Part 10 (1/2)
Here is where a nice guy would pour a second cup of coffee and have it waiting on her, he told himself. Then, as he began pouring, his inner brat kicked him and smarted off, And a smart guy would lock his door and pretend he didn't hear the pounding when she came knocking.
He looked up to see her shaking droplets of rain from her complimentary cabin umbrella as she left it on the porch to dry.
”I take it we're not tackling the river this morning,” she commented.
Jack winced at the cheer with which she said it.
”You're off the hook,” he said, holding out the mug of steaming dark liquid.
”Too bad you aren't,” she mumbled.
”What was that?””Nothing.” She reached for the coffee. ”Thanks. Okay if we take this outside? You have such a great scenic view from there.”
”Sure. We can sit at the picnic table.”
”Mmm. Side-by-side. Think you can handle it?” she teased.
”What are you talking about now?”
”Well, if I'm to get a clear shot of the river through all of this rain, I'll have to sit facing the blasted thing, and you're not the type who leaves his back to open s.p.a.ces, so I just a.s.sumed we'd both be sitting...you know. Next to one another.”
”Just... just... go outside.” He gave her an exasperated frown. Why did she have to be so d.a.m.ned talkative and cheerful? Did she really believe he didn't realize what he'd have to do today now that the weather had turned foul?
”You don't have to be so touchy, Jackson,” she said, still babbling but obviously enjoying herself. ”This is the perfect time to discuss your strategy. The rain... Do you think it could rain during one of the cook-off days? Because if it does, you and the others will have to use those big grills under the canopy over there.” She pointed towards the covered community center with its numerous picnic tables and outdoor grills that lined one entire wall of the rectangular portico.
”Do I what? Think it could rain? I hope you're not suggesting that I could make it do so?”
”Don't be silly, Jackson. I've been thinking about your noon meal,” she continued, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. ”How about just grilling hot dogs and hamburgers that day? I checked the weather channel with that wide-band radio in the cabin, and your weatherman says that it could rain on Wednesday. So does the Farmer's Almanac-I grabbed a copy of it in your library. I thought perhaps we'd go ahead and order the wieners and buns and all and come up with some sort of kick-a.s.s beverage and dessert or something.”
”What about the audience partic.i.p.ation on the second day? I thought you said...”
”I know... I know. But listen. We can still have that. Larabee is sending several portable grills-you know, like the kind you see at tailgate parties. We'll divide the audience into Relish, Mustard and Ketchup, and let them do the cooking with you barking instructions.”
”Barking?”
”Well, Jackson, you do... bark, a little. Especially when you're upset. Maybe I should've said 'give'. You can give instructions to the rest of them and go by to make sure they are stirring properly, adding the right amount of spices and so forth. Let them do the cooking.”
Jack's head was already spinning, and Marilyn hadn't been with him more than five minutes. a.s.s, he chastised himself. Why don't you just spill the beans and put her out of her misery so she'll stop hammering you with details and the two of you can get back to some serious lovemaking?
”I don't know how much more of this I can take,” he told her. ”Divide them into what?”
”Use your grandmother's pickled relish dish, that Cajun mustard recipe and your homemade ketchup. And just let the audience do the cooking that day, because I will already be able to doc.u.ment that you know how to make those things. Know why? C' mon... ask me.”
”Okay. Why?” he asked, already positive that he wouldn't like her answer.
”Because you can make the majority of those in advance with me watching you!” she cried excitedly.
”Come again?”
”We'll just say that due to the rain, we planned for everyone to get in on the fun, so we're going to let them prepare the condiments. I'll order some cheap plastic squirt bottles from either a discount store or a beauty supply so that your guests can take home some of what they cook.”
”Beauty supply?”
”Sure-to hold the ketchup, mustard and relish. Cheaper to buy from either a salon products distributor or a super shopper place.”
Jack's mind started reeling again.
”Then,” Marilyn continued, ”follow it all up with some sort of dessert. It'll be fun!”
Jack snorted. ”For you, maybe. You're not the one whose a.s.s is on the line here.”
”Right. I'm just the poor schmuck who's gonna get fired once she gets back to New York if you don't come through with this.”
”Oh, d.a.m.n. Just sit down.”
Marilyn shrugged and did as he asked, making room on the bench for him to sit beside her, wiggling her b.u.t.t in the tight jeans to get comfortable.
Jack felt his jaw slacken and his throat go dry as the hourgla.s.s-shaped woman in front of him shook her sand a bit.
He watched her animated face and put a finger to her lips just as she was about to speak. ”If you would... go over this one more time. How will you know that I can already cook this stuff?”
Marilyn looked down the length of her nose at his finger still on her lips then back into his eyes.
”Mah-fa-mwl...”
”What?”
She removed his finger. ”My father will be here tomorrow and will want to see you.
If I can keep you occupied cooking... preparing for your noon meal, he most likely won' t try to interrupt us and ask you to cook something for him.”
”Why would he...?”
”Because you're his favorite cookbook author. He a.s.sumes you can cook all those delicious recipes. So I have to get you into the kitchen and working on something before he gets suspicious. We're already treading water... don't want to drown too early.”
”Would your father and uncle really fire you?” he asked.
”You can ask him yourself since he and Uncle Dave are flying down early for this s.h.i.+ndig. Of course, if you ask them and they find out you can't cook, you'll be disqualified, so you really should take my word on this.”
Jack studied her face. For all her bravado and bright conversation, her eyes told a different story. She was really nervous about the compet.i.tion.
”What's your real reason for signing me up for this contest?” he asked, trying to adopt a sensitive approach.
”The family publis.h.i.+ng company needed a boost. So did your career.”
”Gee... thanks!” He felt his neck muscles tighten and strained to work out the kinks.
”Jackson, you're doing fine. You're not exactly the firm's cash cow, but...”