Close to Famous (13 page)

I found a pan, turned the oven on to 350. The butter was soft; I creamed it with a wooden spoon, added brown sugar, and beat that together till it was fluffy. The fluffy part is important. I have very strong hands, which a good cook needs, because you're stirring and chopping all day. I added two eggs and vanilla and mixed that in. I put flour, salt, and baking powder in another bowl and stirred them together. I was careful to measure the baking powder, because if you put in too much, the brownies taste nasty and get holes inside them when they bake. I stirred in the flour combination and tried the batter. This recipe never fails.

I left a spoon with batter on a plate in case Miss Charleena got up from her sickness and needed a treat. I put the batter in the pan, put the pan in the oven.

I told the dogs, “In fifteen minutes, this kitchen is going to smell like a celebration.” One of the big things I've learned watching TV cooks is that they have confidence. If they said, “I don't know if this recipe's going to turn out,” all over the world people would be clicking their TV remotes to off. If you want people to stay with you, act like you know what you're doing. There are lots of life lessons on the Food Network.

I fed Tracy and Hepburn, swept the back porch, and brought in the paper. I wasn't sure what the headline said, but I knew one word,
WAR
. My daddy told me once that he expected there would always be a war going on somewhere in the world. In fifth grade I did a shadow box on peace for Mr. Mackey's class. I made people out of popsicle sticks and colored their faces all the colors of people in the world. Everyone was wearing white, and they were standing together holding hands. My peace box was put on the front table in the school for everyone to see, until Ronny Mandolini smashed it with his fist.

I wiped the kitchen counters, cleaned the back door window, and took the brownies from the oven. Perfect. Miss Charleena needed to smell these.

I walked to her bedroom door and heard Dr. Weber say, “Charleena, in my professional opinion, you're breathing fine, as always.”

“I can hardly get a breath,” she insisted.

The phone rang and rang. Finally, I picked it up.

“Miss Charleena's residence. This is Foster speaking.”

“Tell her Stan's on the line.”

“She's with the doctor.”

“Tell her,” the man Stan insisted.

I walked back down the hall to the closed white door and knocked.

“Miss Charleena, Mr. Stan is on the line.”

Her voice sounded small. “Tell him not now.”

I put the phone to my ear and told him.

“Put her on, kid.” He had a pushy voice.

“She can't talk right now. She's with the doctor.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Foster.”

“Foster, let me tell you about life. There's life for regular people and there's life for Hollywood people. Are you following me?”

“Yessir.”

“And the Hollywood life, Foster, goes like this. Actors need agents to prevent them from driving their careers into a ditch.”

Miss Charleena had mentioned being in a ditch, but I thought Kitty and Lester yanked her out.

“I'm Charleena's agent, Foster. I take calls for her, and sometimes I take a very important call from a very important person who does not like to be kept waiting. Are you with me?”

“Yessir.”

“And this, Foster, is the situation we find ourselves in. A very important person who does not like to be kept waiting has called.
Now, get Charleena on the phone!
”

“Okay.” I knocked on the door again. Mentioned the very important person.

“Tell Stan it's over for me.”

“He's not going to like that, Miss Charleena—”

“Tell him!”

I told him.

“I'm not happy right now, Foster. And I like to be happy. It's a green light if we can get Charleena attached. The script is brilliant, the director is rewriting it. It's a huge tent-pole movie that will drive the studio machine.
Tell her that
.”

I have no idea what he just said. I knocked again. “I need to come in!”

“What is it?”
she hollered.

“Miss Charleena, Mr. Stan said something about a green machine with a pole and a tent.” Dr. Weber stared at me. I walked over to the big canopy bed and handed her the phone. “Please talk to him.”

This was some job Macon gave me!

“Stan, darlin', you call at the worst times. . .. I know . . . I know . . . I'm at death's door. . ..
What
? I am most certainly not afraid to get back out there, Stanley! I deeply resent your tone!”

It was good to hear her sounding crabby again. Dr. Weber took Miss Charleena's temperature in her ear while she talked. “Perfectly normal,” the doctor muttered.

Miss Charleena shook her head. “It peaks in the afternoon. . ..”

I decided to be confused someplace else. I went back to the kitchen where nothing I could see was attached except the cabinets. There was no green machine and no pole, just brownies. I touched the pan. It had cooled enough. I cut the brownies into squares. I ate one and put the rest on a plate with the chocolate mayonnaise cupcakes.

Dr. Weber came into the kitchen. “Charleena needs to rest. You can go home.”

“Is she really dying?”

“I imagine Charleena will outlive us all.” He looked at the brownies.

“Do you want one?”

I could tell he did.

“They're warm,” I added.

He smiled, took the biggest square, and gobbled it down. “What was your name again?”

“Foster McFee, sir.”

Dr. Weber walked out the door. “I'll remember that.”

I poked my head in Angry Wayne's. The counter was full. My baked goods were gone.

“Where you been?” Wayne demanded.

“Around.”

He pointed to the empty case.

“You want me to bake more, sir?”

“One dozen delivered here tomorrow morning.”

Betty slapped the counter. “Pay the girl, Wayne.”

He mumbled something and handed me an envelope. I was in business!

“Mr. Wayne, do you want the chocolate chip muffins and vanilla cupcakes again? Or if you want a change, I could bake butterscotch muffins and the moistest chocolate cupcakes the world has ever seen.”

Betty's head shot up. Angry Wayne crossed his arms. “You're the baker. Bring the best you've got.”

I killed myself making these. I got up early and baked them so they'd be perfectly fresh. I used my special striped paper liners, too. When I took them from the oven, the butterscotch smell filled the Bullet, and Sonny's chocolate cupcakes were enough to wake Mama, who normally can sleep through a hurricane.

Mama's nose twitched. “You baked extra?”

“Two dozen.”

“Good.” She went back to sleep. I piled the frosting on.

“Those smell wonderful.” It was Macon. What was he doing here?

“You're sick,” I told him.

“Not anymore.” I handed him a cupcake. He ate it in two bites. “You should sell these, Foster. I'm not kidding. Could I bring one to Miss Charleena? I can start working for her again.”

“Oh.” I looked down. “I was there yesterday, and she stayed in her room.”

“She doesn't know you that well, Foster. She knows me.”

“Well . . .” I said.

So much for learning how to read.

“You can keep the money for the days you worked, but I'll keep ten percent because I got you the work. You know, like a movie agent.”

He counted out the money and gave it to me.

“I talked to her agent,” I said.

Macon stopped dead at that. “You talked to Stanley Bull?”

“He said his name was Stan.”

“You actually spoke to him?”

“Yeah. He wanted to talk to her, and she didn't want to talk to him.”

“I've never even answered the phone!”

I shrugged. “It was ringing.”

“Stan Bull is one of the biggest agents in Hollywood.”

I mentioned how Miss Charleena got angry on the phone and told him she wasn't afraid of getting back out there. “Do you know what that means?”

“It's personal information, Foster.”

Elvis the cat crept by. I gave him a dirty look.

“I've got to go back to Miss Charleena's now.”

“You want me to go with you? I mean, I think she likes me and—”

“Miss Charleena doesn't really like anyone, Foster.”

“I think she likes me. We had a long talk—”

“This is
my
job, Foster. Not yours.”

“I know. But maybe I could help her and—”

Macon's eyes got a funny look and his voice changed. “It sounds like you're trying to steal my job!”

What was he talking about?

“It sounds like you got real involved over there, Foster. Real involved!”

“
That's crazy, Macon!”

Elvis the cat jumped out from behind a bush. Stupid, sneaky cat!

I watched Macon storm off down the driveway.

You want to know a big issue I've got? Being accused of something I didn't do!

Lester walked up. “Just so you know, Charleena Hendley can seem like she's your friend one day and ignore you for months after. Don't let it get to you.”

Kind of late for that.

I dropped the baked goods off at Angry Wayne's and I think I almost saw him smile when I put them in the plastic container.