Chapter 13
The calm energy in the studio feels like a gift.
I’m boosted with confidence as I consider today’s feature—a spiced cookie similar to the one I made from scratch.
To meet Marsha's criteria, I used just a cake mix, butter, and eggs—it doesn’t get easier than that.
The magic comes into play with my rich, pistachio buttercream frosting, and I’ve got to say, it's one of the best I've made.
Buttery sweet with the slightest savory hint of roasted pistachios.
Mr. Bruce joins me in the kitchen with Jinxy. We make a batch in advance to display for the show. We frost the cookies, sandwiching some like Oreos, and leaving others open-faced with snowflake confetti on top. Either option is as gorgeous as it is delicious.
“Jinxy’s been a little gassy this morning,” Mr. Bruce says, scrunching his nose as he holds the cat with outstretched arms. “It’s his new diet. We’ve got twenty-five minutes, so I’ll take him back to my office and see if he needs to use his little boy’s room.”
I fight back a grin. “Good idea.” The expression on Mr. Bruce’s face reminds me of a time Jude couldn’t stop gagging in the TSA line at the airport. The offender was a soiled diaper on the baby in front of us, which was bad, I admit, but Jude has a seriously sensitive sniffer.
The memory is a band of heat contracting around my heart with a painful squeeze. Gosh, I love him, and I can’t believe I let him go over my precious pride.
But he misses me, I remind myself, which makes the band ease up a notch.
Nellie makes a slightly late appearance on the set. She rushes in and tosses her arms around me. “Holy schnikies, those flowers are gorgeous,” she says. “Thank you. I needed that this morning.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
She pulls back to eye me. “Where are you on the panic meter?”
My adrenaline spikes as I pause to gauge it. “About a three.”
Nellie looks relieved. “Not bad. Have you seen…” She glances over each shoulder. “…P-word anywhere?”
“You know her name doesn’t actually count as a curse word, right?”
“In my book, it does,” Nellie says. “But then again, maybe I can use it like a free pass.” She looks thoughtful for a blink, then gives it a try. “I had to pull over this morning because I got a Patty flat tire. It was Patty annoying.”
I laugh, and she comes up with another.
“Spam mail again? This is bull-Pat.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, glancing about the place. The camera crew is getting set up now. “You better stop before she shows up.”
“If I call her a Jack-Pat, do you think she’ll know what I mean?”
“Yoo-hoo, it’s your morning coffee gofer,” Patty chimes, carting a coffee holder from the café. “I know you guys have your favorites, but I thought you should all have a golden latte for this golden day.”
“What?” Nellie sounds ticked. “Why would you—”
“Don’t worry,” Patty interrupts while handing over the drinks. “I paid the difference. Your cappuccino breve is so last season.”
“Yet that dress never had a season, Satan,” Nellie grumbles.
“You mean satin?” Patty glances at her dress, which is gold with even golder dots. “Yes. It’s very expensive.”
Nellie takes a whiff of her drink. “Smells like Patty.”
Patty’s brow furrows even as she giggles. “I do smell like sugar, spice, and everything nice.”
“That’s one possibility.” Nellie nudges my arm. “I’ve gotta run. Good luck! You’re going to be amazing. And Patty,” she adds as she lifts her cup. “Thanks for robbing my right to choose my own beverage.”
“You’re welcome.” Patty turns to me with wide eyes. “That’s right! It’s your big audition day. You’re not doing a prison face-time call with your dad, are you?”
Acid-like anger boils my blood. I take a sip of coffee to keep from replying. Since Patty’s part of the set crew, she already knows Mr. Bruce and Jinxy are doing the segment with me.
“Maybe they can send out one of the squad’s K9s.” She snorts.
My jaw clenches. “Stuff it, Patty,” I say because I’ve had enough, and she needs to know it.
“I hope you never know the pain of having someone you love go to prison. And for the record, my mother overcame her addiction by the grace of God. She’s clean, sober, and dedicating her life to helping others do the same. ”
I’m shaking with indignation, but dang, that felt good.
Patty blinks like she’s been smacked in the face.
I spin on one heel, take another sip of the spiced latte, and register three things at once:
Thing one: It has curry in it.
Thing two: Nellie is repulsed by curry; hence, the comment on the smell.
Thing three: Curry—which is often used in golden lattes—typically includes turmeric.
An audible gasp tears from my throat. “You didn’t give one of these to Mr. Bruce, did you?”
I spin around to catch that possessed, weapon-clenching look on her face.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Oh, no. I’m hybrid girl again, this time, part cheetah, as I rush out of the kitchen, past Patty, and down the hall toward Mr. Bruce’s office. I push open the door and get smacked in the face with an odor that nearly knocks me on my butt.
“I know,” Mr. Bruce says. “It’s bad. Hopefully, he’s getting it all out of his system.”
My eyes shoot to the scratching post where Jinxy blissfully stretches to his full, glorious length, nails tearing into the carpet for just the right pull.
I shift my gaze, spot a coffee cup on the desk, and gasp when I see Mr. Bruce.
His face is a deep-dish pizza with extra puff and a pair of lopsided meatballs.
I can’t help but notice that today’s vest has a Santa cat chef tossing pizza pies in the air like a juggler.
His head is a 3D, artistic expansion—a jumbo combo on steroids.
“That has turmeric in it,” I blurt.
Mr. Bruce pats his puffy face frantically, then screams loud enough to make Jinxy jump into the rafters.
“It’s okay,” I say, “it’s okay. Where’s your EpiPen.” I rush in as he yanks open his drawer and retrieves it.
“Right here. Blue to the sky and orange to the thigh,” he recites while popping off the lid. He jabs the thing into his thigh and looks at me. “This will help, but I’m sorry to say that there’s no avoiding it.”
“Avoiding what?” I ask.
Jinxy drops from his perch and falls into my arms with a meow.
“The doctor,” he says. “I have to go to the ER. Promise me you’ll still have Jinxy on with you? My mom made his bowtie and booties. Everyone she knows is tuning in to watch.”
The desperation in his voice is more than I can take. I nod, knowing Nellie would rather die than step in front of the camera, but she’ll do it for me.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I promise.”