Theodosia pinned the badge to her jacket lapel and grabbed her box. Halfway down the hall, the odors of popcorn and burned coffee wafted out to greet her. Could the vending room be far away? No, there it was just to her right.
She continued on down the hallway, bumped her way through swinging double doors into Studio B, and paused to take it all in. The enormous studio was dimly lit, with a smooth floor, lots of cameras and dollies parked everywhere, and klieg lights dangling overhead. A brightly lit set glowed at the far end of the studio. A kitchen set. Perhaps that was where she’d be taping her segment?
A blonde with wide eyes and a pixie cut bounded to Theodosia’s side.
“Theodosia?” she asked.
Theodosia smiled. “Yes?”
“I’m Alicia, the production assistant for Charleston Today.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Hmm.” Alicia ran a practiced eye over her. “We might want to get you into hair and makeup.”
“You think I need it?” Theodosia wasn’t big on makeup. Just a touch of mascara and some lip gloss and she was good to go.
In answer, Alicia took Theodosia’s box from her and propelled her into an adjacent room. “Tara?” she screeched. “We need you.”
Tara materialized. A skinny young African American woman in low-slung jeans, a concert T-shirt, pink fauxhawk, and a fey smile. She whistled the sound of a falling missile, and then circled Theodosia like a critic. “Wind really got you, huh?”
Theodosia smoothed her hair again as she looked for the nearest exit.
“Whoa,” Tara said, sensing that Theodosia was ready to bolt. “Take it easy. We’re not gonna do anything radical. We’re not gonna shave your head or anything.”
“Thank goodness.” Theodosia settled into the makeup chair and crossed her legs. She wasn’t crazy about being fussed over.
Tara fingered Theodosia’s wavy hair. “Where’d you come up with this crazy color?”
“Genetics.” Theodosia smiled, thinking of her English-Irish ancestors.
“Okay, girlfriend. I can work with that.”
Tara arched Theodosia’s brows, lined her lips, and subtly rouged her cheeks. Then she grabbed a huge, round brush and combed her hair into loose waves. She placed her hands on Theodosia’s shoulders and swung her chair toward a three-way mirror. “Now, what do you think?”
“Not bad.” Theodosia studied her reflection. “What’d you do to my eyebrows?” She’d never seen them look so . . . manicured.
Tara shrugged. “Arched them and added a little eyebrow gel to keep everything in place. One of the tricks of the trade.”
“I think I like your tricks,” Theodosia said. Feeling a lot more confident, she walked back into the studio where Alicia was waiting for her.
“Beautiful,” Alicia said. “You’ll be brilliant.”
“Promise?” Theodosia said.
Alicia led her through the studio, dodging cameras and thick rubber cables that snaked underfoot, until they reached the brilliantly lit kitchen set. Her kettle had been put on to boil, the teacups, flowers, and candles were all arranged. A sound guy crept in and clipped a tiny microphone to Theodosia’s collar, ran a thin wire down her back.
“You’re on in thirty seconds,” Alicia said, backing away.
“That soon?” Theodosia said. “Wait a minute, what do you mean ‘on.’ This is live? I thought we were taping.”
But the show’s genial host, a man with a gelled pompadour, suntan-colored pancake makeup, and a European-cut pin-striped suit was already slicing his way across the studio, heading right for her.
“Weston Keyes,” the man said, his smile stretching tightly across his face. “Howja do, honey. Nice to have you as a guest. You stand on this mark here”—he grabbed her elbow and seesawed her into place—“and I stand right here.”
“And we’re doing this live?” Theodosia asked. “What we say and do just spews directly out to your audience?” She was having trouble wrapping her mind around this.
“Live TV always has a more immediate feel.” His teeth were large and brilliant white. Like shark’s teeth. He nudged her. “Ready?”
She straightened up. “I was born ready.” Actually, I’m terrified.
Alicia, kneeling in front of them, held up five fingers and then silently counted down to zero.
“Welcome back to Charleston Today,” Keyes burbled to the camera. “I’ve got Theodosia Browning here from the Indigo Tea Shop, and she’s promised to give us some insider’s secrets on how to host a spectacular tea party.” He turned toward her. “Theodosia, what have we got here? It all looks so prim and proper.”
“No, no,” Theodosia said. “A tea party is all about having fun. Relaxing with friends and savoring the moment over a hot cup of tea.”
“I’m a coffee guy myself,” Keyes said.
“I’ll bet the right tea can make a convert out of you,” Theodosia said with a wink. She grabbed the kettle, poured a good draft of hot water into a fancy pink-and-green teapot, and swirled it around.
“Now why are you doing that?”