dee
, Mick Coyle feared she’d fall over. He’d have hauled her back over the rail, if he hadn’t been so thoroughly enjoying the view of her cute little ass, complete with a cute little tattoo….

“A rope!” Lisa yelled, turning toward him. “We need to throw them a rope or a life ring or something.”

“Christ,” Coyle muttered. It had been more than an hour since he’d left the little twerp off on the sandbar that surrounded Rattlesnake Key. He’d tried to explain to the chick that the
Maggy Dee
’s hull was too deep to make it over the bar, but she wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist when it came to such things.

By then, they could all see the glow of firelight coming from the key’s south end, and Lisa had been insistent that her sister and Moody were on the key. She’d been ready to dive overboard and swim to the key herself, until Coyle had inquired about her swimming skills.

“Oh.” She’d hesitated.

“You can’t swim worth a damn, can you?” Coyle asked.

“I’m more like a dog-paddler than a swimmer,” Lisa admitted.

“I’ll go,” Zeke had volunteered. “I rowed crew five years in prep school.”

In the end, Coyle inflated the
Maggy Dee
’s never-used navy-surplus life raft, fitted Zeke with a neon orange life vest, and instructed him on how to use a signal flare once he’d reached Rattlesnake Key to let them know he was safe.

Despite Coyle’s deepest doubts, Zeke had apparently not only
reached the island unharmed, he’d also managed to ferry the two marooned sailors, plus a dog, back out to the
Maggy Dee
.

Coyle flipped the trawler’s rope ladder over the side of the boat and barked orders to Zeke, and against all odds, not to mention the tide and the wind, which kept driving the life raft away from the
Maggy
, soon the three sailors were hauling themselves over the trawler’s bow rail.

Tate Moody carried the dog under his arm. He set him down on the deck, and the dog immediately shook about twenty gallons of water on the rest of them.

“Gina!” Lisa cried, throwing her arms around her sister. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. You’re safe! You didn’t drown.”

“I’m fine,” Gina insisted. “We were never in any danger of drowning.”

“Zeke!” Lisa cooed, turning toward the kid in black. “You saved them.” She draped herself on him, even though he was soaking wet, and covered him in kisses, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Coyle watched the reunion with an amused air of detachment. Ever since he’d heard the details of the couple’s disappearance, he’d wondered just exactly what Tate Moody was up to.

The guy was no dummy. He’d been in and around these waters a lot. If he’d gotten himself marooned on an island, he clearly had something in mind for the little lady who’d accompanied him.

The big sister was kind of a surprise. Coyle had been expecting some really hot television babe—after all, Tate Moody could have any woman he wanted. Coyle’s own wife had frequently commented that she’d happily hop in the sack with the Tatester, given the opportunity.

It wasn’t that Gina Foxton wasn’t attractive. Even soaking wet and sunburned, she was more than pretty, although clearly not in the same foxy category as Lisa, Coyle thought.

As soon as he laid eyes on her, and on Tate Moody, he knew the two of them had done the deed. They tried to be discreet, but Mick Coyle was a man of the world. He knew what was up.

Once the
Maggy Dee
got under way again, Gina allowed herself to be hustled into the pilothouse and wrapped in a blanket from his
bunk, although she wisely refused a cup of Coyle’s two-day-old reheated coffee. The two sisters huddled together in the pilothouse, carrying on a heated, whispered discussion.

Tate Moody and the kid, Zeke, wrapped themselves in some old jackets Coyle had dug out of a gear locker and dried the dog off with a towel. The men stayed out on deck, well away from the women. Moody and the girl stayed as far away from each other as possible on a forty-four-foot shrimp boat. But they couldn’t fool Mick Coyle. Oh, yeah, the Tatester had definitely hooked himself a piece of tail on Rattlesnake Key.

T
he filthy blanket the shrimper had fetched her stank of dead fish and rancid grease, but Gina welcomed its warmth. What she didn’t welcome was her sister’s sudden and astonishing transformation into the world’s most annoying mother hen.

“Oh, my God,” Lisa repeated, for about the tenth time. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve put us all through? I was going crazy! When you didn’t show up this afternoon, I was sure something awful had happened. I even called Mama, just on the off chance she’d heard from you. She went apeshit when I told her you were missing.”

“You called
Mama
? Are you insane? Lisa, why in God’s name would you do something like that? I’ll never hear the end of this now.”

“Why in God’s name would you go off in some leaky piece of crap—in the middle of a storm, yet—without telling anybody?” Lisa retorted. “And with Tate Moody, of all people?”

“It wasn’t storming when we got into the creek,” Gina said. “The water was perfectly calm—unlike you.”

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one searching every inch of Eutaw Island, expecting to find your sister’s broken and bleeding body at any minute.”

“I’m fine!” Gina repeated. “Nothing bad happened, except that we missed the deadline. I’m sorry everybody got themselves all worked up about me, but the bottom line is, I’m not dead.” She sighed. “Not dead. Just deeply, deeply humiliated.”

Lisa stared at her. “Something happened on that island. Between you and Tate.”

“Nothing happened, believe me.”

“You lie like a rug,” Lisa said. “You think I’m blind? After all the crap you put me through today, you owe me, big-time. So spill it, Sis. Was he better than Scott? What am I saying? Hello—we’re talking about the Tatester, so it had to be like, ten times better. Was he totally amazing? I want all the dirty, smutty details.”

“Lisa, look at me,” Gina said, grabbing her sister by the chin and swiveling her head until their faces were only inches apart. “Read my lips. Absolutely nothing happened between me and Tate. Okay? He was a perfect gentleman. And I was a perfect…fool. End of story.”

“Whatever.” Lisa gave her a knowing wink.

Gina leaned back against the pilothouse wall and closed her eyes. The
Maggy Dee
’s diesel engines churned, and the boat rose and fell over the waves. She would not allow herself to think about the day’s events. She wanted sleep. And a long, hot bath. And a one-way ticket off this shrimp boat.

T
he cell phone clipped to Mick Coyle’s hip rang loudly enough to be heard over the drone of the
Maggy Dee
’s engines.

Coyle jerked the phone off his belt and flipped it open. “Who the hell is this?” he bellowed.

“Who?” Coyle asked. “Barry who?”

Lisa and Gina had dozed off, and Zeke and Tate had just come into the pilothouse to get out of the wind. At the mention of Barry Adelman’s name, everybody was on full alert.

“Yeah,” Coyle said. “That’s right. We got ’em. The girl, Tate. Even the friggin’ dog. Although, if he takes another leak on my deck, we might come back minus the dog.”

Coyle listened, and his belligerence quickly dissipated.

“Well, sure,” he said enthusiastically. “Yeah. Well, thanks, Barry. I think that would about take care of my time and expenses.” He listened again, then held the phone out to Zeke.

“Barry would like to have a word with you.”

Zeke took the phone, nervously wetting his lips.

“Hello? They’re right here, Barry. They were on Rattlesnake Key, this little island less than a mile from Eutaw. They found a boat and got caught out in the storm…. Oh, yeah. They’re both fine.”

Zeke listened. He held his hand over the phone for a moment. “Barry’s thrilled that you guys are all right,” he told Gina and Tate.

“Yeah. I agree. Absolutely,” Zeke said. “Yeah. It does have all the elements of excellent television. Drama, suspense. Danger…”

“We were never in any real danger,” Tate said, through gritted teeth.

But Zeke was listening to his boss again. He made a writing motion with his hand, and the suddenly cooperative Mick Coyle handed him a clipboard and a stub of a pencil.

Zeke scribbled furiously. “Um. That’s a thought. Of course. I think that’s a brilliant idea. But let me check.”

He held the cell phone to his chest. “People? Barry wants to know if you did, in fact, catch any fish on this nutty excursion of yours.”

“I did,” Tate said wearily. “A spot-tail bass.”

“And I caught a bluefish,” Gina put in.

Zeke scribbled again. “A spotted bass and uh…”

“Bluefish,” Gina repeated.

“Bluefish,” Zeke said. He was listening and frowning.

“Gee, Barry, I don’t know. They’ve had kind of a long day. No, they’re not injured or anything. It’s just that everybody’s wet and kind of sunburned—”

He frowned again. “All right. Yeah. Okay.” He clicked the phone closed.

“So,” he said cheerily. “Here’s the plan. Barry has the camera crew on their way down to the ferry dock at Eutaw. They’ll be all set by the time we get back. And they’ll start the cameras rolling when we tie up, and then you guys will just step off the boat.

“Barry will give a little recap of the day’s events, and then he’ll interview you both. You’ll tell the story of your adventure—”

“And the thrilling rescue,” Lisa added. “That part was my idea, wasn’t it, Zeke?”

“Absolutely,” Zeke said. “Oh, I almost forgot. Barry says you’ll do a little cameo, too, Lisa. And Captain Coyle, too, of course.”

“Ohmygawd!” Lisa shrieked, jumping up and down on the bench where she and Gina had been napping. She dug into the pocket of her shorts and triumphantly brandished a tube of lip gloss. “I knew this would come in handy.”

“Great,” Zeke said. “And then,” he said, gesturing to Tate and Gina, “the plan is, you’ll go right over to the kitchen at Rebeccaville,
and start setting up to cook. Barry says the judges are gonna be a little peeved about having to schlep over there in the rain, but—”

“No,” Tate said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No way,” Gina agreed, crossing her own arms in solidarity.

“People, please,” Zeke pleaded. “Barry is really, really excited about the potential for this.”

“Not happening,” Tate said.

Zeke sighed and flipped the phone open again. He punched in the producer’s number and waited for an answer.

“Barry?” he said, his voice apologetic. “They’re having some reservations about the idea.”

Tate stalked over to the production assistant and held out his hand. “Gimme.”

Zeke handed the phone over.

“Adelman? There is no way in hell. No. I don’t care. Anyway, we got nothing to cook. We ate my fish for dinner, and we left the cooler with Gina’s fish back at the campsite at Rattlesnake Key. So you can just forget—”

He listened some more, glowering at what he was hearing. “All right, put her on, not that it’ll make any difference.”

H
i, Val,” he said.

“Tate? You’re okay? No injuries—right? The last thing we need right now is for you to go on the disabled list.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Really. Just kinda sunburned. And fed up. Now, about this bullshit idea of Adelman’s—”

“It’s not bullshit,” Val said quickly. “And I need you to be a team player. So just suck it up and get on board.”

“This is nuts!” he exploded.

“It’s a guaranteed ratings bonanza,” Val said. “Deborah’s back here right now, working the press angle.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about ratings,” Tate said bitterly.

“You signed a contract,” she reminded him. “There’s a lot on the line here, Tate.”

“Yeah, I know I signed a contract, but nobody ever said anything about—”

“Listen to me,” Val said urgently. “You’re not the only one affected by this thing. You walk away now, your credibility takes a big hit. Mine too. And let’s talk about Gina, while we’re on the subject. If you walk away, they’re gonna have to use what they’ve got so far. That’s you, Tate Moody, winner of the Food Fight. Gina Foxton gets nothing.
Fresh Start
is history. She’s history. And why? Because Tate Moody, selfish bastard that he is—”

“Fine,” he said finally. “I get the picture. You win.”

He glanced over at Gina, who quickly looked away.

He closed the phone and handed it back to Mick Coyle. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the pilothouse. He put his forearms on the bow rail and looked out at the foaming waves below.

“Shit!” Despite the howl of the wind, they all heard it clearly.

L
ook,” Zeke said, grabbing Lisa’s elbow. He pointed to a bright white light glowing in the distance. “That’s Eutaw. Barry’s already setting up the cameras.”

“Cameras?” She ran over to Coyle. “A mirror. We need a mirror. Also, some concealer, hot rollers, and a hairbrush. Stat!”

His answer was a guffaw. “We got a mirror, and there might be a comb somewhere around here. In the head.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of a narrow door set into the opposite wall of the pilothouse.

“It’s not just in my head,” Lisa said hotly. “I’m a wreck. And just look at Gina. We can’t go on camera looking like this.”

Gina gently pulled her sister away from the boat captain. “The head is what they call a bathroom on a boat.”

“Oh.” Lisa walked over and opened the door to the head. Blanching, she took a step backward. “Ick.”

“Mouth-breathe,” Gina instructed, shoving herself and her sister inside the cramped cubicle.

The
Maggy Dee
’s claustrophobic head consisted of a grimy porcelain sink set beneath a fly-specked mirror, a commode, and a rusted sheet-metal shower stall.

“Oh,” Gina said, cringing at her reflection in the tiny mirror. She sighed. “Doesn’t matter. My television career is officially over.”

“Screw that,” Lisa replied. “Sit,” she ordered, flipping the commode seat to the down position. She picked up a lank lock of Gina’s hair. “Nothing we can do about this,” she said briskly. She reached over and turned on the shower. “Strip and get in.”

“No way,” Gina said. “Not without a tetanus shot.”

But Lisa wasn’t listening. She opened the door and edged out. “Be right back,” she promised.

When she came back five minutes later, she had a crumpled Kroger grocery sack under her arm, and Gina, showered and wrapped in a faded blue towel, was sitting on the commode, right where she’d left her.

“Here,” Lisa said, dumping the bag’s contents in her sister’s lap. “Put these on.”

Gina held up a white cotton T-shirt and a pair of worn, time-shredded blue jeans. “Where did you get this stuff?”

“One of the boat’s mates left them behind after he was unfortunately incarcerated for public drunkenness, according to Captain Coyle,” Lisa said. “Don’t worry. They passed the sniff test.”

“But they’re a mile too big.” Gina stretched the waistband of the jeans over her own much smaller waist.

“Got it covered,” Lisa said, flashing a roll of duct tape and a handful of safety pins. “But hurry, the captain says we’ll be docking in less than fifteen minutes.”

While Gina finger-waved her hair into soft curls, Lisa tucked, pinned, taped, and tied. “Good thing I’ve never missed an episode of
Project Runway
,” she said, running a length of rope through the belt loops of the jeans and cinching it around Gina’s waist. She grabbed a hunk of the T-shirt, whose hem hung almost to her sister’s knees, and, with a fishing knife, slashed off the bottom eight inches. Then she pulled the fabric tight across Gina’s chest, and knotted it in the back.

“Lisa, no, you can see my nipples,” Gina cried, reaching to undo the knot. But Lisa slapped her hand away.

“Nipples are in this year,” Lisa said.

“Tell that to Birdelle Foxton,” Gina said. “Mama would just die if I let myself be seen on television this way. Do something. Gimme your bra.”

“What bra?” Lisa said. “Wait. Hold it.” She reached for a white first-aid kit sitting on the commode tank. Opening it, she found a box of Band-Aids, extracted two, and handed them to her sister.

“Instant bra,” she proclaimed.

Finally, Lisa applied a coat of lip gloss to Gina’s lips and pronounced her camera-ready. With Gina’s sunburned face and shiny hair, and the blue jeans, with their safety-pin-tightened back seam and rolled-up hem, plus the tight white T-shirt, she looked like a fresh-faced, all-American, small-town goddess.

“You look good,” Lisa said, critically appraising her sister. “Sorta haute shipwreck. Wait till Scott gets a load of you.”

It was the first time Gina had thought of Scott since boarding the shrimp boat.

“Where is Scott?” she asked. “Why didn’t he come out here with you guys?”

“He didn’t want to get shrimp guts on his Burberry,” Lisa said with a sneer.

“Was he…worried? I mean, when I didn’t show up on time?”

“I guess so. He went out looking with the rest of us, well, that is, he and Deborah went out looking for you. And he did try to charter the shrimp boat, with his American Express card—”

There was a knock at the bathroom door, and when Lisa opened it, Zeke stuck his head inside. His eyes lit up when he saw Gina’s transformation.

“Wow,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “You look terrific. Both of you.”

“Thanks,” Gina said. “This is all Lisa’s doing.”

Zeke looked adoringly at the younger sister. “Awesome.” And then he remembered the rest of his mission. “Captain says we’re docking in five minutes. So, you guys are ready?”

“As ready as I can get,” Gina said, exiting the bathroom. “But tell me this. Just how, exactly, does Barry plan for us to cook a meal with nonexistent fish?”

Zeke’s cheeks reddened. “Barry’s a logistical genius. Don’t worry. He’ll have it all worked out.”

“Hey, assholes!” Coyle’s voice boomed out. “Somebody get up there and take care of the bowlines.” He raised his voice even louder. “And for Christ’s sake, turn off those gawddamn camera lights. I can’t see shit with them shining right in my eyes.”

O
nce the
Maggy Dee
was snugged up to the ferry dock and a wooden gangway was lowered to the boat’s deck, Gina could see the camera crew waiting for them.

“I want Gina to be the first one off the boat,” Barry called. “Then Tate, then Lisa, Zeke, and the shrimp guy, whatever his name is.”

“Captain Coyle,” Coyle yelled. “Mick Coyle.”

“Whatever,” Barry called. “Okay, we’re rolling tape. Come on, Gina.”

Gina took a deep breath and stepped onto the gangway. She straightened her shoulders, looked backward, and caught Tate’s eye.

“Traitor,” she whispered.

Harsh white lights bathed the end of the dock in artificial light. Barry Adelman, dressed in a yellow vinyl rain slicker, hip waders, and his ever-present Adel-Weis Productions ball cap, folded her into his arms.

“Thank God, you made it back,” he said, looking past Gina and into the cameras. “Now, Gina Foxton, in the past twenty-four hours you’ve survived a storm at sea and a harrowing rescue by valiant Food Fight production assistant Zeke Evans. I think it’s fair to say there’s just one question America wants to ask.” He paused dramatically. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

Gina gazed coolly at the producer and then at the camera pointed at her. “Well, Barry, I guess America will just have to see what I’ve got up my sleeve.” And with that, she walked away and out of camera range.

“Cut!” Barry bawled. “That was brilliant. Gina, sweetie, you’re a natural. Honest to God. I couldn’t have come up with a better line myself.”

“What are we going to be cooking, Barry?” she demanded. “I won’t fake it. I don’t care what Tate does, but I am not going to cheat on my audience.”

“Cheat?” He thumped his fist over his heart. “Gina! Barry Adelman does not cheat. My shows are all about authenticity. We would never ask—no,
allow
—you to fake it. What we are going to do is
simply come up with a different challenge. We’ve got everything all set up in the kitchen for you guys. And let me tell you, that crew of ours have really humped it to make that happen.”

“A different challenge?” Gina narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What kind of challenge?”

“Tate Moody!” Barry called, gently pushing her away as he turned to greet his other Food Fight contestant.

“Wait, I want to know—”

But Barry was already busy conducting his next interview.

S
cott met her on the steps of the plantation house. “Gina!” he exclaimed, folding his arms around her. “My God! I can’t believe you made it back in one piece. I’ve been worried out of my mind.”

She wriggled out of his grasp. “Really? Out of your mind?”

He frowned and looked over her shoulder at Lisa, who was parking the golf cart. “What kind of crap has Lisa been telling you?”

“She didn’t have to tell me anything. Actions speak louder than words,” Gina said, walking straight past him.

“That damned boat captain wouldn’t let me come with them!” Scott said, his face reddening. “I tried everything. I even called the Coast Guard.”

She stopped on the porch, turned, and gave a grave smile. “I’m sure you were deeply concerned. But it looks like I’ve got a show to tape, so maybe we could just concentrate on that for now.”

“Fine,” Scott said, following her inside. “Did Barry explain the setup to you?”

“No.”

“He’s only got the lodge and plantation location booked for one more day,” Scott said. “And the crew’s got to get back to New York for another shoot too.”

“I still don’t see how we can pull this off,” Gina protested.

“The guy’s brilliant,” Scott continued. “He’s cleaned out the lodge’s kitchen for ingredients. You and Tate will both have the exact same grocery list, and you’ll have two hours to come up with a meal incorporating everything you’ve been given. Brilliant, huh?”

Gina pushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “Maybe if I’d had a little time to process all that’s gone on today, I’d appreciate his brilliance. But right now, Scott, what I really want is eight hours of sleep and my own clothes.”

“Later,” he said, pointing to the ballroom and her kitchen. “Right now you’ve got a Food Fight. It’s yours to win or lose, Gina.”