The Chicken Sisters(101)
“I still don’t understand,” said Andy. “Why did the chicken change? Because when I first tasted it, it wasn’t the same as Mimi’s. Not at all.”
“I didn’t know we had the recipe,” Nancy said. “When Frank died, I didn’t even know a recipe existed. Frank Junior probably knew, but we never expected—” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Obviously no one thought they’d both die at the same time. But it turned out my Frank showed Gus, and Gus didn’t know I didn’t have it.” Noticing the camera on her, she turned away and wiped the tears off her face before she went on.
“After I ran out of the mixture Frank had made, I started winging it. I knew it was never right, but what else could I do? When Gus realized I wasn’t using the recipe just this week—it’s a long story—he showed me, and we made it on Saturday morning, and I was so happy it was the right chicken again, and that’s what we brought to Food Wars. I never dreamed it would cause such a commotion.”
Sabrina stepped in front of the camera. “Well, it certainly did,” she declared. “The mystery of the recipe may be solved, but the Food War still remains.” She smiled and subtly pulled at Amanda’s hand so that she had Amanda on one side and Mae on the other. “Our chefs report that there’s much more to great fried chicken than just what spices go in the coating, and they’re eager to tell you what they think, and who will ultimately win one hundred thousand dollars and the right to declare themselves the Fried Chicken Food War Champion. Will it be Frannie’s, where the drinks are flowing and the regulars are happily biting into the old familiar chicken”—she gestured to Amanda—“or will it be Mimi’s, where the spokespuppies have a new home and all’s right in the world?” She stood, smiling, then dropped her shoulders and her smile.
“Cut. Okay, people, I’m glad you’ve got a happy ending to the Amanda story, but we’ve still got filming to do. We’ve decided to go back to neutral ground for the final scenes, so tomorrow morning, eight A.M., at the 1908 Standard for the big reveal.” She patted Mae and Amanda on their shoulders, then called to her crew. “Pack it up, guys.”
Mae looked at Sabrina in horror, then pointed to the mess around them on the lawn. “You’re not going to help get all the rest of this out of here? Or film Mom in her new space?”
“Nope,” said Sabrina over her shoulder as she walked toward the parking lot. “Changed my mind. We’ve got everything we need.”
Her cameraman, moving between Jay and Gus to take down a light he’d set up there, shrugged. “We’ve left worse messes,” he said. Then he looked around. “Well, maybe not, actually. Good luck.”
Barbara disregarded the crew rolling up cords under her feet and spoke to Mae. “What’s this about Amanda stealing a recipe?” She sank into a dining room chair, one of six that were strewn across the grass, and Amanda saw Nancy watching her thoughtfully.
Mae was watching Barbara, too. She flushed. “I saw Amanda in Mimi’s one night. I didn’t tell you. And then, when Andy tasted the chicken and it was the same, he thought—well, I thought—she took it. And I said so. To Sabrina, with the cameras . . . I’m sorry. I should have given you a chance, Amanda. I should have known you wouldn’t lie.”
Barbara looked up, energized for a moment. “You know your sister doesn’t tell lies, Mae.” She glanced at Amanda, and their eyes met. “She does a lot of things, apparently, but not that.” Her voice slowed, and she paused, as if looking for words.
Amanda could see that Nancy, and probably every adult on the patio other than the self-centered Sabrina, now disappearing in the distance, had begun to realize that Barbara had more problems than just a messy house. She put a hand on Nancy’s shoulder and nodded toward her mother, speaking softly so her mother wouldn’t notice the exchange. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered, and caught Aida’s eyes on them, and Andy’s. He, too, would have to know.
After much too long, Barbara went on. “I’m glad about Mimi and Frannie,” she said, “but there was more to all this. Your man,” she said, now looking at Nancy. “He and his father put me through a rough time. Wanted to buy the place out from under me, and they were willing to do just about anything to make it happen.” She spoke very slowly, as though choosing every word. “We’re a ruthless lot on all sides, I guess. Maybe it’s time we stop working against each other.”
“Past time,” said Nancy. “And I want to say it too, Mae. I’m sorry. When Gus showed me the recipe, I was worried about the chicken, and then when I read the back—I should have come over right then, and I didn’t. Maybe I could have prevented all this.”
“Maybe,” said Mae, sounding more cheerful now and watching Sabrina and her crew pack into their cars. Amanda looked at her. Are you going to tell us now? Mae shook her head, glancing at their mother.
“And maybe it’s all for the best.” She clapped her hands together briskly. “Either way, we have some figuring out to do,” she said, then, looking around: “And some cleaning up.” She visibly assessed her troops, and her gaze landed on Gus. “You,” she said. “Mom, how about launching our détente by having Gus help you prep for Mimi’s tonight? That frees up Muscles here”—she gestured to Andy—“to give us a hand for another hour or so.”