Grill Me, Baby

by Sophia Knightly

  Everyone swore they couldn’t eat another bite until Claudia brought out her signature dessert, a three-layered moist vanilla sponge cake slathered with creamy dulce de leche. Imagining the abundant calories, Michaela groaned silently, but she ate a small slice and her taste buds went into overdrive as she savored the sweet, rich concoction.

  When Mikey woke up and started to fuss, Claudia took him inside for a feeding, followed by Bobby, who hadn’t left her side all evening. It was as if he were trying to make up for the time he had been away and caused Claudia so much unhappiness.

  Seated at the table, between her mother and Rosa, Michaela almost dropped her fork when Rosa asked, “Are you going to be at Paolo’s taping tomorrow?”

  Sylvia Willoughby went from relaxed to ramrod stiff as she squeezed Michaela’s thigh beneath the table where no one could see. Michaela looked at her mother and gave her a private warning look. She had already told Tiffany and her parents that Paolo’s mother had no idea his girlfriend was competing against him. Michaela and Paolo weren’t keeping it a secret exactly, they just wanted to avoid the subject altogether while they were gathered today. There was no sense in adding drama to a family reunion and risking getting everyone riled up as they took sides.

  “No. Unfortunately, I can’t,” Michaela said, answering Rosa’s question.

  Rosa made a clucking sound. “Ay, what a shame. Food is Paolo’s passion and he is an expert at preparing it,” she boasted, gazing at her son with maternal pride.

  “Food is my daughter’s passion too,” Mom replied promptly, the competitor in her surfacing in spite of Michaela’s previous warnings. “Michaela is quite an accomplished chef.”

  Rosa turned to Michaela with a surprised look. “¿Verdad? But you are so slim! You should have seen Paolo as a little boy. He was such a little glutton, we used to call him raviolini,” she said chuckling at the memory.

  “You still do,” Paolo said with a hearty chuckle. He pulled his mother into a bear hug and ruffled the top of her short, layered hair. “But I forgive you.”

  “Paolo is going to be the winner. There is no doubt about it.” Rosa affectionately pinched Paolo’s lean cheek as if he were still a child.

  Paolo shot a glance at Michaela and she shook her head, mouthing to him that it was okay. But Sylvia Willoughby wasn’t about to let it go. She immediately countered with, “The best thing would be to have two winners because the other chef competing for the show is quite exceptional.”

  “Really? He can’t possibly be as good as Paolo,” Rosa said, pursing her mouth thoughtfully.

  “It is a she,” Sylvia said through tightly pursed lips. Michaela could see her mother’s temper climbing.

  “A woman is competing against Paolo?” Rosa’s brow knitted as she regarded Sylvia with a bewildered look.

  “Yes, not all great chefs are men,” Sylvia said succinctly.

  “True, but why do you mention her? We all want Paolo to win, don’t we?” Rosa asked, glancing at everyone for agreement.

  Suddenly, Tiffany let out a high-pitched giggle and all attention landed on her. Unfortunately, Tiff was quite tipsy from making toasts all evening. “Of course we do. And we want Mic to win too!” Tiffany crowed. “They’re both great chefs, so they should each have a show. Now that they’ve stopped fighting, they can’t keep their hands off each other. Let’s toast to them and may the best man win.” She raised her wine glass.

  Of all the toasts Tiffany had made, that was the most revealing. Michaela broke the stunned silence with an apology to Rosa. Aided by Paolo, she gave a detailed explanation of what they had kept hush-hush from Rosa and why. When she finally understood their motives, Paolo’s mother relaxed. Showing solidarity and respect for their children’s love, Rosa and Sylvia proclaimed that whoever won would be celebrated equally, with no bias. After all, Rosa reasoned, it wasn’t often that young love was powerful enough to withstand a fierce competition. Sylvia had reluctantly agreed and had remained quiet—a miracle for her.

  While Paolo and his family gathered around for some quiet time with Mikey, Michaela walked outside with her family as they were leaving.

  “Tiffany, were you able to get a final confirmation from our contestant for tomorrow’s taping?” Michaela asked. “I’m assuming he said yes, since you never mentioned it again.”

  Tiffany’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? Aunt Willow was supposed to take care of it.”

  “Me? But I didn’t have Internet access in the hospital. You offered to take care of it, Tiffany. Don’t you remember?” Aunt Willow asked, looking alarmed.

  “I, um…uh…” Tiffany stalled, glancing from one family member to the other with guilt stamped all over her face.

  “Oh, God, Tiff. Don’t tell me you were too distracted by Dr. Killjoy to remember anything about that conversation,” Michaela said, trying not to panic. “The taping is tomorrow afternoon!”

  “Who the hell is Dr. Killjoy?” Dad interjected.

  “Never mind.” Tiffany waved him off and whipped out her Blackberry. “Chill, everybody. I’ll email Hugo now. I’m sure Mr. Hurly Burly will jump at the opportunity.”

  “Mr. Hurly Burly? Tiffany, how much wine did you drink tonight?” Dad asked with a disapproving frown.

  Sylvia gave Tiffany a scorching look. “If he can’t make it, you are going to have to find a replacement ASAP! You better not let us down, missy.”

  “When have I ever?” Tiffany asked with wounded dignity. “It’s a piece of cake. All of you are panicking for nothing. The guys were coming out of the woodwork to be on Mic’s show.”

  “They were?” Michaela asked dubiously.

  “Yes, why do you look so surprised?” Tiffany asked her. “I’ll be at the studio tomorrow at ten to do your makeup and hair.”

  “Isn’t the studio providing hair and makeup for you?” Mom asked Michaela.

  Before Michaela could answer, Tiffany said, “They might be providing it, Mom, but I want to do Mic’s make-over and she already agreed to it. Right, Mic?”

  “Yes,” Michaela said.

  “When I’m finished with you, you’re going to sizzle on that screen,” Tiffany said. “Don’t wake up too early. We want you to look fresh and well-rested for the camera.”

  Late that night after they got home, Paolo’s mother could barely keep her eyes open. After she retired to bed, Paolo sat at his kitchen counter and opened his laptop. He missed his sexy redhead in his apartment and in his bed, but they had to keep up appearances. His mother would be scandalized if they had continued with the current sleeping arrangements. He hadn’t gotten around to reading his e-mails in a long while and decided to log onto his Grill Me, Baby web page to keep his mind off Michaela. The last time Paolo had checked the progress of his promo campaign led by Gil, there had been a long waiting list of women angling to be in the audience.

  A loud knock on his door got his attention and he hurried to answer it before his mother woke up. When he opened it, he found Juan Ramirez standing before him holding some papers.

  “Hola, Juan. Come in. What brings you here so late?” Paolo asked, clapping him on the shoulder in greeting.

  “Hola. I need to talk to Claudia.” Juan looked around Paolo’s apartment. “Is she here?”

  “Do you realize it’s almost one in the morning?”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but this is important.” He blushed. “I haven’t seen her all week and I was wondering if she’s okay.”

  “Claudia is fine. She’s back with her husband.”

  “Oh.” Juan looked disappointed. “I guess that’s good, considering she has Mikey and all.”

  “Yes,” Paolo agreed, wondering why Juan looked fidgety and nervous.

  “I…uh…I wanted to show her this.” Juan held out two papers and handed them to Paolo.

  Paolo read the first one:

  Congratulations, Hugo
! You have been selected to appear on Michaela Willoughby’s show. The sexy ginger-haired chef welcomes you as her special guest to The Pleasure Palate where your dining wish is her command. Attached please find a script for your portion of the show. Please read it and confirm your participation. Looking forward to meeting you! The Luv Bite Team.

  The second paper was a meticulously scripted plan for Michaela’s Pleasure Palate show.

  “I don’t get it. What are you doing with this?” Paolo asked, searching Juan’s face.

  “I am Hugo St. Paul,” Juan confessed with an embarrassed grin.

  Paolo wearily rubbed the stubble on his jaw and stared at Juan. “What did you say?”

  “I’m Hugo, the guy who wrote that e-mail,” he said in a small voice.

  “You wrote that e-mail?” Paolo asked, giving him an incredulous look.

  Juan gave a sheepish nod.

  Paolo shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs that seemed to have gathered there. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

  “Señora Fuentes got Claudia all worried that a cyber weirdo might end up on your girlfriend, Maki’s show. So we came up with a plan that I would send an e-mail and try to get on her show instead.”

  Paolo couldn’t believe his ears. “What an absurd idea. Claudia never told me about this.”

  “She didn’t want anyone to know.”

  That was not what Paolo wanted to hear. What else had Claudia been up to behind the scenes, he wondered uneasily. “Did she ask you to do it?”

  “No, I offered.” Juan shrugged and grinned. “I kinda went a little crazy sending a bunch of e-mails with different names so Claudia could relax. Believe me, I was surprised when they picked me. My e-mails were funny and creative, but the one from Hugo St. Paul was the best of all.”

  “Why? What did you say?”

  “I described myself as a glutton who worshipped butter and cheese. I said I admired Maki’s cooking and was willing to reform for health reasons.”

  Paolo’s jaw dropped as he saw Juan with different eyes. The poor kid was so smitten with Claudia, he’d been willing to concoct a screwball plan just to win her over.

  “So what are you going to do on her show tomorrow?” Paolo asked, wondering if he needed to alert Michaela of their prank.

  Juan hesitated and looked uneasy.

  Paolo zeroed in on his awkward silence and asked bluntly, “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t go on tomorrow. That’s what I came to tell Claudia. I hadn’t looked at the Gmail account I set up for that e-mail until tonight.”

  “Why can’t you be there?” Paolo demanded. “If you don’t show up, Maki will be very upset.” That was an understatement. Her carefully planned show would be ruined!

  “I have a statistics final tomorrow.” Juan took a step backward. “I was planning on helping out and being on the show if I was picked. I just didn’t know it would be at the same time as my final.”

  Paolo clutched his head. How could Tiffany have picked Juan’s glib entry over other worthy ones—especially knowing what a perfectionist Michaela was about everything? Michaela had confessed to Paolo that she had had very little input in her advertising campaign and had given her family free rein. With no discretion, Tiffany had transformed Michaela’s proper image to that of a sexy siren, relishing her motto of “sex sells” on the website. She was an incorrigible mischief-maker and had probably thought Hugo St. Paul would enliven things for her more mature sister.

  “What are we going to do? There were two other messages from the Luv Bite Team and the last one sounded urgent,” Juan said, bringing Paolo back to the pressing dilemma.

  “What did it say?” Paolo asked.

  “It said the success of Maki’s show was riding on Hugo and to please confirm that I would be there!”

  Damn. By the sound of it, Paolo knew it was too late for Tiffany to notify anyone else. Maki would feel betrayed and sabotaged by the Santos family if Hugo didn’t show up and she found out Juan’s sham e-mail had been orchestrated by Claudia!

  Paolo motioned for Juan to join him at the counter. “Come here. You’re going to respond to that email now.”

  Juan looked worried as he approached him. “What do you want me to write, Paolo?”

  “Log into your account and I’ll dictate it,” Paolo bit out between his clenched jaws. He knew he shouldn’t be mad at Juan, but the college kid’s desire to impress the heck out of Claudia had created a real disaster for Maki.

  When Juan logged onto his hurlyburly@gmail.com account, Paolo asked, “Hurly burly? What were you thinking, man?”

  Juan shrugged and hung his head. “I don’t know. The old-fashioned word seemed funny at the time. I thought I’d make Hugo sound like a dork, so Maki would take pity and choose him. Unfortunately, it worked.”

  “Here’s what I want you to write: ‘No worries. I will be there. Hugo.’”

  Juan turned to him with desperate eyes. “But I already told you I can’t be there!”

  “I know. I will be Hugo St. Paul tomorrow,” Paolo said magnanimously, even though his inner voice warned him he might regret it.

  “You will?” Juan looked vastly relieved. “Why?”

  “Because it’s past midnight, too late to ask anyone else to pitch in. I have to be at the studio at six tomorrow morning, so you need to get going, Juan,” Paolo said, incensed by Juan’s immature prank.

  “Okay, sorry about everything.” Juan’s face glowed red with embarrassment.

  “Not nearly as sorry as I am,” Paolo said, disgusted. He had no other choice but to appear on her show or Michaela would be a laughingstock tomorrow. There was no way he’d text her about the change in plans. Michaela didn’t do well with changes, especially when it involved the Miami Spice competition. If she got wind of Claudia and Juan’s shenanigans, she’d be a nervous wreck and not sleep a wink before her show. Michaela needed to be rested tomorrow morning. Somehow, Paolo would have to tell her between his taping and hers.

  If not, he was toast—burnt toast.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Oh, boy, listen to the audience,” Michaela said, fidgeting in the armchair in front of the lighted mirror of the dressing room while Tiffany applied her makeup. Paolo was in the midst of taping his show and from the loud applause, the all-female audience was delighted. The sound of their laughter to his ready wit and showman techniques was not good for Michaela’s nerves, not good at all. Since the night of Aunt Willow’s car accident, she and Paolo had decided that their love was more important than anything else, including the thrilling prize of being the winner of the Miami Spice competition. This should have provided comfort, but right now it was making her fret.

  “Don’t pay attention to Paolo’s show if it stresses you out, Mic. And please try not to blink,” Tiffany said, using a metal eyelash curler on Michaela’s lashes. Tiffany’s shiny silver train case lay opened on the counter, overflowing with a kaleidoscope of eye shadows, lipsticks and blushes. Makeup brushes and sponge wedges were spread before her on the counter as she focused on her craft, interspersing her work with peppy comments to cheer Michaela on.

  “I want to know how he’s doing.” Michaela tried not to blink as Tiff had requested. She didn’t know how much longer she could sit still. She felt like leaping from the chair and running out of the studio and into Paolo’s arms. Cut it out, she told herself, you’re being silly. She hadn’t expected to have a case of stage fright and actually, it wasn’t stage fright, it was fear of the unknown. What would happen after today? Would their relationship survive the competition?

  “Let’s close the door so you won’t be distracted,” Aunt Willow suggested from the couch she shared with Aunt Magda. The aunts had insisted on being in the dressing room with Michaela to bolster her confidence.

  “No, I want to keep it open. I need to hear what’s going on out there,”
Michaela insisted, trying to keep the edge from her voice. She was a bundle of nerves, heading toward meltdown. She was competing against the man she adored and wanted to marry, if he’d have her. All along, she had thought she was up to the task, but the minute she had arrived at the studio, she started to get nervous. Now she had cold feet about her show.

  “I provided the exact script of how I want to tape the show. What if Hugo hasn’t read it and he’s not prepared? What if he doesn’t even show up? Then I’m going to have to wing it. I’m not funny like Paolo…I’m only a chef!” Michaela fretted.

  “You can totally wing it if you have to. Don’t underestimate yourself,” Tiffany said. “You’re a pro at cooking and a natural teacher. Just think of the Munchin’ Munchkins. You’ve taught them so much since they started your classes.”

  “Exactly! Listen to your sister, Michaela, and stop worrying,” Aunt Magda urged. “You don’t have to be Jim Carrey out there. You are a beautiful woman and a knowledgeable and experienced chef. Perform to the best of your ability and they will love you for it.”

  “Right on. I have to agree with Magda. Once you’re groovin’ to the beat of your talents, things will go great for you.” Aunt Willow shifted on the sofa, adjusting the orthopedic brace that wrapped around her pumpkin-colored, embroidered cotton tunic. “Right now, you’re being your own worst enemy. Turn that negative aura to a positive one before you face your audience. You can start by trying to relax. Breathe in deeply and hold it a few seconds before exhaling slowly.”

  Michaela tried to take deep breaths, but she couldn’t, she was too revved up. “It’s not working. I’m afraid I might have gotten in over my head. I like everything planned ahead of time,” she said. “I should have never chosen this type of show just to outdo Paolo. I agreed to have a surprise guest that I haven’t met beforehand and practiced with.” She clutched her head and moaned, “What was I thinking? It’s madness! I should have stuck to what I do best and not tried to upstage Paolo for the sake of winning at all costs. Then I would have a fighting chance.”

  “Just listen to yourself. Shoulda woulda,” Magda repeated, shaking her head. “You are not helping things with a shopping list of regrets. You have had several meetings with the silver fox, have you not?”