waiters came over to the table and recited the night’s offerings in Italian.
I gave up all hope of privacy, however. Not only did my cousin Tony park outside the restaurant, but I spotted Agent Petrocelli in the bar. He gave me a wink (again!) as I walked past him, and I nearly tripped in my heels. Robert offered me his arm.
“You okay, Teddi? Lose your balance?”
“Yeah. New shoes.” I smiled. Looking back over my shoulder, I glared at Agent Petrocelli.
“Very sexy shoes, I might add.”
Over dinner, Robert and I picked up where we left off.The conversation never lagged, and he had an uncanny ability to make me laugh. After we ordered our dinner—a pasta marinara for him and a seafood special for me—he reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“I have big news.”
“What?” I asked excitedly.
“I’ve been asked to join the Jerry Turner show on GNN as an associate producer and on-air talent. I’ll get to pick and choose my own stories, produce them. The sky’s the limit from here. Think of the exposure. His ratings are number one on cable in his time slot.”
“Congratulations,” I said, because that was the appropriate answer when the man you are dating tells you about a big promotion. But the Jerry Turner show, I have to confess, was one step up from the Pond Scum Show in my book. Turner thrived on controversy, and if he couldn’t find any, he delighted in creating some on his own. His favorite technique appeared to be the “blindside.” He would invite guests to be on a segment, and then, in front of a live camera, he would suddenly turn on them and make them look like ass-holes. Every few weeks, he also did a really big, really taste-less, show…some kind of ratings-grabber. Like college girls working their way through school as prostitutes.
“This could be very big for me.”
“Don’t you find his show a little…”
“What?”
“A little…oh, I don’t know, a little scandalous? A little over the top?”
I held my breath. I really liked Robert, and I wasn’t looking to have our first argument. But he smiled at me and squeezed my hand again. “I’m a big boy. Yes, there’s a little…more of that kind of stuff than I’d like, to be sure.Come on, you’re looking at the boy raised on Main Line politeness. But face it, Teddi. Without journalists like Turner shining the light in the darkness, where would we be? Look at Watergate. Look at all the good journalists do. If we have to go for ratings once in a while, it’s just a sign of what the public wants. Regardless, Teddi, I plan on playing by the book.”
“Well then, I guess we should be celebrating. Good for you!” I lifted my glass of red wine in a toast. He lifted his, and we clinked glasses.
“You look beautiful tonight, Teddi.”
“Thanks.” I had borrowed another elegant dress of Di’s by a Japanese designer I had never heard of, but whom Diana had discovered in a fashion magazine and then pestered her father to ship back on yet another trip of his to Japan. Frankly, though she complained about her “veddy, veddy” British upbringing, I was willing to guess that in his own stiff way, Mr. Kent, earl of something or other, was wrapped around his daughter’s finger, just as my father and my Poppy were wrapped around mine. The bonus? In my family, Jimmy Choo shoes and fake Rolexes. In hers? Dresses so expensive one barely dared to sweat in them.
“So does this restaurant feel like home to you?”
I looked around at waiters bustling out of the kitchen with heaping plates of pasta. “Very much like home.”
“I’ll have to come in to Teddi’s. I wanted to go there for lunch today, but I didn’t know if there was…I don’t know, a protocol for showing up when the woman you like very much owns the place. I worried maybe you don’t like cooking for people you know.”
I looked across the table at him, melting a little. “That is really so sweet. I don’t think anyone else has ever thoughtof how
I gave up all hope of privacy, however. Not only did my cousin Tony park outside the restaurant, but I spotted Agent Petrocelli in the bar. He gave me a wink (again!) as I walked past him, and I nearly tripped in my heels. Robert offered me his arm.
“You okay, Teddi? Lose your balance?”
“Yeah. New shoes.” I smiled. Looking back over my shoulder, I glared at Agent Petrocelli.
“Very sexy shoes, I might add.”
Over dinner, Robert and I picked up where we left off.The conversation never lagged, and he had an uncanny ability to make me laugh. After we ordered our dinner—a pasta marinara for him and a seafood special for me—he reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“I have big news.”
“What?” I asked excitedly.
“I’ve been asked to join the Jerry Turner show on GNN as an associate producer and on-air talent. I’ll get to pick and choose my own stories, produce them. The sky’s the limit from here. Think of the exposure. His ratings are number one on cable in his time slot.”
“Congratulations,” I said, because that was the appropriate answer when the man you are dating tells you about a big promotion. But the Jerry Turner show, I have to confess, was one step up from the Pond Scum Show in my book. Turner thrived on controversy, and if he couldn’t find any, he delighted in creating some on his own. His favorite technique appeared to be the “blindside.” He would invite guests to be on a segment, and then, in front of a live camera, he would suddenly turn on them and make them look like ass-holes. Every few weeks, he also did a really big, really taste-less, show…some kind of ratings-grabber. Like college girls working their way through school as prostitutes.
“This could be very big for me.”
“Don’t you find his show a little…”
“What?”
“A little…oh, I don’t know, a little scandalous? A little over the top?”
I held my breath. I really liked Robert, and I wasn’t looking to have our first argument. But he smiled at me and squeezed my hand again. “I’m a big boy. Yes, there’s a little…more of that kind of stuff than I’d like, to be sure.Come on, you’re looking at the boy raised on Main Line politeness. But face it, Teddi. Without journalists like Turner shining the light in the darkness, where would we be? Look at Watergate. Look at all the good journalists do. If we have to go for ratings once in a while, it’s just a sign of what the public wants. Regardless, Teddi, I plan on playing by the book.”
“Well then, I guess we should be celebrating. Good for you!” I lifted my glass of red wine in a toast. He lifted his, and we clinked glasses.
“You look beautiful tonight, Teddi.”
“Thanks.” I had borrowed another elegant dress of Di’s by a Japanese designer I had never heard of, but whom Diana had discovered in a fashion magazine and then pestered her father to ship back on yet another trip of his to Japan. Frankly, though she complained about her “veddy, veddy” British upbringing, I was willing to guess that in his own stiff way, Mr. Kent, earl of something or other, was wrapped around his daughter’s finger, just as my father and my Poppy were wrapped around mine. The bonus? In my family, Jimmy Choo shoes and fake Rolexes. In hers? Dresses so expensive one barely dared to sweat in them.
“So does this restaurant feel like home to you?”
I looked around at waiters bustling out of the kitchen with heaping plates of pasta. “Very much like home.”
“I’ll have to come in to Teddi’s. I wanted to go there for lunch today, but I didn’t know if there was…I don’t know, a protocol for showing up when the woman you like very much owns the place. I worried maybe you don’t like cooking for people you know.”
I looked across the table at him, melting a little. “That is really so sweet. I don’t think anyone else has ever thoughtof how
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