Chapter 3
“Jules!” I’ve reached the bottom of the stairs when Drew catches up to me.
Ignoring him, I push through the heavy bank vault door, shouldering my way through the packed pub and finally making it outside into the misty cool of the night.
Reaching the sidewalk, I take a gasping breath, catching a whiff of pot smoke and rain-slick pavement in the chilly air.
“Jules, wait!” Drew grabs for my arm, and I whirl on him in the spill of light from Tavern Law’s front windows.
“Why didn’t you tell me he’d asked for an audition tape?” I demand, hurt by his omission. Several pedestrians skirt us on the sidewalk, giving whatever is going on between us a wide berth.
Drew looks baffled and distressed. “Keith said it was to make sure I was a good fit. He said there might be options, but I thought he’d find something for you too.” His tone is pleading for understanding. “He said he’d try to find something for both of us.”
“Did he tell you about the other show?” I cross my arms and fix him with a hard stare.
I’m not generally big on confrontation, but this feels like a betrayal of our friendship.
I can’t just meekly accept it. A soft rain is misting down around us, and the sidewalk is crowded with passersby hurrying to get inside one of the many nightlife spots nearby.
I shiver with cold and shock. I feel blindsided by Keith’s revelations.
In all my imaginings of what he might say, I just didn’t see this coming.
Drew hesitates, confirming my suspicions. “He said he thought he could get both of us a spot, but maybe not together on the same show,” he admits. “Keith mentioned something about this other one, yeah.” He scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the pavement.
I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. Why didn’t he tell me?
“Who’s the other cohost? Did he say?” I try to ask it coolly, like it doesn’t matter much to me.
Drew’s shoulders slump. He takes off his driving cap and runs a hand through his hair so it sticks up on end. He looks like a chastised little boy.
“Desiree Reyes,” he says finally.
My mouth falls open. “Desiree Reyes? The Desiree Reyes?”
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve at least heard the name Desiree Reyes.
A super popular social media influencer, she combines normal kitchen activities with acrobatic hip-hop dance routines.
Her million plus followers on TikTok love to watch her shimmy and grind her way through making a smoothie or pouring colorful kids’ cereal to peppy dance beats.
She’s gorgeous, lithe, and confident. They want to pair Drew with her ?
I try to imagine it. Sweet, cute, goofy Drew with that sexy sun-bronzed dance goddess?
Horribly, I can see it. The thought makes my stomach curdle.
He is going to take this job. There is no way he says no.
No one says no to Desiree Reyes and her huge following.
“You’re going to say yes.” It’s not really a question.
Drew opens his mouth. He looks torn and a little guilty and my hopes plummet.
Of course he’s going to say yes. How could he not?
It’s a huge opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
We’ve talked about getting a break like this for years, but it was supposed to be both of us, together.
Now I’m the one who’s going to be left behind.
“I told him I’d think about it,” Drew says finally, reluctantly.
“Nothing’s decided yet.” He glances back toward the door.
He wants to go back to Keith, I realize.
Of course, they have more to discuss. This is so much worse than just a simple “no thanks” from the studios.
This is the end of all my dreams for The Bygone Kitchen .
“Go,” I tell him wearily. “I get it. It’s an amazing opportunity.” And it is, for Drew, but it feels so unfair that this golden opportunity for Drew comes at such a cost to me and to our show.
Drew looks torn. “Jules,” he says, “I’m so sorry.” His forehead is creased with worry.
I nod. “I know.” I believe him, but it doesn’t lessen the sting of disappointment. “I’ve got to go,” I say, although he knows as well as I do that I have nothing I need to go do. I back up until I step off the curb into a puddle. Instantly, my shoes are soaked through.
“Jules, wait.” He stares at me unhappily. “Don’t give up, okay? We can still make this work.”
“You heard Keith,” I respond dully. “They don’t want me. They want someone with more followers, someone ‘on trend.’?” I’m only thirty, but right now I feel ancient.
“You still have a chance,” Drew challenges. “Keith said he’d reconsider if you had a fresh concept or grew the viewership of the show.”
“Drew, there is no show without you,” I point out.
His face falls and he nods. He knows it’s true.
“You can’t give up, Jules,” he urges. “You’re really good at this.
You’re smart and super cute. You’ve got a great sense of style.
You sparkle on camera and you’re kind. People love you.
They…they feel understood, like you care about them, even when they’ve never met you.
So maybe these bonehead producers don’t want you.
Someone else will. You just have to show them who you are.
” He looks at me pleadingly. Easy words for someone who’s just been given his dream job.
“And how would I do that?” I challenge. “If you say yes to Keith and move to LA, I have no show and no way to prove anything.”
Drew worries his lip, thinking. I can tell he wants to make this better, but there is no way to do that now, not unless he says no to Keith, and I would never ask that of him.
This is his chance to live his dream. I’m hurt he didn’t tell me, but it’s not his fault the producers don’t want me or the show.
I’m just not what they’re looking for and Drew is. It’s the hard, sad truth.
“What about the cookbook?” Drew asks suddenly, face brightening.
“What about it?” I squint at him in confusion.
Six months ago I signed a cookbook deal with a boutique publisher in New York for a The Bygone Kitchen cookbook of my favorite recipes.
The deal was a longtime dream of mine come true.
A few months ago I sent them samples of vintage recipes, all ones I’ve used on The Bygone Kitchen .
Now I’m waiting to hear back about what they think so far.
“That’s how you get noticed,” Drew enthuses.
“You already have the contract. That’s going to get you some good publicity, get your name out there.
Think about all the famous TV chefs with cookbooks.
Giada. Gordon Ramsay. Your secret chef crush, Nigella.
” He ticks off all the celebrity chefs I like to binge-watch on rainy nights when we’re staying in.
He seems genuinely excited by this idea.
“The cookbook is how you can prove to Keith and the producers that you and the show are more popular than they think. All they care about is numbers anyway. If you can prove you’ve got a bigger audience, if you could get your numbers up and get some buzz around the cookbook, I bet it would make them take notice. ”
I hesitate, turning the notion over in my mind. Could a successful cookbook really generate enough publicity to make Keith rethink turning The Bygone Kitchen into a show? Frankly, it seems like a long shot, but I want it to be true so badly.
“Even if that were true and Keith changed his mind,” I challenge, “you’re half the show. I can’t do it alone.”
Drew frowns his thinking frown. It’s raining a little harder now, droplets beading on the shining blond of his hair, dappling my forehead and bare arms.
“This show with Desiree is just a limited six-episode series,” Drew says slowly.
“If people like it, Keith says the network will renew it for more episodes. But even if it gets picked up for another season, we won’t be filming all the time.
It’s a few months of filming and then some off time.
Maybe if things went well I could…do both?
” He sounds hopeful and hesitant. “It’s worth a shot, right?
You shouldn’t give up on the show, Jules.
Not when you’ve come this far. It’s your dream.
At least see if you can turn this cookbook into something. ”
At Drew’s words, my heart gives a little sputter of life. Is it possible that we could still find a way to make this work? My head is spinning with questions and possibilities. I’m afraid to hope too hard. And yet…and yet…if there’s a chance, isn’t it worth a try? What have I got to lose?
“I’ll think about it,” I tell Drew. I need a hot bath and a strong espresso with two cubes of sugar and space to process this roller coaster of an evening. I need to think this through carefully and make a plan. I love a good plan. Drew hesitates, clearly torn.
“I’ll see you later.” I start down the sidewalk, soggy leather squelching with every step.
“Go talk to Keith,” I call over my shoulder.
A couple skirts me, side-eyeing my wet, bedraggled appearance.
My hair is now plastered to my forehead and I’m starting to shiver, but I am also feeling a small stirring of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, I can redeem this night.
“Am I forgiven?” Drew yells after me.
“Not even close,” I yell back. “But if this works and we actually save the show, I’ll consider us even.” Then I turn in the direction of our apartment. I have an early shift at Trader Joe’s in the morning and a lot of strategizing to do before then.