Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs

world that was apparently going to be the live Eat Drink and Be .
    On top of it all, they weren’t so far away from almost disappearing—the fear remained fresh—that Porter made it quite clear he didn’t feel in any way compelled to take up her Carmen issues with Alan.
    Which was annoying because Gus couldn’t seem to make her boss come around to her view: Alan had anticipated that she’d be upset and invited her to a delicious lunch at Craft, in which he patiently—paternalistically— listened to all the reasons why she didn’t like Carmen and absolutely, withouta doubt, no way no how, would Gus work with her.
    “I know,” he said after she’d gone on for several minutes, pouring more pinot noir into her glass. “That’s part of what makes it fun for the viewers— it’s rather spicy with the tension between the two of you.”
    Gus was taken aback. “Are you using me, Alan?”
    Alan leaned forward over his plate and looked at Gus with curiosity.
    “No more than you’re using me, Gus,” he said, putting his knife and fork onto his plate and signaling to the waiter. “I don’t pretend to be anything but what I am: a guy who’s worked his ass off to build a place in television. I’m no cook. But I like to eat. I like tasty food. And so do a lot of other folks. I saw a market and a way to sell a product. And now I see the potential for another good product.”
    “ The Gus and Carmen Show ? ”
    “Something like that.”
    “So it’s all about money, then?”
    Alan frowned and took a long pull from his red wine. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his chair a few inches away from the table, leaning back.
    “Gus, we’ve known each other a long time. And if you fell and broke your leg, I’d be the first person to bring you a casserole. I like you, Gus. I do consider you a friend.” He cleared his throat. “But it seems you’ve convinced yourself that you’ve been doing me a favor all these years. I guess, as the fellowwho signs your exceedingly large paycheck, that I have rather a different view.”
    An awkward silence developed.
    “So . . .” said Gus.
    “So,” repeated Alan. “You and Carmen will be great together, and on behalf of everyone at the CookingChannel, I want you to know that we couldn’t be more thrilled about your new program. Shall we?” He dropped the napkin in his hand and stood up to leave.
    If it had been another day, a different conversation, the two of them would have shared a cab back to the studio, where Gus had an informal plan to meet with Porter and Oliver. But it would be too uncomfortable to sit together in the backseat now, making chitchat about the sunny April weather.
    “Oh, I have an errand to run,” she said stiffly, trying to come up with some task in her mind so she wouldn’t be lying. Gus never lied. All we have, she’d always told her daughters when they were young, is our integrity. And good manners.
    And so she thanked Alan for taking her to lunch, even as she choked on every word.
    Hannah Levine Sat at her desk, pouring half a pack of Sweetarts into her mouth. Crunch crunch crunch. As snacks went, it would do. Though it might need a chocolate chaser. The kitchen, spit and polished by a differentMerry Maid each Tuesday—Hannah called each woman “Merry,” as though it were her name—was merely the storage spot for bags of M&M’s, packets of Big League chewing gum, canisters filled to the top with candy corn.
    “You eat too much junk,” Gus said on the nights she popped by with a Gruyère and watercress sandwich or a bit of steamed lemon pepper sole and green beans. Before there had been Gus, with her coffee-and-muffin mornings and her evening surprises, there had been only candy and delivery pizza, the nagging fear that the delivery boy would say those dreaded words: Don’t you look familiar? Or: Hey, aren’t you that girl who ...
    “I need a little sweetness in my life,” Hannah would reply. Nowadays she ordered her candy stash