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Rachelle’s cheeks glinted with tears. “Thank you. I’m ready,” she whispered, clearly unable to believe that “the great Diana March” was saying this to her.
“Don’t thank me, honey,” Diana said. “Thank yourself for all you’ve learned. You’ve brought yourself this far, and there’s so much further to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was bizarre how quickly things changed after that. The following Tuesday, when yet another Nantucket Factory episode premiered on the Cooking Channel, Diana was hardly a feature. The storyline alternated between Paul and Benny, Rachelle’s rise to becoming head chef, and, of course, Eddie, whose “arrogant antics” had gone viral.
“Oh my gosh,” Darcy cried, “The entire internet says that Eddie is the most egotistical person on television right now.”
“I’m not surprised,” Rachelle said.
“No, but seriously. They can’t stand him. There’s a Twitter hashtag going viral about him. They want him off the air!”
“Diana says those types of things make people tune in even more,” Rachelle said. “I’m sure Eddie has a big career ahead of him. He can be everyone’s favorite person to hate. And maybe that’s for the best. I don’t want to be on television. People like Eddie want that.” Rachelle raised her shoulders.
They were at The Jessabelle House, cozied up with Grandma Estelle and their mother. Grandma had brought an entire bucket of chocolate chip cookies, and Rachelle had already devoured two. She dropped her head on her mother’s shoulder and watched as, on-screen, Benny and Paul did a fake sailboat race across the sound.
“This show has really taken a turn,” Sam said.
“For the better,” Estelle said.
On-screen, Paul charged ahead of Benny, raising his fist. Benny was wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch, and he forced his boat toward the side of Paul’s boat, threatening to blast against the stern. Rachelle had heard about this scene in the kitchen, with Benny and Paul acting out what they’d had to do on the ocean. Apparently, Henry had hired a real water sports coordinator to fake the entire thing. Nothing on television was real.
“People on Twitter must be talking about our darling chef, too,” Grandma Estelle said, eyeing Darcy’s phone.
“I’m sure they aren’t,” Rachelle said because she knew interest in her “meteoric rise” to head chef was minimal at best. People couldn’t taste her food through the screen and craved the drama and wild nature of people like Eddie, Paul, and Benny. She simply wasn’t dramatic enough.
She was meant for something else.
Rachelle’s phone buzzed with a message from Diana.
DIANA: Are you free to chat?
Rachelle excused herself and popped into the kitchen to call Diana. She hadn’t seen her since Saturday, when she’d come into the restaurant, pretending to dine like everyone else, and given Rachelle a sterling review. Just thinking about it still brought tears to Rachelle’s eyes.
But why did Diana want to talk to her?
Perhaps Diana was going to quit the show? Perhaps she was headed to Los Angeles? Or maybe she was removing Rachelle as head chef and finishing out at The Clam Factory until they finished filming?
“Rachelle. Thank you for calling me,” Diana answered on the first ring.
“Hey! No problem. What’s up?” Rachelle’s heart pounded.
“Are you watching this insanity? Paul and Benny’s sailing race?” Diana laughed.
“It’s amazing. I can’t believe Henry bought into it.”
“He needs more ideas for the show, I guess,” Diana said. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
Rachelle’s ears rang. “Oh?”
“I’ve just gotten a very strange phone call,” Diana said. “Many years ago, I worked in Rome for a very infamous Italian chef named Arturo Bellini. While I was working with him, he disappeared. I didn’t know what to think. Everyone told me he was involved with the Mafia, and I thought horrible things had befallen him. I wasn’t sure he was even still alive.”
“Did you ever find out what happened to him?” Rachelle was breathless.
“Well, he called me last night,” Diana said with a startled laugh. “He’s much older, of course, but entirely the same. His English is much better than it once was, which was a blessing. My Italian isn’t as good as it was that summer so many years ago.” She cleared her throat. “Apparently, back then, Arturo had a nervous breakdown due to the horrors of the culinary world. All that pressure. I’m sure you understand.”
“More than a little.”
