Suite Scarlett by Maureen Johnson Page A

the phone fearfully. The camera swung toward the chef, who was still cheerfully goading her to answer. The wrangler came forward to signal to Scarlett to make it stop. She had to do something, so Scarlett flicked it open and slapped it to her ear.
    “Why don’t you answer your phone?” Mrs. Amberson asked.
    “ I’m in a TV studio ,” Scarlett whispered.
    “A television studio? Why are you in a television studio?”
    Mrs. Amberson’s voice was clearly audible to all around.
    “Tell her we’re cooking up some healthy quesadillas with the Powerkids!” the chef called over his shoulder. “She should come on down!”
    Another obligatory laugh from the audience.
    “Who was that? Where are you?”
    “ Good Morning. ”
    “Good morning to you, too, O’Hara. But that doesn’t answer the question.”
    “ It’s a show. For quesadillas. ”
    “What?”
    The wrangler held up ten fingers, nine…
    “ Do you need something ?” Scarlett whispered urgently.
    “I need white plum tea. Whole leaf. Loose. Organic. Also, I want to talk to you. Can you meet me for lunch?”
    “ When ?”
    “Let’s say twelve-thirty. Where did you say you were?”
    “ Rockefeller Center. ”
    The wrangler was down to four fingers.
    “Of course you are,” Mrs. Amberson said. “Well, meet me in the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel then.”
    Scarlett snapped the phone shut without a good-bye and dropped it to the floor, where it clacked loudly. She didn’t care if it shattered. The camera swung over to her as the chef passed over to her side of the counter.
    “That your boyfriend?” he asked.
    “Um…”
    “Hey! It’s a party down here! Everybody should come!”
    “And two, one…We’re live.”
    A blinding red light came out of the camera, causing her to reel backward.
    The chef and the host started talking. Their cheerfulness was even more excessive in person than it was on TV. The next five minutes passed in a haze. The Powerkids threw vegetables into a pan. At some point, there was tofu and an avocado.
    Scarlett looked down and realized that a cucumber had been placed in front of her by a slinking crew member and that she had grabbed it unconsciously and was grasping it for dear life. Then she realized that it probably didn’t look good to be seen squeezing cucumbers on live TV.
    When she was called upon to slice this, she found herself relaxing a little. The chef came over and helped her. It was all over much quicker than it had taken to start, and lights were being shut off. As they were filtered out of the room, Marlene kept ahead. Scarlett had to hurry ahead and catch her by the shoulder.
    “I didn’t do it on purpose,” she said.
    Marlene shrugged her shoulder away.
    “I didn’t,” she said again. “Come on. You saw what happened.”
    “So why didn’t you say no?”
    “I tried to.”
    “No, you didn’t.”
    Well, that was true, actually. She didn’t. In her head she was trying to say no. But in truth, she had just done as she was told.
    “You’ve been on TV before,” Scarlett said. “You did that telethon.”
    “When I was nine. ”
    This was a stupid conversation to be having, especially in the sleek black hallway of Rockefeller Center, in full view of people from the show and the other Powerkids. It was stupid under any circumstances.
    “I have to meet my guest for lunch,” she said. “So I have to take you right back.”
    “I’m supposed to have lunch with them. ”
    “I don’t have any choice, Marlene. It’s my job. Let me take you home…”
    “I’m coming,” Marlene said. She was just doing it to be difficult—and frankly, her technique was working. But Mrs. Amberson was going to have to meet Marlene sooner or later.
    More to the point…Marlene was going to have to meet Mrs. Amberson. And that, frankly, was kind of an amusing prospect.

LUNCH DATE
    The Algonquin Hotel was one of the most pedigreed establishments in the entire city, famous for its literary connections in the twenties and