Tate felt himself relax as soon as he heard the Vittles theme music piped through the studio. He ignored Barry Adelman and his unnamed assistant and gazed steadily into the camera, doing the same thing he’d done that first time Valerie Foster aimed her handheld camcorder at him on that beach in Costa Rica.
He grinned easily—as easily, Val said, as if he were talking to his mama and daddy, down in Pahokee, Florida.
In fact, that’s how she’d instructed him to start the show. “Don’t think about talking to an audience,” she’d suggested. “Just think about talking to your folks.”
“Hi, Mama, hi, Daddy,” he’d always say at the start of every show, flashing his dimples, as if to say, “Look at your boy now.”
His viewers loved that kind of cornpone stuff, according to Val. And the smiling and the dimpling came easy to him, just as most things in his life did.
“Today,” he said, once the theme music faded, “I’m going to take you with me, out to a little lake just outside—”
“No,” Val called.
The cameraman glanced over at her.
“Today, Moonpie ’n’ me are gonna take y’all to a little bitty ol’ lake,” Val coached, laying on her version of a phony southern accent that set his teeth on edge.
Tate’s grin disappeared. “I’m not illiterate,” he said evenly.
“I’d never suggest you were,” Val agreed. “You’re just folksy, okay?”
He shook his head and frowned. But Val winked and gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of Adelman, who was seated right beside her at the editing table.
“Folksy,” Tate said finally.
“Just pick it up with the lake bit,” Val said. “And while you’re at it, go ahead and walk over to the fridge while you’re talking, and get out the dish with the fish fillets.”
“The fillets are right here on the counter,” Tate said, pointing to them.
“Well, I want them in the fridge. It’s too static and boring having you just stand there like that. Could you do that for me, please?”
“There’s a dish of fillets already in the fridge,” offered Darryl, the prep chef. “Do you want them already soaking in the buttermilk? Or, we could have him add the milk on camera?”
“Let’s have him mix up the buttermilk and…what goes in it?” she asked, looking down at her notes.
“Hot sauce,” Darryl said, holding up a bottle of Texas Pete.
“Right,” Val said. “Yes. Let’s have him do all of that on camera. We’re cutting the shrimp segment we’d planned, so we can afford to have him stretch out the fish fry a little bit.”
“No shrimp?” Darryl’s thin face darkened. “When was that decided?”
“Just now,” Val said firmly, letting him know the subject was closed. “Tate, just take all the steps slowly. You know, pour the buttermilk, add the hot sauce, like that.”
“All right,” Tate said.
“You can blather on about the stone-ground cornmeal, and what to substitute if you don’t have cornmeal or buttermilk—”
“If you don’t have the buttermilk or cornmeal, you oughta just forget the whole thing, and go to Captain D’s,” Tate said.
“But if we’re going to eat fast food, we don’t need Vittles, now, do we, sweetie?”
“Right,” Tate said. He leaned against the counter and watched as Darryl poured vegetable oil into the deep-fat fryer.
“How long do I have before that thing starts sputterin’ and smokin’?” he asked.
“Five or six minutes,” Darryl said. “And don’t forget to check the temperature gauge before you submerge the basket with the battered fillets,” Darryl said. “According to the manufacturer, you want it right at 425 degrees.”
“Good point,” Val said. “Make sure you tell what the oil temperature should be when frying fish, even if you’re just using whatever pan you have at home.”
“Like a cast-iron skillet,” Tate said.
“Perfect.” Val beamed. “In fact, say something like that. You know, like, ‘Mama, this new fryer’s great, but it’ll never beat your old cast-iron skillet at home.’”
“My mother never fries anything,” Tate said. “I don’t think she even owns a cast-iron skillet.”
“Keep that to yourself,” Val advised. “The point you want to make is that kitchen safety is right up there with God and country at Tate Moody’s house.”
“Trailer,” Tate said.
“Whatever,” she said. “Let’s get this show moving.”