21

Constance Brucato, the producer for Windows on Charleston, was waiting impatiently for Theodosia when she arrived in the Channel 8 lobby.

Dark haired, broad shouldered, always slightly out of breath, Constance’s only greeting was “Hurry up!” as she motioned impatiently for Theodosia to follow her. When Theodosia complied, Constance turned and hurried down a long white corridor hung with trendy pieces of art. Stopping at a door marked Edit Room, Constance knocked softly, then pushed her way into a dimly lit control room.

“What, no hair and makeup?” quipped Theodosia. “No green room?”

But Constance was in no mood for humor today. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to watch Windows on Charleston lately,” she said as she paused near a console where a dozen monitors flickered and two men slouched over a huge panel of buttons. “But we’ve got a brand-new show host.”

Theodosia, who was usually at the Indigo Tea Shop by eight-thirty, rarely had time to catch Windows on Charleston, which aired at ten. She shook her head, offered a rueful smile. “Sorry,” she told Constance. “Haven’t seen it lately.”

“Well, our new host, hostess really, is a wonderful woman,” trilled Constance. “Tons of personality. Hand-picked by our general manger.”

Theodosia peered at Constance. She’d spent time in marketing, she knew a sell job when she heard one.

“Here’s the other thing,” began Constance. “We had to change the format a touch.” She tapped her pen nervously against her clipboard. “We have another guest that’s going to appear with you.”

“Really,” said Theodosia. “Because I was under the impression I’d be going on alone. Just to give a quick reminder about tonight’s Orchid Lights.”

“That may have been the case a few days ago,” said Constance. “But we’ve reshuffled things.” She shrugged. “That’s the nature of television. Always in flux.”

“So who . . . ?” began Theodosia.

But Constance was on the move again. “This way,” she said sharply, pushing her way through another set of double doors and leading Theodosia directly into a dimly lit studio.

“Excellent,” muttered Constance. “He’s setting up now.”

Theodosia peered across the studio, but cameras and set components blocked her view. “Who is?” she asked, picking her way carefully through thick black cables that snaked underfoot. She could see a small table packed with orchids, lit overhead by a row of extremely bright lights. Curious now, Theodosia moved a few steps forward, easing herself around a large TV monitor. Then her tentative smile turned to sudden dismay as she recognized the second guest.

“Harlan Noble?” Theodosia reached a hand out and squeezed Constance’s plump arm. “I’m appearing with Harlan Noble?”

“Yes,” said Constance, shaking herself free of Theodosia. “He very graciously agreed to bring in some of his most prized orchids.”

“And you want us to go on . . . together?” Theodosia’s normally well-modulated voice had turned into a protesting squawk.

“My executive producer had strong feelings about this,” said Constance. “Showing actual orchids versus just talking about them in the abstract.”

“I can understand that,” said Theodosia. “And I think putting Harlan Noble’s orchids on camera is a wonderful idea. So why not let Mr. Noble go on alone and present his collection?”

“No, no, no,” protested Constance Brucato. “That’s not the way we visualized the segment.” She held up a fistful of six-by-eight-inch cards and riffled them in Theodosia’s face. “I’ve already written out cards for Abby Davis, the host of Windows on Charleston. Abby’s very meticulous about preproduction, so I’m not about to burden her with any deviation in the plan. Besides, if I changed anything now, she’d kill me!”


Apprehension building, Theodosia waited off camera while Harlan Noble fussed with his orchids. He looked just as hostile as he always looked. And Theodosia couldn’t seem to shake the image of Harlan Noble, standing in a crowd of gawkers, watching the Featherbed House burn. Especially since it had come on the heels of Harlan trying to purchase Mark’s collection and being turned down by Angie.

This is silly, Theodosia told herself. I’m acting like a frightened school kid. When what I really should do is go talk to him.

Theodosia edged closer to the table. “Your orchids look lovely,” she told Harlan.

He looked up at her as though he had no earthly idea Theodosia had been standing there. “You think so?” he asked. “I’m dreadfully nervous about these hot lights.” He glanced upward. “But the producer promised they’d only be on for ten minutes at most.”

“Orchids don’t like heat?” asked Theodosia. “I always thought they were hothouse plants.”

Harlan Noble gave a quick frown. “That’s what everyone thinks. But these are mostly native varieties. Used to a little more shade and a subtropical climate versus tropical.”

“So most of these were collected locally?” asked Theodosia.

“All of them,” replied Harlan. He moved a Spider orchid, replaced it with a Northern Green orchid.

“Interesting,” said Theodosia. “I take it you have a few favorite haunts where you go to collect?”

Harlan Noble straightened up, then seemed to really look at Theodosia for the first time. “I’m originally from a little town called Plum Branch,” he told her, his dark eyes boring into her. “Best collecting in the state.”

“Aha,” said Theodosia, the hair on the back of her neck suddenly standing on end. “Up near Sumter National Forest.” She wasn’t about to tell Harlan she’d passed that way yesterday. Then again, he might already know that.

“So you really know that area,” said Theodosia.

“I know it very well,” responded Harlan Noble. “Very well, indeed.”


Luckily, they didn’t have to wait much longer. Abby Davis, the show’s new host, strode across the studio. Attired in a slim-fitting pink suit, Abby had a cap of dark spiky hair and a no-nonsense look about her. Oohing and aahing over Harlan’s orchids, she greeted him first. Then she approached Theodosia, cards in hand. “You’re Theodosia,” she said. “I’m Abby Davis. Host of the show.”

Theodosia smiled warmly at Abby. There was something familiar about this woman. Or maybe it was her name. Had she heard it before? Before today? “Your name sounds awfully familiar,” said Theodosia. “Perhaps we’ve met before?”

Abby’s brown eyes carried a hint of merriment mingled with challenge. “You think so?”

“Pardon me?” said Theodosia, slightly puzzled. Why, she wondered, is this woman coming on so strangely? She thought for a moment. Unless she’s . . . oh no, she can’t be. Please don’t let her be . . .

“You’re . . .” began Theodosia.

Abby Davis leaned forward, dark eyes glittering, her face pulled into a hard smile. “I’m Jory Davis’s cousin. And, yes, we have met before.”

“Nice to see you again,” said Theodosia. Her response sounded lame, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she should say to the cousin of her ex-boyfriend. She filled in the conversation gap by adding, “I understand you’ve recently joined the station. Congratulations.”

“Yes,” said Abby. “I just moved back from Tampa.”

“Where you were also an on-air personality?” asked Theodosia, trying her best to keep the momentum going.

“At the top-rated station,” purred Abby. “And you, I’m sure, are still doing your little tea shop thing.”

“Not so little,” said Theodosia. No way was she going to stand there and let Abby pick at her. “The Indigo Tea Shop is thriving, the catering business is developing nicely, and I created a line of T-Bath products.” There, she thought, I may not be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, but I am an entrepreneur who’s growing and nurturing a small business.

“Good for you,” said Abby in a bored tone. She spun on her heels, gesturing for Constance to join them. “Let’s lay this down,” said Abby. “I don’t have all day.”

Then they were all crowded around a small table overflowing with pots of orchids. Abby stood in the middle with Theodosia on one side, Harlan on the other. The lights burned bright and hot as Abby chatted breezily, dimpled prettily for the camera, and asked the exact right questions so Harlan could talk about the enticing orchids on display at tonight’s Orchid Lights show and Theodosia could make her pitch that tickets were still available.

The cameras moved in close to pan the orchids several times, and then it was over. The klieg lights dimmed, the cameras with their giant eyes rolled back on soundless, rubber wheels, and a production assistant rushed in to unclip Theodosia’s microphone.

Abby stood a few steps away, reviewing her cards for the next segment as a woman from the makeup department twirled a fat brush in a compact and dabbed powder across Abby’s cheeks. All the while Abby completely ignored everything that was going on around her. The makeup lady. Harlan packing up his orchids. And Theodosia.

“Miss Davis,” Theodosia said, mustering a strong, no-nonsense tone. It was the same tone she’d used years ago when she’d had to rein in impossibly pushy clients.

Abby Davis looked up. Surprise widened her eyes.

“If this segment hadn’t been a promotional pitch for the Heritage Society,” said Theodosia, “I want you to know I would have walked out. You’ve been nothing but rude to me.”

“You broke Jory’s heart,” spat out Abby.

“Jory moved to New York!” said Theodosia, surprised by the emotion that resonated in her own voice.

“He asked you to go along,” said Abby.

“And leave everything behind, yes,” replied Theodosia. “Family, friends, and my business. It was a hard decision to make and sometimes I still wonder if it was the right one.” And with that, Theodosia turned and walked off the set.

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