Save Me, Sinners

If he doesn’t show…

Well, that’ll be a sign, at least, of what’s to come. Confirmation that he doesn’t want to make nice, and that I’ve damaged that relationship—both of us have, I suppose—beyond repair.

And if I know Jake Ferry and his father, the next thing I’ll hear from either of them will be delivered by lawyers. A request for a DNA test, a protracted legal battle over custody… and if they won—which I can’t help but imagine they would, given that I can’t possibly match their resources or, hell, pay off a judge—Reginald at least would almost certainly push for child support. He’d get it. And I’d be ruined for good, both financially and publicly, because there would be cameras on me day and night, and all over the trial and…

Calm. Deep breaths.

Focus on now.

As I make my way through the crowd again, though, the thing that hurts the worst about all of that uncertain future is that there would be no Jake in it. Not with me, anyway.

And honestly, at this point, I can’t help feeling like that’s the worst-case scenario.

Chapter 74

Janie

Nine thirty. Gloria is keeping me apprised, about every ten to fifteen minutes or so. Every time I meet with a blogger, she magically appears—I really think she could pull off the appearing-in-a-cloud-of-sickly-yellow-sulfur-smoke look. I expect her to cackle like the wicked witch of the west every time she leaves me.

It could just be my imagination, but is her dress gradually showing more and more cleavage?

When she’s not haunting me and posing for bloggers, she’s fawning over every man in the room with a nice outfit and no woman. And some that do have a woman with them.

Shameless, that girl. It actually does amaze me how she can occupy herself with flirting like that and still manage to intercept every blogger and journalist that approaches me. If she weren’t such a horrible person, she might actually have made a decent personal assistant.

It’s 9:35. Still no sign of Jake. Chester keeps asking me if I need anything to drink, and I keep telling him “not yet” as though I’ll eventually want one. Once I make the announcement it won’t matter, I suppose.

Lacey emerges from the kitchen at last, and I take that opportunity to direct all the attention her way.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I call out, approaching her. “Please put your hands together for the real hero behind tonight’s extravagant spread—my partner in crime and my guardian angel, Chef Lacey Ming!”

Cheers sound from every corner of the lounge, and cameras flash, and I make sure to stand just a little bit behind Lacey so that I don’t look too pregnant at that very moment. Can’t jump the gun on this.

Lacey is utterly embarrassed, but she endures. We talked about this well before the event. Lacey prefers the kitchen; it’s part of the reason she didn’t open her own restaurant. Being in front of cameras makes her nervous, and she’s already sweating and blushing, but she’s a trouper.

Gloria, of course, manages to swoop in like a vulture and perch to Lacey’s other side, smiling for the cameras and playing the part of “one of the girls.”

Once the pictures are taken, the bloggers all start filing in to talk with Lacey about how she came up with the dishes, and what it’s like working in a female-run establishment as a female executive chef, questions both of us abhor but which we’ve already talked about because it’s inevitable.

Luckily Gloria is there to give her two cents.

“These days it just, like, so important for women to take charge of their own lives, you know? And I think what we’ve accomplished here is so important for women everywhere, right? I tell all my girlfriends that you just have to, like, surround yourself with powerful women because we all have to stick together. And when we do, look what happens.”

The look on Lacey’s face is almost certainly going to make it onto someone’s blog as Gloria heaps praise upon herself as part of the “we” in that statement—as if she had anything to do with making Red Hall successful.

Unfortunately, she’s the pretty one between the three of us, and the one with the most cleavage, and we’re being interviewed almost exclusively by men. Guess who steals the attention?

Lacey and I do manage to get a few questions answered the way we’ve discussed, much to Gloria’s chagrin, and of course, she makes sure to drop her opinion in the bucket afterward whether the questioner is still taking notes or not.

Eventually, it’s over. And it’s 9:58.

Gloria touches my arm. “Almost time. Better make your way up to the limelight. Big news, am I right? We’re going to be on every blog and paper in the city tomorrow morning! There are even some people live tweeting right now.”

It doesn’t surprise me. Everyone here has a phone out. There are probably more pictures of Lacey’s dishes in existence right now than there are dishes prepared.

At one end of the lounge, a stage has been set up displaying all the different hot sauces and the peppers they’re made from. There are also dishes sprayed with resin and meant to simply look gorgeous, which they do.

The clock is ticking, so I make my way up there before Gloria decides to follow through with her promise. Along the way a few people stop us to make conversation or ask for a picture, but Gloria is, for once, entirely focused on one task—getting me to the stage. She runs interference with remarkable alacrity and efficiency. It really is a shame.