Page 27 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Someone has a secret,” she singsongs. “What’s up? Gimme the scoop!”
She and I have gotten close over the past few months. She regales me with stories about the lesbian dating scene in the city, and more than once, I’ve bored her while recounting the details of my one and only night with my dream girl.
“There’s been a break in the Cookie Case,” I say.
April squeals. “Yes, yes, yes! Ah, I’m so relieved. You don’t know how much it’s pained me that I couldn’t just go into our audience records and get you more information on her. I mean, I'm sure that even snagging her last name would have done wonders.”
“Rules are rules, and I get it. We can’t have horny TV chefs accessing audience email addresses to procure hot dates, can we? Privacy policies are in place for a reason,” I say. And I mean it. But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t moments over the past few months when I cursed my morals and fantasized about hiring someone to hack into that system to solve this mystery for good.
She checks her watch. “Alright. We officially have four minutes until showtime. Hit me with the deets, and hit me with them fast!”
I quickly review all the information Cookie gave me about herself that day. I tell her the intel Trent uncovered about Cookie’s potential grandmother in Fork Lick, and I lay out my plan to travel upstate tomorrow to finally put the last pieces of this puzzle together.
April’s eyebrows furrow. “Wait a second. You said she’s in publishing?”
“Yeah. She never got specific about what aspect of publishing, but yes.”
“Huh.” April speaks into her headset. “Three minutes to places.”
“What’s ‘huh’?” I ask as I straighten my chef’s hat and secure my apron. “What does ‘huh’ mean?”
“She was at the August twentieth show, right? I only remember the date because it was my birthday that day.”
“Happy belated birthday, April!” I hold out my hand for a fist bump.
She chuckles. “It was four months ago, Bacon. I think we’re past the need for birthday wishes.”
“Well, I’m sorry I missed it.” I shake my fist, still waiting for that bump.
She taps her knuckles to mine. “You’re too nice for your own good. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Too many times to count.
“I hate to break it to you, bud, but I think she was untruthful about a few things.”
“What do you mean?”
“That week, we were saluting schoolteachers across America. Every single audience member that day was verified as a public elementary school teacher. And they were all from the tri-state area. Not New York City proper. You don’t remember all Mairin’s little speeches on camera that day about the wonderful work teachers do?”
“April, I’m so nervous during those shows. I barely register anything anyone says.”
“Right. Well, whoever your mystery girl is, she must be a teacher.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry to say this, bud. But if they lie about basic things like where they live and what they do for a living, there’s a good chance they lie about more important stuff too, like relationships and marital status. I’m with your friend Trent here, Bacon. I think you need to move on from this one.”
I stand there in silence.
She looked me right in the eyes and promised not to lie.
“Can I ask you something?” April says carefully. “What’s so special about this girl?”
“We, uh…” I clear my throat. “We just really—I mean, I thought we connected. She was funny and free and?—”
“The sex was phenomenal, right?” She shakes her head in disappointment for me. “That’s how they get ya.”
The sex was phenomenal. But that was like the icing on the cake. I felt steady with her. Everything just felt… right.
“Have you ever felt more like yourself when you’re with someone?” I ask quietly.
“Oh, buddy.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. But, hey, it’s…” She checks the time again. “One minute to places. You’ve worked hard for this. Shake this off for now and get out there and win this thing! We’ll talk more later.”
