Ginny Aiken - Priced to Move

As I head back upstairs, My cell phone rings. I hurry, and am thrilled to hear Peggy’s voice. “How are you?” I ask.

“Great. I loved your first show. Who’s the guy?”

“Don’t go there! Miss Mona sprang him on me as a surprise five minutes before I went on. And he’s no great bargain.”

“He looks great.”

“That’s about it for him.”

“Aw . . . I’m sure you’ll find a good side to him.”

When she falls silent, I get a bad feeling I know what’s coming. And she doesn’t disappoint.

“Listen, Andie. Are you okay? I read the paper this morning, and I figure you must be the person named as the ‘new employee who found the corpse.’ What happened?”

I tell her what I can, since I don’t know much. She commiserates, we talk about her kids, and then I notice the time.

“Hey, listen. I gotta go. I’m due at the studio soon.”

We agree to lunch next Saturday, and hang up. I hit the shower feeling way better than I have since before Miss Mona presented me with the S.T.U.D.’s stud.

I dress in the gorgeous black Ann Taylor jacquard jacket and skirt, and hit the road. By the time I reach the S.T.U.D.— can you believe that’s what they call the studio and warehouse complex?—I’ve almost talked myself into believing I can, really and truly, do today’s show.

But as I hurry down the hall to hair and makeup, I see my nemesis in the hall. Before I can duck out, he sees me too, and heads my way.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

What kind of greeting is that? “How’d I sleep?” I roll my eyes. “Like a log. I was drained. Why’re you here?”

His cheeks turn a bronzy rust—did I mention he’s got a to-die-for surfer-boy tan to go with the blond hair and baby blues?—and he blinks. “Sorry. But I don’t get it. What do you mean, why am I here? I have a job, a contract. I have a show to host.”

I snort. “And how do you plan to do that when you don’t know gems from Jell-O?”

He takes a step back. “That’s not exactly right. I know my diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Oh, and garnets too. The real ones, that is. Come on. Tell me. What was that orange thing you were selling yesterday? And don’t give me that mandarin garnet spiel. We both know that’s not really what it is—”

“You can’t help yourself, can you? You have to go and show how little you do know about gemstones. What you saw on the set yesterday is a garnet. One of the rarest stones on earth.” “Look. I’m not some lonely disabled grandma with only the TV and a clicker to keep me company. I can see how they’ll buy—in more ways than one—anything they hear from slick shopping network hosts.”

“Ick! That’s a nasty way to look at our customers.”

He shrugs. “I bet it’s a realistic one.”

“And you would know how?”

He stands taller. “I’ve been on TV for a number of years. Something you can’t match.”

“True. I haven’t been on TV before, but I’ve spent my entire adult life studying gems. Something you can’t match. I do know what a spessartite garnet is.”

He crosses his arms and studies me. I don’t like the warm sensations that run through me when those baby blues land on me. He looks too good for my comfort zone.

Uh-oh. How shallow is that? Not good. Gotta pray about it. And build a big, fat wall to protect myself from that scary effect Max the Magnificent has on me.

“Look,” he finally says. “I didn’t just barge onto that set yesterday. Miss Mona did hire me.”

I don’t like it, but he’s right. “She did.”

“And she hired you too. Didn’t she?”

He better not think he’s gonna chase me away. I tip up my chin. “She and my Aunt Weeby conspired and connived to get me to take the job. They want me for my gemological knowledge.”

“But they don’t want your on-screen ignorance, do they?” Ouch! “Just as they don’t want your gemological ignorance.”

“But that’s the beauty. I’m multifaceted.”

He really does have a killer smile. Why me?

Then I realize what he said—the guy does distract, know what I mean? “Multifaceted? I didn’t know we were going into weather changes now.”

“We’re not, but I am an expert on golf, basketball, football, skiing, and even NASCAR. See?”

Hope springs eternal. “Oh! You mean you’re going to handle a part of the network’s sports catalog.”

“I should hope they don’t waste my knowledge.”

Relief is sweet and welcome. I smile. “I’ve never known Aunt Weeby or Miss Mona to let anything go to waste. I would imagine your days as a gemstone host are numbered.”

“Fine by me.”

And then I hear it. That familiar thump-thump that warns the innocent of incoming trouble.

“Awww . . .” Aunt Weeby sighs. “Isn’t that sweet, Mona? They do look just like some of them dolls on a big ol’ wedding cake. They make the nicest couple.”

“I told you they would, right from the minute I saw him,” her sidekick answers. “The good Lord’s given me great instincts.”

To his credit, Max gulps, turns a sickly shade of green, then backs away from me as fast as his shuffling feet can go.

Now wait a minute! I don’t like Aunt Weeby’s and Miss Mona’s meddling, but I’m not a bubonic plague carrier either. I glare, and turn on the troublemaker.

“What are you doing here?” I ask my aunt. “Last I knew, you were settled in with your third cup of coffee, your second biscuit, and your HDTV blaring Tony Danza on his talk show.”

“Mona stopped by on her way to work. I reckon being here’s more fun than watching women what got their stomachs stapled and their boobs blowed up. That’s what that boy’s got on his show this morning. Besides, you showed me how to TiVo the thing so’s I can watch my programs later.”

Foiled by advanced technology. I’d bought her the TV thinking it would keep her entertained while she recovered.

Great idea, right? See how well it worked? I call it the Aunt Weeby effect.

In the hope of regaining some control over the conversation, if not my current situation, I tip my head toward the set. “Who’s on right now?”

“Wendy’s hosting our Fat Busters segment,” Miss Mona answers. “It’s very successful.”

“I’ll bet,” Max mutters. “Never heard of it.”

Neither have I. “What exactly is Fat Busters? Is it diet products? Exercise equipment?”

“Why, honey,” Miss Mona says, her eyes opened wide, “I can’t believe you haven’t heard of them. Fat Busters is the best thing in helping folks maintain their figures. It’s from China.”

Aunt Weeby nods.

Max gives me a don’t-ask-me look.

“Oh-kaaay. It’s popular and Chinese. Just exactly what is it?”

After a glance at her watch, Miss Mona points toward the set. “Since you and Max have plenty of time before your show, why don’t you go watch Wendy for a moment. I’m sure she explains better than I can.”

Wendy’s soft southern accent reaches us as we approach the set. “. . . viscosity polymers allow an amazing stretch. So, girls . . . ? Listen to me”—she raps her scarlet claws . . . er . . . fingernails on the show-host desk—“y’all want to make sure you get your set of Fat Busters before they run out. The sooner you get them, the sooner you’ll bust that fat around the gut and glutes.”

In her hand, Wendy holds . . .

“It’s a girdle!” Max exclaims just as tactfully as he denied the existence of spessartite garnets yesterday.

Everyone turns on him. “Shhhh!”

Miss Mona’s frown is nothing to mess with. “That’s not a girdle, Max. I’ll have you know it’s the finest and latest technology. Just listen to Wendy.”