Safely back in her room at the lodge, Gina did not sleep.
She read all of her reference books. She took notes. She tiptoed downstairs to the library, found an old copy of The Yearling, and read it in one sitting, crying, as she always did, at the end of the book. She filed her nails and washed out her underpants in the bathroom sink. Then she washed her sister’s underpants. She even considered, but only briefly, calling her mother, but at six thirty, she decided it was time to get ready for the big day.
Showered and dressed in khaki slacks and a tank top with a blue cotton work shirt thrown over it, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes still looked, as Tate had pointed out, a little loony. But her heart had finally stopped pounding, and her pulse seemed to have slowed down to the rate of a moderately hyperactive gerbil.
She went bouncing down the stairs to the lobby, but stopped, mid-bounce, when she saw Scott standing there, looking up at her.
“You’re in a great mood,” he observed.
“Today’s the day,” she agreed. “Today I win. Or die trying.”
“That’s kind of extreme, Gina,” he said, frowning.
“But true. Let’s face it. My show has been canceled, and so far, not a whole lot of people are banging on my door begging to put me on television.”
“They will. I told you that. Even if, God forbid, you lose today, your career is far from over. I promised you that, didn’t I?”
“You promised me a lot of things,” she said.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” she said, stopping him. “It’s in the past. I’m just saying, it’s up to me to make my own career path. I can’t count on you—or anybody else—to do it for me. And that’s fine. It’s great. I believe in me.”
He put his finger under her chin and lifted it up and gazed into her eyes. “You’ve changed in the last week, you know that? You’re, I don’t know…tough, I guess, is the word. How did that happen?”
“Resilient,” she corrected. “Let’s go get some food. I could eat a horse.”
It was only seven, but the rest of the production crew was already sitting around the long polished mahogany table, passing an oversize basket of bread.
“Biscuits?” Gina swooped down and short-stopped the basket before it could reach Zeke. She folded back a checked cotton napkin and nabbed a biscuit, still warm from the oven.
She took the vacant seat next to Zeke’s, pulled the biscuit in half, and proceeded to slather it with butter and honey.
Scott looked on openmouthed. “You’re eating carbs? And butter? And honey? All in the same meal? In front of other people?”
“Hungry,” Gina said between bites. “Very hungry.”
“Uh, Gina,” Zeke said quietly. “Is Lisa up yet?”
“Not yet,” she said, turning toward him. “But don’t worry, I’ll run up and get her after I’ve had my eggs and bacon.”
“Good God,” Scott said, clutching his chest. “Who are you?”
“Lisa’s mad at me,” Zeke said, his eyes downcast.
“She’ll get over it,” Gina said, filling her glass with orange juice. “My baby sister has the attention span of a toddler. Trust me, she’s probably already forgotten what you were fussing about.”
“I told her she was drinking too much,” Zeke whispered. “And she was. She called me an old lady.”
“Don’t worry. She calls me that all the time. And worse.”
“Did she say anything about me last night?”
“She thinks you’re sweet,” Gina said, patting his hand reassuringly. “We both do.”
“Zeke!” Barry Adelman stood in the dining room doorway, dressed in a sky blue silk tropical print shirt and cream silk slacks. He had paper napkins tucked around the collar of the shirt, to keep his orange pancake makeup from ruining it. “The meter’s running, sport. Production meeting in five minutes.”
He looked at his crew members, at Gina and Scott and the others. “Big day, everybody,” he boomed. “Round two. Let’s go make some television!”
Chairs were pushed back and forks put down mid-bite. The crew members rushed for the door.
Scott took Zeke’s vacant seat next to Gina.
“Did you have some time to figure out a plan for today?” he asked.
“I was up all night,” she said simply. “It’s taken care of.”
“All right,” he said slowly. “What are your thoughts?”
“Oysters, if I can find them. Or flounder. If the tide’s right. Maybe both, if I get really lucky.”
He frowned. “Oysters? You can’t do oysters now. They’re poison or something. Nobody eats oysters in the summertime.”
“Au contraire,” she said. “I can, and I will, if I can find them.”
“What about the flounder?” he asked, deciding to let the oysters drop for the moment. “You didn’t have any luck fishing yesterday. What makes you think today will be any different?”
She smiled serenely. “I’ve got a whole different approach today.”
“Moody did pork yesterday. So he’ll for sure be doing fish today,” Scott said. “I think you should do some counter-tactics. Maybe chicken. Something homey like that. Everybody always loved that show you did with the fried chicken.”
“I’ve got it under control, Scott,” Gina said, standing up. “I gotta go get made up. See you on set.”
She hummed as D’John did her comb-out.
“Stop that,” he said. “You’ve never hummed before.”
She hummed another bar. The song was her own off-key version of “Brick House,” although she would readily admit it was nothing the Commodores would recognize.
“Shake it down, shake it down, shake it down now,” she sang.
Tate slid into the chair next to hers.
“Is that supposed to be ‘Brick House’? Because if it is, it’s the worst version I’ve ever heard. I was at a wedding reception in Pittsburgh once, and the polka band did a better version.”
Gina sang on.
In defense, D’John carpet-bombed her entire head with hairspray.
She quit singing.
She glanced around the makeup room to make sure that nobody else was listening.
“Are we all set?”
“Yes.”
“You checked? It’s still there?”
“As of half an hour ago.”
“All systems go?” she asked.
“Roger that.”
The makeup room door opened, and Zeke walked in, followed by an unhappy-looking Moonpie.
“D’John?” Zeke said, his voice tentative.
“What are you doing with that dog in here?” D’John demanded.
“Uh, Barry wants Moonpie in the shoot today.”
“What?” Tate asked. “Just in the stand-up part? That should be all right. He’s used to being on camera with me.”
“Uh, well, that, and uh, Barry wants you to take Moonpie out with you today. And afterward, he wants him in the kitchen with you.”
“Hell, no!” Tate exploded. “He’s a dog. He sees a mockingbird or a squirrel, and he thinks it’s time to go hunting. I love my dog, but I don’t have time to go chasing after him when we’re on a deadline like this. When we shoot my show, we always have somebody off set tending to him while we finish the shoot.”
“Aw, come on, Tate,” Gina said, laughing. “Moonpie wants to go. Don’t you, Moonpie?”
The setter put his front paws on Gina’s lap and thumped his tail happily.
“Absolutely not,” Tate said, crossing his arms.
“Afraid so,” Zeke said. “And uh, D’John?”
The makeup artist rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me…”
“Barry wants to know if there’s anything you can do to emphasize Moonpie’s eyes more. Like uh, eyeliner or something? Also, he wants you to trim the droopy stuff around his ears, and maybe fluff up his tail a little. He suggested a blow-dryer.”
Tate started to argue, but then thought better of it. He climbed down off the makeup chair and thumped its padded seat. “Here, boy,” he called. “Your turn.”
The day was hot, but overcast. Barry decreed it the perfect weather for an outdoor shoot.
He guided Tate and Gina toward the front door of the lodge, an arm over each of his would-be stars’ shoulders.
“All right, kids,” he said. “The crew’s out front, waiting for you. Here’s the plan:
“We’ve already shot an interview with the judges back in the ballroom. And P.S., before we started taping, I did mention to Beau and Deidre that you two are concerned about their impartiality. They both swear they have no biases against either of you.”
“Riiiight,” Tate said.
“I’m gonna give them the benefit of the doubt,” Barry said. “So. I’ll go outside and do my stand-up about how it’s the second round of the Food Fight, blasé, blasé, blasé. Zeke is going to stand inside the door with you two, and at his signal, I want you both to come bustin’ full-tilt boogie out this door. Then, I want you to run to your golf carts, get behind the wheels, and glare at each other. Got it?”
“Glaring,” Tate said. “Check.”
“Full-tilt boogie,” Gina answered. “Got it.”
“Knock ’em dead,” Barry said, slapping their backs.
Zeke took his station beside the front door, with the freshly groomed Moonpie’s leash wrapped loosely around his wrist. The dog sat patiently waiting for his cue. Zeke glanced at the yellow sticky note posted on his left forearm, and then at the watch on his right wrist. He wore a headset and a worried expression.
“Lisa still hasn’t come downstairs,” he told Gina. “Do you think she’s all right?”
“She was in the shower a few minutes ago,” Gina told him. “Aren’t you supposed to be giving us a signal to go out?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.”
He spoke into his microphone. “Barry? Are we ready?”
He nodded.
“Two more minutes,” he told Gina. “On the signal, I’ll hold the door open, and you guys go charging out. Barry wants to do it all in one long shot, so try not to mess up.
“Should I go up and check on Lisa?” he asked. “Or is that too old-lady-like?”
“Concentrate on this shot,” Gina suggested. “Lisa’s not really a morning person.”
They could hear Barry’s voice through the door. “And now, let’s get our chefs out here and ready to rumble,” he said loudly.