Part 10 (1/2)

”He sounds like a mean and evil step-boss,” Zara said, very serious. ”Maybe you should get another boss.”

”Avery is not mean and evil,” I snapped, instantly softening when I saw the hurt on Zara's face. ”He's just doing his best,” I said more gently. ”We are all trying to do good work, and that can take a lot of time.”

I saw Kai's jaw tighten, but his eyes remained neutrally focused on Cinderella and her plight.

”Shall we keep reading?” I said brightly. I adopted a particularly cranky voice for the stepmother that had a giggle-inducing effect on the kids, and though my phone registered nine more texts from Avery by the time the ball was over and the slipper found, the kids and I quickly became proficient at ignoring it. So much so that I looked up, surprised, when Kai took Zara's pink unicorn pillow and smooshed it down, none too lightly, right on top of the next vibration.

When the Buzz Lightyear and Rapunzel nightlights were emanating a cheery glow in the room and I had kissed both children's cheeks six times each, Kai pulled shut their bedroom door with a quiet click. I wrapped my arms around him in the semidarkness. He held me close, and I let my head rest on his chest. Manda's laugh floated up the stairs as Jack's voice became animated with some story.

Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I couldn't let go of the texts and the irritation on Kai's face.

”Listen,” I said, pulling away so I could see his eyes. ”My work is really important to me,” I said, sounding more tentative than I'd have liked. I cleared my throat. ”Sometimes I'm going to have to be in touch with Thrill even when I'm with you.”

Kai waited so long to answer, I wondered if I should repeat myself. Finally, he spoke. ”I totally get it,” he said. I wondered if the brightness of his tone was authentic or a tad forced.

”You do?” I said, then backpedaled quickly. ”Of course you do. You work in the same industry.”

Kai suppressed a smile. ”Technically. I mean, we both serve food, but if this were a feudal system, for example, you would be a member of the n.o.bility and I would be a peasant.”

”But a very good-looking one,” I said, moving in for a kiss. A s.h.i.+ver ran up my spine. ”And one that smelled remarkably good for all the mucking of stalls and milking of cows that you did.”

”I think you're mixing metaphors,” he said between kisses.

”Shh,” I said, ”or I'll have you imprisoned for treason to the queen.”

”You're not doing this right,” he said, but within a few moments, I'm pretty sure he changed his mind.

13.

TOVA'S nose-empty of the piercing she'd gotten on Monday, her most recent day off, and that I'd insisted she remove before we started work-hovered only inches above the mixing bowl. We'd finished the early morning prep and had the sublime gift of extra time before plunging into the next round of tasks, so I was taking the opportunity to teach her how to make a piecrust.

”So, this is a miniversion of what we will make on a larger scale later today,” I said, pointing to the bowl. ”We've whisked our flour and salt, and we are ready to incorporate our fats. Now, people feel very strongly about the b.u.t.ter-lard issue, but I like a mix of both. More b.u.t.ter than lard, but a combo of both makes for a very flaky and flavorful crust.”

Tova nodded. ”Whatever you say, Charlie, I will do. I grew up on frozen Pillsbury, so anything homemade is an improvement.”

I smiled, feeling magnanimous. ”I'm sure the Pillsbury ones were made with love, too.”

Tova snorted. ”Probably not. My mom was more interested in her revolving door of boyfriends than in making piecrust.”

”Ouch,” Mike, the cameraman said quietly from behind his mammoth lens, and I realized how accustomed I had become to having my every move and conversation filmed.

”So even though we make this in bigger batches, the same principles apply,” I said. I pointed to my precise, tiny cubes of b.u.t.ter and lard. ”Chilling is essential. Pastry dough is very temperamental and really only s.h.i.+nes when you respect its need to remain cold and as untouched as possible. I remember-”

”You're so insensitive!” Tova's exclamation was sudden and loud.

”Excuse me?” I asked, genuinely baffled. My hands hovered above the metal bowl.

”I'm trying to talk to you about my alcoholic mom who had issues with promiscuity, Charlie.” Her eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g, but no tears fell. ”I lived in a shack. With no running water. And lots of bugs.” Her chin dropped indignantly.

I stared, unblinking. ”I'm sorry,” I said. ”I had no idea.”

”Of course you didn't.” She flipped her hair as she continued. ”You're so absorbed with yourself and your career and your rise to the top.” She punctuated this last sentence with a poke by one righteous fingernail to the ceiling. ”I'm a woman, too, Charlie. I would think you'd want to help another female chef in this male-dominated profession.”

Why did I get the feeling she'd had to practice saying those words together?

”Listen,” I said, hands still clumpy with lard and flour, ”I have been helping you. In fact ...” I moved one step in her direction. ”I have been ignoring the fact that you are eons behind where you should be to have your position here and have, instead, taken you under my wing.”

”Your wing is rigid and uncaring!” she cried, one single tear rolling down her cheek.

”All right,” I said, flipping the faucet k.n.o.b and pumping three vigorous slams on the soap dispenser. ”I need a break and so do you. We can do pie crust another time.”

The light on the camera dimmed, and Margot stepped around the crew.

”Excellent. Perfect, Tova.”

I looked at Tova, who looked extraordinarily pleased with herself. ”Wow,” she said. ”That was intense.” She met my confused expression. ”Thanks for going with that, Charlie. I really felt the freedom to become the scene.”

”What the-” I began.

Margot put her hand on my arm. I could feel its icy temp through my s.h.i.+rt. ”You were fantastic.”

My brows knitted together. ”I wasn't fantastic. I was offended. Can someone please tell me what on earth just happened here?”

Margot pointed to a spot on the clipboard she carried. ”We were working on a story line for Tova in this episode and thought we could address the issue of women in the professional kitchen. This scene will be a part of a montage that will highlight the struggles she's had, the injustices, the victimization, the victories she's scored in such a male-dominated profession.”

There was that phrase again, clearly outlined for Tova during a previous tutorial.

”So,” Margot finished, ”Tova did an excellent job of drawing out the delicate war between feminine strength and relations.h.i.+p building.”

”Was any of that real?” I asked, my mind whirling.

Margot looked bemused. ”That, my sweet girl, is the question we must always ask and to which none of us has a good answer. Hence the enduring success of reality television.” She smiled, and I saw a line of crooked lower teeth I'd never noticed before. ”But to ease your mind, yes, Tova was speaking from the heart. Right, Tova?”

”Wow,” Tova said, basking in Margot's attention. ”I'm so glad you liked it, Ms. Rubin. It's really such a huge honor to be working with you.” She must have felt me staring hard at her because she turned and wilted a bit. ”Just so you know, Charlie, my mom really did sleep around.”

”The shack without running water?” I was doing all I could to remain civil.

She shrugged, suddenly sheepish. ”A split-level in Las Vegas. But sometimes my mom forgot to pay the water bill and they shut it off! For, like, two days!”

I shook my head and took a deep breath before addressing Margot. ”I don't think I'm meant for this.” My eyes took in the entire kitchen, most parts of it clicking along at a normal pace, but my area crowded with people and cameras and boom mics and forced emotional scenes. ”I told Avery from the beginning that I wouldn't tolerate dishonesty.”

I saw a flicker of hardness flash through Margot's eyes, but it was gone before it settled into anything tangible. ”I understand,” she said, her voice crisp and professional. ”You need a break-you've been working every day since we started filming. I'm going to suggest to Avery that you take the next two days off. It's midweek, so he can manage fine here without you until the weekend. Go somewhere, relax, and we can resume filming of the pastry segments when you return.”

More than anything, I wanted to let my head roll in a slow half-circle in an attempt to get rid of the kinks and strain that had gathered into a huge orb of tension at the top of my shoulders, but I was not about to show Margot how tired I was. ”All right, I'll think about it,” I agreed. ”A couple days off does sound good.”

Margot nodded quickly, then motioned for the crew to move out. ”Rest well. You deserve it.”