It went well. I’d say that to anyone.
Harrison got his hands dirty. He cooked. He posed for the cameras and he seemed interested in Jessica’s instructions. From my station cutting apples, I watched him make a simple syrup, grease several large trays for the strata, and juice about hundred lemons. I also watched the media dance around getting the perfect shots of him. He loved it. No doubt. Everything about the way he laughed and angled his body reminded me of a coordinated dance with the journalists, one where this time, he had the lead.
“Almost isn’t the same guy as the one I saw at the game,” I said under my breath before I could stop myself. We had about twenty minutes before the first dinner guests arrived, and I stood against the doorway again, watching Harrison lay white tablecloths across plastic reception hall tables.
“I’m shocked he didn’t slow down after the media left,” Jessica said from just behind me.
I jumped and her voice and turned halfway around. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
“I’m always here. I’m always in the kitchen.”
“Devotion at it’s finest.”
“Just like you, Ally. Just like you.”
I grinned at her. We both knew how much she loved her job. Jessica could have run any four star kitchen in town, but just like me, she didn’t care very much about things like money and prominence. Of course, it was always easier to disregard that stuff when you had it. We both came from families that ran Cincinnati, no getting around that. That helped us make Miracle Meals less about the money and more about the mission.
“Think he’ll ever come back?” Jessica said as we watched Harrison charm one of our regulars, a man named George who lived a block away, always showed up to the meal early, and once told me he’d never been to a white table clothed restaurant before he started coming to Miracle Meals.
“Probably not.”
“That’s a shame.” Jessica clicked her tongue against her teeth. “A man like that—”
“He’s here for the publicity,” I said. “And to prove to everyone that he’s ‘changed’. You know that. Everyone knows that.”
“Maybe so.But he sure makes the day go faster.”
I shook my head. “I could live without this kind of stress. It’s a whole lot easier to run a charity that’s under the radar.”
A beat passed. In the far corner of the room, Harrison Shaw posed for a photo with one of the other regulars, a woman who said she could never pay her bills but managed to have a cell phone with a camera. As another client took the photo, Harrison tossed the camera a glistening, thousand watt smile that shone brighter than polished silver in the sunlight.
He was a handsome man, for sure. But handsome didn’t mean much of anything.
Did it?
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Off Season
RomanceHarrison Shaw never failed to make an impression. Mention his name, and everyone in the country had an opinion about him. From his fantastic arm to his horrible attitude off the field, he became the most famous professional football player in the c...
