Comfort Food (17 page)

Gus and Carmen stood side by side at the main island, doing last-minute touch-ups of their lipstick. Porter dashed over quickly with a folded piece of paper and extended it toward Gus.

“Full service,” Carmen said, grabbing it out of his hand and blotting her lips. “Thank you very much, Porter, I’ll be sure to tell Alan.”

The countdown began and they stowed their items in a hidden shelf in the island. And with the red light, they were live.

“Hi, everyone,” said Gus. “I’m so glad you could join us today for another live episode of
Eat Drink and Be
. Our goal is to show you how to celebrate life with food and drink. I’m here with my cohost, Carmen Vega, and our wonderful group of friends and family, and today we’re going to make a wonderful,easy menu with some Spanish influences.” She made a sweeping gesturewith her arm. “In honor of Carmen, of course.”

“Why, thank you, Gus,” Carmen said, moving ever so slightly closer to Gus so that her hair, piled loosely on top of her head, blocked a bit of Gus from the camera. Gus moved several inches to her right, away from Carmen, and then walked toward the camera as she spoke.

“So let me fix you a little something,” she said, reaching down to a shelf within the island. “We have a beautiful halibut, very fresh, that we’ve already unwrapped and had Oliver start some prep work.”

Gus pulled up a platter that was a mass of long tentacles. She continuedsmiling while she sought out the red light, confirming the cameras were still on.

“Well, my goodness,” Gus said. She looked serenely into the camera. “Imagine assuming you’ve bought a pound of fish and you come home to open the brown paper and you find it’s octopus!” She laughed as though unconcerned. “It’s happened to us all from time to time, I’m sure.”

Turning to Carmen, she said calmly, “Do you have any thoughts on how we should cook our octopus today, Carmen?”

“Well, thanks for asking, Gus,” said Carmen. “How about we make a warm octopus salad? In Spanish cuisine, our goal is to elevate the flavors of the seafoodand to be able to taste each part of a dish. Bring out the flavors simply.”

“Fantastic,” Gus said, sensing Sabrina turning toward them.

“I’m not touching that,” said Sabrina.

“I’ve always wanted to eat octopus,” said Troy.

“Let’s hope we have all the ingredients we need,” said Gus, who could see Porter motioning to her that it was time to cut to break. Thank God, she thought.

“We’re going to do a quick look in the fridge to find a few things and then we’ll be right back to make Carmen’s salad,” Gus said, still speaking to the camera. “It’s going to be an exciting hour.”

And they were out.

Porter took a huge gulp of air and let it out slowly. “You did great, Gus,” he called out.

“This isn’t
Iron Chef
,” she replied. “I don’t appreciate being surprised with ingredients.”

“It’s no big deal,” said Carmen.

“Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you weren’t the least bit surprised by the appearance of Mr. Octopus,” said Gus. Without turning around, she addressed Oliver, who was behind her at the Aga. “And I imagine you prepped this?”

“Just a slap of water,” said Oliver. “It was delivered right before the show.”

Gus did not reply, tapping her teeth together as she considered various forms of murder.

“Well, we’re back in two minutes, folks,” Porter said. “And remember, I want to make sure we get in several mentions of the contest: one lucky viewer is going to become a participant on
Eat Drink and Be
. Talk about how exciting that’ll be.”

“Oh, that’s a treat,” yelled Sabrina. “Maybe we can invite her ex-boyfriendon the show, too.”

“Just suck it up and quit whining,” snapped Aimee. “Why do you always have to be such a baby?”

Porter waited a second, assuming Gus would jump in and referee. She said nothing.

He came close. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low. “I tried to pass a note.”

Her face was grim. “Don’t you know by now that I’m always okay, Porter?” she said darkly. “I’ve had far worse surprises in my life than a platter of seafood.”

They moved to a corner of the room, as far away from the crew as possible.

“You’re doing great,” he said, his producer’s mantra of keeping the talent calm running through his head. “Did you do something new to your hair?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she said. “What’s the story?”

“Carmen brought the octopus in and said Alan wanted it to be a surprise.”

“This is ludicrous,” she said. “Does that seem like Alan to you?”

“I dunno.” Porter sighed. “He’s been riding everyone hard over ratings. I think he’s a bit desperate.”

“Why wouldn’t he have called you himself?”

“I missed a call from him this afternoon and he wasn’t there when I dialed back,” said Porter. “But everyone knows he and Carmen are together. It’s the worst-kept secret at the CookingChannel.”

“Well, we’ve never worked like this before!”

“And we’ve never been a live series before, either,” he said. “All the rules are changing.”

Checking his watch, he tapped her on the hand and led her back to the center island. “It’s time.”

With a flourish, Gus stretched out her arms and spoke to the cast and crew: “Fake it like you’re having fun, and for God’s sake, smile!”

Over the course of the next hour on air, Oliver boiled the octopus and then Carmen showed how to clean it. It was a laborious procedure and involved a lot of skilled knife work and the removal of the eye.

“Oh my God, that’s disgusting,” cried Sabrina, watching over Carmen’s shoulder and then covering and uncovering her eyes with her hands. “It looks like something out of
Finding Nemo
!”

Even Aimee, ever the stoic, seemed a bit horrified.

“What sort of a cooking show is this when we’re all afraid to touch the food?” she whispered to Troy, not completely aware that the microphone picked up every word. “You know, I only like protein that comes wrapped in cellophane, all cut up into anonymous rectangles. I never thought we’d be butchering animals.”

“Why do I get stuck with the beans?” muttered Troy. “Let me take a cleaver to that thing. I could stand to work out some frustrations.”

Meanwhile, Gus strolled blithely from station to station, describing what each person was doing and talking directly to the viewer as if to an old friend. She also, by not doing any of the chopping, boiling, slicing, or dicing on her own, managed to convey the impression that she was running the show and that everyone else, Carmen included, was there to assist
her
.

Sampling the food turned into a bit of a struggle, with Aimee and Sabrina pointedly sipping sangria while refusing to try a bit of the octopus.Troy, on the other hand, scooped up a forkful and put it in his mouth enthusiastically.

“It’s chewy,” he began, then swallowed quickly as Carmen glared. “Chewtastic,” he clarified.

Gus smiled at him fondly.

“You know, tonight’s menu was a wee bit complicated—not your standard weeknight dinner,” she said to the camera as Porter gave the signal to wrap things up. “But that’s okay. Sometimes it’s fun to try something new, when you have a leisurely Sunday like we had. Next time, though, we’re going to take things a little easier and do some brunch favorites. Who doesn’t love a Sunday brunch? So see you next time, and until then, remember to
Eat Drink and Be
. Right, Carmen?”

And Carmen, tired and more than a little glowing with perspiration, gave a wan smile for the camera. The show was over, for one week at least. Gus hadn’t tasted one thing.

“I don’t recall being consulted about the next menu,” Carmen said, dabbingat her forehead, as the crew began to pack up cords and wires.

“You weren’t,” said Gus drily.

13

The question of Who Washed the dishes and scoured the pots after any of Gus’s cooking shows had never previously been considered by Sabrina, nor by Aimee. Surely there was some sort of crew member whose job it was to take care of such things? And the moments after their first time on television,for the basketball show, were such a heady mix of relief and elation that they’d scarcely paid attention to the clean-up process.

“Since you’re all sitting around endlessly dissecting the pros and cons of tonight’s show,” Gus said now, “I expect you to make yourself useful. After all, this is my home.”

“I don’t think that was part of the deal,” said Sabrina.

“Oh? Have you read the fine print?”

Sabrina paused, uncertain whether she had signed on to get dishpan hands or not. There had been some paperwork but nothing she had actually bothered to read.

“But it isn’t fair. Carmen’s already left, and so has Hannah,” she pointed out.

“I doubt that there’s a ‘Carmen’s gone so I can’t uphold my responsibilities’ clause,” replied Gus. “I’m sure Oliver will be happy to direct all of you.”

And with that, Gus headed out of the kitchen, ready to leave Oliver, Aimee, Troy, and Sabrina mucking about in the kitchen. Her goal was to go up to her room and take a long, hot bath, the kind where the water is so steamy that every part of the body tingles upon stepping in. But first she wanted a few private words with her producer.

“Let’s have a brandy in the Henry Higgins,” Gus said to Porter, as she led the way to her wood-paneled study. It was an intimidating room and very masculine; the kind of place she imagined Christopher would have enjoyed, a place to work late after family dinners or to have serious heart-to-hearts when one of the girls was dating a bad boy. Not that he’d ever had that opportunity.

The walls of the room were lined with books of all shapes and sizes. On one shelf were copies of her own cookbooks, and it was directly in front of them that she sat herself down in a creased but cushiony leather chair.

Porter’s job for the last twelve years had been to make Gus Simpson look good. Always. And tonight, with the surprise of the octopus, she had been placed in a most uncomfortable position.

“Alan returned my message.” Porter spoke before Gus said anything. “He left a message saying he thought tonight was very intriguing and he’ll have more to say when the numbers come in.”

“And it’s all about the ratings.”

“Of course it’s all about the ratings—that’s what created your empire, my dear,” Porter said, taking a seat in a leather chair opposite her. She recalled Hannah’s encouragement to tap into her frustrations. How many times had she bent herself into a pretzel trying to get everything done? How often had she come through for Alan, for the CookingChannel? Get angry! she heard the Hannah in her head say. Be upset!

“What’s going on, old friend?” Gus said softly. “If Alan wants me off the air, he could just fire me.
Adios
. A professional divorce.”

“Gus, believe me when I tell you I’m confused myself,” Porter said, leaningforward. “If you go, I’ll go with you. But we’re not out yet.”

“That was just so out of control,” Gus said, covering her face with her hands. “What if I’d had a meltdown? On-air hysterics?”

“He gambled you wouldn’t walk off the air.”

“No, I’d never do something like that.” She couldn’t shake the looming worry that welled up inside her, at once familiar and yet still surprising. “It all just makes me wonder who to trust.”

Too often, she realized with frustration, you never know what someone is going to do until they do it. At fifty, she was still learning.

“Actually, as much as I hate to say so, it was damn fun television,” said Porter. “Your energy was great.”

Gus leaned her head back into the chair, closed her eyes. “God only gives us what we can handle, right?”

“Exactly,” said Porter.

Her brown eyes flashed open. “That’s what someone said to me at Christopher’s funeral,” she said crisply. " ’God only gives us what we can handle.’ It’s a shitty line that people tell you so you don’t fall apart and make things messy. For
them
.”

Porter shook his head. “You’re a tough cookie, good on your feet. Some people fall apart in a crisis.”

She regarded him curiously.

“Oh, Porter, not you.” Gus sighed. “I never thought you’d try to pass off a lame pep talk as compassion.”

She got out of the chair.

“Don’t think that because I’ve weathered many storms it’s easy for me to sail on through,” she said. “We all have our breaking point.”

“No one is going to break you, Gus,” said Porter. “I’ll make sure there are no more surprise stunts. But at the end of the day, we all have to answer to Alan.

“It’s a tough game in TV these days,” he continued. “We’ve got to play it smart. I’ve got Ellie to think about.”

Gus understood. Family first. For all their tough talk, neither of them wanted to be out of a job. Hadn’t she always done everything she could to keep Sabrina and Aimee’s world together?

“We’ll be okay,” he said.

“Of course.” She nodded, her natural reaction to put someone at ease, before she was barely aware of it. But inside she was frightened.

“You know we can take care of the dishes, right?” Porter asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Of course,” she said, motioning in the direction of the kitchen. “But
they
don’t.”

The messy spatulas, forks, spoons, and knives were piled by the sink; the pots had yet to be collected together. Aimee stood at the center island, lookingwoefully at the congealing octopus salad, holding her shortish brown hair in her hands.

Oliver came up behind her. “Hey, that’s how I went bald,” he said, pokingher hands quickly.

“Do we save the leftovers or what?”

“You could give it to the cats,” said Oliver, winking.

“They’re vegan,” replied Aimee. But she smiled back. “At the very least we can finish off this sangria.”

Oliver poured out four glassfuls from a pitcher, taking care to place pieces of sliced orange and lemon in each one.