Can't Stand the Heat

by Peggy Jaeger

  As she had for almost every day of the past fourteen years, Stacy slipped into yoga pants and a long-sleeved exercise shirt. The evening before, one of the tech staff had told her there was a natural spring about a quarter of a mile from the main house. Deciding that her morning workout would benefit from the fresh air, Stacy grabbed her mat and made her way from her room.

  The smells of morning breakfast wafted up the central staircase as she came down to find Amos Dixon just entering the foyer.

  “Well, you’re certainly a pleasant sight early in the morning,” he told her with a grin that encompassed his whole face.

  It was impossible not to be pleased by the compliment. With a string of heat creeping up her neck and cheeks, she said, “Good morning. You’re an early riser.”

  “Ranch life starts before dawn and ends when night blackens the sky.”

  “Kinda like a television production,” she said, grinning back at him.

  His gaze flicked to the mat she carried. “Was the bed not comfortable enough? You need to sneak a nap in someplace else?”

  “What? Oh, no.” She shook her head. “The bed was beyond wonderful. I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. This is my yoga mat. I never leave home without it. I was just on my way out to find your stream. I heard it’s a great place to—that is, it has a beautiful view in the morning.”

  Stacy knew the quizzical reaction she’d be met with if she’d said what she originally thought to: stretch and meditate. Too many times over the years she’d been on the receiving end of quizzical and questioning stares at the mention of her practice of yoga. Some people were naturally curious, asking questions to increase their knowledge. Some were condescending, scoffing at the notion, while others had been downright rude and laughed at the practice that had brought her such peace and calm and made it possible for her to get through each and every day.

  She wondered how Amos Dixon would respond. Before he could, Beau barreled down the stairs and stopped short in front of them.

  “Hey. Morning,” he said, nodding at his father and gracing her with a smile.

  “Morning. It seems your whole family rises with the sun,” she said to Amos.

  “Some earlier than others,” he replied. “Where’s Caleb? Hungover and sleeping in again?”

  “In the shower. Said he’ll be down in five and to save him some coffee.”

  Amos’s lips thinned. Stacy had met the older Dixon son, Caleb, the night before. She’d have known he was Beau’s brother anywhere; they almost looked like twins. Each movie-star handsome, they had that easy, laconic way about them that just drew people in.

  A little family drama drifted around her and she wanted nothing to do with it. She had drama enough just keeping on her toes around Dominick Stamp.

  “Well, I’d better get going.” To Beau, she asked, “We need to leave for the airport by eleven, right?”

  “Yup. I’ll be ready, don’t you worry none.”

  She tossed him a nod as he moved into the dining room, his father with him.

  The cool, fresh morning air tingled her skin while she made her way to the stream.

  The description she’d been given of its beauty was a totally inaccurate one. Words, she thought, simply couldn’t do justice to the exquisite, natural splendor surrounding her.

  About a half-mile wide, the sparkling, clear water swam slowly by her, surrounded on both sides by towering trees and rock-strewn terrain. Turning one way, mountains in the distance showed her the stream’s origination point. Turning the other, she watched the water flow for as far as she could see. The sun was more than peeking above the horizon now, and the sky above her was rapidly lightening. The only sound she heard was the water as it cascaded over and across the rocks lining its path.

  Stacy found a flat spot close to the water’s edge and rolled open her mat. Facing the rising sun, she began the first of her exercises with the sun salutation.

  With her feet together, hands at her sides, palms forward, she took a deep breath and then swept her arms over her head in a wide arc. Pressing her palms together, she tilted her head back and looked up at them.

  Exhaling, she arced her arms downward and fell forward, bringing her nose to her knees and placing her palms flat on the mat, alongside her feet.

  She went through the rest of the exercise, ending it in a downward-facing dog position, before beginning the sequence again and repeating it two more times.

  With each move and breath she took, Stacy felt the calm and peace she needed to guide her through the day flow up from within her. When she’d moved out of the final position, she came back to center, standing flat-footed once again, and brought her palms together in front of her, prayer-like. With a final breath, she dropped to the mat, crossed one leg over the other, and closed her eyes, allowing all her senses but sight, to tune in to her surroundings.

  She heard the water swishing down the stream, bubbling as it tripped over the rocks; felt the tiny breeze on her face. The subtle smell of smoke spewing from the ranch’s kitchen chimney, followed by the unmistakable aroma of bacon frying, had Stacy’s empty stomach bouncing and her taste buds standing at attention with craving.

  Movement behind her forced her eyes open. Turning, she spotted the girl who had flown out Stamp’s front door the night before.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said, her bottom lip shooting under her top teeth. “I didn’t see you and then, when I did, I tried to be, like, quiet. I’m…sorry.”

  Last night, the girl’s thin and heavily made-up face had been pinched in anger, her lips furled back in a snarl as she flew from the house and her father.

  This morning her youthful skin was clean and makeup-free, the anger replaced by anxiety. She looked less than the fifteen years Stacy knew her to be. Spiky black hair was pulled back from her face by a cloth headband, the ends flaming around the band at odd angles.

  “It’s okay. I was pretty much done.” Stacy gave the girl an open smile, then unfolded from her cross-legged position and stretched her body upward.

  “I’m Stacy,” she said, while she rolled her mat. “We met very briefly last night, when I came to see your dad.”

  “I remember. I’m Melora. Sorry I was such a schizo then. Nikko was being a total tool.”

  Stacy lowered her head and kept her grin hidden. A very apt description of the man, but Nikko? Really? Had she missed the memo that it was cool to call fathers by their first names?

  “I just had to get out of there, you know?” Melora came toward her, her apparent anxiety about interrupting Stacy now flown. “One more minute listening to him flay me and I’d have gone savage.”

  It was the tone and not the words that gave Stacy an insight to what the girl meant.

  Good Lord, was I ever this young?

  “But...” Melora shrugged her thin shoulders. “A good walk always sets me straight. When I got back I was chill again.”

  With a nod, Stacy started on her way back to the house. Melora fell in step.

  “So you’re Nikko’s new EP?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hope you stick around longer than the last two, who, btw, were total incomps.”

  Surprised, Stacy asked, “You met them?”

  Melora nodded and it was then Stacy noticed the camera slung around the girl’s thin neck.

  “Like, for a breath,” she said with a dramatic roll of eyes that matched her father’s for color and shape. “One of them showed up at the house and left screaming after an hour, like she’d been stabbed by a serial psycho. Real mature.” Eye roll again. “I met the other one at the studio one afternoon when school let out. I thought she had a chance, but when Nikko lit into her in that tone”—her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline—“she started wailing like a diaper wearer and then bolted. When we got here I figured Nikko would be producer-less. He likes it better that way. But then you show
ed up.”

  Stacy nodded again, unsure if Melora thought that was a good thing.

  “Major plus,” the girl said, skirting around a tree stump, “you’re still here the next morning. Props offered.”

  “Thanks.” I think.

  “Don’t thank me yet. He woke up this morning right back in bear mode. That’s why I was out walking again. If I keep this up I could walk back home in no time. And believe me, I’ve thought about it.”

  “Any particular reason why he’s upset?” Stacy asked.

  Melora shrugged again. “Nikko’s not the biggest sharer in the universe. He’s been under a boatload of pressure lately.”

  “Starting a new show is trying,” Stacy said. “On so many levels. Physically. Mentally. And your father’s a top-notch director. Some say he’s a genius when it comes to what he does.”

  “Yeah, with the soul of the Dark Lord.”

  Stacy grinned. “I think that goes with the job.”

  Melora cocked her head and bit down on her lip again. “I don’t know if it’s so much this new show making him so volcanic. If I had to guess why he’s ready to spew at an eyeblink, I’d say his leg has been bothering him.”

  “His leg?”

  “Yeah. The one he tore up in the accident.”

  The subtle slip in Melora’s tone from snarky and affected-teen to flat and adult-tinged sent a blast of awareness through Stacy. As soon as the girl put a period on her sentence, Stacy remembered reading about the crash. The accident had been a little under eighteen months ago.

  “He’s still in pain?”

  Melora shrugged almost as much as she talked.

  “He never says, but it’s hard to miss.” She lifted her gaze back to Stacy’s face.

  The internal ache she’d recognized the evening before was burning bright in the young girl. She’d physically lost her mother in the accident, and it seemed she might have lost a part of her father as well.

  “Especially when you look.”

  Stacy stopped walking and regarded her. Behind the—at times—incomprehensible teen-speak, the ragged T-shirt with an 80s heavy metal band emblazoned across its front, and the distressed, torn, and naturally faded jeans covering her legs, this girl wasn’t a typical spoiled and silly fifteen-year-old.

  “Do you know if he’s taking anything or doing anything to ease the pain?”

  The shrug wasn’t as careless this time. “Not during the day. He wants to stay sharp and focused, you know? Dad’s all about being a professional.”

  Stacy nodded. So. It was Dad now, a change she didn’t think the teen realized she’d made.

  “But at night, sometimes...well...” She gazed over Stacy’s shoulder at the lake, her lips pulling down. “He likes a drink or two. Or three. I guess it helps.”

  “No physical therapy? No exercise routine? Nothing like that?”

  “When he first got…home, yeah. Now? Not so much.”

  Stacy knew the torment of constant physical pain. Pain that never eased, never quit, no matter what treatment or pill was used. It had been her constant companion for too many years to remember. To have Nikko’s body ravaged to the point where he needed alcohol to help him deal with it wasn’t a situation beneficial to his directing the show.

  What could she do to help him?

  “Look,” Melora said, biting down on her bottom lip again, a habit Stacy recognized as the girl’s emotional tell. “Nikko’s really good at his job, and he totally wants this show to succeed.”

  “As do I.”

  “Well, that’s good, then. So, you won’t say anything, like, to him, will you? That I told you...well, about what I said?”

  Because Stacy was a natural comforter, she reached out and rubbed the girl’s bony forearm. “I won’t, Melora. It’s my job to make sure he has everything he needs and that this production runs smoothly. I take my job seriously. Whatever I can do, I will.”

  The girl sighed heavily and then nodded. “Thanks.”

  She suddenly looked a lot less like an intractable teenager and a lot more like a lost little girl.

  “So, do you, like, do yoga every day?”

  Stacy nodded. “I try to. It keeps me limber, mentally charged, and focused for the day when I do.”

  “Do you, like, meditate and stuff too? I mean, I heard somewhere that they kind of go together, you know? Like macaroni and cheese.”

  Stacy laughed. “Yes, you’re right. They do. And yes, I do too.”

  “Meditation like, calms you, right? Helps take your mind off things? Stuff clogging it? I heard that too.”

  “If it’s done correctly, it does. I’ve been practicing yoga since I was about your age.”

  “Wow. That’s a long time.”

  Stacy’s brow rose and her lips curved. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, no, no. I didn’t mean, like, you’re old. Because you’re not.” She flapped her hands back and forth in the air as she talked, as if she were erasing the words. “I just mean...well, doing anything for any amount of time is, you know, cool.”

  This time Stacy smiled outright. “No worries. I knew what you meant.”

  They were silent for a few moments when they approached the house.

  “Do you think, like, maybe, I could... I don’t know…join you? Like tomorrow? And give it a try? See if it…works for me?”

  Stacy stopped and turned to the girl. Her unlined brow was grooved, her eyebrows practically kissing together above her nose. The way she held her thin body, bony shoulders slightly cowed in, fingers twisting together, told her there was a story there, one Stacy recognized as more than just usual teen angst. The girl was lonely and probably feeling left out since her father was involved in the production. Because Stacy knew precisely how that felt, she wanted to help.

  “I’d love that.”

  Melora’s mouth pulled into a wide grin and Stacy got a glimpse of the beauty she’d be when she reached maturity.

  “Can you meet me at the spot I was at today by six tomorrow morning? I need to start my day early.”

  “Sure. I don’t sleep much anyway. I’m never really tired since there’s, like, nothing to do here. Oh, but I don’t have something to sit on like that.” She pointed to the mat in Stacy’s hand.

  “Just bring a towel. That’ll be enough. Now, I’ve gotta get ready for the day,” Stacy said, as she jogged up the porch steps. “The chefs and the judges arrive today and I’m meeting them at the airport.”

  A sudden thought blew into her mind. Turning, she asked, “What are your plans for today?”

  That eye roll should be patented.

  “Same thing as every day since I got here. A whole lot of nothing. Nikko confiscated my phone and my laptop for a week because he said I was mouthy and acting like a brat about having to be stuck out here in cowville for the duration instead of back home actually enjoying my summer, so I was just gonna hang at the house. Maybe go for another walk. Take some pictures. Lame, I know, but there’s no one in my decade here, so...” She lifted her shoulders again. “Why?”

  “Want to come to the airport with me? At least you’d get off the ranch for a while. Plus, you’ll get to meet the chefs before all the chaos starts.”

  Several emotions scrambled across her young face. Surprise was covered by joy that instantly turned to wariness. “Nikko might not approve. I don’t exactly have a long leash.”

  It was Stacy’s turn to toss the girl a shrug. “You won’t know unless you ask him. Want me to?”

  “No, I will. If you hear, like, a nuclear explosion, you’ll know his answer.”

  With a chuckle, Stacy ran into the house and said, “Meet me here at a little before eleven if he says you can go.”

  * * * *

  Christ! This leg was going to kill him.

  Nikko took his time walking from his cabin to the specialt
y kitchen EBS had constructed for the competition, cursing the stabbing pain shooting from his knee up his thigh and straight to his core.

  Amos Dixon had allowed the production to use an old, badly-in-need-of-repair barn, and the construction crew and set technicians had worked their magic to turn it into a functioning area for the chefs to do the prep work for their meal challenges, and as a storage kitchen for the thousands of food items, appliances, and gadgets they would need.

  Nikko had been so wrapped up in preproduction decisions and location scouting, he’d forgotten to verify everything was ready to go to his specifications with the remodeled space.

  Trying to walk so he didn’t limp—and broadcast to everyone what kind of miserable shape he was in—it took him longer than it should have to make his way from the cabin to the barn. He was sweating like a packhorse from the mounting heat and breathing hard when he finally arrived.

  The moment he walked through the refurbished oak doors, a blast of ice-cold air- conditioning and the scene before him shocked him to a standstill.

  The crew had done an outstanding job with the rehab. The barn officially resembled a high-end, professional restaurant kitchen.

  Two long and wide stainless-steel prep counters jutted down the center of the space. The counters had been cordoned off into individual chef stations, each complete with a functioning dual sink. Surrounding the counters on the outer perimeter were eight ranges with four burners each for stovetop cooking. Industrial refrigerators lined one entire wall, three walk-in freezers the next. A six-pack of double-door ovens were built into another wall. A pantry stocked from ceiling to floor with bakers’ racks filled with spices, condiments, starches, and baking items was set off to the side in a separate section. Across from it was the appliance room, complete with at least twenty KitchenAid mixers in a chaos of colors, pots and pans of every conceivable size and shape, more utensils than could ever be used—even at a state dinner—and every other kitchen item that could be bought.

  When Teddy Davis had green-lighted the show, Nikko had insisted on buying every item new and he wanted them all professional grade and top-of-the-line. Teddy agreed after procuring a number of corporate sponsors who were more than willing to furnish the show with their wares, made more so with the frequent mentions the items and their manufacturers would receive on each episode.