by Elsa Kurt
“Oh, so now you weren’t jabbing me with the end of your oar?” He turned to Tori, whose mouth was agape, “I have witnesses, too, you know. Do you know she’s, she’s… crazy?” He turned and leaned over the basket and hissed the word ‘crazy’ into Katharine’s face.
Good. Glad I’m not the only one flustered here.
“Okay, you two? Take a chill. I cannot even be having this kind of nonsense. You hear?”
Both Katharine and Mitch turned their backs to each other, refusing to look at Tori.
“I said, do…you…hear? Mitch Ford, do not make me get on my phone to Justin. Katharine, do not test me, girl.”
Although Tori had been born and raised in a small town by the name of Winterset in Iowa, her ten years in New York had loaned her a stone cold, I-will-hurt-you, edge to her tone when it was necessary. It was useful, to say the least.
In unison, they both muttered, “Yes, Tori.”
“Good. Now wait for your cues, then get out there and be charming, funny, and likable.”
Duly chastised, but no less amiable towards each other, they waited side by side. Tori, standing guard behind them, observed the side glances they gave each other with an amused grin that dropped the moment Katharine caught her.
From out on the stage, Marla Madison, the co-host of the show, started Katharine’s introduction.
“… local writer of the wildly popular Chelsea Marin Chronicles—kids just love these books, by the way…”
“As do I Marla, as do I…”
“So, you’re saying you read teen fiction, Steve?”
They bantered back and forth until their producer gave them a signal to keep moving.
Marla continued, “What do you say we bring her out here, guys?”
Applause, cheers.
Here goes nothing.
“Come on out, Katharine Evans!”
Katharine managed to make it on stage without tripping or knocking anything over. She sat on the loveseat across from the hosts, who graciously encouraged the audience to clap.
“Look at you, you little thing, you! Isn’t she adorable, Marla.”
“Steve, don’t embarrass her. But you are, Katharine, I have to say. I assumed you’d be, I don’t know, taller.”
“It’s fine, I hear it all the time. Not that I’m adorable, I mean. That I’m short and, well—.” The hosts blinked and smiled at her. “Thank you for having me on the show. This is, uh, for you guys.”
“Stop it! How sweet is this? Ooh, look at all the goodies,” Steve said.
They bantered again, Katharine sat with a frozen smile on her face and shooting her eyes off-stage at Tori, pointedly not looking at Mitch. Tori mouthed something, but Katharine couldn’t make it out. Suddenly, Steve was repeating her name.
“So, Katharine. Tell us about your books. You have this character, Chelsea. She…”
Steve saved her some of the descriptive work, likely sensing her nervousness. However, when he mentioned her Carli character, Katharine’s reserve dropped.
“Oh, yes! Carli is Chelsea’s kid sister, and she has Down’s Syndrome. She’s my favorite character, I must admit. Everything Chelsea does is for and because of Carli. They have an extraordinary relationship that I hope conveys through the stories—”
“And a little birdie told me Carli is actually based on—”
“Oh, yes, my brother Nate. He’s amazing. Smart, funny, talented. He’s the whole reason why I wrote the Chelsea Marin Chronicles in the first place.”
Tears stung and brightened Katharine’s eyes. Marla reached across the coffee table and squeezed her hand. Steve filled the moment with talking about Katharine and Nate’s charitable foundation.
“That is such a feel-good story, Katharine,” Steve turned to the camera, “and it gets even better folks. Every book sold donates a portion of the proceeds to Nate’s Great Cause, a non-profit group that advocates for people with Down’s Syndrome. Tell us a little about what kinds of things your organization does, Katharine.”
She needed no further coaxing to talk about Nate’s Great Cause, making sure to clarify that Nate himself was CEO, and she was merely an advisor to him. She chanced a glance off stage again to gauge Tori’s approval, but her eyes met Mitch’s. He looked chagrined and… something else. Something that made her insides do that strange slip and dip again.
“…changing topics a bit, Katharine. Katharine?”
Katharine startled at her name, “Yes! Sorry, Steve.”
“You have a little real-life chronicle going on in your backyard, don’t you?”
“In my what… oh. Right. That.”
“That’s right, Steve,” Marla interjected. “Katharine has the one and only Mitch Ford filming right next door! Hey, ladies in the audience, isn’t that exciting?”
Cheers and less than lady-like hoots and whoops burst from the crowd. Katharine groaned quietly.
“What do you say we bring him out, hmm?”
Louder applause, cheers.
“Mitch Ford, come out here!”
Mitch emerged from the wings as if he were born on television. Waving to the crowd, pointing and winking here, then there. Patting his heart and nodding humbly. They ate it up. Women were actually yelling his name. Katharine, forgetting she might be on camera, rolled her eyes. She wouldn’t know until much later, but that eye roll, paired with Mitch’s entrance, became a viral ‘gif’ within an hour. It was dubbed, ‘Mitch Ford’s Biggest Fan, NOT.’ Steve Hurley observed it all with mirth.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Ford. You are popular with the ladies, aren’t you?”
“Oh, stop. Please, call me Mitch.” Then he half turned to acknowledge Katharine with a cool, “Hello, Miss Evans.”
“Hello, Mr. Ford.”
“Please, sit,” said Steve.
Mitch glanced at the empty spot on the loveseat beside Katharine, then eyed her warily.
“Yes, right there. Beside Katharine. Don’t worry, she won’t bite.” Steve put a hand up beside his mouth, and stage-whispered, “Or maybe she will?”
Twittering laughter from the audience. Mitch turned and sat down. The seat was slightly lower than he’d anticipated, so when his bottom landed on the cushion, it sprung Katharine up comically. At least, the audience found it amusing. Katharine seethed internally, but a thin smile remained plastered to her lips. For as petite as she was, Mitch was giant. He encroached her personal space with his long legs and jutting elbows.
“You’re on my—”
“Can you just—”
“If you could try—”
The two of them shifted and muttered at each other, oblivious of the camera, the audience, and of the show’s hosts staring at them in amusement. She tugged the hem of her blouse out from under his thigh. He squirmed and drew in his elbows. They were two people doing everything in their power to not have any physical contact in a spot which might as well have been a telephone booth.
“Ahem,” Steve voiced theatrically, “we heard there’s been some…shall we say, sparks between you two.” Then, playing to the audience, he leaned forward, nodded at them, and said, “What do you all think?” Loud applause answered him. He sat back as if he were a lawyer in a courtroom resting his case.
Marla took over the interrogation. “Steve, doesn’t this sound like it could be a great story for a romance novel?”
“Oooh, it does, Marla. Hmm, now what would you call it,” said Steve.
“I know,” said Marla, ‘The Writer’s Romance’! Doesn’t that sound like a fun read?”
“I like it, Marla. Or—I know—maybe, ‘Love on Lake Pocotopaug.’ It had a ring to it, no? Either of you care to comment?” Marla and Steve blinked and smiled at them.
“No.” They answered in unison. Once again, Steve nodded knowingly at the audience. Someone shouted out, ‘I think it’s puppy love,’ and the audience erupted yet again.
This has gotten completely out of hand.
Mitch must’ve thought so as well. He attempted to redirect the
freight train onto safer topics. “Ah, so, I’d love to tell you a little bit about the rebuild we’re doing right now for the show.”
“The one next door to Miss Evans, right?”
“Y-yes. That’s right. The grandchildren of one Vincent Genoma contacted us some time ago about fixing up their grandfather’s house as a ninetieth birthday present. He’d served in World War II, was a devoted husband and father, adored his grandkids… just an all-around great guy who’d fallen on hard times after his wife passed away.”
Katharine bit her lip in dismay at how little she knew of the old man next door. Then she realized he’d been referring to him in the past tense. She interrupted.
“I’m sorry, wait. Is Mr. Genoma—”
“He passed away last March, Katharine. You… didn’t know?”
“I—no I guess…”
“So, Katharine, your longtime next-door neighbor passed away a year ago, and you didn’t even know it? Wow, that’s—”
“I’ve only lived there six years, so…” Katharine trailed off. All eyes were on her like she’d stolen candy from a child. Mitch cleared his throat, then continued.
“Anyhow, we followed up with the family after discovering Mr. Genoma’s passing and learned the grandson who’d originally emailed us had also fallen on some hard times. He’d followed his grandfather’s footsteps into the military. Around the same time he messaged us, he deployed. While overseas, his caravan was ambushed, and he was severely injured.”
Gasps and sympathetic moans rippled like a wave through the audience. Marla put her hand to her heart and shook her head as she asked, “And then what happened, Mitch?”
“Well, we knew we couldn’t let an American hero down after all that. So, we got a crew together and headed down to see what could get done for this wonderful family.”
“Wow, that is fantastic, Mitch. You’re going to give them a brand-new start, right in their beloved grandfather’s home. I can’t imagine a better ending to a story.”
“Wooo, that was some emotional stuff right there, wasn’t it,” asked Marla of the audience. The audience concurred.
“What do you say we lighten things up a little bit, hmm?” The audience clapped and cheered on cue, ready for some levity.
“We have something here— brought to us by your cameraman, Mitch—and I think you’re all going to get a kick out of it. But first, a commercial break!”
Oh, no. He didn’t. Of course, he did. It was like being on a roller coaster. In the dark. Jolts and twists, ups and stomach-flipping downs. All of which she couldn’t see coming. A moment ago, her eyes had softened on Mitch Ford’s face as he spoke about helping the young man and his family. There was genuine passion in his voice, a need to help that came through in his every utterance. Then, the bombshell… the ‘something your cameraman brought.’ It could be only one thing. Or several, she supposed. Perhaps a montage of everything she’d said in anger. Both of her falls. Heck, maybe he even got her drunken fiasco at Angelico’s on tape.
Katharine mentally plotted a series of possible scenarios in which she could escape the impending mortification. A bomb scare. Spontaneous combustion. A tornado. Maybe a sinkhole would open underneath the set. Or…
“Katharine, stop ignoring me. I am trying to tell you not—”
“What?” Katharine snapped at Mitch.
He slapped his hands on his lap and shook his head. “You know what, never mind.”
“What could you possibly have to say to me? Is it ‘haha, gotcha good’? Or maybe, ‘prepare to have your life ruined’?
“No,” he said with a slow, deliberate tone, “I am trying to tell you that: You. Don’t. Have. To—”
“Wow, chauvinistic much? Tell me, do you speak to all women like they’re children?”
“Only when they act like one!”
Katharine fumed. If she were a cartoon character, steam would be shooting out from her ears. Mitch glowered back at her from only a nose width’s away. Meanwhile, Katya and her assistant attempted to refresh their makeup. She looked from one to the other and rolled her eyes.
“Hey, lof-birds, how about you give me a chill for a minute? Or, would you like to do the kissing now?”
Katharine and Mitch jumped back as if bitten. She flushed, and he scowled. Katya chuckled and set to work.
“There, mach better. Except, you, stop with the red face. And you, big man. Stop with the face lines, you scrunch up, my makeup look like cake.”
From the corner of the set, another voice called out a countdown.
“Live in five, four, three, two…”
The set cleared but for the hosts, Katharine, and Mitch. The man doing the countdown pointed at Steve and Marla, and they resumed their banter.
“Alright, welcome back! So, if you’re just tuning in, we are sitting with the author of the popular Chelsea Marin Chronicle books, Katharine Evans and the star of the hit show, The Rebuilder, Mitch Ford and I’ve gotta tell you, folks… there is some chem-is-tree going on here!”
“Oh, why Marla, I never knew you felt—”
“Steve! You stop that. No, I’m talking about these two over here.”
The audience gives an adolescent chorus of, ‘woooooo.’
“What? Wait, no—he and I, we, he’s not—” Katharine stammered and looked at Mitch to set them straight.
“Yeah, no—I mean, she’s— I’m—” He was no better.
Steve and Marla gave one another exaggerated wide-eyed, raised eyebrows, knowing grins. Then they turned to the audience, who unsurprisingly hooted and laughed.
“Well, then,” exclaimed Steve after the laughs had died down, “Mitch, it seems like this isn’t the first time Katharine’s gotten you a little…flustered, shall we say? Tell us about this little clip your cameraman gave us, hmm?”
Here it comes. Katharine sank back in her seat, trying to make herself as small as possible and hoping the cushions would swallow her up. Her body went numb as she forced herself to listen to Mitch ‘set the scene.’
“Well, I had spotted Katharine coming in from the lake on her kayak and decided to pop on over to discuss some…details. About the build, you see. And well, how about we go ahead and show the clip?”
Behind them, a screen glided up, and the lights dimmed. An image of the show’s logo—a silhouette of a man in hardhat—filled the screen and the theme music played. Then, Mitch was on camera in his trademark faded jeans and baseball cap, walking towards the camera.
“From time to time,” spoke onscreen Mitch, “we—or I, as it happens— get a little carried away and well, mishaps happen. Unfortunately for me, my trusty cameraman, Sam, is always around to catch it when I do. Take a look at my latest…misfortune.”
The image of Mitch’s sardonic expression faded and was replaced by one of Katharine and Mitch by the lake. It was shot from behind Katharine, putting Mitch in full view. It began with Katharine saying, ‘I said, you’re going the wrong…’ Then the camera zoomed in on Mitch’s face. His eyes bulged, his mouth gaped with an ‘O.’ Then the camera panned back enough to show his arms flailing. The studio audience gasped as he fell into the water, then their laughter filled the studio. Sam had zoomed in again for a close-up of Mitch’s bewildered face, then pulled back enough to show Katharine in partial profile, pointing and laughing at him. Then the clip faded out.
Katharine slowly turned to look at Mitch, her brows drawn close together, her head tilted. This was the video he chose to share? His embarrassing moment? She had completely misjudged him. Everyone laughed around them, but they sounded far off, muted. Mitch was staring at Katharine with a calm, placid expression. A slight smile touched his lips, and his eyes were soft on her. Her cheeks burned and her throat constricticted. Katharine looked down at her hands so he wouldn’t see how flustered she’d become. Though she couldn’t meet his gaze, it bore a hole in her downturned head.
Somehow, they got through the rest of their segment. The moment Katharine said her thank you’s and goodbyes to the two
hosts, she bolted from the stage to the semi-safety of Tori. She had too many conflicting feelings racing through her mind, and she needed time to think.
Before Tori could say a word, Katharine blurted, “Can we get out of here, please?”
“Sure, sure, honey. Hey, you did…great.”
Katharine shot her a suspicious side glance.
“Really, I mean it. It wasn’t bad at all. But you have got to fill me in on Mr. Fine Faded Jeans, okay?”
“Yes, fine. But not now. I just want to get out of here.”
They were nearly out the door when Katya caught up to them. “There you are. You, take this. Is my business card. You do appearance, I do making up, da?”
“Da., uh, yes. Yeah, sure, that would be great. Thank you, Katya,” said Katharine.
“Yeah, yeah. Do like Katya say, and go on date with sexy hammer man.”
Before Katharine could respond, Katya turned and walked away.
“Sexy hammer man, huh? Has kind of a ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“Tori, please. Don’t.”
“Alright, alright. Geesh, touchy.”
NINE
THAT WOMAN
Mitch watched Katharine dash from the stage but could do nothing to stop her. The hosts had drawn him into a conversation—none of which he could recall after—and he’d missed his chance to speak to her. This was supposed to have been the moment when they shook hands and let bygones be bygones, and yet Mitch was once against left ravaged in the wake of Hurricane Katharine. He said as much to Sam when he pulled up to the station’s front entrance.
“So, how’d it go?” Sam asked as Mitch closed the passenger door.
“That woman—” he began, throwing his cap onto the floor mat at his feet.
“Uh-oh. Here we go.”
Mitch ignored Sam’s lament and launched into a thirty-minute diatribe of Everything Awful About Katharine Evans.
“Uh-huh. All I really hear is, you really, really like this chick.”
Mitch started to rebuke the accusation, then sighed and laughed a little. “Yep. I suppose I do. She’s smart, beautiful, in great shape, and turns out she’s philanthropic, too. I mean, who’d have thought that?”
