Lessons in Chemistry(94)
“My mom wouldn’t like that,” Mad said. “She wouldn’t like anyone yelling at anyone.”
“Your mom sounds sweet,” the man said. “But could you move it? I got a lot more people to turn away.”
“Okay,” Mad said. “But could you do me a quick favor? Could you write your name in my notebook? I’ll tell my mom how hard it is out here for you.”
“Mad,” Harriet hissed.
“You want my autograph?” He laughed. “Well that’s a first.” And before Harriet could stop him, he took the notebook from Mad and wrote Seymour Browne, careful to use the lines in her school notebook that showed just how high the tall letters should be and just how small the small letters should be. Then he closed the notebook, the two words on the cover jolting him like a loose electrical wire.
“Madeline Zott?” he read incredulously.
* * *
—
The studio was dark and cool, with thick cords running from one end to the other and huge cameras on either side, each primed to swivel and record what the lights from above illuminated.
“Here we are,” Walter Pine’s secretary said, ushering Madeline and Harriet to a pair of suddenly vacant seats in the front row. “Best seats in the house.”
“Actually,” Harriet said, “would you mind? We kind of had our hearts set on sitting in the back.”
“Oh gosh no,” the woman said. “Mr. Pine would kill me.”
“Someone’s going to die,” Harriet murmured.
“I like these seats,” Madeline said, sitting down.
“Seeing a show live is very different from watching it at home,” the secretary explained. “You’re not just seeing the show anymore—you’re part of it. And the lights—they change everything. I guarantee, this is the place to sit.”
“It’s just that we don’t want to distract Elizabeth Zott,” Harriet said, trying again. “Don’t want to make her nervous.”
“Zott, nervous?” The secretary laughed. “That’s funny. Anyway, she can’t see the audience. The set lighting blinds her.”
“You’re sure?” Harriet said.
“Sure as death and taxes.”
“Everyone dies,” Mad pointed out. “But not everyone pays their taxes.”
“Aren’t you a precocious little thing,” the secretary said, her voice suddenly irritated. But before Madeline could offer some statistics on tax evasion, the quartet launched into the Supper at Six theme song and the secretary disappeared into the ether. From off to the left, Madeline watched as Walter Pine settled into a cloth-backed chair. He gave a nod, then a camera rolled into position, then a man wearing headphones gave a thumbs-up. As the song reached its final measures, a familiar figure strode like a president to the podium, her head held high, posture erect, hair aglow under the bright lights.
* * *
—
Madeline had seen her mother in a thousand different ways—first thing in the morning, last thing at night, leaning away from a Bunsen burner, peering into a microscope, facing off with Mrs. Mudford, frowning into a powder-filled compact, coming out of the shower, gathering her in her arms. But she had never seen her mother like this—never, ever like this. Mom! she thought, her heart swelling with pride. Mommy!
“Hello,” Elizabeth said. “My name is Elizabeth Zott, and this is Supper at Six.”
The secretary was right. There was something about the lights, the way they revealed things that the grainy black and white at home could not.
“It’s steak night,” Elizabeth said, “which means we’ll be exploring the chemical composition of meat, specifically focusing on the difference between ‘bound water’ and ‘free water’ because—and this may surprise you,” she said, picking up a large slab of top sirloin, “—meat is about seventy-two percent water.”
“Like lettuce,” Harriet whispered.
“Obviously not like lettuce,” Elizabeth said, “which contains far more water—up to ninety-six percent. Why is water important? Because it’s the most common molecule in our bodies: sixty percent of our composition. While our bodies can go without food for up to three weeks, without water, we’re dead in three days. Four days max.”
From the audience came a murmur of distress.
“Which is why,” Elizabeth said, “when you think about fueling your body, think water first. But now, back to meat.” She picked up a large, sleek knife, and while demonstrating how to butterfly a hunk of meat, launched into the steak’s vitamin content, explaining not only what the body did with its iron, zinc, and B-vitamins, but why protein was critical to one’s growth. She then explained what percentage of the water in the muscle tissue existed as free molecules, ending with what she obviously thought were exciting definitions of free and bound water.
Throughout her explanation, the studio audience remained rapt—no coughing, no whispering, no crossing and uncrossing of legs. If there was one sound, it was only the occasional scratching of pen on paper as people took notes.
“Time for station identification,” Elizabeth said, acknowledging a cue from the cameraman. “Stay with us, won’t you?” Then she put the knife down and strode off the set, pausing briefly as the makeup woman pressed a sponge to her forehead and patted down a few loose hairs.