She should know, she’d put away three pieces of it, not a good thing. Not that any man would ever notice an extra few pounds on her hips, because she’d given up on men.
Things were fine. Really. She had a nice place to live and a job that let her eat all day long. What more could she want?
Plenty, apparently, given the odd sense of loneliness coursing through her as she drove home through the small historical town of Truckee toward Donner Lake and her town house. She could, as she always had, go to her twin sister’s town house, just down the path. They could share an entire bag of barbecue potato chips, or maybe chocolate chip cookies. That is, if Cami had gone food shopping.
But even that wasn’t the same anymore. Cami had Tanner now. He kept her happily fed, and given the constant expression of bliss on her sister’s face, it wasn’t with just food. It was a miracle, really, as Cami hadn’t been any more lucky in love than Dimi had been until a series of blind dates from hell had changed the tide for her.
Dimi didn’t begrudge her sister’s newfound happiness. She didn’t. She just wanted some for herself. Not likely, not now.
Oh, well. She had Brownie, her hamster. She also had the leftover tart.
Because she hadn’t yet bought furniture after having moved out of Cami’s place several months before, Dimi sat on the floor in her bare kitchen, the tart tin in her lap. Ready for her very own invitation-only pity party, she grabbed a fork.
Stuffing her face, she turned her head and looked into Brownie’s cage, which sat on the floor next to her. “You should know, I gave up men today. No daddy for you.”
The white and brown hamster poked her nose out of her little wooden hut and stared curiously at Dimi.
“On live television, no less. Should have seen it. Emmy-winning performance, no doubt.”
Brownie’s nose wriggled, and her dark eyes darted to the pie tin in Dimi’s lap. “Ah, the important stuff. Smart girl.” Dimi took a tiny piece of crust and offered it.
Nabbing it, Brownie quickly vanished into her hut.
“Not even a hamster wants my company,” Dimi said to no one in particular, wondering in her sugar-induced stupor where on earth she’d gone so wrong. What exactly was missing from her life?
But she knew the answer to that.
Love. True, heart-stopping love. That’s what was missing.
She polished off every last crumb of the tart, all the while telling herself she couldn’t miss what she’d never had.
HAVING GIVEN UP her dream of wedded bliss in front of the entire world actually had a benefit, Dimi discovered. She couldn’t have been lonely that evening if she’d tried, since everyone she knew called her.
First her friends, one by one, all of whom thought her little proclamation was hysterical.
Oh, yeah, just hysterical.
Then her sister. “Way to go,” Cami said.
“Way to ruin any prospective relationship you might have had.”
“There was no prospective relationship,” Dimi reminded her. “Now go back to your fiancé.” She took some joy in hanging up soundly.
No peace, though; the phone immediately rang again.
“Oh, my God, you’ve given up men,” her mother wailed. “How could you?”
“Mom…you watched.”
“Well, of course I watched. I always watch.”
That was so unexpectedly sweet, Dimi was speechless.
“I watch during Debbie Dee’s commercials.”
Dimi’s competition. The Debbie Dee Trash Talk Show. Dimi put her head to her knees. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”
“What’s this about no more men? I want grandchildren, Dimi!”
“Mom-”
“Your sister is such a good girl, falling in love. Why can’t you do that?”
Desperate times called for desperate measures. So she simulated static through her teeth. “Gosh, would you listen to that? Bad connection on the cell, Mom! Gotta go.”
“Dimi Anderson, you don’t have a cell phone in your town house!”
“Hey, did you hear that? It’s my doorbell.” But just as Dimi disconnected, her mother sighed.
“You can’t fool me,” she grumbled. “I know you don’t have a doorbell, either.”
WHEN DIMI ARRIVED at the studio the next morning, she found her staff huddled in the parking lot, unusually solemn.
“Hey, guys. Cheer up. Just because I gave up men-”
“For once, men are taking a back seat,” Suzie informed her.
“Wow, really?” She studied the quiet faces. “It must be bad then.”
“Ratings are down,” Ted the cameraman told her. “Down, down, down.”
“How can that be?” Dimi thought of all the calls she’d taken over yesterday’s show. “Everyone I know watched.”
“What?” Ted asked. “All of two people?”
“Hey, I know more than two people,” Dimi said, insulted.
Grace, their cooking consultant, was wringing her hands. “You giving up men is the least of our problems. It’s rumored heads are going to roll. Today.”
“It’s fact, Dimi,” Ted agreed. “We’re in bad shape.”
She didn’t waste her breath wondering why everyone always knew these things before she did. The gossip mill in show business was in a league all its own, and being five hundred miles away from Hollywood only made it worse.
Everyone looked to Dimi, as if being host made her their leader. “Well, that’s what happens when they pitch us against the Debbie Dee Show,” she said, bemused. “Yesterday her show was How My Brother Married My Sister and Gave Birth to Puppies. We can’t compete with that.”
“Yeah. And today it’s How Making Porn Videos Rejuvenated Our Marriage.” Suzie shook her head mournfully. “We’re going to lose to that for sure, unless…” She eyed Dimi speculatively. “Got any more exciting announcements?”
“No!”
From somewhere behind them came a roar like thunder, as if the heavens were agreeing with the dismal outlook of their beloved show.
But not a cloud marred the sky. Just bright, optimistic sunshine.
That’s when the Harley came into view, rounding the corner. The rider, leather-clad and broad-shouldered, cut the engine and coasted into a parking spot some distance away.
Silence fell again, and the staff stared morosely at each other.
“Maybe we can change the tone of the show,” Leo, their set designer, suggested. “You know, go with something more…” A small, unusually pretty man, he gestured with his hands as he spoke. “I don’t know. Adventurous.”
“No,” Dimi said quickly. “People depend on a serious cooking show from us.” And plus, she liked serious. She was serious.
“Come on,” Ted cajoled, warming to the cause. “How does this sound? Food Time goes new age! Cook with us in the nude today!” He grinned lecherously at Suzie, who rolled her eyes.
“Just don’t fry bacon. Not in the nude.” This from Leo, ever safety conscious. “Bad plan.”
“It’s not the tone of the show dropping our ratings,” Dimi protested. “It’s the brass forcing us to make those frothy, fattening, decadent meals that have only a total of four bites to them, when what our viewers really want to see are low-fat, healthy, simple but fabulous-tasting cuisine they can easily whip up after a long day at work.”
This was a huge pet peeve, and Dimi wondered when the powers that be would get a clue. Probably after the show was canceled. Damn them. Didn’t they know that since she’d given up men, all she had left was the show?
“Ritchie isn’t here yet.” Suzie lowered her voice, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one of importance could overhear her. “They say he’s been…fired.”
There was a collective gasp.
“They said,” Suzie continued, “that we’re getting a new producer.”