her in the makeup room this morning. She obviously knew who I was, that I was the competition. When I asked her what she did, she just said she had some little sorry-ass regional show.”
“She’s right. It is sorry-ass,” Val said. “Did you see that set? It’s held together with duct tape and chewing gum.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Tate said glumly. He pointed to his plate. “This is what matters. We’re screwed.”
Val kept chewing. The pile of discarded shrimp tails grew on her pilfered plate. She picked up one of the thin slices of lemon that was tossed in with the peppery pink shrimp, and sucked on it.
“So we don’t do shrimp for today’s show,” she said finally. “What’s plan B?”
“You tell me,” Tate said, using his fingertips to dip into the apple slaw. “I can’t fry shellcrackers for these guys. Not after they’ve seen that and tasted that incredible flounder of hers.”
He licked his lips, and then his fingertips, then scooped up another mouthful of the slaw.
“Damn,” he said, when he’d finished chewing. “Sour cream instead of mayonnaise for the slaw dressing. With apple cider vinegar. And slivers of fresh mint. Damn.”
“Too precious,” Val said dismissively. “Can you imagine what your fans would say if you suggested they use something besides good old cabbage for cole slaw?”
Finishing up the last of the shrimp, Valerie moved on to the pound cake with her usual efficiency.
Tate reached over and pinched off a corner of the cake, tossing it into his mouth, savoring the immediate lemon rush.
“Amazing,” he said finally. “My granny made lemon pound cake, and I thought hers was the best I’d ever tasted. Until just now.”
“So go back to Possum Trot and smack your granny,” Val said.
“She’s dead,” Tate said.
“Whatever.”
“And I’m from Pahokee, not Possum Trot.”
“Tell me something new,” Val said, yawning. “Like what we’re going to do about today’s show.”
“Not fish, that’s for damned sure.”
“Fish is exactly what you are going to do,” Val said. “It’s too late to change the show now. We don’t have time to shop and rewrite, and anyway, the crew’s been working on prepping everything all morning. Not to mention the fact that I don’t intend to waste that gorgeous footage we shot of you yesterday.”
Tate shook his head. “We’ll look like rubes next to that show Regina just shot.”
“Not at all,” Valerie insisted. She leaned closer to Tate and took his hands in hers. “Look at me,” she said, squeezing tightly.
“I am. You’ve got a little green thing on your tooth. I think it’s maybe a piece of mint.”
“Funny,” she said, running her tongue across her teeth.
“It’s gone now,” he said.
“Seriously,” she said. “I want you to look at me and listen closely. No more funny business. Do you remember what you told me the night we met in that bar down in Costa Rica?”
“That I would have won the fishing tournament if the damned airline hadn’t lost my tackle box with all my good-luck rigs,” Tate said promptly. “And that wasn’t a lie. You can’t win a billfish tournament using borrowed equipment, I don’t care how good you are.”
“What else did you tell me?”
He thought about it. “That you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, and my roommate was passed out drunk back at the dock, and that you’d never made love until you’d done it in a hammock?”
“Speaking of semi-true,” she said dryly. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about what you said you wanted out of life.”
“Oh. That.”
She dropped his hands and pushed her chair away. “You remember?”
“I’d been hittin’ the cerveza pretty heavy. I remember that part.And I remember you turning down my offer of the hammock.”
“You’re starting to piss me off,” she warned, looking at her watch. “And we don’t have a lot of time to waste right now.”
“Okay,” he
“She’s right. It is sorry-ass,” Val said. “Did you see that set? It’s held together with duct tape and chewing gum.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Tate said glumly. He pointed to his plate. “This is what matters. We’re screwed.”
Val kept chewing. The pile of discarded shrimp tails grew on her pilfered plate. She picked up one of the thin slices of lemon that was tossed in with the peppery pink shrimp, and sucked on it.
“So we don’t do shrimp for today’s show,” she said finally. “What’s plan B?”
“You tell me,” Tate said, using his fingertips to dip into the apple slaw. “I can’t fry shellcrackers for these guys. Not after they’ve seen that and tasted that incredible flounder of hers.”
He licked his lips, and then his fingertips, then scooped up another mouthful of the slaw.
“Damn,” he said, when he’d finished chewing. “Sour cream instead of mayonnaise for the slaw dressing. With apple cider vinegar. And slivers of fresh mint. Damn.”
“Too precious,” Val said dismissively. “Can you imagine what your fans would say if you suggested they use something besides good old cabbage for cole slaw?”
Finishing up the last of the shrimp, Valerie moved on to the pound cake with her usual efficiency.
Tate reached over and pinched off a corner of the cake, tossing it into his mouth, savoring the immediate lemon rush.
“Amazing,” he said finally. “My granny made lemon pound cake, and I thought hers was the best I’d ever tasted. Until just now.”
“So go back to Possum Trot and smack your granny,” Val said.
“She’s dead,” Tate said.
“Whatever.”
“And I’m from Pahokee, not Possum Trot.”
“Tell me something new,” Val said, yawning. “Like what we’re going to do about today’s show.”
“Not fish, that’s for damned sure.”
“Fish is exactly what you are going to do,” Val said. “It’s too late to change the show now. We don’t have time to shop and rewrite, and anyway, the crew’s been working on prepping everything all morning. Not to mention the fact that I don’t intend to waste that gorgeous footage we shot of you yesterday.”
Tate shook his head. “We’ll look like rubes next to that show Regina just shot.”
“Not at all,” Valerie insisted. She leaned closer to Tate and took his hands in hers. “Look at me,” she said, squeezing tightly.
“I am. You’ve got a little green thing on your tooth. I think it’s maybe a piece of mint.”
“Funny,” she said, running her tongue across her teeth.
“It’s gone now,” he said.
“Seriously,” she said. “I want you to look at me and listen closely. No more funny business. Do you remember what you told me the night we met in that bar down in Costa Rica?”
“That I would have won the fishing tournament if the damned airline hadn’t lost my tackle box with all my good-luck rigs,” Tate said promptly. “And that wasn’t a lie. You can’t win a billfish tournament using borrowed equipment, I don’t care how good you are.”
“What else did you tell me?”
He thought about it. “That you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, and my roommate was passed out drunk back at the dock, and that you’d never made love until you’d done it in a hammock?”
“Speaking of semi-true,” she said dryly. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about what you said you wanted out of life.”
“Oh. That.”
She dropped his hands and pushed her chair away. “You remember?”
“I’d been hittin’ the cerveza pretty heavy. I remember that part.And I remember you turning down my offer of the hammock.”
“You’re starting to piss me off,” she warned, looking at her watch. “And we don’t have a lot of time to waste right now.”
“Okay,” he
Similar Books
