Part 35 (1/2)
Collier knew something was wrong; Prentor only called him ”Justy” when he wanted something. ”I'm finis.h.i.+ng a book-you know, for my other career, which I need desperately now since you're dumping my show. Why are you calling? You need me to clean out my desk, like, right now?”
”Oh, Justy, Justy, you're a regular bebopper with that wit. I just wanted to tell you the bad news-”
”What could be worse news than *you're fired'? You laid that line on me a week ago.”
”No, no, the bad news is Savannah Sammy's Sa.s.sy Smokehouse just dropped from number three to number four.”
Collier frowned. ”Shay. How is that bad news for me?”
”Not for you, for him! That c.o.c.ky cracker!” Prentor unreeled fuzzy laughter. ”The good news for you is that we just tabbed the ratings for your last six shows, and you're now number three.”
Collier almost dropped the phone in the coffeepot. ”I thought I was eleven-”
”Not now, my friend. Your show has officially caught on. I'm not jiving you, Justy. You're actually only a few points off of number two. Emeril ain't happy, I can tell you that.”
Collier couldn't think straight. ”So I'm getting renewed?”
”How's this for an answer, Justy? f.u.c.k yes. Three-hundred-thousand-dollar re-sign bonus and an extra half point in your kick, and that's from the VP. I'm looking at the piece of paper that guarantees it. It's this thing called a contract, which we really need you to sign right now. So when am I going to have your smiling face on the other side of my desk, and a pen in your hand? Fly back now. What, you have to be in Tennessee to write a book about beer? My daddy always told me there wasn't anything in Tennessee but steers and-”
Collier stood in shock, the phone printing against his ear. ”I'll be back tomorrow, Shay. But...what about the guy you hired to replace me, the San Francisco Seafood Psycho? I heard you signed him up for twenty-six episodes right off the bat.”
Prentor gusted another laugh. ”We canceled the a.s.shole's contract on character breech. You get the twenty-six episodes.”
”Character breech?”
”It's hilarious, man! Turns out the guy really is a psycho. Last week some critic from Gourmet came to his restaurant and complained about the crab Wellington, said the crabmeat was that fake surimi stuff. So the Psycho's so offended he comes after the guy with a meat cleaver! No lie, Justy! It was in the paper! Almost got him, too. Took three cops to haul the Psycho out of there and book him for a.s.sault with intent...” Prentor kept bubbling laughter. ”Forget about that loser, Justy. You're the big news at the network now.”
Collier's hands were shaking as it finally sunk in: I'm getting renewed! I've still got a show!
”And, Justy, are you ready for some really good news?”
”I can't imagine anything better than what you just told me-”
”According to our latest viewer survey, the reason your ratings just tripled is because housewives are starting to watch the show with their husbands-”
Collier frowned. ”Shay, housewives walk out of the room when my show comes on. They couldn't care less about craft beer.”
Wheezing laughter chopped up Prentor's next line: ”They're watching your show because they think you're s.e.xy! Emeril ain't happy, let me tell you. And we know it's on the mark 'cos last week we did a Web site poll for s.e.xiest man on the network? You won-”
Collier dropped his phone into the coffeepot.
s.h.i.+t!
The clerk's back was turned. Collier dumped the pot in the sink, and tried to pat the phone dry with paper towels. This is the best day of my LIFE! Excitement drove his heart rate so high, he knew he'd have to calm down-he could scarcely think. He rushed his coffee to the counter, fumbled for money...
A glance out the window showed him the homeless mother sitting at the parking lot's edge with her kid. They were sucking the ketchup and relish out of the packets. Jesus...At once he thought of Dominique spending half the day running food to the homeless, and the sermon by the minister who looked like the Skipper.
Collier grabbed several bottled sodas, then told the turbaned clerk, ”Give me ten hot dogs and ten of those cheese roll things.”
The clerk shook his head, ringing it up. ”Sir, sir, these dirty people, they are all addicted to the drugs and on welfare. It is not good to give them things. They must earn them like us.”
Collier hated conversations, but he knew the difference. ”Buddy, that woman out there's no drug addict. Not every homeless person is a drug addict.” Being from L.A., Collier knew the difference. The panhandlers wore $200 sneakers. Homeless addicts didn't drift to remote areas like this.
”You are silly man to give anything to such sc.u.m-”
”Just ring me up.” Collier held his tongue.
The clerk shoved the bag at him. ”That's why this country is so f.u.c.ked up, you give to dirty people who don't want to work hard like I have to. In my country, we make the useless work and sterilize them so they cannot bring more babies for more welfare!”
More stereotypes flared, but Collier just grabbed the bag and headed for the door.
”You don't come back to my store!” the clerk added. ”You are a silly, ignorant man!”
Collier turned. ”Listen, d.i.c.kbrain. I'm not silly and I'm not ignorant. I'm Justin Collier, Prince of Beer, and I have the number-three show on the Food Network, and you can pack that in your hookah and smoke it all the way back to whatever freedom-squas.h.i.+ng, terrorist-harboring, dictatorial s.h.i.+THOLE you come from,” he said, then walked out.
”f.u.c.k you! I say to you-f.u.c.k you!”
Collier was hardly bothered at all by the unpleasant confrontation. All that mattered to him right now was Prentor's phone call. I've got my show back! his thoughts kept trumpeting. But his cell phone was still hot. As he strode across the lot, he tried to shake the coffee out of it. Got to call him back right now...
The homeless woman and child were still sitting on the curb sucking ketchup. ”Excuse me, miss,” Collier said and set down the bag, ”but I heard what that guy in there said to you. I got you some hot dogs and stuff.”
The smudge-faced woman looked in the bag, then burst into tears. ”Oh my G.o.d, thank you, thank you! We haven't eaten in a day! Finally someone nice comes along! G.o.d bless you!”
They began tearing into the food.
”Do you need a ride to a shelter or something?” Collier offered.
”Oh, no, thank you,” she sobbed, cheeks stuffed. ”They won't let us into the shelter so we live at the underpa.s.s right down the road. Usually the Salvation Army truck comes by and gives out sandwiches but they didn't come last night. But thank you so much for this food!”
Collier felt overwhelmed. d.a.m.n. What should I do? He took a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet. ”Here, why don't you take this?” he said and gave it to her.
The woman almost sidled over in her tears of joy. ”Thank you! Thank you so much-” She leaped up and hugged Collier.
The toddler looked cross-eyed stuffing another hot dog into his mouth.
”G.o.d bless you, sir! G.o.d bless you!”
Eventually Collier had to urge her back. ”You're quite welcome, but I have to go now. 'Bye...”
”Thank you, thank you!”
Collier walked off. Was this the type of charity the minister had called for? Or did I just do it to feel good? he wondered.
It didn't matter.
The exuberance of his show's renewal slammed back. Yes-sir-ee! The s.e.xiest man on the Food Network! He opened and closed the cell phone several times but the screen never turned on. I gotta get back to the inn, call Shay and tell him not to date the contract until after my divorce...
Collier was five yards away from the homeless woman when he heard her voice behind him: ”Pokey? This is Dizzy-yeah, yeah, yeah, and don't you hang up this time, you s.h.i.+t!”
Collier turned and was astonished to see the woman talking on a cell phone that looked even more expensive than his.