Skinnydipping (31 page)

“But he’s from California,” I whispered to Chaz. He bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

“He looks like Jabba the Hutt,” Chaz whispered to me.

“He’s worth fifteen billion and he can’t join a gym?”

Nadin was sitting on the other side of Shari. She slid a note for both Shari and me to see. She had a huge antique jade ring on her finger. The note said, “And I slept with
him.
That was a wild night.
Shhhhh.
” I looked up and stared at her, then stared at Hugh Pritzker. She winked at me, then put her manicured, red-polished finger to her lips. Was this when she was still in the market for a rich husband? I had a momentary fantasy of waving the note in the air, saying,
Ms. Hunter, Queen Nadine is passing notes; you’d better read this one out loud to the class!

“I’m sure you all know entrepreneur and mobile phone technology trailblazer Hugh Pritzker,” Sybil said. “He’s a close personal friend of mine, and although he may not be the first person you think of when you think of
Domestic Goddess
, we all know every successful Domestic Goddess needs a reliable phone to coordinate her life. Mr. Pritzker is here to announce your first challenge, courtesy of the next generation ePhone,” she said.

Suddenly, I got nervous, realizing this thing was actually about to start. The beautiful Loft, the champagne, meeting Sybil Hunter had all been great, but now it was time to get down to business. Hugh Pritzker stepped forward. “Home cooks have come into the future. One of the most popular apps on our e-Phones is our Recipes 2 Go app, which makes food preparation easy for Domestic Goddesses everywhere. You are about to have the chance to be part of that cutting-edge trend.”

I looked around the group. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. “For your first challenge, you will be divided into groups of two.” Ugh. I hated working in groups. I wanted to do it myself! I looked around, wondering if we would get to pick our own partners. I made eye contact with Shari and Chaz, just in case. I noticed a lot of other people trying to make eye contact with me, Jodi Sue, and Andy, the three people whose professions involved cooking. Andy grinned at everyone. Jodi Sue stared at her hands, looking petrified, not meeting anyone’s gaze, probably because she didn’t actually know how to cook.

Hugh continued: “Each group will develop a quick, easy recipe suited to an ePhone recipe app. The recipe must not be more than three hundred words in total, including ingredients list and directions. It must use commonly found ingredients, and you will have use of the Sybil Hunter test kitchen to create and test your recipe.”

Sybil stepped forward. “In addition to creating the recipe, you will also execute the recipe, and serve it at an informal cocktail party I’ll be hosting for a group of influential local businesspeople. Presentation counts, as does taste, the ease of preparing the recipe itself, and appropriateness for the Recipes 2 Go app. Each team will be ready to serve their recipes and turn in the written versions by three p.m. tomorrow afternoon. I will taste your results, and then my recipe testers will test each written recipe. One team will win, and one team will lose. One person from the losing team will be eliminated. Hugh, would you like to tell them about what the winning team will win?”

“Sure, Sybil!” he said, stepping forward again. I wondered if
they’d
ever slept together. Everybody knew Sybil Hunter was single, and I’d read in the gossip magazines that she’d been spotted socializing with Hugh Pritzker’s business partner, George Branson, the billionaire computer operating system inventor. It gave me a little shiver to imagine both Sybil and Nadine sleeping with the large man talking at the front of the room. At the same time. They could probably be on either side of him in bed and not even know the other one was there.
Stop it, Faith! That’s disgusting! Get your head in the game!

“Both members of the winning team will receive a next-generation ePhone. Also, the name of the winning recipe along with a photo of the dish will be featured as the splash screen for Recipes 2 Go,” Hugh continued.

“Now, it’s time to form your teams. I’m going to draw your names, one at a time,” Sybil said, holding up a dark blue velvet drawstring pouch. “When I call your name, I will give you a number, from one to six. Your partner will be the one with the same number as yours.”

We all shifted in our seats and looked around nervously. Sybil reached into the bag and drew out a wood disk with a name written on
it. “Nadine,” she said. Queen Nadine looked proud to be called first, as if it were her royal privilege. “You’re number one.”

“Of course she is,” I whispered to Shari.

“Christophe, you’re number two. Katie, three. Shari, four.”

“Pray you get four!” Shari whispered.

“Chaz, five.” Chaz looked at me hopefully. “Andy, six. Monica, one.” Monica, the ditzy lifestyle coach, looked at Nadine and waved. Queen Nadine looked annoyed. “Mikki, two.” Mikki looked at Christophe, the concierge, and smiled—almost seductively, I thought. She was already on the make. Silent but deadly.

“Sadie, three.” Sadie, the organic farmer, looked at party-girl Katie, the headband designer, suspiciously. “Jodi Sue, four.” Shari pouted at me, then immediately offered a radiant smile to Jodi Sue and her overexposed jugs. Maybe she thought she’d score more Ted Jerry tickets that way.
Any friend of Jodi Sue’s breasts is a friend of Ted Jerry.

“Faith, five,” she said. I grinned at Chaz and he silently clapped his hands. Thank God. “And that leaves Linda, six.” Linda, the mouthy headhunter from Chicago, glared at Andy, the equally mouthy chef from Vegas. I thought they made a pretty good pair. They could see which one could out-obnoxious the other.

“At least you got Chaz,” Shari whispered. “I’m stuck with the groupie bimbo!”

“Tomorrow,” Sybil said, “you will have some time to experiment with the Recipes 2 Go app, to get an idea of how it works and what kind of recipes are most successful. Then you will purchase your supplies and come back to the test kitchen to work. Now remember, I handpicked each one of you to compete on this show, so I have very high hopes for the results of this first challenge. I can’t wait to see what you all create. Good luck, everyone. Hugh, are you ready for dinner?” She gathered up her things and walked out the door.

We sat in the conference room for a few minutes after they left, as the camera crew ran around doing more OTFs. I was considering all the possibilities for recipes. Decadent? Healthy? Fast? Fun? So many options. I hoped Chaz would be open to letting me choose.

The longer we all sat, waiting, the more I had to pee. And I had a terrible headache. I shouldn’t have had so much champagne. A cocktail wouldn’t have given me a headache. That’s when the lightbulb went off: a cocktail! That’s what our recipe should be. I should do what I’m passionate about! I couldn’t wait to tell Chaz.

But in the meantime, I really had to pee. I wondered if we would get to go back to the Loft soon, but the producers looked busy. They were getting a long-winded reaction from Andy. I couldn’t wait anymore. Finally I leaned over to Shari. “I seriously have to find the bathroom. Cover for me!”

“Sure sweetie,” she said. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

I alerted a producer, who sent a cameraman to follow me. I opened the conference room door and looked around. I went down one hallway but didn’t see anything. I went back the other way, turned a corner, and finally found a bathroom. On my way back out, I heard a voice down the hall. It sounded like Sybil Hunter. Glancing at the cameraman, I quietly crept toward the sound, not wanting to get too far away from what I was supposed to be doing, but wanting to hear what she was saying. I was just hoping and praying it wasn’t about me.

It was.

“I want that girl off the show,” she said, her voice tense and angry.

I peeked around the corner and saw Sybil towering over Mike, the producer who had asked me questions. Polly, Sybil’s assistant, stood by Sybil’s side.

“No, Faith is great,” he said. “We need her on the show. The viewers are going to love her. You should have heard her OTF. She’s a natural.”

“I don’t care. Next challenge, she’s out. She knows Ian McGinnis, and Hugh Pritzker tells me he knows who she is, too. That’s simply unacceptable. I don’t need someone who’s running in my circles on this show, do you understand me? This is a show for up-and-comers.”

“She is an up-and-comer, Sybil. Check her background. She used to be Carol Kameron’s assistant, that’s the only reason she knows people. She’s got a failing muffin business. She’s nobody.”

Sybil looked doubtful. “And who knew about this?” she said. “You never,
never
hide something like that from me again. This show is about surprising
them
, not
me.
”

Polly cleared her throat. “I think Faith’s going to be a positive …”

“Nobody told you to think, Polly. You’re a prop on this show, and don’t you ever forget it.” She turned back to Mike. “I suppose you can use that footage if you think it’s necessary—it wasn’t a disaster. But I want to know exactly who found out Ian McGinnis
knew her
and told him he should
bring this up on camera.
I don’t care if the show is on your network. I’m in charge. One more mistake like that and you are fired.”

“Sybil, you can’t fire me. I don’t work for you,” Mike said, sounding fed up.

“Oh, don’t underestimate me, Mike,” she said, spitting venom. “I can get anybody in this city fired.”

“OK, Sybil,” he said, his voice tired. “I’ll see what I can find out.” Then she turned. Our eyes met.

Mortified, I sprinted back down the hall and ducked back into the conference room, leaving the cameraman trailing behind me.

One day in and I’m already on Sybil Hunter’s hit list.

chapter twenty-two

A
t seven a.m., we all sat at tables in a large workroom, already agitated about getting our recipes created and formatted and inputted and tested and served on time. Chaz and I had discussed the cocktail idea the night before, but we hadn’t chosen the perfect one yet.

I could hear the other teams murmuring to one another, nobody wanting to give away their ideas. I was already bone tired, and it was just the first challenge. I hadn’t slept all night, thinking about what I’d heard Sybil say in the hallway. I had to change her opinion of me, and fast.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do a muffin recipe? Isn’t that your specialty?” Chaz said.

“No, I want to show I’m versatile. I don’t necessarily want to be typecast as a baker.”

“But we should go with our strengths.”

“This is my strength. I love making cocktails! And I went to bartending school.”

“OK, then… what about a Manhattan?” Chaz suggested.

“No, too old school. And too brown. Women use ePhone recipe apps. It has to be pretty and sparkly and girly.”

“Something with chocolate?” he suggested.

“No, that’s too heavy. Something lighter. More original. Fun.
Sexy.
” I flashed back to the night in L.A. where I’d created the pink lemonade cocktail at the afterparty. Hey, that was it! “I’ve got it. A pink lemonade mojito.”

“All right. What the hell is in it?” said Chaz.

I had tweaked the recipe slightly over the years, but it was basically the same as the night I had crashed my dad’s car. “White rum, pink lemonade made with freshly squeezed lemons, raw sugar, and a splash of cranberry juice, fresh mint, and club soda, with a lemon and a lime wedge,” I said. “Glasses rimmed with lemon and raw sugar.”

“You have to let
me
rim the glasses,” he said. “I like the sound of it.”

“The job is yours. Rim away.”

Sybil had provided everybody with tablets of recycled paper and natural wood pencils. One wall of the workroom was lined with supplies—jars of pencils, pens, and Sharpies arranged by color and stacks of notebooks in all sizes. I thought about taking some to use at home, but realized I probably shouldn’t steal Sybil’s office supplies, considering I was being filmed—and already on her bad side.

Finally, I decided I had to tell someone. I lowered my voice. “Chaz, she wants me off the show.”