What Would Oprah Do (4 page)

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that, but I’m at the formative stage now.
Anyway, enough about me. Catch me up, what’s new with you?”

Jill shrugged and looked away.
“Nothing really.” This is how things have been for the past year. She met Steven at a work conference and has been dating him ever since, even after he fessed up to being married. At first she told me about how unhappily married he is, and his top three reasons why he can’t simply leave his wife, all of which are merely ridiculous excuses from some standard ‘men who cheat on their wives’ handbook. Initially I listened with the same begrudging tolerance that Jill extends towards my smoking. Then as it grew more serious, and seedier if that’s even possible, I got to where it was too much to hear without constantly putting my two cents in. For months she talked about how she needed to end it, but was seeing him more frequently. I got her a book about women who date married men, why they do it and how to heal, which I don’t think she read.

The night I caught James cheating on me, I ranted and raved to Jill, calling the other woman a horrible cow, a miserable pathetic bitch who at best could only fuck someone else’s man. Since then, she hasn’t talked about her relationship. Outside of our shared activities, which usually are more than enough to talk about, she only talks about work and her family. I hate that there’s such a big part of her life that she can’t talk to me about, almost as much as I hate that she’s dating him.

Dear Oprah,

I don’t have any religious affiliation, much less authority of any nature, but I would still like to nominate you as Saint of All Things Possible. I am at a turning point in my life, and feel inspired by you that everything is possible for me. Even when I’m watching your show, sometimes I’m overwhelmed thinking about how far you’ve come: born into poverty in rural Mississippi and the profound hardships that you endured in your upbringing.

I am so proud of you; you would think that I participated in your development somehow. Although I have been an avid fan forever, I obviously didn’t contribute to what has made you the phenomenal woman you are today. You are the person I admire most. You turned your program from a talk show, to something that makes people better whether by reading, fitness, spiritual development, or financial guidance. So I guess you could say that you have contributed to my development. I hope I can become somebody who does something great and meaningful, so that you would have reason to be proud of me too.

Regards,

Cate

P.S. If anything comes about with the sainthood thing, I’ll let you know immediately.

I decided that to start a new life, I needed to start with a clean slate, a clean condo to bring clarity to my thoughts and a sanitary place to start making my own blue cheese dressing. Now I’m wishing that I had hired someone to clean it thoroughly, just once before I lost my job. Since I can’t turn back the clock, and I certainly can’t justify paying someone now, I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. I’m embarrassed to say that my place was filthy. It looked fine until I started moving things around. I don’t know what the hell constitutes a dust bunny, but I hope there aren’t any living organisms involved. Although I did find almost two dollars worth of change under the couch cushions, I also found a few old pretzels, a bunch of pony tail holders, and a fingernail file. It was disgusting. I
swiffered the floors and vacuumed the rugs. Now I know why my white socks turn brown on the bottom. I scrubbed every inch of my kitchen, even cleaning the oven and the refrigerator. My place is so small I can’t believe that it took ten hours, but it was worth it.

It feels invigorating to have a clean home, and a kitchen worthy of Cate’s Blue Cheese Dressing! I decided to leave salad off of the label so people will quit thinking of it as something you put on salad, and start using it as the versatile condiment it is. I bought the best blue cheese you can find, Maytag, shipped all the way
from Iowa. It was expensive, but it will pay off since you need the best ingredients to make the best product. Since I don’t have a lot of money for start up expenses, I bought it in bulk to save on shipping.

The first batch came out tangy and watery, undoubtedly from too much vinegar. I stirred more blue cheese in, which resulted in something akin to clumpy soup. After wasting more of my fancy blue cheese trying to fix it, I had to dump it out and start over. The next batch was still too tangy, bordering on acidic. I figured that I needed to upgrade my key ingredients, so I went to Whole Foods and bought organic buttermilk, a variety of mustards and four different kinds of vinegar. Even though the expenditures were adding up, when I got the right formula, I could make different varieties of my dressing and expand my market.

Five hours and seven batches later, my kitchen is a disaster area. The first two attempts went into my garbage disposal, which is now completely backed up into my sink like a nasty milky swamp with clumps of brown lettuce that must have been stuck in there from the night before. The mixing bowls were too big for the dish washer, and I couldn’t float them in the swamp sink. Since every surface in my tiny kitchen is occupied by a variety of ingredients, the bowls are on the table in what doubles as my living and dining room.

I realized that my other investment, my newly acquired Kitchen Aid Mixer was not the right tool for the job, and decided to try my blender. I finally got one batch that had both consistency and color resembling
blue cheese dressing, but needed a stronger flavor. I was adding more blue cheese, using the hole in the lid to pour it in. The blender must have been too full. It spewed like a volcano erupting with whitish gray slime all over me and what had started the day as my clean work space. Startled, I jumped back and knocked over the open carton of buttermilk which instantly coated the floor.

I gave myself a pep talk.
I am not one to be defeated! You cannot cry over spilled blue cheese. You will not give up. What would Oprah do?

My m
ind didn’t want to participate…
Oprah would hire someone to clean this shit up!

In a battle of wills with myself, I was determined to stay focused,
No, she got to where she is today by cleaning up her own messes. Look at where she is today. Oprah would not stand here staring at this mess, she would jump into action! You can do this!

I grabbed a roll of paper towels, only to discover that blue cheese was all over it. There was no use spreading more of it around, so I walked to my linen closet to get a fresh roll. My kitchen had started out pristine and with elbow grease and Spic & Span, it would be clean again.

After I soaked up most of the buttermilk from the floor, I started wiping off the blue cheese gunk from the countertops. With the consistency of glue, it was smearing everywhere. After I got the first layer off, I could see the black granite counter beneath it. I wiped off the stove top and the front of the refrigerator, but I could see white trails dripping further back than I could reach. I took the swiffer figuring I could use it to get between the refrigerator and the wall. As I stretched, almost reaching the back, my feet slid out from under me. I fell to the floor, pain shooting through my ankle. It hurt to move, but I had lost my will to get up anyway. I sat on the floor, trying not to cry. I started to give myself another pep talk when I felt something land on my head, like bird shit. I touched it, blue cheese in my hair. Then another clump hit my nose. I looked up and saw the veiny blue from the cheese throughout my textured ceiling pattern. It hadn’t occurred to me that it had erupted all the way to the ceiling. As I sat there with my ankle throbbing, it dripped on the countertop I had just scrubbed. I couldn’t hold back my tears.

There was a knock at the door. I couldn’t be bothered to get up so I yelled. “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Open up.”
Kay’s voice came through the door.

“Can’t.
Use your key.” I listened to Kay rummage through her purse for what seemed like an eternity before the door opened.

“Oh my God, Cate, what the fuck happened? Why are you on the floor?”

“I twisted my ankle. What are you doing here?”

Kay held up a bottle of champagne, as she looked around the room. “Remember, we were going to celebrate your first day as a blue cheese dressing maker?

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

“You can’t get up?” She asked, looking more confused than concerned.

“I probably can…haven’t tried.”

“Holy shit!
What is that smell?” She stared at the ceiling. Apparently she’s faster at surveying a mess than I am.

“It’s holy shit, Kay. I have ordained feces in here.”

“Seriously, is that the blue cheese?” She put down the champagne and held her nose like that was going to help.

“Seems so.
I guess I got used to it.”

“Alright, get your ass up and tell me what happened. I’ll help you clean.”

I burst into tears. Sometimes things are so bad that just having someone be nice to you makes you crumble faster than the finest blue cheese. “Don’t come in here,” I blubbered, “you’ll get it all over your work clothes.”

Kay walked over anyway and extended her hand. “Come on; see if you can put some weight on it.”
I took her hand, and stood up. “See, things are already getting better, you’re off the floor. Now let’s start cleaning this shit up.”

We
swiffered the ceiling, which to my surprise actually worked, and wiped everything down. While we scrubbed, I told her about my disaster of a day. It went so much faster with two people, in no time we were done and ready for champagne.

Kay uncorked the bottle. “Let’s take this out on the patio. At least your place can air out while we drink.”

I grabbed the glasses. “Thanks, Kay. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your evening.”

“Sure it is. We planned on champagne, and now we’re drinking it.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. You know, I waited all week to get the blue cheese, and now I have wasted more than a pound of it spraying it all over the kitchen.”

“It wasn’t a total waste. You learned something, right?”

“Yeah, I learned there’s more to making blue cheese dressing than I ever thought.”

“It’s a start. How are you going to be the next Mrs. Dash if you don’t start somewhere?”

I sipped the last of the champagne from my glass. “Why does champagne always go so fast? We’ve already gone through more than half of this bottle.”

“Because it’s the nectar of the Gods. When you make it big, you have got to stock the fridge with it.” Kay held out her glass. “Fill ‘er up!”

“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Cate Sanders, you had a bad day. That’s it. Remember Grandpa always said, ‘If you want to ride, you’ve got to stay on the horse’, so chin up and keep going. Other than the mess, how did it taste?”

“I don’t know. I think it was getting better toward the end, but my taste buds are overloaded now.”

“Want me to try it? Now that it’s not permeating my nostrils, I could tell you.”

The bubbly had brought my spirits back from the muck, so I jumped at the chance. I ran inside and got a plate together, with celery and the sweet potato wedges I’d baked. On the side, I put the small amount of dressing that had survived the blender fiasco and hurried back to the patio. “Now remember this is my
first attempt.” I said as I placed it in front of her. Kay took a bite. I knew it couldn’t be too terrible since she didn’t spit it out.

“Cate, this is so good! Seriously, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have fallen over from the shock. “Really? You think so? You don’t think it’s too tangy or anything?”

“I swear to God, this is the best blue cheese dressing I have ever tasted. It’s creamy, and the crumbles are the perfect size. There is a nice little crunch or something to it.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it! It’s my secret ingredient,
seeds from one of the mustards!”

“It works! Look at that, you did it on your first day!”

I was shocked. I had come up with my recipe, just like that. After Kay left, I was too wound up to sleep so I started working on my business plan. All I had to do was sell it to a nice restaurant, something upscale. Remembering that Jill’s neighbor Thomas owns a posh restaurant downtown, I decided to have a tasting party and get Jill to invite him. I would invite all of my old advertising contacts too. Surely somebody would be interested.

The next morning I started making the arrangements. Since my condo is so small, I asked Jill if I could use her house, which was brilliant since it would also make it easier to get her neighbor restaurateur there. Everything fell into place. My debut tasting party would be next week.

I went straight to work making small batches, careful to avoid another blender incident.
My menu was simple but varied: rosemary crostinis and small new potatoes with my dressing baked on top, gourmet olives stuffed with dressing, and sweet potato wedges and vegetable trays for sampling it as a cold dip. The definitive presentation was small iceberg wedge salads with perfect dollops of dressing on top, barely running over the sides. I quickly realized that I had to quit sampling my creations if I wanted to fit into anything I owned for the big night. That was a good thing since there wasn’t any extra room when I put on my favorite black dress pants.

Kay met me at Jill’s place late that afternoon, so we could get everything ready. She walked in carrying a stack of big stainless tubs. “Where’d you get those?”

“They’re on loan from Lainey. We figured you needed something to keep the white wine chilled in.”
Lainey is Kay’s best friend. They were roommates in college and before she got married a few years ago, she was practically the third Sanders sister. She married a big football sportscaster, quit her job and started traveling around with him. Now we hardly ever see her.

“Does that mean
Lainey’s coming?”

Before Kay could answer, Lainey walked up behind her. If it weren’t for her big hair, I wouldn’t have known who it was behind the stainless tub until I heard her deep southern accent, “
Dahlin’, I wouldn’t miss this for the world! Now where can I put this hooch, so I can give your little ass a hug?”

I took the case from her and yelled, “Jill! Come out here, you’ll never believe who it is!”

Everything was perfect. With Jill, Lainey and Kay, I had all my girls together for the first time since the 4th of July.

While I put the food together on serving trays, Lainey and Jill filled the bins with ice and white wine. Kay put out the fresh bouquets of flowers and tea light candles. “Ok, I’m not lighting the candles until right before go time, so other than that you can consider it decorated. How’s it going in there?”
Kay asked me.