It was Rudy Gallagher who did the clearing.
He and Gretch were in the conference room with the old man himself, the company’s CEO Commander Vernon Di Voss. None of them seemed too happy to see me. I didn’t think it was because my costume reminded them of Herb Jeffries. Gretch was scowling. The commander, in obvious discomfort, studied an unlighted cigar as intently as if it contained tomorrow’s overnights.
Rudy looked like he was about to start foaming at the mouth.
“Who the hell told you to stick your nose in this company’s business?” he roared.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re gonna deny you put her up to it?”
“Put who up to what?” I asked.
“I’d worked out a reasonable deal with Fred and Hildy,” Gretchen said. “And then you had to put your oar in the water.”
Fred and Hildy. Gin’s agent and manager. My nose. My oar. I was starting to get the drift of things. “This is about the conversation I had with Gin last night at the Bistro?”
“Conversation?” Rudy yelled. “I’d call it a goddamned battle plan.”
“That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it, Rudy? All I did was listen to what she had to say and nod from time to time.”
“That was some fu—” Rudy glanced at the old man and self-censored. “Some bloody expensive nodding.”
“The little lady hardballed us but good,” the commander said, shifting his attention from the cigar to me.
“How hard?” I asked.
There was a sudden silence. Gretch broke it. “It’s no longer a secret. Fifteen million a year for the next three years.”
I blinked at her in disbelief. “Fifteen million dollars? Nobody’s worth that kind of loot, unless they’re wearing a sports jersey and testing negative.”
“You’re beautiful, Blessing,” Rudy said. “First you instruct that little bi—witch to hold us up, then you have the gall to criticize Gretchen for making the deal.”
“I didn’t tell Gin to hold you up. And I’m not criticizing anybody, except maybe you for calling your very valuable superstar a bi—witch.”
“It’s not just the fifteen mil,” Rudy continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s what this does to the budget of a show I’m exec-producing. Everybody thinks the contract bar has been raised. They must’ve speed-dialed their agents as soon as the word spread. I’ve been fielding calls for the last hour, explaining that nobody else is getting a bump.
“But I do know how we’re gonna save a few bucks. You’re through here, Blessing. Pack up your pots and pans and get the hell out.”
“Hold on there, Rudy,” the commander said. “Let’s just cool down a little and let Billy explain himself.”
I gave them a quick rundown of my chat with Gin. “If I’d mentioned the words ‘fifteen million dollars,’ they would have stuck in my throat, Commander, especially considering what I’m being paid.”
The old man gave me his paternal grin. “Well, I’m not sure your participation in this matter merits a raise, but neither do I think it merits a dismissal.”
He turned to his daughter. “Gretchen, my sweet, I hope you’ve alerted Heck Cochran about the new contract.” Hector Cochran was the VP in charge of promotion and public relations. “I want Gin on every talk show in the free world, even Howard Stern’s, and I expect to see her charming freckled mug smiling back at me from magazine racks everywhere. In other words, I will be quite vexed if we do not get a dollar-per-dollar value back in publicity.”
It was his exit speech, but before he and Gretchen could make it to the door, Rudy said, “Just a second, Commander. That’s it? Blessing cost this company millions and we just blow it off?”
“Weren’t you listening, Rudy?” the old man said. “Billy just told us that he did not advise Gin to ask for more money.”
“You believe that?”
“You’re a relative newcomer to our operation, my boy,” the commander told him. “Billy’s been with us long enough he’s like one of the family. Shouldn’t one trust members of one’s family?”
As soon as the commander and his daughter had exited the conference room, Rudy spun around facing me and said through clenched teeth, “Well, you’re not part of my fuckin’ family, Blessing. I’m disowning your ass. You can forget about the Food School pilot.”
“It’s your show, but Lily and I have worked out some of the kinks and—”
“I also plan to take a long, hard look at Blessing’s in the Kitchen,” he said, interrupting me. “There are definitely some changes to be made there. Maybe we should get one of the hot new chefs to share the kitchen, one of the shaved-head muscle boys who do tae kwon do while filleting a sole. Bring in a younger demo.”
He gave me a zero-mirth grin. “The old man won’t let me can your ass, but there are lots of ways to cook a goose, right, chef?”
“That’s true, Rudy,” I said. “But unless you know what you’re doing, you just might get burned.” A careless comment that would come back to haunt me.