I demanded. “I’ve had a miserable day and there you sit, enjoying my humiliation.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said innocently. “Was I smiling?”
I didn’t answer. He knew exactly what he’d been doing.
Charlie said contritely, “Come on now, Evelyn. I was just teasing you. Don’t take it so hard. I’m sure it is harder than it looks. I’m sure there are lots of people who’ve had…how many takes was it she needed to film this sixty-second spot, Ben?”
Ben, the big bear of a cameraman, looked up from his plate and, with his mouth full of New York strip steak, answered, “Fifty-six.” At which point, everyone but me started laughing uproariously.
“I hate you all,” I said. “You’re evil and I despise you and that is all there is to it.” I put down my wineglass and buried my head in my hands.
“Mary Dell! Why did I let you talk me into this? When you called last month and told me about your great idea to do the show live from Cobbled Court to publicize Quilt Pink, you made it sound so easy. I didn’t realize that the second Ben turned on the camera I’d start feeling like I might throw up.”
“Actually,” Sandy said to Charlie, “she did throw up. Three times. Any chance you’re coming down with something, Evelyn?”
“I don’t know,” I said glumly. “Is stage fright viral? What am I going to do? If this is what happens when we’re filming the promotional spot, how am I going to get through an entire broadcast? Live? How will it look if, right in the middle of talking about how to miter a binding corner, I have to excuse myself and run to the bathroom to toss my lunch?”
“A whole lot better than it’ll look if you don’t excuse yourself,” Ben deadpanned, which set the rest of the group to howling again.
“This is serious!” I wailed. “Maybe we should just call this off while we still can.”
Sandy made a dismissive face and shook her head. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s just a case of first-time jitters. You’ll get over it. You were much better the last hour.”
“That’s because there was nothing left in my stomach.”
“Well, make sure you don’t eat before the show.”
Mary Dell, who, because she was concentrating on enjoying every last bite of her tilapia, had been uncharacteristically silent all this time, finally spoke up. “Evelyn, calm down. You are making too much of this. Why, the first time Ben turned that camera on me I was jumpy as spit on a hot skillet. Wasn’t I, Ben?”
Ben nodded dutifully as he sawed off another piece of meat.
“See? You’ll be fine. Trust me. After all, you’ve got four months until the broadcast. By September, you’ll be feeling fine as cream gravy.”
I opened my mouth to argue with her, but we were interrupted. Lydia Moss, the wife of New Bern’s First Selectman, Porter Moss, approached our table.
“Excuse me,” she said, focusing on Mary Dell and completely ignoring everyone else at the table. Not surprising. I’ve been introduced to Lydia five different times at various community functions and each time she acts like it’s the first time. She’s one of those types of New Englanders, the ones that consider you an alien intruder if your family didn’t arrive here before 1700.
“Excuse me,” she repeated, “but aren’t you someone?”
Mary Dell was taking a drink of water. She started laughing when she heard this question and snorted some of the liquid up her nose. Sandy pounded her on the back until she quit choking.
“Well, I suppose so. Aren’t you?”
Lydia blushed and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. What I meant was, aren’t you…I mean, haven’t I seen you on television somewhere?”
“You might have.” Mary Dell beamed and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mary Dell Templeton. My son, Howard, and I host Quintessential Quilting on the House and Home Network.”
“I thought so!” Lydia said excitedly. “Oh! Miss Templeton, I’m just such a fan!”
Now it was my turn to snort. Mary Dell kicked me under the table. I composed myself but was definitely feeling the effects of my second glass of wine. And, really, wasn’t it funny how Lydia hadn’t known Mary Dell’s name but was suddenly a big fan? If Lydia had ever seen Quintessential Quilting, I was sure it hadn’t been for more than a few seconds as she was flipping channels. She wasn’t a quilter. At least, I’d never seen her in the shop.
Mary Dell, after withdrawing her foot from my shin, went into Moonlight and Magnolias mode. Lydia hadn’t fooled her for a minute.
“Well, bless your heart! Aren’t you sweet? It’s always nice to meet a sister quilter. This is Ben, our cameraman, and Sandy, our producer.” Sandy smiled and said hello. Ben just grunted and kept eating. “I’m sure you already know Charlie.” Charlie said it was nice to see her again.
“And, of course,” Mary Dell continued, lifting her hand toward me, “I’m sure you know Evelyn Dixon, owner of Cobbled Court Quilts? Evelyn is an old friend of mine.”
“Oh, yes! Of course! We’ve met several times at community functions. My husband, Porter, is New Bern’s First Selectman. That’s something like the mayor in your part of the country, Miss Templeton.” Lydia smiled broadly. “How nice to see you again, Evelyn. I just love your shop! It’s been such a boon to the town. I said as much to my husband just last week.”
I forced myself to return Lydia’s smile. New Bern is a small town. There’s no sense in antagonizing the First Selectman’s wife, even if she is a big liar. “Thank you, Lydia. It’s nice of you to say so.”
“And before too long,” Charlie piped in, “Cobbled Court Quilts will be an even bigger boon to New Bern. Mary Dell is doing a live broadcast of Quintessential Quilting from Evelyn’s shop. Millions of people will be tuning in to watch Mary Dell and Evelyn, live, at the shop’s annual Quilt Pink Day. Millions and millions of them.” He turned to me, raising his eyebrows to their full height and grinning impishly.
My stomach lurched. I put my head in my hands again. “Oh, dear Lord.”
Lydia ignored my groans. “Really? How exciting! And it’s going to be live?”
“That’s right,” Charlie affirmed. “Filmed live. With millions and millions of…”
I snapped, “Be quiet, Charlie!”
“Well! Isn’t that something!” Lydia exclaimed. “Will there be an audience at the broadcast?”
“Maybe a small one,” Sandy said. “By the time we get all the lighting and camera equipment in, there won’t be much extra room. Of course, the women who are participating in the Quilt Pink event will be there.”
“Oh! That’s wonderful! What a marvelous idea! And, of course, I’ll be happy to participate! I couldn’t dream of missing Quilt Pink Day, could I? It’s one of New Bern’s most important events of the year.”
Really? Well, of course, I thought so, but if Lydia Moss agreed, it was the first I’d heard of it. I was trying to decide whether to say this or not when Porter Moss walked up to our table, holding Lydia’s coat. He nodded to the assemblage.
“Hello.”
Charlie got up from the table and shook hands. “Hello, Porter. How was your dinner? Everything to your liking?”
“Delicious as always, Charlie. I’m glad to see the short ribs back on the menu.”
“Darling,” Lydia purred, taking her husband’s arm, “I’d like you to meet Mary Dell Templeton. She hosts a quilting show on television and is going to be filming an episode live from New Bern.”
Impressed,