The instant I ended my rant, he said, “You don’t listen very well, do you?”
Maybe being managed by Leo would resemble being managed by Meemaw more than I had thought.
He continued. “I told you in Brooklyn—I think our absolute best play is to let you be you. We’re all ready for a change. Those of us in the business, sure, but I really mean the viewers, Hadley. Chef Cavanagh will always have his fans. He will always have an incredibly loyal following. That’s undeniable. He certainly has something that no one else has. But—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but can you tell me what?”
“Excuse me?”
“What does Max have that no one else has? I’m always hearing that, and I have been for years. Max has something. That’s fine and dandy, but now that I’ve had the pleasure of his company, I have to admit . . . I’m at a loss. Why does he have this incredibly loyal following?” Incredibly looney, more like, if they’ve really stuck with him this long. “What is it about him? I want nothing more than to be the anti–Max Cavanagh, and I think you’re saying that’s what you want me to be too, but you’re also saying he’s got something special that no one else has. I’m just trying to understand what people see in him, and how in the world you think I, of all people, can ever be a substitute in viewers’ minds.”
“I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’ve carefully watched the career of every chef that’s come and gone. Believe me when I tell you, Chef Beckett, that you are the anti-Max. You don’t have to do a thing. What I’m trying to tell you is I don’t want to turn you into something or someone different.” He exhaled into the phone as the thought passed through my head that after all of this, I was probably going to have to sign with him—just for putting up with my questions and uncertainty as long as he had.
But he still hadn’t given me the answer I was looking for.
“Okay, great, but that still doesn’t tell me—”
“What Max has going for him?”
I grunted my acknowledgment and he sighed.
“When he first started out, he was very, very different. He’s always been passionate. Determined. Obsessive. Driven. And I believe he still possesses all of those characteristics, but they used to be positive traits. All of those characteristics helped get him to the top. And, sure, they’ve also always been at least a little tinged by a negative side of the coin. He’s always had a bit of a temper—”
“Oh, do you think?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I didn’t mean to. It just jumped out of me. “Sorry.”
“No apology necessary. You know that better than anyone, I suppose.”
I still couldn’t say for sure why that whole experience had affected me the way it had. After all, Leo was right. I was accustomed to being the only woman in the kitchen. Lots of guys had called me doll and talked down to me, and more guys than I could count had been absolutely convinced I couldn’t keep up. But I had kept up, and that had always had more impact on me than their doubt and dismissal ever could have.
Max Cavanagh’s doubt and dismissal were sticking with me in a different sort of way.
“The network sent me flowers, Leo. And chocolate.” I reached out and grabbed the card from the enormous bouquet on the coffee table in front of me. With much affection and gratitude from your devoted family at the Culinary Channel. I’d gotten it pretty close. “Why do you think they did that?”
Without a moment’s hesitation he said, “Well, that depends. When was this, exactly?”
“Today.”
He clicked his tongue. “Then I’d imagine it has something to do with the fact that your friend Chef Cavanagh’s suspension officially ended today.”
I didn’t have much wind left in my sails for the day, but that took care of the pesky little remainder that had been trying to hang in there. Meemaw hadn’t gotten it exactly right, but she was closer than I had imagined. It wasn’t so much a plea of “Don’t sue us!” as it was “We hope you enjoyed your time at the top, and very much hope you’ll stick around to once again collect To the Max’s dust in your face.”
“That explains it,” I whispered. Then I cleared my throat and jokingly added, “Maybe we need to hurry up and get the ball rolling on my kitchen.” When he neither laughed, agreed, nor argued with me, I tagged on, “You know, while I still have the top show.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied softly but with heaviness. “You really do think you only took the number-one spot because the reigning number one was . . . what? Unable to fulfill his duties?”
That made it all sound a little too beauty pageant-ish, but I suppose that was the gist.
“Sure,” I replied matter-of-factly.
“Hadley, Max committed career suicide on the set that day. It’s one thing to be seen as the bad boy of the culinary world. It’s another thing entirely to be seen as the bad guy. You’ve been looking at this as if you’re just a placeholder while he’s gone, and once he’s back, he’ll regain his position. And if he had gone away to work on something new, or to spend time with an ailing parent, or to feed impoverished orphans in third-world countries, maybe that would be the case. You would have maintained, and his fans would have been right there waiting for him—and yes, many of them still will be. But you don’t even realize, do you? He hand-delivered them to you. In droves. You didn’t just maintain your audience, Hadley. You stole his.” He sighed, and it was mingled with a gratified chuckle. “Yes, you have such different audiences, but both audiences think he’s a jerk. And what’s more, he was a jerk to you, while you remained kind and graceful under pressure.”
“So the flowers and the chocolate—”
“The network sent you the flowers and the chocolate for the same reason they’re going to give you a new kitchen when we ask for it.”
It was beginning to sink in, though it was still difficult to grasp. “Because I’m kind of filling the gap he’s leaving behind?”
I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “No. Because you’re filling the gap he has always left behind.”
4. Steep for one month.
HADLEY
“Be sure to join me next week, y’all. I’m having a special guest from the neighborhood stop by, and this girl . . . well, you’re just gonna love her. I sure do. Not only is she an absolute sweetheart and an inspiration in about a million-and-one ways, she also knows how to cook up a mean Kentucky hot brown.”
Stuart held up three fingers on his right hand and made a fist with his left, to let me know I had thirty seconds left.
“If you don’t know what a hot brown is, let me just put it this way: it takes the perfection of bread, turkey, and bacon, and then sends it all into a different dimension with a Mornay sauce worth trading your waistline for. Good thing too. Because that’s exactly what happens.” I smiled at the camera as Stuart’s finger began making the “wrap it up” signal. “Thanks for spending some time at home with me today. Let’s do it again real soon.”
“And that’s a wrap! Great show, everyone,” Stuart called out. He removed his headphones and set them on the stand beside the camera, then walked toward me. “So, this girl you’re having on the show . . .”