Page 12 of The Homewreckers
Hattie looked up. Mauricio Lopez stood to the right of their table. He had two iced coffees in hand and was gesturing to an empty chair nearby. “Is this seat taken?”
Hattie Kavanaugh was laughably easy to read, Mo thought. Her previously animated expression vanished the minute he sat down at the table, replaced by pursed lips and a jaw set at an angle between grimand enraged. She regarded him as she would a large, dead rodent, as he handed her the Styrofoam cup with a quivering mountain of whipped cream.
“You’re welcome to sit down, but I was just telling Cass I have no intention of being part of any ‘alleged’ television show,” Hattie said.
“Alleged?” Mo put his hand to his chest. “I’m hurt.”
Cass giggled and Hattie rolled her eyes. “Look,” she said. “I’ve seen some of those HPTV shows. They’re ridiculous. The one where you plop two strangers down on an island and challenge them to build a house together out of palm fronds and driftwood?”
“Castaways? That wasn’t one of my shows, but it was a huge ratings hit. And if that tsunami hadn’t come out of nowhere, it would still be on the air.”
“Didn’t I read somewhere that the woman, Penny, I think her name was? Didn’t Penny end up suing your network?”
“That case was dismissed. Her contract with the production company specifically said they were not liable for any relationship issues arising from the show.”
Cass snapped her fingers. “I remember that show. Axel? Was that the guy’s name? Total stud, but dumber than a box of rocks. And also, I thought he was secretly gay.”
“Not so secretly,” Mo said. “Except to Penny. But could we get back to the reason why I wanted to meet with you two? First off,Saving Savannahis not an ‘alleged’ show. I have a commitment from the network, and an incredibly tight deadline. So what’s it gonna be?”
“Thanks for the coffee, but I’m still a no,” Hattie said.
“Can I ask why you’re so dead set against my proposal?”
“I’m just not interested. I’m a contractor, not a character in some made-up quote ‘reality’ show. I take my work seriously, even if you don’t. I believe in fixing up old houses, finding their souls, making them shine again, and giving them new life.”
“I’m giving you the opportunity to do that, and more,” Mo said. “This is a chance to recoup your losses—not just your own, but your father-in-law’s losses, too. I’m guessing he also had a sizable investment in that house, right?”
“Yes. And I’m determined to make that up to him.”
“Doing this show could help you do that. You’d get paid and the publicity for Kavanaugh and Son would be priceless. Clients will be lining up to hire your company. It’s a surefire deal.”
Hattie still looked dubious. “Surefire? For real?”
“Yes,” Mo said. “If we get the sizzle reel shot, like, right away, and the network gives us the green light.”
Cass tapped Hattie’s hand. “Now will you listen?”
“What’s a sizzle reel?” Hattie said.
Mo smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
6Hattie When She Sizzles
“What we’re doing today isn’t a sizzle, it’s more like a talent reel,” Mo explained. “I’ll film you, just with my phone, ask you some questions about yourself, your experience in the business, that kind of thing. Very informal. It’s just so the network can get an idea of who you are. As a person.”
“Like an audition?” Hattie didn’t like the sound of it. She didn’t like the sound of any of this. It felt weird. “This feels too personal,” she complained. They were sitting in the living room of her bungalow in Thunderbolt. It had been Mauricio Lopez’s idea. “Why can’t we just do this at the office?”
“We’re not just selling you,” he said. “We’re selling your personality, your aesthetic. You renovated this house, right? So it’s full of your personality. Your look.”
He’d had some misgivings when he pulled up to the house. The clapboard siding bore a patchwork of paint colors, there were stacks of lumber and building materials in the driveway, and the yard looked shaggy and neglected.
She gave him a quick tour of the bungalow, noting his raised eyebrow at the unfinished state of the kitchen. “You know how it is,” Hattie said. “The cobbler’s children…”
The living room was a different story. The plaster walls were painted a warm white, and all the original walnut woodwork gleamed in the late afternoon sun. There was a fireplace with an unusual arched firebox, but instead of firewood, it was filled to the top withlarge, bleached-out conch shells. Built-in bookshelves on either side of the fireplace were crammed with books, mostly paperbacks, interspersed with bird’s nests, deer antlers, chunks of coral, framed bird prints, and more seashells. And was that a cow skull?
He was seated in an armchair with a white slipcover and threadbare arms. An old blue-and-white quilt had been tossed over the seat. The sofa was white too, come to think of it, and the cushions were mashed down, almost misshapen with age. Paintings were hung on all the walls, and all of them were seascapes.
“You can tell a lot about a person by the things they surround themselves with,” Mo said. “That’s what the network wants to see. Your authentic personality.”
