baritone. “I’ve worked for WZZP in Willandell, Missouri, for the last five years. It’s good to finally meet you, Andie. I’m sure we’re going to be great.”
Carla drools.
Aunt Weeby swoons.
Miss Mona rapturizes.
Missouri . . . Who-Knows-Where, Missouri. Groan. And he says we’re going to be great. He’s sure of that how?
I hold out my hand. His long, tanned, sinewy fingers nearly swallow it up. And that’s when I get the shock of my life— literally. A current sizzles up my fingers, arm, stomach, and rushes straight to my head.
Do I have to tell you I’m in trouble? Or did you figure it out?
“Uh . . . yeah. Great.”
Eloquent, I am not. And great we are. Not. On camera.
You see, Max the Magnificent, stud or otherwise, knows nothing, nothing about gemstones. Which ignorance he proceeds to demonstrate to our customers. And which ignorance lights up my redhead’s temper in fifty seconds or less.
How bad is he?
Let me count the ways.
Lights, camera, action! Here we go.
“Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Andrea Adams. I’m so thrilled to join the Shop-Til-U-Drop Network”—no way am I calling it that other name—“as your new jewelry and gemstone host. And here to my right is . . .”
“I’m Max Matthews, new to the lovely state of Kentucky . . .”
How does he do it? I can’t take my eyes off him. He looks great and sounds even better, with that chocolate-rich baritone voice. Something warm swirls in my middle, and my tongue thickens to the consistency of a cotton ball. How am I supposed to do a show with him sitting so close?
I feel for the women of America, dropping like flies.
Then I realize he’s staring at me, Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona are waving like windmills, and Hannah, the camerawoman, is smacking her four fingers against her thumb like a beak in the universal gesture for “Talk.”
So I do. And for a while, we take turns giving the viewers our bios. Mine is short and sweet. Hometown girl goes Big Apple, but returns home wiser and happier to sell gemstones on TV. Then Max takes his turn. I tune out. He goes on and on and on.
When I notice Hannah doing her duck imitation again, I realize the show’s dying, and I’d better do something. Like sell the gems I’m supposed to sell.
Fortunately for all of us, Sally, the show’s merchandiser, had clamped a set of adjustable jeweler’s tweezers around a magnificent solitaire stone and left it ready for me to launch the show. I pick up the tweezers to bring the stone in front of the white velvet drape we chose as a backdrop for the product. It trembles a little—just like I do.
“To start us off for real,” I say, that nervous southern thick in my voice, “and so that y’all will get to know me quickly, I want you to know I’m a GIA certified master gemologist, and I’m about to introduce you to my favorite gemstone. Anybody know what this is?”
My cohost— aaack! —leans closer to get a look at the stone. The scent of his spicy masculine cologne surrounds me, ties my tongue in knots, and makes me hanker for those simpler days of rat-race stress and gnawing ulcer pain in New York.
Oh my.
The camera zooms in on the brilliant orange gem and off me. I’m so in trouble. But so is the ditzy duo when I get done here.
Does the word “setup” ring a bell?
Thanks to the zillion rehearsals, I stutter out my spiel. “This . . . uh . . . this is one of . . . ah . . . the earth’s rarest stones.”
Get a grip, woman. “It was first discovered in the Spessart Forest in Germany in the 1800s, and since that time, pockets have been found in Nigeria, Namibia, and even California and Brazil. The finest stones, though, have come from Namibia. The color can range from a bright yellow, through a citrusy orange, to a burning-embers shade of red. The most valuable—and desirable—hue is the exact mandarin orange I’m offering you today.”
My heart rate decides to settle down when Max leans back into his chair. Phew! I can
Carla drools.
Aunt Weeby swoons.
Miss Mona rapturizes.
Missouri . . . Who-Knows-Where, Missouri. Groan. And he says we’re going to be great. He’s sure of that how?
I hold out my hand. His long, tanned, sinewy fingers nearly swallow it up. And that’s when I get the shock of my life— literally. A current sizzles up my fingers, arm, stomach, and rushes straight to my head.
Do I have to tell you I’m in trouble? Or did you figure it out?
“Uh . . . yeah. Great.”
Eloquent, I am not. And great we are. Not. On camera.
You see, Max the Magnificent, stud or otherwise, knows nothing, nothing about gemstones. Which ignorance he proceeds to demonstrate to our customers. And which ignorance lights up my redhead’s temper in fifty seconds or less.
How bad is he?
Let me count the ways.
Lights, camera, action! Here we go.
“Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Andrea Adams. I’m so thrilled to join the Shop-Til-U-Drop Network”—no way am I calling it that other name—“as your new jewelry and gemstone host. And here to my right is . . .”
“I’m Max Matthews, new to the lovely state of Kentucky . . .”
How does he do it? I can’t take my eyes off him. He looks great and sounds even better, with that chocolate-rich baritone voice. Something warm swirls in my middle, and my tongue thickens to the consistency of a cotton ball. How am I supposed to do a show with him sitting so close?
I feel for the women of America, dropping like flies.
Then I realize he’s staring at me, Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona are waving like windmills, and Hannah, the camerawoman, is smacking her four fingers against her thumb like a beak in the universal gesture for “Talk.”
So I do. And for a while, we take turns giving the viewers our bios. Mine is short and sweet. Hometown girl goes Big Apple, but returns home wiser and happier to sell gemstones on TV. Then Max takes his turn. I tune out. He goes on and on and on.
When I notice Hannah doing her duck imitation again, I realize the show’s dying, and I’d better do something. Like sell the gems I’m supposed to sell.
Fortunately for all of us, Sally, the show’s merchandiser, had clamped a set of adjustable jeweler’s tweezers around a magnificent solitaire stone and left it ready for me to launch the show. I pick up the tweezers to bring the stone in front of the white velvet drape we chose as a backdrop for the product. It trembles a little—just like I do.
“To start us off for real,” I say, that nervous southern thick in my voice, “and so that y’all will get to know me quickly, I want you to know I’m a GIA certified master gemologist, and I’m about to introduce you to my favorite gemstone. Anybody know what this is?”
My cohost— aaack! —leans closer to get a look at the stone. The scent of his spicy masculine cologne surrounds me, ties my tongue in knots, and makes me hanker for those simpler days of rat-race stress and gnawing ulcer pain in New York.
Oh my.
The camera zooms in on the brilliant orange gem and off me. I’m so in trouble. But so is the ditzy duo when I get done here.
Does the word “setup” ring a bell?
Thanks to the zillion rehearsals, I stutter out my spiel. “This . . . uh . . . this is one of . . . ah . . . the earth’s rarest stones.”
Get a grip, woman. “It was first discovered in the Spessart Forest in Germany in the 1800s, and since that time, pockets have been found in Nigeria, Namibia, and even California and Brazil. The finest stones, though, have come from Namibia. The color can range from a bright yellow, through a citrusy orange, to a burning-embers shade of red. The most valuable—and desirable—hue is the exact mandarin orange I’m offering you today.”
My heart rate decides to settle down when Max leans back into his chair. Phew! I can
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