"There’s just one last thing I hoped to discuss. When Patty asked me—only moments before going live—if she could haveher famous father on the show, you came to mind. Since you’ve had your father on prior segments, I agreed.
“Still, it could give her an unfair advantage with the test audience if you don't do a similar thing. To even the playing field, I hoped you’d consider having your dad come on the show again. And maybe that sweet bulldog of his if he’s available.”
My pulse spikes. I feel like my heart just landed flat on a cutting board, and the chef is chopping toward it at high speed. “Umm…” I start to say, but then a familiar voice pipes up from the kitchen area.
"You haven't told her?"
My eyes double in size as I see Patty sampling the sauce I made for today's feature.
"I'm sorry," Marsha says. "What was that?"
Patty skips toward me with the spoon in her hand, today's polka dots, pink and brown. She stops in front of the laptop, her body taking up most of the frame while her head’s cut off. Headless is not a bad look on her.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I’m helping Ginger set up for her segment. Tragically, her dad’s a convicted felon, and her mom's a boozehound, so she can't have either one of her parents on the show.”
Patty shoots me a sympathetic look, then skips back to the kitchen.
Now, my heart is directly beneath the blade, taking one violent cut after the next as I stare, speechless, at Marsha Langston.
Her nostrils flare as her jaw clenches. "I'm sorry to hear that," she says at last.
I gulp, knowing I’m turning red now. Not just my face, but my neck, hands, and arms. It’s my body’s go-to reaction when something upsetting occurs.
"That’s notexactlytrue," I defend, "but I wouldn’t be able to have either of them join me—that part’s right." And since I worry this will hurt my ranking, I add, "But Mr. Bruce said he would join me with his cat, Jinxy. Will that work?" I feel tears brimming behind my eyes.Please say yes so I can get off this call before I break down.
Marsha observes my reaction with an expression I can't quite read. "That will do just fine,” she says at last. “Good luck, Ginger. I look forward to the show."
CHAPTER 9
Ican't get out of the studio fast enough. My skin is one massive rash, all aching itch and prickly heat. My insides are the same—a temperature so close to boiling I’m blind. I see colors, shapes, and dimensions, but none of it looks real. I’m in a video game, and my one objective is to make the quickest escape.
I recognize the brown and pink dress in the kitchen and see my ticket out.
“I need you to do the segment for me,” I blurt.
A stunned pause of silence swells in the space between us.
“You aren’t feeling well?” The sympathy in her voice is far from convincing.
I know she’s the dragon that set me aflame, but she’s also my only way out. There’s no way I can look at that lens and put on a fake face for the viewers at home.
“No, I’m not. Tell Mr. Bruce I had an emergency. I’ll check in with him later.”
I spin on one heel and make for the exit no one uses—a cold, sparsely lit corridor that leads to the parking garage.
I barely make it out of the building as the tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I rush to my car, climb into the driver’sseat, and let the trapped flood of emotion break free the moment I close the door.
After a good, hard cry, I rally.Get it together so you can drive,I tell myself.You’ve got this.The last part plays out in Jude’s deep voice, nearly triggering a new round of tears because he hasn’t responded to my apology. I told myself I’d be offended with a measly thumbs up on the text, but I’d rather have that than nothing.
I skip the freeway and take the long way home, allowing myself to relive what happened. Just the other day, I was hypothetically asking who would go around searching someone's personal information. Turns out, the answer is Patty.
For her to reduce my parents’ identity in such a way—in front of Marsha Langston, no less—was unbearably cruel. Yes, my dad’s a convicted felon, but he’s so many other things. And while my mom battled with alcohol to the point she missed out on my adolescence, she got clean, sober, and saved two-and-a-half years ago. She now runs a women's rehab center in Cleveland, and I’m proud of her for that.
Still, I’m not sure I can rally in time to give Marsha the winning audition she’s looking for. As it is, I can’t do anything until I get my hands on the new key ingredient, and who knows if the average grocer even carries it. I may have to order some online.
My phone starts to buzz, and I notice that Patty’s about to go live for my segment. I’m sure Mr. Bruce and Nellie want to know what happened to me, but I don’t have the slightest desire to get into it. This isn’t one of those offenses you run and tell your besties about for validation. It’s one you push down and bury because it’s too painful and shameful to speak aloud.
So I won’t be tempted to turn on the TV and watch Patty taking my place, I create an even longer route home. I pass a total of six markets—including Organic Goods, owned by Lisa,but can’t get myself to stop at even one. Why waste good pistachio cream by making yet another disaster in my ruined state?
