“I just talked with Production,” he said in a hushed, reverent tone. “Today is the day. They’re going to film you during service.”
“What?” I said, immediately panicked. “No! I mean, they can’t. Margot said my first taping wouldn’t be until next week at the earliest.”
Avery shook his head slowly and tightened the grip on my shoulders. “Not anymore. We are flexible. We are going with the flow. We are totally chill.”
I wriggled out of his grasp. “Actually, I am very inflexible, as a rule. I hate going with flows.” I started to pace, which was markedly unsatisfying in such a cramped space. “I’m already late with my prep for tonight’s service, and plus, I need time before I’m being filmed. Time to figure out how to be on camera, how to act, what to say, how to do all the fake smiling stuff and cook at the same time. I need to make index cards, Avery. I need to watch Rachael Ray. I need more time!”
His nod turned quickly into a shake of the head. “Right. And no. You don’t need any time. You’re going to be great. Don’t worry.” He took me by the hand and steered us toward the door. “The crew is waiting.”
I tugged my clipboard off the shelf as he bullied me toward the door. “I have to finish inventory.”
“Someone else will do that. Tova!” Avery called, hustling us out of the walk-in and toward the front of the house.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the stainless steel of a cook top. “My hair’s wet! And I have no makeup on today!” The whole sleep-under-the-stars thing was turning out to be less and less of a brilliant idea, though I felt my skin prickle with the thought of Kai’s mouth on mine.
I had no time to linger on that thought, because Avery swept me into the main house. We stopped to take in the transformation. A swarm of people in artsy glasses and variations of black V-necks scurried around the room, setting up lighting, cameras, and backdrops. Vic and Margot noticed our arrival and nodded, but continued in what appeared to be a very focused conversation.
A curvy young woman in cropped hair dyed an unnatural, spiky white approached with an inquisitive stare. “Charlie?” she said. When I nodded, she held out her hand. “I’m Lolo. I’ll be taking care of your hair and makeup.”
“See?” Avery nudged me in the side. He appeared to be trying on a seductive voice for size. “Lolo here is a master, I’m sure of it. Charlie will be in great hands, right, Lo?”
Lolo looked at Avery for a moment, not unlike a zoo patron would take in the curiosities of the komodo dragon exhibit. Without a word, she turned and made her way to a makeup chair and mirror while dodging a crew of men taping cords onto the floor.
Avery nudged me, and I tripped over my Crocs as I followed. I sat gingerly in Lolo’s chair. She put both hands on my shoulders and locked eyes with me in the mirror.
“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”
I sighed. “I hate TV. I thought I was going to have this weekend to prepare, watch a few episodes of some horrible reality show, and go over the shooting schedule. I have severe stomach cramps right now, which can only mean loose stools, and this is happening when I should be prepping for tonight’s service.” Seeing the look on Lolo’s face, I added, “Sorry. Too much information.”
Lolo nodded. “Probably.”
I continued my rant. “Exactly! I don’t know how to do this. I’m talking about my bowels and we just met. I should never, ever have my words recorded. And I don’t know how to smile and cook and be nice to people when I’m working. And …” I pointed to my head, “I don’t have time to worry about hair and bronzers and eyeliner when I have to get ready to serve dessert to hundreds of people. And no matter what—this is non-negotiable—I will not show my naked body on camera.”
Lolo had listened to my tirade without interrupting. When I finished, she reached for a comb and started pulling it through my hair. “Here’s what you need to know about this whole thing. First, bronzer is so four years ago. Second, no one wants to see your groceries. It’s just not that kind of show. So you can take a sigh of relief on that one.”
I pulled my chef’s coat more tightly around my chest and let out that sigh without shame.
“Third, that schmooze you were just talking to? What’s his name?”
“Avery.”
“Right. Maybe Avery gave you some bad intel. You’re not supposed to be an actress. This is a reality show.” She sprayed some misty stuff on her hands and massaged it into my hair. “That means you can’t practice, and you can’t try it out first, and you can’t worry about doing it right. Because whatever you rehearse beforehand will look forced and bizarre on camera.”
I felt my shoulders relax a smidge. The head massage wasn’t hurting.
“So whatever Avery said, I would ignore.” She lowered her voice. “This is the eighth time I’ve worked on a show with Vic and Margot. Some shows have been winners; some have been losers. I don’t suppose you saw the first episode of Nailed? About the blind carpenter who owned a nudist ballet studio?”