The Accidental TV Star by Emily Evans Read Free Book Online

wasn’t too bad, but I hated when people stuck fungible titles on me. I have a name. They could learn it. I’m not Cashier, Fry Girl, Server, Darling, Baby, Sweetheart, or Messy. With a heated face, I followed Hannah to the back of the room where the sideboard wrapped the wall. I signed the consent forms and a release.
    “I’ll get you a copy after these are processed.” Hannah’s gaze flicked to the host. “Thanks for being here.” She handed me a white apron and nodded to the turnips. “Diced, please.”
    “Sure.” The rounded white and purple bulbs were familiar. I took the chilled turnips in hand and went after them like the contest from this morning was still in effect.
    “Whoo-ee, look at her go,” a male voice said.
    I glanced up.
    A guy wearing a blue contestant’s apron that read Cajun Cal said, “Hi, I’m Cal.”
    Cal, a dirty blond with brown-eyed, boy-next-door appeal, touched the brim of his olive green baseball cap. A tiny alligator frozen forever by a taxidermist perched on the edge. Beady black eyes stared down at me.
    “Marissa,” I said to Cal and the gator. When I moved my gaze, the gator’s predatory eyes followed me.
    “Marissa.” He turned the three syllables in my name into four. “Sure is pretty.”
    “Thanks.” I went back to dicing the vegetables. Show no favorites. Do your job. Not that I had to be warned. People who dated their bosses or started show-mances usually humiliated their families and lost the game. Suckers. I’d be home in Texas in three months. I wasn’t taking a layer of Hollywood shame back with me. Cute Cal could take his warm brown eyes and his gator’s beady black ones back to his table.
    “Places,” the director said.
    Cal went back to the front.
    The director said, “Camera, zoom in on Messy.”
    The cameraman pushed the tripod over to me and turned the wide lens so it pointed dead center on my face.
    I froze.
    “Say hi,” the director said. “Action.”
    I opened my lips to greet the camera or dear God no—start barking, when sobs broke out across the room. I jerked, grateful for the interruption.
    Wilma said, “My husband. I’m sorry, but you don’t understand. He must come first.”
    The camera swiveled to her.
    A cute male contestant with dark hair rolled his eyes and gestured to the door. “Quit then, Wilma. You know you were going to lose anyway.”
    The third male contestant, a dark-skinned man, threw paprika at her.
    Wilma shrugged off her blue apron and ran to Ms. Sims. The camera chased her. Wilma said, “Give me a doggy bag.” Her last word broke on a sob.
    Ms. Sims frowned and drew out a white paper bag from the pocket of her black apron. The front of the bag held an image of a dog with his tail tucked under his body. She smoothed the paper and her hand framed the image. Seriousness lay in her voice. “Do you know what this means?”
    Yips and howls filled the room as the other contestants started barking.
    “I do.” Wilma sobbed, snatched the bag from Ms. Sims, and turned to the camera. “For my family.”
    “Cut.”
    As Wilma ran from the room, a grandmotherly-looking contestant grinned, made a fist, and jabbed her elbow at her side. “She was next out anyway.”
    The other female contestant pursed her lips but didn’t comment.
    Wow. This was going to be a great episode.
    The director, Hannah, and Ms. Sims converged and began a heated, whispered conversation. I kept my focus split between them and the turnips. My progress slowed considerably and my fingers numbed under the cold vegetables. This was fabulous.
    Ms. Sims flattened her hand on the counter. “Three of each.” Her voice sounded firm.
    Hannah nodded and hurried to me. She tossed me a blue apron. I dropped a turnip to catch it.
    Hannah said, “You’re up. Take Wilma’s station.”
    The stiff, starched fabric crumpled under my grip. “Uh? What?”
    “We have seven weeks. We did the double-elimination last week. With Wilma quitting, we need a new