Cooking Channel have lots of cookbooks. And sometimes magazines. The show sells the books. Books sell the show, and the show sells products. Business, Miz Silk.”
“I don’t know, Josey.”
“You see all the fuss about En feu! Hot Stuff! and the number of people in town just because they’re going to be shooting it. Food is big business, and not just the food you eat. It affects everything. If Rafaël or Marietta buys something at CeeCeeCuisine, everyone’s going to want it. Every restaurant in the village will be competing to get them to come for dinner.”
“Really? I find that hard to...”
“Oh, believe it. TV chefs are real stars. They get a huge viewership on The Cooking Channel, on W and Life and other channels too. You should check it out. Woody’s got cable and digital and the movie channel and everything.”
“Woody would never watch something like The Cooking Channel.”
“You’re wrong, Miz Silk. He’s hooked on Extreme Sauté and. The Slam Dunk Chef and Close This Restaurant! NOW!”
“You’re making up those programs.”
“Nope. He likes Killin’ on the Grill too. Trust me.”
“I despair.”
“Don’t despair. You should try to make it work for you. If we get you a television show, think about what will happen with your cookbook. Into the stratosphere.”
“Couldn’t happen.”
“Sure it could. There’s no one on now with your type of looks. I think the camera would like you.”
“What?”
“That’s what they call it.”
“Who calls what that?”
“TV people. Doesn’t matter. The thing is people like you. You have sort of a way about you. Sympathetic. Personal. All that kinky ashy-blonde hair.”
“It’s very nice of you to say that, Josey, but...”
“I read somewhere that Naughty Marietta gets ten thousand emails a week. Or maybe it’s ten million.”
“People email television chefs?”
“Well, sure. This new book could catapult you into full-time celebrity. You’d have to have a blog.”
“I don’t believe this. I am a writer, not a cook, not a cookbook writer, not a celebrity. And the last thing I would ever want is ten thousand emails a week. What’s a blog? It sounds disgusting.”
“Okay, forget the blog. But this is a pretty big opportunity.”
“Sure. What would they call the program? Shoot This Chef?”
“Come on, Miz Silk. They’d come up with something. Maybe Romantic Recipes with Fiona Silk. Or Fiona’s Feel Good Food or something sexier. Silky Sensations or hey, how about—”
It was time for a counter-attack. “When do you watch all this television with school and homework and your business?”
“Not the point. They’re on all the time. Everywhere. You can’t miss them. And I need to find new business opportunities if I’m going to get my driver’s licence. That takes cash. Your project is perfect. And the main point is these people are in St. Aubaine. You have a chance to meet them.”
I must have turned pale, because Josey said, “Don’t worry about it. I can do the background work. First you have to be a bit professional. You have to learn who’s who and what’s what. You have to catch on to the personalities and the language. When I was making the list for your supplies, I noticed you don’t have any wooden spoons or spatulas or any of those nice little clear glass bowls in different sizes. You need to get your kitchen stocked up to test your recipes.”
The bowls again. I said, “I was planning on very simple foods, nothing at all complicated to make. I don’t imagine people will be reading an...I mean a romantic cookbook for the cooking instructions.”
Josey said, “Have it your way. But you’re still going to have to jazz up your kitchen. Even if I do the prep work, I don’t even know how the food stylist would manage.”
“The what?”
“Never mind. I’ll just take stock, okay? You need equipment. You’ve got no time to waste before you lose your house in order to hang on to that old picture.”
“Be my guest,” I said. “I can’t buy any equipment right now, and I’ll have to pay you for these jobs later.”
She sniffed. “Not everything’s about money, Miz Silk.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’ll try the Roi du dollar first. You can settle up later. Maybe we can get some product placement deals.”
I would have said something sensible, but of course, the door had already banged behind her.
“I do think it’s great news,” I said to Liz. I wasn’t sure how much work I could get done on this ridiculous project if people kept dropping by in the middle of the day. Not that Liz would care what I thought. She watched me from the beanbag chair and wiggled her toes. I added, “But good news or not, we’re not having Courvoisier.”
She pouted, because pouts still look good on her. We’ll see how that goes in another ten years.
She said, “Is that because you’re jealous that I have something to celebrate for once?”
“No, it’s because it’s the middle of the day.”
“Maybe you’re pissed off.”
“Well, I am pretty ticked off, actually. I know this is a huge thing for you, and you’re really happy to purchase a property. But how come you didn’t think to mention it to your best friend of forty-one years, which would be me, until the day you’re taking possession?”
“Actually, it’s the day I’m moving in. I knew you’d disapprove. For someone so passive as a rule, you have to admit you are pretty tight-assed about development in the village.”
There was so much to react to in that sentence. I took a deep breath before I responded. “It’s your money, and quite a chunk of it too. If you want to sink it into one of Jean-Claude’s condos on the waterfront, what business is it of mine?”
“That’s what I mean about tight-assed.”
“I’m trying to be a supportive friend,” I said. “I can understand you were tired of renting.”
“I know what you’re thinking. Environmental factors, damage to the waterfront, changing the character of the community, lining Jean-Claude’s pockets. Yada yada yada. Did I leave anything out?”
“How about going into debt to accomplish those other things you said?”
“I
