ONE MONTH LATER
Walter Pine had been in television from almost the very beginning. He liked the idea of televisionโthe way it promised people an escape from daily life. Thatโs why heโd chosen itโbecause who didnโt want to escape? He did.
But as the years wore on, he began to feel like he was the prisoner permanently assigned to digging the escape tunnel. At the end of the day, as the other prisoners scrambled over him to freedom, he stayed behind with the spoon.
Still, he kept on for the same reason many people keep on: because he was a parentโthe lone parent of daughter Amanda, six years old, kindergartner at Woody Elementary, and light of his life. He would do anything for that child. That included taking his daily browbeating from his boss, who recently threatened heโd be out of a job soon if he didnโt do something about that empty afternoon programming slot.
Walter took out a handkerchief and blew his nose, looking at the cloth right after, as if to see what his insides were made of.
Phlegm. Not a surprise.
A woman had come to see him a few days backโElizabeth Zott, mother ofโฆhe couldnโt remember the kidโs name. According to Zott, Amanda was causing trouble. No surprise; Mrs. Mudford, her teacher, claimed Amanda was always causing trouble. Which he refused to believe. Yes, Amanda was a bit anxious like he was, a bit overweight like he was, a
bit of a people pleaser like he was, but you know what else Amanda was? A
niceย kid. And nice kids, like nice adults, were rare.
You know what else was rare? A woman like Elizabeth Zott. He could not stop thinking about her.
โ
โFinally,โ Harriet said, wiping her wet hands on her dress as Elizabeth came in through the back door. โI was starting to worry.โ
โSorry,โ she said, trying to keep the rage out of her voice. โSomething came up at work.โ She threw her bag down and collapsed in a chair.
Sheโd been back at Hastings for two months now and the stress of underemployment was killing her. She knew people in high-stress jobs often longed for a simpler positionโsomething that didnโt require heart or brainpower; something that didnโt prey on their sagging spirits at three in the morning. But she had learned that underemployment was worse. Not only did her paycheck reflect her lowly status, but her brain hurt from inactivity. And yet despite the fact that her colleagues knew she could run intellectual circles around them, she was expected to rah-rah whatever minor accomplishments they churned out.
But todayโs accomplishment was not minor. It was major. The latest edition ofย Science Journalย was out and Donattiโs paper was in it.
โ
โNothing earth-shattering.โ Thatโs how Donatti had described his article a few months back. But the workย wasย earth-shattering, and she should know. Because it was hers.
She read the article twice just to make sure. The first time, slowly. But the second time she dashed through it until her blood pressure skipped through her veins like an unsecured fire hose. This article was a direct theft from her files. And guess who was listed as a co-contributor.
She lifted her head to see Boryweitz watching her. He turned pale, then hung his head.
โTry to understand!โ Boryweitz cried as she slammed the journal down on his desk. โI need this job!โ
โWe all need our jobs,โ Elizabeth seethed. โThe problem is, youโve never done yours.โ
Boryweitz peered up at her, his lemur eyes begging for mercy, but all he saw was a rogue wave just beginning to crest, its energy unknown, its true power untested. โIโm sorry,โ he pleaded. โI really am. I had no idea Donatti would go this far. He photocopied all your files the first day you were back, but I assumed it was to familiarize himself with our work.โ
โOurย work?โ She managed not to reach out and snap his neck in two. โIโll deal with you later,โ she promised. Then she turned and marched down the hallway toward Donattiโs office, barely breaking stride to shove a meandering microbiologist out of her way.
โYouโre a liar and a cheat, Donatti,โ she said, bursting into her bossโs office. โAnd I promise you this: you wonโt get away with it.โ
Donatti looked up from his desk. โZott!โ he cried. โAlways a pleasure!โ
He sat back, taking in her fury with a kind of joy. This would have been the sort of thing Evans would have quit over for sure. If only he were alive to see thisโbut no, he had to ruin this moment by being dead already.
He listened with half an ear as Zott railed on about his thievery. The investor had called earlier to congratulate Donatti on his workโmade some promising noises about sending more money their way. Heโd also asked about Zottโwhether heโd played any role in the research. Donatti had said no, not reallyโunfortunately, Mr. Zott had proved to be a bit of a washout; in fact, heโd been demoted. The investor had sighed as if disappointed, then asked about Donattiโs next steps, abiogenesis-wise. Donatti mucked around with some big words heโd gleaned from other parts of Zottโs research, all of which heโd have to ask Zott about later,ย afterย sheโd calmed the fuck down and remembered she worked forย him.ย God, it was hard being a manager. Anyway, whatever he said seemed to satisfy the rich guy.
But then Zott had to go and ruin everything by doing the one thing neither of them could afford for her to do. โHere,โ she said, plopping her lab key in his coffee. โKeep your damn job.โ Then she threw her ID tag in
the trash, dumped her lab coat in the middle of his desk, and stormed out, taking all those big words with her.
โ
โYou got four phone calls,โ Harriet was saying. โThe first was about becoming a Nielsen family. The other three were from a Walter Pine. Pine wants you to call him back. Says itโs urgent. Claims you and he had an enjoyable conversation about foodโor no, no, Iโm sorry, aboutย lunch,โ she corrected herself, checking her notes again. โSounded anxious,โ she said, looking up. โProfessionally anxious. Like a well-mannered person, but on edge.โ
โWalter Pine,โ Elizabeth said, gritting her teeth, โis Amanda Pineโs father. I drove to his office a few days back to talk with him about the lunch issue.โ
โHow did the talk go?โ
โIt was more of a confrontation.โ โViolent, I hope.โ
โMom?โ a voice said, appearing in the doorway.
โHi, bunny,โ Elizabeth said, attempting to sound calm as she encircled her gangly child with one arm. โHow was school?โ
โI made a clove hitch knot,โ Madeline said, holding up a rope. โFor show-and-tell.โ
โDid everyone enjoy it?โ โNo.โ
โThatโs okay,โ Elizabeth said, pulling her close. โPeople donโt always like what we like.โ
โNo one ever likes my show-and-tell stuff.โ โLittle bastards,โ muttered Harriet.
โThey liked that arrowhead you brought in.โ โNo.โ
โWell, next week why not try the periodic table? Thatโs always a crowd pleaser.โ
โOr you could try my bowie knife,โ Harriet suggested. โLet them know where you stand.โ
โWhenโs dinner?โ Madeline said. โIโm hungry.โ
โI put one of your casseroles in the oven,โ Harriet said to Elizabeth as she heaved herself toward the door. โI need to go feed the beast. Call Pine back.โ
โYouย calledย Amanda Pine?โ Madeline gasped.
โHer father,โ Elizabeth said. โI told you. I visited him three days ago and got the entire lunch business straightened out. I think he understood our position, and I am certain Amanda will not be stealing your lunch ever again. Stealing isย wrong,โ she snapped, thinking of Donatti and his article.ย โWrong!โย Both Madeline and Harriet jumped.
โSheโฆshe brings a lunch, Mom,โ Madeline said carefully. โBut itโs not normal.โ
โThatโs not our problem.โ
Madeline looked at her mother as if she was missing the point.
โYou need to eat your own lunch, bunny,โ Elizabeth said more quietly. โTo grow up tall.โ
โBut Iโmย alreadyย tall,โ Madeline complained. โToo tall.โ โOne can never be too tall,โ Harriet said.
โRobert Wadlowย diedย from being too tall,โ Madeline said, tapping the cover ofย The Guinness Book of Records.
โBut that was a pituitary gland disorder, Mad,โ Elizabeth said. โNine feet tall!โ Madeline emphasized.
โPoor man,โ Harriet said. โWhere does someone like that shop?โ โHeightย kills,โ Madeline said.
โYes, but everything kills eventually,โ Harriet said. โThatโs why everyone ends up dead, sweetheart.โ But when she noticed Elizabethโs mouth drop and Madeline slump, she instantly regretted her words. She opened the back door. โIโll see you tomorrow morning before rowing,โ she said to Elizabeth. โAnd Iโll see you, Mad,โ she said to the little girl, โwhen you get up.โ
This was the schedule she and Elizabeth had worked out ever since Elizabeth had returned to work. Harriet took Mad to school, Six-Thirty picked Mad up from school, Harriet watched her until Elizabeth got home. โOh, I almost forgot.โ She extracted a slip of paper from her pocket. โYou got another note.โ She gave Elizabeth a meaningful look. โFrom you-know-who.โ
โ
Mrs. Mudford.
Elizabeth already knew Mudford didnโt approve of Madeline. She did not approve of the way Mad could read, or the way she could kick a ball, or the way she knew a complicated series of nautical knotsโ a skill she practiced frequently, including in the dark, in the rain, without help, just in case.
โJust in case of what, Mad?โ Elizabeth had asked her once, finding the child huddled outside at night covered in a tarp, rain coming in from every direction, a piece of rope in her hands.
Mad had looked up at her mother, surprised. Wasnโt it obvious that โjust in caseโ wasnโt an option but rather theย onlyย option? Life required preparedness; just ask her dead father.
Although, honestly, if sheโd been able to ask her dead father anything it would have been how heโd felt the first time he saw her mother. Was it love at first sight?
โ
His ex-colleagues too still had questions for Calvinโlike how he managed to win so many awards when he never seemed to be doing anything. And what about sex with Elizabeth Zott? She seemed like sheโd be frigidโwas she? Even Madelineโs teacher, Mrs. Mudford, had questions for the long-gone Calvin Evans. But obviously asking Madelineโs father anything was out of the question, not just because he was dead, but because in 1959, fathers had nothing to do with their childrenโs education.
Amanda Pineโs father was the exception, but that was only because there was no longer a Mrs. Pine. Sheโd left him (and quite rightly, Mudford believed), followed by a loud and public divorce where she claimed the much older Walter Pine was not fit to be a father, much less a husband. Thereโd been an embarrassing sexual connotation to the whole thing; Mrs. Mudford didnโt like to think of the specifics. But because of it, Mrs. Walter Pine ended up with everything Walter Pine had, including Amanda, whom, as it turned out, she hadnโt actually wanted. And who could blame her? Amanda wasnโt the easiest child. Thus Amanda went back to Walter, and Walter came to school, where Mrs. Mudford was forced to listen to his poor excuses regarding the contents of Amandaโs highly unusual lunch boxes.
Still, while conferences with Walter Pine were irritating, they paled in comparison to the sessions she had with Zott. Wasnโt it just her luck that the two parents she liked least she saw the most? Although admittedly, thatโs how it always was. Child behavior problems started at home. Still, if she had to choose between Amanda Pine, lunch thief, and Madeline Zott, inappropriate question asker, sheโd take Amanda any day.
โ
โMadeline asks inappropriate questions?โ Elizabeth said, alarmed, during their last meeting.
โYes, she does,โ Mrs. Mudford said sharply, plucking lint from her sleeve like a spider attacking its prey. โFor instance, yesterday during circle time, we were discussing Ralphโs pet turtle, and Madeline interrupted to ask how she might become a freedom fighter in Nashville.โ
Elizabeth paused as if trying to understand the underlying issue. โShe shouldnโt have interrupted,โ she finally said. โIโll speak to her.โ
Mrs. Mudford clicked her teeth. โYou misunderstand me, Mrs. Zott. Children interrupt; that I can deal with. What I canโt deal with is a child who wants to change the discussion to civil rights. This is kindergarten, notย The Huntley-Brinkley Report.ย Furthermore,โ she added, โyour daughter recently complained to our librarian that she was unable to find any
Norman Mailer on our bookshelves. Apparently, she tried to put in a request forย The Naked and the Dead.โ The teacher raised one eyebrow, her eyes zeroing in on the E.Z. machine-stitched above the breast pocket in a slutty-looking cursive.
โSheโs an early reader,โ Elizabeth said. โI may have forgotten to mention that.โ
The teacher folded her hands together, then leaned forward threateningly.ย โNorman. Mailer.โ
โ
Back in the kitchen, Elizabeth unfolded the note Harriet had given her. On it screamed two words in Mudfordโs handwriting.
VLADIMIR. NABOKOV.
โ
She placed a serving of baked spaghetti Bolognese on Madelineโs plate. โOther than show-and-tell, did you have a good day?โ Sheโd stopped asking Mad if sheโd learned anything at school. There was no point.
โI donโt like school.โ โWhy?โ
Madeline looked up from her plate suspiciously. โNo one likes school.โ
From his position beneath the table, Six-Thirty exhaled. Well, there it was: the creature didnโt like school, and since he and the creature agreed on everything, now he didnโt like school either.
โDid you like school, Mom?โ Mad asked.
โWell,โ said Elizabeth, โwe moved a lot, so sometimes there werenโt schools for me to go to. But I went to the library. Still, I always believed going to a real school could be lots of fun.โ
โLike when you went to UCLA?โ
A sudden sharp vision of Dr. Meyers floated in front of her. โNo.โ Madeline cocked her head to the side. โAre you okay, Mom?โ
Without realizing it, Elizabeth had covered her face with her hands. โIโm just tired, bunny,โ she said as the words slipped out between her fingers.
Madeline laid down her fork and studied her motherโs stricken posture. โDid something happen, Mom?โ she asked. โAt work?โ
From behind her fingers, Elizabeth considered her young daughterโs question.
โAre we poor?โ Madeline asked, as if that question naturally followed the former.
Elizabeth took her hands away. โWhat makes you say that, honey?โ โTommy Dixon says weโre poor.โ
โWhoโs Tommy Dixon?โ she asked sharply. โA boy at school.โ
โWhatย elseย did this Tommy Dixonโโ โWas Dad poor?โ
Elizabeth flinched.
โ
The answer to Madโs question lay in one of the boxes she and Frask had stolen from Hastings. At the very bottom of box number three lay an accordion folder labeled โRowing.โ When she first spied it, Elizabeth naturally assumed it would be filled with newspaper clippings recording the glorious wins of his Cambridge boat. But no; it was stuffed with Calvinโs post-Cambridge employment offers.
Sheโd skimmed the offers jealouslyโchairs at major universities, directorships at pharmaceutical companies, major stakes in privately held concerns. Sheโd sifted through the stack until she found the Hastings offer. There it was: the promise of a private labโalthough all the other places had guaranteed that, too. The only thing that made the Hastings offer stand out from the others? A salary so low it was insulting. She glanced down at the signature. Donatti.
As she jammed the letters back in, she wondered why heโd even labeled this folder โRowingโโthere wasnโt anything rowing-like about it. Until she noticed two quick penciled notations at the top of each offer: distance to a rowing club and area precipitation. She returned to the Hastings offer letter
โyes, the computations were there, too. But there was one other thing: a big, thick circle drawn around the return address.
Commons, California.
โ
โIf Dad was famous, then he must have been rich, right?โ Mad said, twirling her spaghetti around her fork.
โNo, honey. Not all famous people are rich.โ โWhy not? Did they mess up?โ
She thought back to the offers. Calvin had accepted the lowest one.
Who does that?
โTommy Dixon says itโs easy to get rich. You paint rocks yellow, then say itโs gold.โ
โTommy Dixon is what we call a flimflam man,โ Elizabeth said. โSomeone who schemes to get what they want through illegal means.โ Like Donatti, she thought, her jaw locking in place.
She thought back to another folder sheโd found in Calvinโs boxes, this one full of letters from people just like Tommy Dixonโwackos, get-rich-quick investorsโbut also a wide assortment of fake family members, each of whom desperately wanted Calvinโs help: a half sister, a long-lost uncle, a sad mother, a cousin twice removed.
Sheโd skimmed the fake family letters quickly, surprised at how similar they were. Each claimed a biological connection, each provided a memory from an age he wouldnโt be able to remember, each wanted money. The only exception was Sad Mother. While she, too, claimed a biological connection, instead of asking for money, she insisted she wanted to give it.ย To help your research,ย she claimed. Sad Mother had written to Calvin at least five times, imploring him to respond. It was really rather heartless,
Elizabeth thought, the way Sad Mother persisted. Even Long-Lost Uncle had called it quits after two.ย They told me you were dead,ย Sad Mother had written over and over again. Really? Then why had she, like all the others, only written to Calvinย afterย heโd become famous? Elizabeth assumed her ploy was to hook him, then steal his research. And why did she think this? Because it had just happened to her.
โ
โI donโt get it,โ Mad said, shoving a mushroom to the side of her plate. โIf youโre smart and you work hard, doesnโt that mean you make more money?โ
โNot always. Still, Iโm sure your dad could have earned more money,โ Elizabeth said. โItโs just that he made a different choice. Money isnโt everything.โ
Mad looked back, dubious.
โ
What Elizabeth didnโt tell Mad was that she knew very well why Calvin had eagerly accepted Donattiโs ridiculous offer. But his reason was so short-sightedโsoย dumbโshe hesitated to share it. She wanted Mad to think of her father as a rational man who made smart decisions. This proved just the opposite.
She found it in a folder labeled โWakely,โ which contained a series of letters between Calvin and a would-be theologian. The two men were pen pals; it was clear theyโd never met face-to-face. But their typed exchanges were fascinating and numerous, and lucky for her, the folder included Calvinโs carbon copy replies. This was something she knew about Calvin: he made copies of everything.
Wakely, who was attending Harvard Divinity School at the same time Calvin was at Cambridge, seemed to be struggling with his faith based on science in general, and on Calvinโs research in particular. According to his
letters, heโd attended a symposium where Calvin had spoken briefly and, based on that, had decided to write to him.
โDear Mr. Evans, I wanted to get in touch with you after your brief appearance at the science symposium in Boston last week. Iโd hoped to speak with you about your recent article, โThe Spontaneous Generation of Complex Organic Molecules,โ โ Wakely had written in the first letter. โSpecifically, I wanted to ask: Donโt you think itโs possible to believe in both Godย andย science?โ
โSure,โ Calvin had written back. โItโs called intellectual dishonesty.โ
Although Calvinโs flippancy had a tendency to annoy a lot of people, it didnโt seem to faze the young Wakely. He wrote back immediately.
โBut surely youโd agree that the field of chemistry could not exist unless and until it was created by a chemistโ aย masterย chemist,โ Wakely argued in his next letter. โIn the same way that a painting cannot exist until it is created by an artist.โ
โI deal in evidence-based truths, not conjecture,โ Calvin replied just as quickly. โSo no, your master chemist theory is bullshit. By the way, I notice youโre at Harvard. Are you a rower? I row for Cambridge. Full-ride rowing scholarship.โ
โNot a rower,โ Wakely wrote back. โAlthough I love the water. Iโm a surfer. I grew up in Commons, California. Ever been to California? If not, you should go. Commons is beautiful. Best weather in the world. They row there, too.โ
โ
Elizabeth sat back on her heels. She remembered how vigorously Calvin had circled Hastingsโs return address in the offer letter.ย Commons, California.ย So heโd accepted Donattiโs insulting offer, not to further his career, but to row? Thanks to a one-line weather report from a religious surfer?ย Best weather in the world.ย Really? She moved on to the next letter.
โ
โDid you always want to be a minister?โ Calvin asked.
โI come from a long line of ministers,โ Wakely answered back. โItโs in my blood.โ
โBlood doesnโt work that way,โ Calvin corrected. โBy the way, Iโve been meaning to ask: Why do you think so many people believe in texts written thousands of years ago? And why does it seem the more supernatural, unprovable, improbable, and ancient the source of these texts, the more people believe them?โ
โHumans need reassurance,โ Wakely wrote back. โThey need to know others survived the hard times. And, unlike other species, which do a better job of learning from their mistakes, humans require constant threats and reminders to be nice. You know how we say, โPeople never learn?โ Itโs because they never do. But religious texts try to keep them on track.โ
โBut isnโt there more solace in science?โ Calvin responded. โIn things we can prove and therefore work toย improve? I just donโt understand how anyone thinks anything written ages ago by drunk people is even remotely believable. And Iโm not making a moral judgment here: those people had to drink, the water was bad. Still, I ask myself how their wild storiesโbushes burning, bread dropping from heavenโseem reasonable, especially when compared to evidence-based science. There isnโt a person alive who would opt for Rasputinโs bloodletting techniques over the cutting-edge therapies at Sloan Kettering. And yet so many insist we believe these stories and then have the audacity to insist others believe them, too.โ
โYou make a fair point, Evans,โ Wakely wrote back. โBut people need to believe in something bigger than themselves.โ
โWhy?โ Calvin pressed. โWhatโs wrong with believing in ourselves? Anyway, if stories must be used, why not rely on a fable or fairy tale? Arenโt they just as valid a vehicle for teaching morality? Except maybe better? Because no one has to pretend to believe that the fables and tales are true?โ
Although he didnโt admit to it, Wakely found himself agreeing. No one had to pray to Snow White or fear the wrath of Rumpelstiltskin to understand the message. The stories were short, memorable, and covered all
the bases of love, pride, folly, and forgiveness. Their rules were bite-sized: Donโt be a jerk. Donโt hurt other people or animals. Share what you have with others less fortunate. In other words, be nice. He decided to change the topic.
โOkay, Evans,โ he wrote, referring to a previous letter, โI take your veryย literalย point about how ministering canโt, technically, be in my blood, but we Wakelys become ministers just like cobblersโ sons become shoemakers. Iโll confess: Iโve always been attracted to biology, but that would never fly in my family. Maybe Iโm just trying to please my father. Isnโt that what we all do in the end? What about you? Was your father a scientist? Are you trying to please him? If so, Iโd say you succeeded.โ
โI HATE MY FATHER,โ Calvin typed in all capital letters in what would prove to be their final exchange. โI HOPE HEโS DEAD.โ
โ
I hate my father; I hope heโs dead.ย Elizabeth read it again, stunned. But Calvinโs fatherย wasย deadโhit by a train at least two decades earlier. Why would he have written such a thing? And why had Calvin and Wakely stopped corresponding? The last letter was dated nearly ten years ago.
โ
โMom,โ Mad said. โMom! Are you listening? Are we poor?โ
โHoney,โ Elizabeth said, trying to stave off a nervous breakdownโhad she really quit her job?ย โIโve had a long day,โ she said. โPlease. Just eat your dinner.โ
โBut, Momโโ
They were interrupted by the jangle of the telephone. Mad jumped from her chair.
โDonโt answer it, Mad.โ โMight be important.โย โWeโre eating dinner.โ
โHello?โ Mad said. โMad Zott speaking.โ
โHoney,โ Elizabeth said, taking the phone. โWe donโt give out private information on the telephone, remember? Hello?โ she said into the mouthpiece. โWith whom am I speaking?โ
โMrs. Zott?โ a voice said. โMrs. Elizabeth Zott? Itโs Walter Pine, Mrs.
Zott. We met earlier this week.โ
Elizabeth sighed. โOh. Yes, Mr. Pine.โ
โIโve been trying to reach you all day. Perhaps your housekeeper neglected to give you my messages.โ
โShe is not a housekeeper and she did not neglect to give me your messages.โ
โOh,โ he said, embarrassed. โI see. Iโm sorry. I hope Iโm not disturbing you. Do you have a moment? Is this a good time?โ
โNo.โ
โIโll be quick, then,โ he said, not wanting to lose her. โAnd again, Mrs. Zott, Iโve rectified the lunch situation. Itโs all fixed; Amanda will only be eating her own lunch from now on, again my apologies. But now Iโm calling for another reasonโ a business reason.โ
He went on to remind her he was a producer of local afternoon TV programming. โKCTV,โ he said proudly, even though he wasnโt. โAnd Iโve been thinking of changing my lineup a bitโadding a cooking show. Trying to spice things up, you might say,โ he continued, taking a stab at humor, something he normally didnโt do but did now because Elizabeth Zott made him nervous. As he waited for the polite chuckle that should have come from the other end but didnโt, he grew even more anxious. โAs aย seasonedย television producer, I feel the time isย ripeย for such a show.โ
Again, nothing.
โIโve been doing research,โ he blathered on, โand based on some very interesting trends, and combined with my personal knowledge of successful afternoon programming, I believe cooking is poised to become a force in afternoon TV.โ
Elizabeth still offered no reaction, and even if she had, it wouldnโt have mattered because none of what Walter said was true.
The truth was, Walter Pine did not conduct research, nor was he aware of any trends. Factually speaking, he had very little personal knowledge of what made afternoon TV successful. As proof, his channel usually hovered near the bottom, ratings-wise. The real situation was this: Walter had an empty programming slot to fill and the advertisers were breathing down his neck to get it filled immediately. A childrenโs clown show had previously filled the now-empty slot, but in the first place, it hadnโt been very good, and in the second place, its clown star had been killed in a bar fight, making the show completely dead in the truest sense.
For the last three weeks, heโd been scrambling to find something else to take its place. Heโd spent eight hours a day screening promo reels from countless would-be starsโmagicians, advice givers, comedians, music instructors, science experts, etiquette mavens, puppeteers. Wading through it all, Walter couldnโt believe the drivel other people produced, nor could he believe they had the gall to commit it to film, put it in the mail, and send it to him. Had they no shame? Still, he had to find something fast: his career depended on it. His boss had made that abundantly clear.
On top of work woes, four times this month heโd been summoned in to see Mrs. Mudford, Amandaโs kindergarten teacher, who most recently had threatened to report him simply because, in a cloud of exhaustion and depression, heโd inadvertently packed his gin flask where Amandaโs milk thermos was supposed to go. Heโd also sent a stapler instead of a sandwich, a script instead of a napkin, and some champagne truffles that time they were out of bread.
โ
โMr. Pine?โ Elizabeth said, interrupting his thoughts. โIโve had a long day. Is there something you wanted?โ
โI want to create a cooking show for afternoon TV,โ he said in a rush. โAnd I want you to host. Itโs obvious to me that you can cook, Mrs. Zott, but I also think you would have a certain appeal.โ He didnโt say it was because she was attractive. Plenty of good-looking people skated by on
their looks, but something told him Elizabeth Zott was not one of those people. โThis would be a fun showโwoman to woman. Youโd be singing to your people.โ And when she didnโt respond right away, he added, โHousewives?โ
From the other end of the phone, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.ย โI beg your pardon?โ
The tone. Walter should have understood it and hung up right then. But he didnโt because he was desperate, and desperate people tend to overlook the most obvious signals. Elizabeth Zott belonged in front of a cameraโhe was sure of itโplus, she was exactly the kind of woman his boss would go nuts for.
โYouโre nervous about the audience,โ he said, โbut thereโs no reason. We use cue cards. All you have to do is read and be yourself.โ He waited for a response, but when none came, he carried on. โYou have presence, Mrs. Zott,โ he pressed. โYouโre exactly the kind of person people want to see on TV. Youโre like aโฆโ He tried hard to think of someone like her, but nothing came to mind.
โIโm a scientist,โ she snapped. โRight!โ
โYouโre saying the public wants to hear from more scientists.โ
โYes,โ he said. โWho doesnโt?โ Although he didnโt and he was fairly certain no one else did either. โAlthough this would be a cooking show, you understand.โ
โCookingย isย science, Mr. Pine. Theyโre not mutually exclusive.โ โUncanny. I was just about to say that.โ
From her kitchen table, Elizabeth envisioned her unpaid utility bills. โHow much does something like this pay?โ she asked.
He named a figure that drew the slightest gasp from her end. Was she offended or astonished?
โThe thing is,โ he said defensively, โweโd be taking a risk. Itโs not like youโve been on TV before, correct?โ Then he outlined the basic pilot-series contract, pointing out that the initial term was six months long. After that, if it wasnโt working, that was it. Finito.
โWhen would it start?โ
โImmediately. We want the cooking show to go live as soon as possible
โwithin the month.โ
โYou mean aย scienceย cooking show.โ
โYou said it yourselfโtheyโre not mutually exclusive.โ But a small bit of doubt regarding her viability as a hostess began to creep in. Surely, she understood that a cooking show was not actually science. Didnโt she? โWeโre calling itย Supper at Six,โ he added, emphasizing the word โsupper.โ
On the other end of the line, Elizabeth stared into space. She absolutely hated the ideaโmaking food on TV for housewivesโbut what choice did she have? She turned to look at Six-Thirty and Mad. They were lying on the floor together. Madeline was telling him about Tommy Dixon. Six-Thirty bared his teeth.
โMrs. Zott?โ Walter said, wary of the silence coming from the other end. โHello?ย Mrs. Zott? Are you still there?โ