Ginny Aiken - Priced to Move

The show, Andie, the show! “Um . . . really. Look at the stone.” I tweeze the amazonite in front of my white velvet drape. “You can see the layers of subtle sparkle inside.”

He draws closer, places a hand on my arm. “That’s pretty neat,” he says, his attention on the stone and not his now-discombobulated cohost.

And with that uncertain truce, in spite of my bizarre response to his nearness, his touch, we go on with the show. Lots of phone calls help me get through the nerve-wracking experience.

It helps to show the spectacular tanzanites we received that morning. We end with a call from my friend Peggy who congratulates me on the show and buys a top-notch tanzie for herself.

When the theme song wafts over our heads, I wait for Hannah’s cue that the camera’s off, and then remove my mike. I stride from the desk without a backward glance.

Focus on how little he knows, not how good he smells. Aftershave’s cheap, so to speak. A good gemologist, not so much.

Max’s stare burns a hole between my shoulder blades.

But I’m a woman on a mission so I just keep going. I have to corner Miss Mona before my oomph goes away, not to mention before Max the Magnificent gets to her. She thinks he’s great.

“Andie, Andie, Andie!” Miss Mona wraps me in a huge hug. “You are incredible. That show was the best, honey, the absolute best.”

“Huh?” She’s still the queen of the “Huh?” factor.

“The phones are ringing off the hook again! The viewers went and bought up every last little thing you showed, and they were all raving over you and Max. They really missed you while we were on our trip!”

“But—”

“You’re a hit, an honest-to-goodness star!”

Oh-kay. Help me out here, will you? I thought I was leaving the gerbil-on-an-exercise-wheel life in the Big Wormy Apple, but here I am living my worst nightmare in Louisville. How did I land in the middle of a mess complete with a dead vendor, bullets, a suspicious cop, a co-worker who hates me because she thinks I stole her job, and a cohost who rattles my world and makes me look like a fool with his lack of knowledge?

And let’s not forget my nutty aunt and the “Huh?” queen. Who, as we speak, is staring at me with questions in her gaze. It’s enough to give a girl a migraine.

“Let’s go somewhere to talk.” I slip my arm through hers. “Just us girls, okay?”

“Sure, honey. We can brainstorm some great new ideas for the show. I know! Maybe we can coordinate your wardrobe with Max’s clothes. Wouldn’t that be sweet—”

“Aaack!” My response brings about the hoped-for result. Miss Mona stops rhapsodizing over Max and me.

I close her office door, then turn to face her. “ That , Miss Mona, is just what I wanted to talk about. You’ve got to get rid of Max. Now. He’s just awful. He doesn’t know a thing about gems, and he makes me look stupid.”

“Andie!” Forget saucers; horror makes her eyes big as trays. “How can you even think such a thing? The viewers are in love with you two. We can’t break up a perfect match.”

That makes my head pound. “We’d better break up a poisonous pairing before it blows up in our faces.”

“It’s blown up in our faces in a big, good way. We can hardly handle all those calls. Our wonderful shoppers are just buying up anything you and Max argue about, and all of them can’t tell us enough how much they enjoy you.”

“But I don’t enjoy us!”

Miss Mona doesn’t answer right away. She stares. I get itchy and squirmy, as if I’d done something wrong. But I haven’t. Max has. Right?

Still, it’s probably best if I keep my mouth shut, let Miss Mona think about what I said. Try and catch my breath.

She goes behind her desk but doesn’t sit. Her posture whisks me back to grade school and that one visit to the principal’s office.

What for, you ask? Nuh-uh. I’m not telling.

Fists on the desk, Miss Mona leans forward. “I never thought I’d have to do this, honey, but I’m going to have to be your boss more than your friend right now. Listen up, and listen good.”

I bite my bottom lip. This doesn’t sound so good. My stomach lurches.

She goes on. “Max is the perfect cohost for you. You spar and sparkle together like the best of old-time movie couples. And I’ve told you this before. More important, it’s the viewers who tell us that. I’m telling you, honey, he’s your perfect foil. The customers recognize this. It’s time you do too.”

“But I left New York to get away from the stress. I can’t work under this much tension.” The kind that’s making me feel sick right about now.

She waves away my concern. “You’re just going to have to find a way to make peace with him. He’s staying right on that chair next to yours.”

“But he knows nothing about gems!”

Miss Mona raps her knuckles against the desk. “That’s why he’s so perfect for you. You’re brainy and beautiful, but the customers aren’t. Brainy, that is. And not all will be beautiful either. But they see Max as one of them—they identify with him. He asks the bumbling questions they would ask but can’t, and he looks great while he’s doing it. It’s the perfect mix.” “That can’t be. They can’t possibly want to see a dunce try to sell them gems.”

“He’s not trying to sell them anything. You are. It works. You can’t fight with success.”

“But—”

“There you are!” Aunt Weeby cries as she barges in. “Whoo-ee, Andie! You could probably sell them folks rotten tomatoes and make them like ’em with that routine you and Max got going on. How long does it take the two a’ you to work it out ahead a’ time?”

“Hey! You’re so wrong about that. There’s no ‘working it out’ going on.” I shoot for calm and reasonable. “Explain this to me, please. How can people who want to buy something unusual and very special think it’s great if one of the two salespeople is a total dud?”

“Max is no dud!” Aunt Weeby waggles her index finger at me. “He’s a handsome, smart boy, and he sure knows how to play to a crowd. He’s just playing to it at your side, and you might could learn from him, Andrea Autumn Adams. Don’t you be letting that pride a’ yours get ahead a’ your smarts.” When the queasy feeling hits my gut, my defenses leap to attention. “Are you saying I don’t know how to play to the audience?”

“You don’t,” the source of my irritation says, as he too walks in. “You’re too serious, and you just rattle off facts and prices at the viewers.”

I wish I could just wiggle my nose and make him disappear.

“Last I heard, that was exactly what I was hired to do.”

Miss Mona comes to my side and places an arm around my shoulders. “Yes, honey, I hired you to tell our customers all about the treasures we offer for sale, but you also have to entertain them while you’re doing it.”

“So now I’m dull.”

Max whistles a few random notes. “You know, Andie, if the glass slipper’s yours, then you’d better put it on.”

Aunt Weeby juts out her chin. “Now, Max. Andie’s not dull, it’s just that them facts and chemicals all fascinate her more’n they interest you and me and the man on the moon. You might could help here by learning a little about ’em, and helping her make them more interesting.”

“It’s called,” Miss Mona says with a grin, “cooperation, kiddies. And it works real well.”

I slant Max a glance. Satisfaction is smeared all over that gorgeous face. I groan. “Do you know what you two are doing? You’re making him even more conceited.”

“Conceited?” Aunt Weeby asks.

“Huh?” Miss Mona offers—for a change.