The Chase by Janet Evanovich, Lee Goldberg Read Free Book Online Page B

of sugar,” their mother said.
    “But it tastes good,” Missy said.
    Mom wagged a finger at her daughter. “That doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”
    That’s when an enormous jovial-looking pancake with armsand legs and a pat of melting butter on its head bounded into the kitchen carrying two platters stacked high with hotcakes.
    “A healthy breakfast doesn’t have to be bland and boring anymore. Not if you’re serving Percy Pancakes,” the pancake said.
    “We love pancakes!” Missy exclaimed.
    The giant pancake set the platters down and shook his head. “I’m sorry, everyone, but this just isn’t working for me.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” said the mother.
    “CUT!” yelled the director.
    A bell rang, and the fifty members of the film crew relaxed. The soundman lowered the boom mike he’d been holding up over the giant pancake’s head, and a makeup woman came out to touch up the mother’s face.
    Boyd Capwell was the actor in the pancake costume, and he knew that the commercial was his shot at joining the pantheon of legendary food characters such as the Pillsbury Doughboy, Mr. Peanut, the Kool-Aid Man, Mayor McCheese, Charlie the Tuna, Mrs. Butterworth, and the California Raisins. It could lead to a steady, lucrative gig, something Boyd had been chasing for twenty years as an itinerant, unknown actor. But he was an artist above all else and had to be true to his muse. And his muse had issues with the scene.
    The director was Stan Deakins, a fifty-two-year-old veteran of the commercial business who preferred working with inanimate objects, like cars and cheeseburgers, specifically to avoid aggravation like this. He rose from his chair behind the camera and approached Boyd. “What’s the problem?”
    “A complete stranger—a giant pancake, no less—has just appeared in their home,” Boyd said. “Why isn’t anyone reacting to this? Wouldn’t they be screaming in terror?”
    “They love pancakes,” Stan said.
    “What would they do if a fried chicken leg walked in?”
    “I’m not sure a chicken leg could walk in,” said the script supervisor, a lady who wore three layers of shirts and sucked on a pencil as if it were a pacifier. “I suppose it could hop.”
    Stan looked over his shoulder at her. “Let me handle this.” He turned back to Boyd. “The family knows you. You’re not just another pancake off the street. You’re a celebrity pancake, the Jay Leno of breakfast foods. Would anyone throw Leno out of their house?”
    “Okay, assuming you’re right, I’m a pancake asking this family to eat me. Am I suicidal or simply filled with self-loathing?”
    “Take your pick,” Stan said. “Whatever will get you through the scene.”
    Boyd thought for a moment. “Got it. I’m ready to go.”
    “Glad to hear it.” Stan settled back into his seat. “Okay, let’s do a pickup from Missy’s line.”
    Boyd went back to his mark at the table. The actress playing the mother got back into her position. The makeup lady returned to her spot. The soundman positioned the boom microphone over the actors. An assistant director stood in front of the camera and held the electronic clapboard in front of the lens.
    “Scene one, take fifteen,” the AD said, clapping the sticks.
    “Action!” Stan yelled.
    “We love pancakes!” Missy said.
    The mother turned to Boyd. “But growing children need vitamins and minerals.”
    “I’m loaded with fiber and eight essential vitamins,” Boyd said. “With our six great flavors, you get incredible taste and no more problems with regularity.”
    “You’re a pancake for the whole family,” the mother said.
    Boyd dropped to his knees and took the mother’s hands, startling the actress. “Please, you’ve got to serve me to the kids. Being eaten is the only thing that gives my life any meaning. Without it, I’m nothing, just flour and buttermilk without a soul.”
    Stan whispered to the script supervisor, “What the hell is he saying? Is that in the