Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,3

a well-tailored black suit the color of his hair. While Dog could have easily doubled for the guy panhandling outside the studio, his son looked like he'd stepped straight out of a boardroom, with broad shoulders and a square jaw. A young woman about the same age was sitting next to him. She was a pretty blonde with shoulder length hair, wearing a sleeveless pink dress that showed off her tanned skin. They had power couple written all over them.

"He doesn't look at all like his father," Mom mused.

"Poor kid," Mrs. R said, shaking her head as Goatee Guy turned back around in his seat. "Got none of that Dog swagger."

"Well, I for one think Dog's lyrics are obscene," Dana remarked. "They're totally offensive to women."

Mrs. Rosenblatt scoffed. "Nonsense. His 'Doin' It Doggy Style' is a classic."

"See what I mean?" Dana said, giving me a knowing look.

I nodded as I watched the stage manager trying to show Dog how to use his buzzer. While it had only taken him a minute to show the other contestants, Dog seemed mystified by the item.

"Is that man high?" Mom asked, squinting down.

"Now, that's a little judgmental," Mrs. R jumped in.

"I think Dog just tried to lick the buzzer," Dana pointed out.

"Okay, so maybe the man takes a little toke now and then. What's the harm? It ain't illegal no more," Mrs. R said, wagging a finger at me. "In fact, I even saw a commercial for his own special blend during his cooking show."

"Cooking show?" I asked, glancing at the man who seemed to be swaying slightly on his feet. He looked more like the eating-raw-cookie-dough type than a gourmet.

"In the Kitchen with Aunty Mae and the Dog," Mrs. R informed me. "It's on every morning just after the Today show."

"That, I have seen," Mom piped up. "I adore Aunty Mae."

That was a name I did know. Aunty Mae was a sixty-something woman with a wide smile, a sweet Southern accent, and a down-home solution for every household problem, which she could teach the viewing public in thirty minutes or less. If Martha Stewart had a perkier Southern sister, it would be Aunty Mae. She'd been a staple on the Cooking Network for years, and she could not seem more the opposite to the grungy looking rapper on stage right now.

"That seems like an unlikely pairing," I noted.

"Oh, it is. That's what's so fun," Mom said.

"Aunty Mae and Dog are always fighting on the show." Mrs. Rosenblatt grabbed Mom's arm. "On yesterday's episode, they were each using knives to slice up tomatoes, and I swear they were thinking about using them on each other. Dog said Mae had a 'face like the back end of a haggis.'"

"I missed that one," Mom said, frowning.

"Stream it," Mrs. Rosenblatt advised. "You'll thank me for it later."

Goatee Guy turned around in his seat again. I felt we should be on a first name basis by now. "I read they got into it so badly last week that Aunty Mae stormed off the set."

"What did Dog do?" Mom asked.

Goatee Guy shrugged. "Maybe he added something funny to the brownies."

Dana snorted back a laugh.

The lights in the studio audience flicked on and off, and the familiar opening musical strands of the show met my ears, followed by Johnny Gilbert's booming voice. "This is Jeopardy!"

My mother clutched my hand in excitement. "Here we go."

CHAPTER TWO

The contestants were introduced one by one, starting with Doggy Z, who looked like he was having a hard time concentrating on the host. He startled when he heard his name. "From the bonny hills of Scotland, rapper and co-host of In the Kitchen with Aunty Mae and the Dog, Doggy Z!"

Dog gave the peace sign to the audience, which got a few laughs and murmurs of approval. I glanced over at the stage manager, who didn't seem as impressed.

"He looks a bit out of it," I noted.

Dana agreed. "Yeah, even for Dog."

Faux Dad smiled and nodded graciously when Johnny called him the "hairdresser to the stars." Angela's gleaming white teeth looked like they belonged in a Crest commercial when Johnny referred to her as the "Queen of Mean on Daytime."

"And now, here's your host of Jeopardy!" Johnny cried, "Alex Trebek!"

Mrs. Rosenblatt whistled loudly and threw up her arms to clap. "The older that Trebek gets, the hotter he looks. If he plays his cards right, he could be Husband Number Seven."

"He's happily married," I told her.

"Oh poo." Mrs. Rosenblatt frowned. "This is Hollywood. Anything goes."