It was a cheap ploy from his bag of reality show tricks, designed to create tension and drama where none existed. While Artie didn’t come out and demand they go in and trash each other, he was clearly hoping they’d do exactly that.
Mary Dell was having none of it.
“Absolutely not. First off, anything somebody says that gets spilled out into millions of television sets isn’t private. Second, anything I have to say to or about Holly I’ll say to her face. I’m not a gossip. Never have been. Third, last, and most important,” she said, moving her face right up next to Artie’s, “the show is about quilting. That’s what people tune in to see and that’s what we’re going to give them. Nothing more. And nothing less.”
The way she said that last part made it clear that she thought Artie’s concept definitely fell into the category of very much less.
Holly backed her up.
“I agree. It’s not the right tone for a quilting show. In public or private, the only things I have to say about Mary Dell are good things.”
Holly walked up next to her co-host and crossed her arms over her chest. Mary Dell adopted a similar pose, and there they stood, a united front. Artie narrowed his eyes and twirled his ever-present sucker inside his mouth, as if trying to decide how far to push the issue, then skulked off, saying he expected them on the set in fifteen minutes. When he left, Mary Dell and Holly shared a fist bump.
Though the small act of mutiny earned the ire of the director, it restored the relationship between the two women, and the remainder of the day’s filming went according to plan.
The first segment, shot in front of the courthouse per Mary Dell’s suggestion, gave context to the episode and the season as a whole. Mary Dell beamed as she told viewers about their new location and welcomed her new co-host. The camera moved to Holly, who said how excited she was to be learning the art of quilting from scratch, and from such a master teacher. Then Mary Dell explained how, as Holly built on her skills week by week, both novice and experienced quilters would have an opportunity to learn techniques that could be adapted to myriad quilting projects, from the simple to the complex. This week, they’d begin with one of quilting’s most beloved and versatile blocks, Courthouse Steps. She closed out the segment by smiling into the camera and saying, “Let’s get quilting!”
Afterward, they did exactly that: went into the quilt shop turned studio and filmed four more short segments. The first was with Holly alone, explaining how to set up, thread, and clean a sewing machine, as well as check the tension. She was a little nervous, but they got the whole thing in three takes. When she was done, Mary Dell said she’d done a great job.
“You know, I’m almost happy for the ten gazillion times I had to thread and rethread my machine and fight with the tension and untangle the tangles. On that score at least, I actually do know what I’m talking about.” Holly laughed and Mary Dell gave her a squeeze.
“You’re doing great, girlfriend.”
In the next two segments Mary Dell and Holly were on-camera together, working on the block itself and setting the blocks into a quilt. The fourth segment was just Mary Dell, showing advanced settings for the basic block. They came back together for the wrap-up, and Mary Dell signed off by saying, as she had on every episode for seven seasons, “And remember, behind every great quilter is a big ol’ pile of fabric. So get to work!”
When the first episode was in the can, they broke for lunch and then went back to work. Because episode two centered on the Flying Geese block, they filmed the introduction at Puny Pond. There weren’t any geese in residence just then, only a few ducks, but it was a nice background just the same. Then they returned to the studio, filmed the four instructional segments and the sign-off, and wrapped up by seven o’clock.
It was a grueling twelve-hour day, but after so many weeks of preparation, it felt good to finally get in front of the cameras. Holly was so happy that she and Mary Dell were on the same team again. They started a little game, kind of a secret joke, of putting a hash mark on a piece of paper every time Artie cut someone off by saying, “I know, I know, I know . . .”
By day’s end, they’d made forty-six marks and, feeling tired and a little bit punchy, were having a hard time not breaking up with laughter whenever Artie opened his mouth.
Holly gave Mary Dell another hug before departing and said she’d see her around one o’clock the next day, after visiting Stormy, to sew and talk over their plans for the next two episodes, and that, yes, she’d love to stay for supper at the ranch.
Tired but happy, Holly drove back to the cottage, fed the cat and herself, and curled up on the couch under an afghan to watch television. Calypso jumped immediately in her lap, purring his contentment that she was home and, for the first time in days, occupied in the important business of stroking his fur instead of sitting in front of a sewing machine. She was surfing the channels when her cell phone rang.
A youngish-sounding man said, “Holly Silva? This is Brian Kamkin. I’m a producer with Entertainment 24/7. I was wondering if you might be willing to give us an interview?”
Holly shifted up on the couch pillows, feeling suddenly alert. Calypso, irritated at being displaced by her movement, put on his Grumpy Cat face and started kneading the afghan, trying to get comfortable again.
“Sure, Brian . . . I mean, I guess so.”
She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she ought to refer him to the publicity department. That was the normal channel for booking interviews, and she didn’t want to ruffle any feathers at HHN-TV, but Entertainment 24/7 was a huge national network program, watched by untold millions of viewers. Surely, in this instance, she’d be forgiven for skirting protocol.
After all, how often did an HHN show get the chance for this kind of publicity? And weeks before the new season was set to air. How had Quintessential Quilting come onto his radar anyway? Even the promo spot wasn’t due to air for another week.
“Great!” the young producer exclaimed. “We’re too late for tonight’s broadcast, but that’s okay. We think it’s a story that’ll run for a couple of days. If you can get to Dallas in the morning, we’ll record the interview at our affiliate. For right now, could you just give me a comment? We’ve still got time to work it into the script for tonight, or maybe into the teasers for tomorrow’s show.”
“You need a comment?”
Euphoria gave way to suspicion and then to self-condemnation as she figured out the real reason Brian Kamkin was calling. This was about Rachel. How stupid had she been to think that a national entertainment show would be interested in her? Or her little cable quilting show?
“Yeah, just something quick will be fine,” he said.
Holly could hear a click as Brian turned on a recording device.
“We’ve been trying to track down your mom, but we haven’t had any luck yet. I tried reaching her publicist, but she didn’t return the call. So, was Rachel surprised when the pageant announced it wasn’t going to renew her contract? Or did she know about it ahead of time? As you know, Micah Thomasson, your mother’s longtime co-anchor for the Miss Millennia Pageant, was just signed for an additional three years, even though he’s five years older than your mom. And Rachel’s replacement, Caitlyn Alison, is twenty years his junior. What kind of statement does this make about the double standards for beauty and relevance between men and women in the entertainment industry?”
Oh, no.
Holly closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding. “No comment,” she said, making her tone as emotionless as possible.
“Holly, please,” Brian begged. “I just want to give you a chance to tell your mom’s side of the story. I’m not trying to do anything that would—”
“No comment!”
“Wait! Don’t hang up! I hear you’re doing some quilting show, right? Tell you what: You give me a comment and I’ll book you for another interview next month, just about you and the—”
She clicked the “end” button and threw the phone across the ro
om as hard as she could. Calypso let out a startled meow and jumped from her lap.
That jerk! That snake! Was he hatched from an egg or something? Does he not have a mother that he seriously thought I’d sell mine out for an interview on his stupid television show?
Holly howled in frustration and threw a sofa pillow. Calypso bolted from the room and didn’t come out for the rest of the night. Holly jumped up from the couch, remembering her phone.
Oh, please! Let it not be broken. What had she been thinking, throwing it like that? She had to talk to Rachel. If the Entertainment 24/7 people were looking for her, that meant the rest of the media were doing the same thing. Eventually, no matter where she was, they’d track her down. And when they did, if she was discovered in Mexico with Jared Hoffman, a supposedly happily married man with three kids and a wife the public adored, then the two- or three-day story about Rachel’s falling star would become a month-long story that would make her the most hated woman in show business.
No matter where she was or what she was doing, Holly had to get hold of her mother. She had to warn her.
Three minutes later, Holly was leaving her mother a voice mail.
“Mom? I heard what happened. Somebody from Entertainment 24/7 just called me, looking for a comment. You’ve got to call me back.” She paused for a moment, feeling her throat tighten. “Are you okay?”
There was a beep on the line, signaling an incoming call. Holly picked it up.
“You heard?” Rachel asked.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. When did you find out?”
“It’s okay.” She sighed heavily. “I’ve known for a while. They decided to tell me on the day of the pageant, about two hours before we went on air.”
“That long ago? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. And anyway, I was embarrassed.”
“Why would you be embarrassed? You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t believe it! They really fired you right before you went on air? Those rat basta—”
“Holly Silva! Watch your language!” Rachel gasped, feigning shock. “And leave the dirty words to me. I’ve had so much more practice swearing than you have.”
She laughed, but her voice sounded tired and defeated.
“It’s okay, honey. Really. I’m over it. I’m just surprised at how long it took for the story to break. Guess the pageant peons decided to delay until they got Caitlyn Alison to sign on the dotted line. Did you hear? Jordan McHenry put the deal together.”
“Your own agent? You’ve got to be kidding. How can he do that? I mean, ethically. Forget ethically, is that even legal?”
“It was once he dumped me,” Rachel said bitterly. “That was about five minutes after the pageant dumped me. I hope he negotiated a better contract for poor Caitlyn than he did for me. She’s got enough problems already. Sure, she’s gorgeous, but she doesn’t have two thimbles full of talent—singing voice of a Schnauzer in heat. Plus, she’s got two first names.”
“Hang on . . . ,” Holly said, trying to cut through Rachel’s banter and to the substance of the conversation. “If Jordan’s not your agent anymore, then who’s representing you?”
“Nobody. For the first time in thirty-six years, I’m a free agent. My publicist dumped me too. Understandable, since there’s nothing to publicize.”
Holly screwed her eyes shut and shook her head.
“I don’t understand. Where are you anyway? Is Jared still with you?”
“Oh, honey . . .” Rachel heaved a heavy sigh. “I should have told you. I’m not with him. I never was. I made up the story about the movie and then looking at locations with Jared, and when you jumped to conclusions, thinking I was having an affair with him, I didn’t tell you different. It was less humiliating than telling you the truth.”
“Less humiliating than letting me think you were having an affair with the married father of one of my old friends? Rachel,” she demanded, “where are you and what are you doing?”
“I’m exactly where I said I’d be: on a cruise ship in Mexico. That’s where I’ve been this whole time. Working.”
“You mean . . . you’re performing? On a cruise line? Oh, Mom . . .”
Holly’s jaw went slack. For a second, she didn’t know what to say.
Some very talented people work as entertainers on cruise lines. For a young performer, somebody starting out, getting hired to sing or dance on a ship could be a tremendous opportunity, the first rung on the ladder to success. For more seasoned professionals, cruise line work could provide a steady paycheck and a chance to do what they loved year-round, be in front of an appreciative audience.
But for someone like Rachel, a woman who had appeared on television, in movies, and on Broadway, and who had been nominated for a Tony Award, singing for audiences on a cruise line represented only one thing: the last bump on the fall from grace, the ignominious end of a faltering career, an act of personal and financial desperation.
“You could have told me,” Holly said.
“Why?” Rachel replied. “What would have been the point? You had enough on your plate, worrying about your new show and moving and all. To tell the truth, I had planned to tell you once we got to Texas. But then we started arguing about Jared and I was kind of ticked at you.
“I know I’m no saint, but really, Holly? Did you honestly think I’d go after your friend’s dad? Eileen Hoffman was one of my closest friends when you were little. We baked cupcakes for the damned PTA fund-raiser together! Well . . . okay,” she said, dropping her tone into a lower and less irritated register. “I had the housekeeper bake the cupcakes and I just dropped them off at school. Did you really think I was capable of doing something so rotten to a friend? And just to get a part in a lousy movie?”
“I’m sorry,” Holly mumbled.
“Yeah. Okay . . . fine. I’ll forgive you if you forgive me. Deal?”
“Deal. But, Mom, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, and then, more firmly, “Really. Of course, now that the word is out about my getting fired from the pageant, it won’t be long before the tabloids find out what I’m doing. They’ll have a field day with that, I’m sure.
“Aside from that,” Rachel said, sounding a little surprised, “it’s actually kind of fun. I haven’t been in front of a live audience, night after night, for fifteen years. I’ve been trying out some new material, working on some different arrangements. The pianist I’m working with is really talented, such a great guy. Really, it’s not so bad. And until I can sell the condo, it pays the bills.”
“You have to sell the house?”
“So what? Big deal. I never liked the place anyway. Too many windows to wash.”
Holly laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve never washed a window in your life.”
“I know,” Rachel said good-naturedly, “but the way things are going, I might have to start. But I’ll survive. If this is the worst thing that ever happens to me, I’ll be a very lucky lady. And I am lucky. My life hasn’t always been easy, but it’s never, ever been boring. Not one day of it.”
Holly thought about that night at the pageant, when she’d gone to the theater seeking Rachel’s advice and stood in the wings to watch her mother sing. The admiration she’d felt for her mother that night was nothing compared to the awe she felt for her now.
In spite of all the anger that must have been seething inside her, in spite of the pain, rejection, and doubt she must have been experiencing, the worries about her future and her finances, Rachel had gone out on that stage and poured every drop of herself into that song.
Holly remembered how many people in the audience, surely feeling as amazed as she had by the beauty of her mother’s performance, leapt to their feet when the last note faded away, eager to give Rachel the ovation she so richly deserved, and how their demonstration of admiration was cut short when the contestants were rushed onto the stage. Now Holly wondered; was it just a matter of the pageant running long? Or had the organizer
s done it on purpose, a final slap in the face of an artist they no longer found useful? If they were capable of firing her mother only hours before airtime, they were capable of almost anything.
But whether their cruelty was intentional or accidental, Rachel hadn’t let it stop her from giving her all to that audience. Then, without missing a beat, she’d turned around and did it again, this time for her daughter.
Rachel had postponed her own grief and pushed aside her own needs to be there when Holly needed her—encouraging her, cheering her on, telling her that life was full of possibilities and hope at the moment she’d felt most hopeless, urging Holly to go out in the world and find her own way at the moment she’d most wanted to keep her close.
Holly felt tears coming to her eyes, but she held them back. Rachel hated tears, even tears of gratitude.
Instead, she said, “You know something, Mom? When I grow up, I want to be exactly like you.”
Rachel never had been the sentimental type, but even so, Holly thought her admission might bring forth motherly tears to match her own. Or, at the very least, an “Awww...thank you, honey.”
Instead, Rachel laughed. She didn’t chuckle or chortle or snicker—she laughed. Hard, loud, and long.
And when she finally got hold of herself, taking several big, deep breaths before she could get the words out, Rachel said, “Oh, honey. I don’t recommend it. Really, I don’t. You can do better. I hope you will. Now, enough about me, punkin. How are things with you?”
CHAPTER 27
On the following Tuesday, on the outskirts of Alpine, Texas, Donny Templeton walked into his favorite tavern at a few minutes before three and took a seat on his usual counter stool. The bartender brought him a basket of chips and salsa and a bottle of Lone Star, then changed the channel from ESPN to the House and Home Network.
“Rerun?” the bartender asked.
Donny nodded. “The new season doesn’t start for a couple of months. I don’t mind watching them again, though. Gets to be a habit.” He shrugged and took a swig from the bottle. “Gives me somewhere to go.”
From Here to Home Page 20
