Dining with Joy (6 page)

Joy clutched her fists to her chest. “Thank you, Miss Jeanne.”
God is good. God is love
. The declarations refreshed her dry soul.

“Here we go, Jeanne.” Mama emerged from the house, but Joy kept her eyes closed. It was peaceful sitting in “the dark,” holding her two gold coins.

“My, my, my, Rosie. A lightning bolt?”

Joy smiled.
God is good. God is love
.

Water Festival Food Fair

Meet the star of
Cook-Off!
, Wenda Divine, at Waterfront Park
Saturday, July 10 at 3:00 p.m.
Water Festival Cook-Off starts at 4:00 p.m.
against the Frogmore Café's Luke Redmond
Hosted by Joy Ballard, star of
Dining with Joy
See you there

Around three thirty on a balmy Saturday afternoon with sea foam clouds drifting across a lazy sky, Luke inspected his Waterfront Park kitchen station. Unrolling his knives, he lined them up by the stove. He liked the feel of the kitchen—the rustic colors and stainless steel—the atmosphere of a competition.

He checked the burners. Tested the oven. Losing to Wenda if she outcooked him would be one thing. Losing because of a malfunction would be humiliating.

The kitchen's drawers glided open and contained all the necessary utensils. Helen's staff had done their job.

Stationed between Luke and Wenda's stage, a digital clock the size of a refrigerator counted down the minutes to the cook-off.

Luke's adrenaline injected energy into his enthusiasm as he watched the seconds tick away. Last night he'd sat down with a pad of paper in the loft apartment he rented from Miss Jeanne and brainstormed recipe options for various surprise secret ingredients. He figured he could handle just about anything but onions and octopus.

People were beginning to gather, choosing seats from the rows in front of the stage. Luke glimpsed Wenda's golden head moving through the crowd. At one point, she tossed her hair with a laugh and disturbed the gentle breeze.

“Luke Redmond, my competitor.” Wenda greeted Luke with a phony tone and pretend applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, make him feel welcome at
Cook-Off !
” She kissed the air around his cheeks. “Are you ready, Luke? My crew is eager to film a great show.”

“Then I must tell you, I plan to win.” He'd spent the last few weeks researching Wenda during his short breaks from the café's kitchen. A classic competitor, Wenda hated to lose. But as far as he could tell, she was a sincere, true-blue foodie trained in New York and France. The woman was no Cat Cora, but she had mojo. Besides wanting to win, she had an affinity for exercise and plastic surgery.

“Luke, darlin'.” Wenda patted his cheek. “I always win.”

“There's always a first time.” He was feeling a bit of his own mojo this morning.

“I'm sorry about your place in Manhattan. I heard the food was lovely.”

“The restaurant business isn't for cowards.”

“Neither is the food entertainment business.” Wenda stepped into him, her arms still crossed, batting thick, black eyelashes. “My network, the All Food Network, likes to see me in fun, lively competitions.”

“I can do fun and lively.” Luke understood she was leading him, but where? If he was going to be roped and tied, he'd like to see it coming.

“Certainly, but every once in a while I like an all-out foodie war, you know? A little smashmouth cooking.” Her tone lowered as a dark glint shadowed her gaze.

“For all the bragging rights?” If she wanted a battle, Luke could step up to the line. He'd welcome the chance to win back some selfrespect he'd lost when he closed Ami's. Earn the right to keep the title
Food & Wine
declared over him when he started out: “The chef to watch.”

“If it were only bragging rights, I'd not make this request. This is about a personal best, hon. The impossible.” The wind lifted the ends of Wenda's stiff blonde hair as she strained to communicate her message to Luke. “I didn't come here to rumble with you, Luke.”

Luke stepped back, the light dawning. “You want to battle Joy Ballard.”

“So bad I could roll it in batter and deep-fry it. She's
the
trailblazing show host, Luke. Her show is fun, entertaining, and witty. She presents great food. And she's the only host I haven't competed against.”

“She says it's not her thing. Doesn't fit her brand.”

“Is she still saying that old line?” Wenda tossed her hair when she laughed. “We've joked about it for so long she's actually started to believe it. She knows it's coming sooner or later. What do you say?”

“What do I say?” Luke's adrenaline shifted energy from enthusiasm to caution. “Nothing. This isn't my competition to call, Wenda.”

“I've cleared things with Helen, and she's game to let Joy substitute for you. My producers and crew will go nuts. And I'm sure
Dining with Joy
's crew will have cameras rolling. But I won't leave you out, Luke. I'll work out some benefit, maybe a promotion for the Frogmore Café. What do you say?”

“Don't do it, Wenda. Joy doesn't want to be on this stage. I promise you.”

“Oh, but I think she does.” Wenda turned to go. “Just yield the stage, Luke. I'll make sure it's worth your while.”

Watching Wenda go, he pondered her plan. If she manipulated Helen into letting Joy compete after all her protesting at the Frogmore that night a few weeks ago, then who was he to stand in the way? Maybe Wenda was right.

Who was he to fight for his right to compete? He was trying to gain
back
his good name, not destroy it.

Six

At five till four Joy nestled in the cab of a Carolina Carriage. Helen would come looking for her soon, but Joy was determined to stay out of sight until absolutely necessary.

Alfred agreed to let her sit in his ride until a paying customer came along. A few minutes later his bristled face peered down at her.

“The big clock is ticking.”

“I can hear it from here.” She pushed out of the carriage, stepping down hard on the pavement. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“One of these days, you ought to actually hire a ride.”

“Yeah, one of these days.” Joy pressed a twenty in his hand.

“Where have you been?” Helen scurried down the center aisle toward her. “We had show prep to do. You missed it.” She jabbed Joy with her elbow.

“Just hand me the mike.” Joy reached for the handheld and took to center stage. She'd done four weeks and twenty cities of hosting and emceeing. She could probably do this in her sleep by now.

“Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to the Water Festival's Food Fair and Cook-Off!”

A small applause swelled from the crowd.

“Come on, y'all, you can do better than that!” The applause was strengthened with cheers and whistles. “That's more like it. This is going to be on national television, and we need the viewers to hear and see our lowcountry pride.” Joy walked the stage, pointing to the empty seats in the front row. “We have room up here. If I didn't know better, I'd say y'all were acting like this is Sunday morning church.”

Waiting for a family to make their way up front, Joy jerked around at a movement just beyond her peripheral vision. She exhaled relief. It was Allison, dressed in khaki shorts and a white T-shirt, scooting across the stage with cameraman Garth and sound tech Reba in tow.

Since their Tuesday morning meeting in June, Allison had been in transition. This was her first week in Beaufort, and she was ready to go to work.

“Are you ready for a cook-off?” Joy's voice swept through the air and rousted the crowd to their feet with applause. “Let's meet our contestants.”

Joy motioned to the kitchen station on her left. “Please welcome the lovely and talented Wenda Divine, star of the All Food Network's
Cook-Off!
”

Instead of greeting the crowd with her signature bow, Wenda exited her kitchen station, striding toward Joy with one of her cameramen tight behind her.

“Y'all want to see a real duke-'em-out competition?” Wenda bent toward the crowd and punched the air with her fist. “Then let's hear it for Joy Ballard, my
real
competitor for this year's Water Festival!”

“What?” Joy's hand tightened around the mike. “Wenda, what are you doing?” She snatched at the woman's long, thin arm. “You're cooking off with Luke, not me.”

“No, you are my competitor today.” Wenda's smile widened with bold confidence. “All cleared with Helen.”

Joy whirled around, scanning the stage area.
Come out from hiding, Helen, you coward
.

“Y'all want our own host, the woman who is going to star on Thursday nights this fall on TruReality, to beat ol' Wenda Divine at her own game?” The crowd applauded in response, chanting, “Joy. Joy. Joy. Joy.”

Wenda spurred on the chanting until Joy couldn't hear herself think.

“No, no.” Joy waved off the cheering. “Luke Redmond is your competitor. A chef at our very own Frogmore Café. Don't diss the man, y'all.”

“We want
you
, Joy.” A passel of college-age men stood on the edge of the crowd, being good fans and cheering her on.

“Chefs, take your kitchens . . .” Now Helen appeared, jerking the mike from Joy. “You have fifteen seconds. Joy, best get going.”

The low rumble of her name paralyzed her.
Joy, Joy, Joy .
. . A sound tech wired her with a mike pack.

When the buzzer sounded, Joy stood in her kitchen station, pure panic surging through her.

“And the secret ingredient is—” Helen unveiled the item with grand flair. “Peaches! And the Water Festival Cook-Off! is happening now.”

Think, think, think
. Joy raced to the grocery station. If she loaded up with peaches, all the peaches, then there'd be none left for Wenda. And what could she cook?

As Joy carried an armload of peaches back to her kitchen, she caught sight of Luke watching from the edge of the stage and fired him a thousand blazing daggers.
Traitor
.

Dropping the peaches into a ceramic bowl, Joy gave them a cold water rinse and then set them on the counter.
There you are, honorable judges, washed peaches. Believe me, it's way better than some of the dishes I've eaten for competitions. Did I tell you about the roadkill in Ohio?

“Psst, Joy, what are you thinking of making?” Luke had moved closer to the front of the stage.

Joy turned off her mike. “Roasted Luke à la peach sauce.”

“Don't get mad at me. This wasn't my idea.”

“Why didn't you refuse?” Joy snatched up a couple of peaches and bent to Luke's ear as she walked around the kitchen station to the front of the stage, peach water dripping from her hands. “I think you could've taken her if she'd agreed to wrestle for it.”

He laughed. “But it wasn't me she wanted to wrestle.”

“Lucky me.” Facing the crowd, Joy switched on her mike and began to juggle, water droplets arching in the air as the fruit sailed in a circle. “Hey did you hear the one about the peach, orange, and banana?” The peaches floated up and around faster and faster. “Anyone? The peach, orange, and banana.”

“You would sure look good in my fruit salad,” a man called from the crowd.

“What? Fruit salad? That's all you got?” Joy caught the peaches, making a face, searching the crowd for the one who delivered the line. “I was hoping one of you could tell me a good punch line.”

No one laughed. She was dying here. In more ways than one. When would she learn? Never, never get within a gazillion miles of Wenda Divine. “All right, enough of this, back to work.” Joy ran around to the other side of the set, peeking over at Wenda, who worked with intensity and precision-chop-chop, blend-blend, sear-sear.

The air intended for Joy's lungs hovered just beyond her nose, refusing to fill her chest. She gazed out at the crowd. Maybe she should call for volunteers.