I was puzzled, and curious. ‘Look, Jud, we can talk to each other through the window all day, I suppose, but wouldn’t it be more comfortable if you came inside?’
Jud nodded in agreement, and pocketed his phone. Five seconds later, I’d laid my own phone down on the entrance-hall table and was greeting him at the front door. ‘Something to drink?’ I asked as I signaled for him to follow me into the kitchen.
‘How ’bout a shot of whiskey to wash down a Tylenol?’
I turned. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Just barely. Patriot House has been a headache from day one, but we’re too far down the road to cancel the show now.’
I apologized to Jud for the mess, then fixed him a tall glass of iced tea. ‘Lemon?’ When he nodded, I dropped a wedge into the glass and handed it to him. ‘No whiskey, I’m afraid, but the tea’s the right color. Use your imagination,’ I joked, waving the young man into a chair and pointing out the sweetener, in case he needed it.
Jud raised the glass and drank half of it down, straight. ‘Ah.’ He sighed. ‘Nothing better than iced tea on a hot August day.’
I poured a glass of tea for myself, then joined him at the table. ‘So, tell me. How can a documentary be trouble?’
‘Not a documentary. A reality show.’
‘A reality show? Here in Annapolis?’
‘You know those PBS shows where they take a dozen or so modern people and see how they cope with everyday life in another time and place?’
I nodded. ‘I remember watching Manor House about ten years ago, and I thought Texas Ranch House was a hoot, especially when the “Indians,”’ I drew quote marks in the air, ‘turned into cattle rustlers.’
Jud laughed. ‘110 degrees! 200 cows! 47,000 acres and fifteen people! Who could forget it?’
‘I don’t watch a lot of TV,’ I confessed, ‘but haven’t living history shows gone a teeny bit out of fashion?’
‘Tell that to LynxE. These days, the suits are calling them experiential history shows.’ Jud grinned. ‘With TV, what goes around comes around, like bell-bottomed pants.’ He paused to take another long, slow swallow of tea.
‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘Can I tell you a little bit about the show first?’ When I nodded, he continued on in a rush, as if reading a teaser from a listing in TV Guide. As the show’s producer, though, I figured he’d pitched it a thousand times. ‘The Donovans are a real, upper-middle-class family. John and Katherine, and their two kids, are playing the well-to-do owners of the Paca House. For three months, they’ll be sharing the house with a cast that includes an African-American cook and her son, a tutor and a lady’s maid, assisted by a housemaid, valet, gardener, groom and a visiting dancing master. There’s a camera team on site ten hours each day taping the participants as they dress, eat, work, play and worship just as the home’s original occupants did more than two hundred years ago, with all the modern conveniences of, well, 1774. There’s no electricity, no running water, no telephone and the “necessaries” are way out back.’
‘Privies? What fun,’ I deadpanned.
‘We had everyone in place; they’re down in Williamsburg, Virginia for orientation right now, in fact. But three days ago, Katherine Donovan, who’s playing the mistress of the house, had to quit the cast.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Just what I need! We start filming in two weeks.’
‘She quit? Why?’
‘That’s one of the reasons I thought of you. She’s been diagnosed with breast cancer. Kat’s about to have the surgery, but she’ll have to undergo chemotherapy, like you had to. There’s no chance of her getting back on her feet in time to participate in the show.’
I was a survivor, too. I knew what it was like to have your life turned upside down by a diagnosis of cancer. I felt sympathy for this woman – been there, done that – but had no idea what her unfortunate situation might have to do with me… unless. ‘Do you want me to talk to her, Jud? Reassure her? If so, I’d be happy to.’
‘That would be gracious of you, Hannah, but that’s not exactly what I’m after. I need to find a replacement for Kat, and I don’t have much time.’
‘But don’t you spend months and months auditioning people for those shows? Surely there’s someone waiting in the wings, an understudy, champing at the bit.’
‘Ordinarily, yes. You wouldn’t believe how desperate some people were to participate. We had applicants from all fifty states and at least twelve foreign countries, including Thailand. One woman sent in samples of her needlepoint. Others sent videos of themselves shoeing horses or milking cows.’ Jud raised a hand, palm out, as if taking an oath. ‘One guy, I swear to God, wrote his application on parchment in ye olde letters with a quill pen.’
I had to laugh. ‘So, pick one. It can’t be that hard.’
‘I already have.’
‘So, why the Tylenol?’
‘I haven’t asked her yet.’
I gave him a look. ‘Well?’
The tips of Jud’s ears turned pink. ‘Hannah, I’m hoping you’ll agree to take Katherine Donovan’s place.’
When I could breathe again, I sputtered, ‘No way!’
Jud nodded, his face as solemn as a priest at a funeral. ‘We’d like you to play Jack Donovan’s sister-in-law, recently arrived in Annapolis to be mistress of his house and mother to his kids. We’ll pretend his wife died of smallpox or something. Things like that happened back then.’
‘And my name would be?’
‘Hannah Ives. Everyone’s keeping their real names.’
I raised a hand. ‘Wait a minute. Don’t you have to vet your people? Do background checks and so on? Make sure they aren’t publicity seekers? Psychotics? Axe murderers? Whatever?’
‘That’s another reason your name leaped to the top of my list.’
‘Now I am confused.’
‘When you poked your nose into Lynx News headquarters last year asking all those questions about John Chandler? I ordered a background check on you.’
I felt my face grow hot. ‘I passed, I take it?’
‘Squeaky clean.’
‘But…’ I closed my eyes and tried to work out the time-line. ‘Three months is a long time!’
‘We’ll pay you fifteen thousand dollars.’
‘That beats selling candy bars outside the Safeway, but still…’ I thought ahead to my calendar which held the usual stuff – lunches with friends, charity work, running the occasional carpool for my grandchildren, babysitting. The semester had already started so my husband, Paul, would be teaching math full time to undergraduates at the United States Naval Academy, a few short blocks from our house. He could certainly manage without me using a combination of daily lunches at the Officers and Faculty Club and dinners from the hot food bar at Whole Foods, Galway Bay or by mooching off our daughter, Emily. Emily had to cook for five anyway – including her husband, Dante Shemansky, and my three darling grandchildren – so setting another place at the table was rarely a problem. Still, three months under virtual house arrest with a bunch of people I didn’t even know seemed like a tall order, even with a check for fifteen thousand dollars at the end of it.
My mind raced ahead. No electricity, no modern plumbing, and grande cappuccinos from Starbucks wouldn’t have been invented yet.
Jud looked so young, so enthusiastic, so hopeful, I hated to disappoint him. ‘I’m not sure I’m the woman for the job, Jud. Everything I know about living during Revolutionary War times comes from watching the John Adams series on HBO.’ I paused, ticking the items off on my fingers. ‘Let me get this straight. No running water, no heat, privies way out back…’
‘Right. And no Internet or cell phones, either.’
‘You make it sound so attractive!’
Jud flashed me a mischievous, schoolboy grin and I felt myself weakening. He stood up, looked around for a coaster – a properly brought-up lad – and set his empty glass down on it. ‘Before you make up your mind, there’s something I’d like to show you.’