"Ah, lovely. Being syndicated does have its advantages," Godiva said as she led Chili to the two front row seats with placards that read RESERVED FOR PRESS. She dusted off the seat and sat down, careful not to put creases in her emerald green Armani dress.
Chili plunked down next to her. Godiva looked at her niece and felt a tiny twinge of guilt for dumping three sacks of mail on her last night when she had offered to help. Even though the girl had worked until midnight she radiated excitement and vitality.
"Wow, Auntie. I still can't believe I'm actually here! Just look at this place." The seats were packed. Women outnumbered the men four to one.
"I must admit, sweetheart, I've never really seen the show." Godiva reached under her seat for her VIP gift basket and pulled out an 8x10 glossy photo of Chef Caesar Romano. Perfect white teeth sparkled in a gleaming Hollywood smile. Steely blue eyes twinkled in his bronzed face. The wavy black hair touched with silver, and full moustache, added to his Latin good looks. "But I'm starting to understand why it's so popular." She looked at Chili and smiled. "He really is sexy."
The crowd exploded with applause. Godiva lifted her eyes from the photo to watch the real item strutting across the stage, waving and blowing kisses to the audience. He bobbed his head toward Chili and Godiva's section, then turned and bowed to the far side of the room. Godiva admired the way his tailored chef's jacket showed off his physique.
Her mind drifted back to the racecar driver who had romanced her during the Gran Prix a few years ago and then looked at Romano again. Damn, that is one handsome man! He's actually better looking than Juan Carlo.
Chili tugged at her sleeve and Godiva snapped back to the present. "Candy's not here," Chili whispered in Godiva's ear. "The rumors must be true."
"Who's Candy?"
"His assistant."
Then Godiva remembered seeing something in last week's gossip columns. Candy Vanderloop, the air-headed blonde who normally handed him spoons and ladles, had walked out on him without notice. Word was out that she had signed on with Romano's rival, Biff Wellington.
On cue, the room filled with applause as Chef Romano rolled up his sleeves. He romanced every woman in the audience as he simmered his sauce and sautéed his shrimp, constantly looking to his right or left as if expecting an assistant to hand him something.
"He needs a sous-chef," said Chili. "See how he keeps looking for Candy?"
After presenting his savory Scampi àl Fungi de Bosco, Romano picked out a lanky, bald fellow sporting an African tunic to join him in the kitchen and sample the succulent shrimp with forest mushrooms. Next he brought up a chubby woman in a Hawaiian muumuu. Godiva leaned toward her niece whispering, "Oh my God, look at the outlandish red and green parrots on that woman's dress."
"I don't know, Auntie. I kind of like them. Grandma Belle has a dress just like that."
Before Godiva could answer, she heard Romano say, "And the lovely lady in the emerald green dress, won't you join us in the kitchen?" She turned from Chili, and saw that he was pointing at her.
As Godiva stood and smoothed her skirt, she heard whispers behind her.
"Look, Hazel. That lady in the green dress is G.O.D. You know, Ask G.O.D.--the new column in the Times."
The camera zoomed in on the man in the African tunic smacking his lips with delight. The lady in the colorful muumuu wiped a dab of caramel-colored sauce from her chin. Godiva gobbled up the heavenly scampi and boldly asked for another serving.
She cleaned her plate and batted her lashes. "Chef Romano, you can cook in my kitchen anytime." Romano smiled, raised an eyebrow and the camera cut to a commercial.
As the show came to a close, Romano stared in horror when the man in the African tunic grabbed his stomach and fell to the floor in a slow motion break dance. A plate of scampi and mushrooms crashed beside him and the large woman in the bright muumuu collapsed on top of it.
A drenching cold sweat slicked over Godiva's skin. She panicked as her stomach cramped in painful knots. The room swam before her eyes. The pounding in her head was more than she could bear. Her last conscious thought as she sank to the floor, landing face down in a puddle of mushroom sauce, was that the studio's lush burgundy carpeting didn't feel as luxurious as it looked.
)
