Picking up my mobile, I give her a quick tour, pointing out the duct tape, the ‘ample’ counter space, and the mysteriously missing burner before making my way to the bathroom to show her where I stand like a cowboy after thirty solid days on his horse to put on my makeup. The entire tour takes all of two minutes, and by the end we’re both laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“You should take the sauce out of the fridge now. I bet it's ready,” Priya says.
“Good point. I should focus. I am, after all, trying to make the world's greatest hollandaise sauce and most beautifully arranged fruit plate to prove a certain snooty gentleman wrong.”
“You sure you’re not maybe just a teensy bit attracted to him?”
“No! Eww! Of course not. He’s totally obnoxious.”
“It’s just that you talked about him non-stop for like ten minutes when you first called and usually that’s a bit of a sign that you’re into a guy.”
“Can’t I just bitch about some obnoxious jerk because he’s an obnoxious jerk?”
“Hmmm…I’m not convinced that you can.” Priya shakes her head and gives me a mock-serious look.
“Just help me think of the perfect fruit art display so I can prove him wrong.”
“That’s worth getting up for,” she says, throwing off her covers and walking to her desk. After a moment, I can see her booting up her laptop.
“Mango rose flower?”
“I could,” I say, tilting my head from side to side. “Or I could just poison his food and be done with it…”
Priya laughs for a minute and then her face suddenly grows serious when she realizes I'm not laughing with her. “You wouldn't really, would you?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “Where would I even find some hemlock that can mimic a heart attack and leave no trace? It doesn't grow here.”
“Did you look that up or something?” Priya asks, her eyes growing wide.
Shaking my head, I grin at her. “No, I saw it on a Hallmark cozy mystery.”
We chat for another ten minutes while I carve a mango into what turns out to be a pretty impressive-looking rose. I slice a star fruit and carefully arrange it around the rose then add some fresh berries, positioning them just so. Covering the top with Saran to hold everything in place and keep it fresh, I place the fruit tray in the cooler, then get on with finishing preparations on the lobster Benedict.
“Here's a tutorial on how to make an avocado rose,” Priya says, positioning her camera so I can see the picture of a swirl of avocado.
“Kind of looks like baby poop.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Priya says. “Hey, does he write sci-fi? Because if so, you should totally make these Darth Vader pancakes,”
“I doubt he writes sci-fi. He probably writes some supremely dull, highbrow fiction that nobody reads,” I say, carefully positioning the lobster meat on the toasted English muffin.
“I’m looking him up. What’s his name?”
“Pierce Davenport.”
“What?!” she shrieks. “As inPeoplemagazine’s hottest writer of all time, Pierce Davenport?”
Shrugging, I say, “Maybe. I haven’t Googled him or anything.”
She turns her laptop screen to face the camera. “Isthishim?”
Squinting for a second, I nod. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Oh my GOD!!! You’re cooking for Pierce Freaking Davenport! He’s a total genius! You’ve never heard ofClash of Crowns?”
“Wait.He’stheClash of Crownsguy? He isnotwhat I was expecting,” I answer, totally shocked.
“What did you think he’d look like?”
