velvet ropes. “I do hope you both will save a spot on your cards for me tonight,” he said with a cheesy grin.
“Certainly,” Emily agreed.
“Of course,” I said when he looked at me.
We walked a bit further. “And here we have the front door, next to which is the coat check-in.” We laughed and followed him to the front of the room- just below the balcony. “That area is reserved for the Superstars, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He glanced up at the contestants. “Their main role tonight is publicity, which is why you see all the reporters and cameras.”
I peeked up at Chris. He was leaning over the edge of the balcony, resting his arms on the wooden railing. Cynthia was close by, of course. She looked at me, then at Chris, and back at me again. If looks could kill, I would have vaporized where I stood . She took Chris’s arm and pulled him away.
Jake led us further around the room but stopped and pulled his buzzing cell phone from his pocket. “Sorry gals,” he said as he read his text message. “Duty calls. I’m running the cameras tonight. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” He turned to walk away but gave us one last look from over his shoulder. “Don’t forget about our dance. Y ou both promised!”
Someone tapped on a microphone as Jake walked off. The low thud echoed through the room, and everyone quieted and turned to look. A middle aged man with a balding head and a very round midsection stood on the stage. It was Mr. Doveland, the producer of the show. “Excuse me, please,” he said. “Dinner is about to be served. Make your way up the stairs to the dining room and find a seat.” He gestured to a grand mahogany staircase.
Emily and I followed the crowd and found two empty seats in the back of the large room. As we sat, I noticed t here were dozens of tables, each decorated with white linen cloths and accented with burgundy and silver candles. Linen napkins were neatly folded and stuffed into tall crystal champagne flutes. At the front of the room was a long table, and I counted ten place settings. I assumed that was where Chris and the others would be sitting. Jake had disappeared and was nowhere to be seen.
Waiters dressed in black and draped with white aprons carried large, round trays stacked with steaming bowls of soup. I didn’t quite catch the name; it sounded French and smelled garlicky. Then an appetizer was brought, sea scallops, followed by a Greek salad. I couldn’t believe my eyes when they brought around the main course. Everyone had a choice between several elegant entrees: filet mignon, steamed salmon, or roasted duck, and each looked more like artwork than food. For dessert they served slices of white chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry sauce. On top of each slice sat a music note carved from dark chocolate.
Emily looked at my untouched fork. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
I looked at her guiltily, hating to waste the food. “I’m really not that hungry.” Nerves had twisted my stomach into a ball of tight knots, killing my appetite.
“You’re missing out,” she said before shoving a spoonful of cheesecake into her mouth.
As people were finishing their dessert, Mr. Doveland stood up and took the microphone. “If I could have your attention, please.” He tapped a spoon against his champagne glass and waited for everyone to quiet down. Once the room was silent, he began, “We have all gathered tonight to celebrate our Top Ten. Making it this far into the competition is quite a feat, and I would like to offer you all my sincerest congratulations.”
Everyone applauded as he turned and raised his glass to the contestants. “You know, this city has always given me so much. I was born and raised here, graduated from UIC with a degree in communication, and then set off for the big cities, in search of fame and fortune. I’ve enjoyed a
“Certainly,” Emily agreed.
“Of course,” I said when he looked at me.
We walked a bit further. “And here we have the front door, next to which is the coat check-in.” We laughed and followed him to the front of the room- just below the balcony. “That area is reserved for the Superstars, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He glanced up at the contestants. “Their main role tonight is publicity, which is why you see all the reporters and cameras.”
I peeked up at Chris. He was leaning over the edge of the balcony, resting his arms on the wooden railing. Cynthia was close by, of course. She looked at me, then at Chris, and back at me again. If looks could kill, I would have vaporized where I stood . She took Chris’s arm and pulled him away.
Jake led us further around the room but stopped and pulled his buzzing cell phone from his pocket. “Sorry gals,” he said as he read his text message. “Duty calls. I’m running the cameras tonight. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” He turned to walk away but gave us one last look from over his shoulder. “Don’t forget about our dance. Y ou both promised!”
Someone tapped on a microphone as Jake walked off. The low thud echoed through the room, and everyone quieted and turned to look. A middle aged man with a balding head and a very round midsection stood on the stage. It was Mr. Doveland, the producer of the show. “Excuse me, please,” he said. “Dinner is about to be served. Make your way up the stairs to the dining room and find a seat.” He gestured to a grand mahogany staircase.
Emily and I followed the crowd and found two empty seats in the back of the large room. As we sat, I noticed t here were dozens of tables, each decorated with white linen cloths and accented with burgundy and silver candles. Linen napkins were neatly folded and stuffed into tall crystal champagne flutes. At the front of the room was a long table, and I counted ten place settings. I assumed that was where Chris and the others would be sitting. Jake had disappeared and was nowhere to be seen.
Waiters dressed in black and draped with white aprons carried large, round trays stacked with steaming bowls of soup. I didn’t quite catch the name; it sounded French and smelled garlicky. Then an appetizer was brought, sea scallops, followed by a Greek salad. I couldn’t believe my eyes when they brought around the main course. Everyone had a choice between several elegant entrees: filet mignon, steamed salmon, or roasted duck, and each looked more like artwork than food. For dessert they served slices of white chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry sauce. On top of each slice sat a music note carved from dark chocolate.
Emily looked at my untouched fork. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
I looked at her guiltily, hating to waste the food. “I’m really not that hungry.” Nerves had twisted my stomach into a ball of tight knots, killing my appetite.
“You’re missing out,” she said before shoving a spoonful of cheesecake into her mouth.
As people were finishing their dessert, Mr. Doveland stood up and took the microphone. “If I could have your attention, please.” He tapped a spoon against his champagne glass and waited for everyone to quiet down. Once the room was silent, he began, “We have all gathered tonight to celebrate our Top Ten. Making it this far into the competition is quite a feat, and I would like to offer you all my sincerest congratulations.”
Everyone applauded as he turned and raised his glass to the contestants. “You know, this city has always given me so much. I was born and raised here, graduated from UIC with a degree in communication, and then set off for the big cities, in search of fame and fortune. I’ve enjoyed a
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