Free Hot Dish by Connie Brockway Page B

aspiring actress.”
    “Of course not,” Ron said, crossing one perfectly creased slack leg over the other. “We do a background check, you know. But bear in mind that Mr. Davies hates being lied to. You recall a few years back when it turned out one of the hostesses for some kids’ decorating show had been an occasional stripper while she was at college?”
    Nat nodded. “She was fired, poor kid.”
    “Mr. Davies thought she got off too easy.”
    Everyone fell into a moment of silence—time Jenn spent wondering just what beyond firing Dwight Davies had contemplated.
    “So”—Dan Belker clapped his hands together, signaling the end of their impromptu mourning—”it’s settled. Jenn will head to her hometown at the end of the month, and we’ll send a crew up for a couple days to shoot some footage.”
    “Great! You couldn’t stage the potential photo opportunities this thing’ll generate,” Bob said, rubbing his hands together. “All those adoring faces surrounding her, folks cheering her, wishing her well, proud to call her one of their own … It’ll be a Norman Rockwell print come to life—only with better-looking people.” He looked at Jenn. “
Are
the people in your town good-looking?”
    Jenn was caught off guard by the unexpected turn of the conversation, mostly the fantasy about Fawn Creekians adoring her, and didn’t have time to frame a politic reply. “No.”
    Bob laughed. “Of course, they are! All Minnesotans are good-looking. Tall, blond Nordic types with fresh faces and strong bodies.”
    He caught Dan’s surprised stare. “It was in the demographics profile.”
    “Not these people,” Jenn burst out.
Jesus!
If they expected people to be milling around her with homemade signs and banners … Her stomach started making knots. “I’m sorry. That sounds so awful. Of course, I love them all dearly, but in order to be fair to … to AMS, I have to tell you, a few years ago the American Medical Association used the whole town for their obesity focus group.” Which was true.
    Bob stopped laughing and regarded her blankly. “Oh?”
    “Don’t worry,” Dan said confidently. “Even if we only get footage of a bunch of uglies, we always have pine trees and kids skating and church steeples to fall back on.”
    “And snow,” Bob agreed. “Don’t forget the white stuff. If this all works out like I think it’s goin’ to, we might wanta do a Christmas special up there. In fact, instead of just footage for the credits, we should seriously consider doing a spot right there during the festival or whatever it is.”
    From the e-mail the mayor of Fawn Creek had sent her, Jenn knew they were expecting about seven thousand people for the fishing tournament alone. That meant that as well as dozens with the unwitting power to end her career, seven thousand more simply to ignore her. Her head was swimming. She stared helplessly at Nat.
    “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” Nat said, correctly interpreting the desperation in Jenn’s eyes. “It’s really a bland little town. More Home Depot than Norman Rockwell.”
    “Ha-ha!” Dan laughed and turned to Bob. “That reminds me. Have you gotten hold of the artist? Is that a done deal?”
    Artist? What artist? What were they talking about now?
    “Jaax? Not yet,” Bob answered. “I’ve sent his manager some letters but haven’t had much luck getting a response, so this afternoon I’m going to a charity auction that he’s attending. I’ll approach him there and see if I can get him to commit.”
    Bob caught her flabbergasted expression. “Mr. Jaax has been invited to be co-marshal.”
    They were trying to get Steve Jaax to go to Fawn Creek, Minnesota? She started to laugh, then caught herself as she realized no one else was joining her. They didn’t seriously expect an artist of his caliber to co-marshal a tiny town’s celebration, particularly as it wasn’t even his small town, did they?
    “Do you really think he’s right for