Page 463 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
Tinsely and I took off toward the restrooms, trying to make a modest journey of it, but the staff all saw the panic in our steps as we rushed, and their giggles followed us out into the hall. I couldn’t deny there was humor in this, and in their place, I’d have been laughing too. As it was, my lips were curled in a smile by the time I made it into the restroom.
A short five minutes later, Tinsely and I sat in the warm break room sipping coffee. There weren’t cinnamon buns, but Tinsely seemed content with the hot drink and caffeine as she still wore my suit jacket over her shoulders. When our ride finally arrived, we wished the staff at Bamford’s a good rest of their day and hurried out of the store and into the back of the limo.
Our driver poked fun at us the entire drive to Wanda Wayans’s studio, but I only had half an ear for it because as soon as we had service again my phone had been lighting up with notifications. People had been looking for us, including Hugh, who had called me eighteen times since seven o’clock this morning.
I decided to call him first, and he answered with a frantic note in his voice. “Where are you, sir? Miss Wayans is looking at bringing someone else in as a stand-in and she’s not happy about it.”
“Tinsely and I are close,” I assured him. “We’ll be there in ten minutes tops. Convince her to wait for us, Hughie? I’ll owe you one. Throw her a bone and tell her we locked ourselves in a storage closet at the original Bamford’s, just like Tinsely did ten years ago.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I owed the guy, and our driver, who made sure we got to the studio in due time. We stumbled out of the back of the limo and fixed ourselves up out on the sidewalk in the cold. Tinsely smoothed out my tie and jacket and fixed my hair. She went so far as to lick her thumbs and smooth my eyebrows down, too. I fluffed up her tutu and helped her with her hair, but I wasn’t sure I had the right eye for it, because I kind of liked her sex-tousled short blonde hair.
She swatted at my hands as I tried to tame some of her fly-aways. “Just leave it,” she said.
A studio door swung open, and we were dragged inside and swallowed up by the sheer size of the building. The heels of our shoes echoed through the cavernous studio, and we rounded a corner and saw the sprawling set up of Wanda’s filming stage. They must have been in a commercial break because she had someone touching up her lipstick while she admired her reflection in a handheld mirror.
“Ah, the man of the hour finally arrives!” Wanda called across the studio. “Get up here, you two. You’re cutting it dangerously close for live television. I almost gave your slot away to a chef nobody knows. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would have been to go live with a nobody?”
Tinsely and I shared a wary look as we climbed the stairs onto her set and took our seats across from her on two white leather armchairs. I attempted one last time to make myself look presentable and thanked my lucky stars for the makeup artist who swept up on stage with us and slapped a bit of TV makeup on our cheeks. Feeling a little less like a disheveled slob, I turned to Tinsely.
“You ready for this?” I asked.
She gave me a weak nod. “You’re doing all the talking. I’m just going to sit here in my tutu and look, well, like your elf.”
“That’s my girl.”
She smiled, stuck her tongue out at me, and thanked the makeup artist before she bustled away off camera.
Wanda Wayans snapped her fingers at people running all over the studio. She barked out orders, and I marveled at how she could make herself seem so charming on TV when in reality she was an entitled celebrity.
No surprises there, I supposed.
“You! Yes, whatever your name is, with the red shirt,” Wanda hollered, “make sure my salad is ready when this segment ends. I’m starving. If the dressing is on it, I don’t want it. It has to be on the side. Vinaigrette, please. None of that creamy nonsense you’re all eating. I’m trying to keep my figure.” She flashed us her TV smile. “The camera adds ten pounds, so keeping it trim is a priority, right, dear?” She leaned forward to direct her attention at Tinsely, who had preoccupied herself by trying to smooth down sequins sewn onto her shirt.
Tinsely blinked up at Wanda. “I’m sorry?”
“No, dear, I am,” Wanda said. “That outfit? Well, the camera is the least of your problems, isn’t it?”
I stood up.
Wanda tilted her head back. “Going somewhere, Naughty Santa?”
“Yes.” I held out my hand to Tinsely. “Looks like you’ll need to bring that chef back out after all. Merry Christmas, Miss Wayans. We’ll see ourselves out.”
CHAPTER 23
TINSELY
“What are you doing?” I hissed at Chadwick as his grip on my hand tightened and he led me off the stage and behind the cameras. He spied a table of food, grabbed two sandwiches and a couple of napkins, and kept right on walking. “Wanda Wayans’s show has a huge audience. Your father—”
“Is no longer in charge. He might have been able to stomach that woman’s hideous personality, but I’m not interested in pretending to be buddy-buddy with someone like her on live television.”
My mouth worked to form words, but none came. We stumbled out the studio doors into the lot, where the limo sat waiting for us. Chadwick opened the back door while a studio assistant, the young woman in the red shirt Wanda had targeted in regard to her salad, hurried out after us.
“Mr. Bamford! Mr. Bamford! Please wait!”
Chadwick motioned for me to get in the limo.
