A Christmas to Remember. Rebecca Moesta

away. Her eyes found the Christmas tree near the refrigerator in her TV kitchen. “Oh, my gosh, it’s so green…and sad.”

      “The tree?” Ian asked. He always tried to make sure he understood what she meant before he took action.

      Jennifer winced. The tree was definitely an issue for her: a green fir with uninspired green and silver decorations. Green on green wouldn’t look good on camera at all. And why did it have to be green, one of her least favorite colors?

      That wasn’t the tree’s only failing. “Look, it’s also dying on the bottom.” She pointed out a few lower branches that were beginning to turn brown. While the brown added contrast, it wasn’t exactly an improvement.

      Ian raised his voice so the set dressers working around him could hear. “Somebody cheer this tree up, please?”

      Letting Ian take care of the tree, Jennifer turned around just as Cynthia wheeled a gingerbread Empire State Building out on a cart.

      “Oh, whoa. Whoa, there!” Jennifer said, instantly keying in on a problem. “What’s going on with all the toy cars?” The size of the cars was completely wrong next to the majestic building.

      “I thought it would be cute,” Cynthia said.

      “But this is the Empire State Building—it’s supposed to be magnificent,” Jennifer pointed out.

      Cynthia gave her a perplexed look. “But it’s just gingerbre—”

      “I know,” Jennifer cut in. There was no time to waste. Was she the only one who could see how awful it looked? With a forced smile, she explained, “But the scale, the scale. It’s ix-nay on the ars-cay, okay?”

      “I’m sorry. You got it,” Cynthia said, rolling the display cart away.

      Belatedly, Jennifer realized how discouraging her words must have been, so she added, “But good job with everything else.”

      Ian, who was a master at smoothing ruffled feathers, reassured Cynthia. “Really good. Love it.”

      “Yeah, really good,” Jennifer repeated, feeling slightly guilty. But there was no time to dwell on it. She made an impatient gesture, anxious to get on with the show. At least she knew one thing that was absolutely perfect since she had done the work herself. “Now where’s that turkey? I am so excited.”

      A moment later, a prop man appeared carrying the turkey on a large serving platter.

      The food on a TV show like Homestyle with Jennifer Wade could not simply look “okay.” It had to be perfect for the camera, and perfect food took hours of extra prep work. Jennifer sometimes thought of it as makeup for cuisine. The golden-brown bird coming toward her, heaped with stuffing and nestled on a bed of greens, looked even better than Jennifer had remembered. Her attention to detail had certainly paid off, and she was thrilled to see the results.

      “Oh, it’s so beautiful. I love—”

      The prop man raised the turkey for her to see it better. Then he tripped.

      Turkey, dressing, and garnish flew toward her, hit her dead center, and slid down her silk shirt to land on the floor.

      A high-pitched “Ahh!” of surprise escaped her lips. Jennifer looked down and took in the scope of the catastrophe: the perfectly browned turkey lying broken on the floor surrounded by a jumble of greens, the prop man trying to gather everything back onto the serving platter, and her own grease-stained blouse, obviously ruined. Why had she decided not to wear a Christmas apron for the show? At least her short black skirt had been spared.

      “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” the prop man said.

      “Oh, no!” Jennifer wailed. She didn’t need an apology, she needed a miracle. “I spent an hour and a half on the left thigh alone.” Dazed, she tried to step to one side, slipped on the greasy floor, and caught herself on the counter.

      In an instant, Ian was beside her, doing damage control.

      “Don’t worry. We have a backup turkey,” the prop man said.

      “Oh, no.” Jennifer looked down at herself again. The situation seemed hopeless. She breathed faster, trying to fill her lungs with air. Her throat constricted. “Okay, but we don’t have a backup shirt, do we?” Her voice rose. “We don’t have a backup shirt!”

      “We do have a backup shirt.” Ian motioned to a wardrobe assistant. “Flying in: backup shirt.”

      Aimee rushed forward, carrying a mallard-green silk blouse, and held it out to Jennifer, who couldn’t help but stare at it aghast.

      “That’s not the same shirt.” Jennifer had tried so hard to prepare a perfect show for her viewers, but her dream of presenting the perfect Christmas on TV was crumbling.

      “It’s the same shirt, just a different color,” Aimee assured her.

      “But it’s green,” Jennifer protested, feeling suddenly shaky. “I hate green.”

      “Listen, everything is going to be okay,” Ian’s soothing voice broke in. “We can spray the backup turkey, and we’ll be good.”

      She could tell he was trying to manage her, but she didn’t mind because it was helping. The anxiety dropped a notch, and her heartbeat began to slow down. Would things be okay? She gave Ian a melancholy look. “No, it won’t be perfect. Everything was supposed to be perfect,” she fretted. “It’s the holiday special.”

      “No, no, no, it’ll totally be perfect,” Ian said with a confident smile. He turned and shouted to the crew. “Okay people, let’s prep that backup turkey!”

      Aimee put a comforting arm around her as they walked back to Jennifer’s dressing room to change.

      In the end, despite the mishaps, the taping of the show went so well that Jennifer wore a broad smile as they shot the final scene in her Homestyle “dining room.” She held the beautiful turkey up for the camera before placing it at the center of a table set with taupe stoneware plates and bowls, red tapers in clear candlesticks, and simple crystal stemware. The rest of the meal was arrayed around the turkey: colorful mixed vegetables, salad, cranberry sauce, and whipped butternut squash. She wished she could have spent some time staining the turkey a bit darker, maybe putting a sheen on it with some oil and a blowtorch.

      “Mm. It looks so delicious. I just can’t wait to eat that turkey,” she said. Of course, she didn’t want to eat this actual turkey, which, like most stage turkeys, was mostly raw and only enhanced and “styled” to look good in photography. But a real holiday turkey like her mom used to cook sounded wonderful.

      Clasping her hands in front of her, Jennifer looked directly into the camera and spoke to her viewers. “Thank you so much for joining me on my Christmas special. I’m Jennifer Wade, and from all of us at Homestyle, we wish you a Christmas to remember.”

      “And cut!” Ian called.

      Jennifer blew out a breath of relief. The show hadn’t been perfect, but it had turned out pretty darn well, considering how things had started. She hoped it was good enough to please her viewers.

Chapter 2

      “That was fabulous. Congratulations.” Paula Marshall, Jennifer’s friend and agent, bustled down the steps with Jennifer as they headed to Jennifer’s dressing room. The holiday season meant that both women were booked up to their eyeballs, so much so that Paula and Jennifer had to talk business as one or both of them rushed from event to event. Jennifer was grateful to have Paula as an advocate. Outgoing, confident, and persuasive, with a warm brown complexion, long dark hair, and a brilliant smile, Paula was a force to be reckoned with.

      Jennifer wanted to take Paula’s