“When? I only got through the first four tapes-skimming them really. What’s on the last one?” Josie asked.
“The first few shows of Courtney Castle’s Castles. A show whose time had come apparently. As far as I know, it was popular from the very moment it went on the air. Of course, remodeling shows have been on for years, but never with a woman in charge. My guess, having lived through a nightmarish remodeling of a loft years and years ago, is that many women believe things in their own home would have been different if a woman had been in charge of the work.” She smiled at Josie. “Well, you probably know more about these things than I do.”
“Island Contracting does get some jobs because the employer or homeowner is a woman and she thinks we’re more likely to listen to her-without putting her down-than some of my male colleagues. And, frankly, it’s true.” Josie glanced over at Sam and blushed. “But that’s not what we’re talking about here. Go on.”
“For whatever reason, the show was a success from the first. Courtney doesn’t know a damn thing about building or remodeling, any more than she did about embroidery or interior decoration or…”
“Or making apple chutney?” Josie suggested.
“Lord, maybe she knows more about it than that. Courtney is a dreadful cook. No one who has ever been forced to eat anything she’s cooked would ever suggest a show called Cooking with Courtney. She is one of those people who should stick to takeout. Period. But I digress-as I always do,” Sondra said, laughing at herself.
“You were talking about Courtney Castle’s Castles,” Sam reminded her.
“What is there to say? It’s been picked up by all the major PBS stations across the country as well as lots of the smaller ones. And it has made her a household name.”
“Are you connected with the show?” Josie asked.
“Not really, but a friend of mine was the original producer of the show.”
“You said he introduced you to Courtney,” Sam prompted.
“Exactly. He gave a big cocktail party the night the show premiered on the New York station. And he introduced her to me.”
“Did you like her?” Josie asked.
“Not really. My friend didn’t say anything about what I did to Courtney. He just said something like I’d like you to meet my good friend Sondra. She practically ignored me. She was-as she always was then-busy sucking up to the important people in the room. She thought I was insignificant and treated me accordingly. I don’t find that a particularly appealing trait.”
“But you got to know her better later on,” Sam said.
“And didn’t like her any better, as you well know. I thought you had retired. Aren’t you supposed to stop asking questions all the time?”
“Sorry. Tell it your own way.”
“Well, as Sam says, I did get to know her better, at first by hearsay and then in person. You see, my friend, her producer, and she had an argument. Well, they had lots of arguments. They argued about everything from the size of her dressing room and staff to the way the show was produced. Eventually he either quit or was fired. The story depends on who is telling it. So I heard every single detail of their feud. And then Courtney came to me and asked me if I would produce her show.”
“Take the place of your friend?”
“Yes, but don’t be horrified. It happens all the time. My friend wouldn’t have cared. He might have thought I was crazy after listening to him enumerate the disadvantages- hell, the miseries-of working with Courtney Castle, but he wouldn’t have held it against me if I’d said yes.”
“Which you didn’t,” Josie guessed.
“No. I’m old enough to let a few mistakes go by. But I did tell her I would work as a consultant on the show for the rest of that season-provide continuity when new employees came and the like. To tell the truth, I don’t know how I let her talk me into it. I knew she was a manipulative little bitch. I should have had more sense.”
“So it didn’t go well.”
“A disaster from the get-go.”
“Why?”
Sondra shook her head, obviously disgusted with herself. “It was stupid. She wanted more airtime. She wanted staff- staff, for heaven’s sake. We’re talking public broadcasting, not network television. There isn’t a lot of extra money to toss around. People send in donations to keep their favorite shows on the air; we owe it to them to be responsible. But Courtney was the star and she wanted to be treated like one. The very second my commitment was over I was out of there. And thrilled to be gone, I can tell you.”
“That’s when Bobby Valentine took over?” Josie asked.
“No, Bobby was there when I was around. How do you know him?”
“He’s the producer on this project,” Josie explained.
“You’re kidding! If you’d asked me, I would have said he’d be long gone before now!”
“Why?”
“Courtney and he were always fighting. When I wasn’t saying no to one of her outrageous, egotistical ideas, he was.”
“These days he’s saying yes,” Josie said. “You should see Courtney’s trailer-makeup table, couches, exercise equipment. It looks like it belongs to a rock star.”
“And Bobby Valentine is her producer? You’re sure?”
Josie nodded. “Yes.”
“Amazing. She must have gotten to him.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“Blackmail!” Josie exclaimed. “She blackmails people, doesn’t she?”
Sam leaned forward. “Does she?” he asked Sondra.
“Not that I know of. She gets what she wants, but she does it by manipulating people. It’s more subtle than blackmail, but just as effective in the long run. And legal.”
“Sounds like Courtney,” Josie said, leaning back in her chair and flinging her napkin down on the table.
“Sam told me you grew up together.”
“Yes.”
“Is that why she chose your company to feature on her show?”
“I…” Josie stopped and thought for a moment before answering. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know the answer to that question.”
“She’s nice.”
Sondra had gone off to her fiancé’s house, and Josie and Sam were saying good-bye in the street next to the Island Contracting truck.
“You didn’t expect to like her, did you?”
“No. I always feel inadequate next to your old girlfriends,” she admitted.
“That problem is in your head.”
“I know. But I can’t afford the years of expensive psychotherapy it would take for me to get rid of it,” she added with a grin.
“Good. I like you just the way you are.” He reached out for her. “Do you have to go home?” he asked after a few minutes.
“You know I do. In fact, I should be there now. I don’t want Tyler to worry.”
“I love your son, but I sure wish he weren’t too old for sleepaway camp,” Sam said, giving her one last kiss and opening her truck door for her.
“Maybe next summer we can arrange for him to be a counselor,” Josie said, starting the engine. She took off down the street with a final wave out the window. The island was only seven miles long; in less than ten minutes she was climbing the stairs to her apartment. Tonight the door wasn’t locked and she was surprised to find Tyler sitting on the couch, apparently engrossed in a magazine dedicated to mountain biking.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi yourself, sweetie. Aren’t you up a bit late?” Damn. In less than a dozen words she’d broken two rules of mothering an adolescent: she’d referred to her son by a nickname and she had suggested he didn’t know how to take care of himself properly.
However, Tyler either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. “I can sleep late in the morning. I’m on the late shift tomorrow.”
“Good. I’m going to shower and get into bed. I’m beat.”
“Uh, Mom…”
She recognized that tone of voice. Something was up. She glanced down at the magazine Tyler still held. “You want to spend your money on a new bike?”
“No, it’s serious, Mom.”
Josie sat down on the couch without another word.
“I… Well, I’ve been doing something you’re not going to like… and I have to tell you about it because of something I know… Oh, hell, just press the play button and see for yourself.”