by Kylie Adams
“It sounds like they want a grandmother, Jay,” Sutton said quietly. “I’m the woman with nothing in her refrigerator but a bottle of champagne and ajar of olives.”
He grinned at her. “All they want is a maternal figure. Mothers can come at you in a variety of ways. Just don’t be the one who eats her young.”
Sutton cracked a smile. “I don’t want to lose this.” Her voice broke on the last bit. “There’s no place else for me to go right now.”
“You still have a place here,” Jay said gently. “All you have to do is reclaim it.”
“You mean keep the seat warm until you find the next Florence Henderson?”
“I wouldn’t call what you’ve been doing keeping the seat warm.Your chair is a block of ice.”
Sutton was silent.
“You don’t have to compete, Sutton,” Jay told her. “You don’t have to wear shorter skirts and date younger men.You’ve got twenty years—if not more—on every other cohost.”
Sutton winced.
“And that’s not a bad thing. It’s nothing to try to hide or to be ashamed of.Your cohosts need your wisdom and your experience and your maturity. Give it to them, and you’ll be giving it to the audience.” Jay made gestures to Sutton’s hair and clothing. “You put on a good front, but you’re not comfortablewith any of this. And the viewers aren’t comfortable, either. This is morning television. It’s intimate.You have to be natural.”
She practically worked up a sweat trying to remain impassive.It was a bitter pill to swallow. Emma was the goddamnstar. Finn was the TV virgin. Simone was the critics’ dartboard. But Sutton was the one getting a lecture on what to wear and how to act if she wanted to keep her fucking job.
“I need some time.” She managed to say it without breakingdown.
Jay nodded.
Sutton left him there to wonder just how much. She tore into her dressing room, grabbed her purse, alerted the car servicethat she was ready, and stalked out of the studio without a word to anyone else.
The ride home nearly killed her. It was nothing more than a masochistic internal replay of the worst meeting of her career.
They want to see a maternal figure on the set.
Someone with some real warmth.
An offer went out to Paula Deen yesterday.
Just don’t be the one who eats her young.
The remaining hours of the day loomed ahead like a torturesentence. Suddenly, it dawned on her that Scooter had the day off. He was at her apartment now, probably still sleepingon the forty-thousand-dollar mattress he claimed as a secondresidence. Sutton shook her head, completely torn. He was a hot stud but a stone-cold loser.
Oh, God, she did not want to see him or fend off his lame attempts at conversation. Sutton yearned to be alone. Suddenly, she reconsidered. Scooter might be good medicine for the pain after all. He could fuck her silly. And then she could take a handful of Ambien and zone out for the next forty-eight hours.Yes. That was a beautiful plan.
To avoid any engagement from the too-chatty doorman, she pretended to be talking on her cell phone as she swept through the lobby and into the elevator.
Sutton entered her apartment. From the bedroom, she could make out the low mumble of Scooter’s voice. She walked back to greet him.
“Oh, it’s a sweet setup, man.” He was naked and flat on his back, staring at the bedroom ceiling as he talked on her cordlesstelephone and scratched his balls. “I’ll lose a bet like this anytime. Just bring it on.”
Sutton halted outside the door and continued to listen. She did not want to ... but she could not stop herself.
“She’s not that bad of a fuck, dude,” Scooter went on. “I’m serious. The bitch never had a kid, so her cunt still has some grip. Shit, I’ve nailed women ten years younger than this who were in worse shape. One lady took off her panties, and her labia drooped down.” He laughed. “I thought it was going to hit the floor, dude ... I’m not joking ... You know it ... Hell, yeah, she’s rich. She sleeps on a fucking mattress that cost forty grand ... Yeah, I’ve racked up some pretty decentshit—an Xbox, clothes, shoes. And not crap from The Gap, either. Real designer shit ... No doubt ... I think I want her to pay off my credit cards next. I need that shit out of my life ... No, I think she will ... All I have to do is shove my cock in her mouth. She can’t get enough of it.” He laughed again. “I’ll see you guys later tonight. Let’s pick up some young hotties for a change. I’ve forgotten what a tight pussy feels like ... Okay ... Later.” And then he hung up and drifted back to sleep.
For the longest time, Sutton stood there, statue still, wonderingwhat to do. Finally, the answer came to her. Just steps away in the master bath medicine cabinet was the Ambien.
The whole bottle would get the job done.
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
When it comes down to breakups, here’s the golden rule: Always be the one to do the leaving. Not only does that make for a much better story (the girl who sobs over the guy who left her is about as much fun as lung cancer), but it ratchets up the quality of talent in the reboundpool. Why? A dejected girl is easy prey. The lady who presses the EJECT button is a true score. Too bad that young morning talk starlet can no longer claim to have marched out on that startlingly virilepublishing magnate. Turns out Mr. Viagra was up to no good with two delicious tarts long before he was shown the exit door.
22
Emma
“It was so funny,” Mio Kometani said breathlessly. “I thought Mako had cleaned up the poo poo, but she thought that I had! So it was still there the next morning.” She held her nose. “Poo poo stinks.” She giggled.
Mako giggled, too. “I didn’t clean up the poo poo, but she thought that I had!”
Emma traded a brain-dead look with Finn.
“Now I’ve only seen a few clips of the show that feature your dog,” Simone interjected. “But I understand that she’s quite the diva.”
“Oh, yes,” Mio answered in a serious tone. “Her name is White Diamonds, and she’s a Chihuahua from a champion bloodline.”
Mako nodded. “She has a collar made of white diamonds, too.”
“And one made of rubies and sapphires,” Mio put in.
“She also has her own live-in chef,” Mako said. “He only cooks for White Diamonds, and he’s a graduate of the French Culinary Institute.”
“Oh, well, he must’ve been at the top of his class,” Finn cracked.
The audience roared with laughter.
Mio and Mako returned blank stares.
Emma glanced down at her notes for the segment, and for a fleeting moment, wondered if this could be the death knell for a career she had worked so hard to build. “Now what’s this I hear about White Diamonds being psychic?”
“She is,” Mio said earnestly.“She tells us what to wear and what songs to sing.”
“And she tells us what clubs to go to,” Mako added.
“Exactly how does White Diamonds do this?” Emma inquired,hating herself for asking the question.
“She runs around, she barks, and sometimes she pees,” Mio said. “It depends.”
The audience responded with amused titters.
“If that’s the case, why do I bother with telephone psychics?”Finn cracked. “It sounds like I could save myself a fortuneby adopting a mutt from the pound.”
More laughter.
Mio and Mako giggled dimly.
“The two of you manage to stay in phenomenal shape, and I understand that a diet book is in the works,” Simone said.
Mio nodded enthusiastically. “Whenever we have time we scribble down ideas for our diet book. Like when we go out to a restaurant for dinner, we always order three or four en-trées.That way when the food comes, you know that you can’t eat all of it, and you start to feel full right away.”
“Yes,” Mako chimed in. “I just take a bite from each dish, and then I’m stuffed!”
Emma just sat there, appalled. “How
could the average person afford to do that? And what about the obscene waste of food?”
Mio and Mako looked stunned. Clearly, such concerns had never entered their cotton candy minds.
“I think it’s time for a song!” Finn erupted, exaggerating the awkward moment save for full comic impact. “What are you going to sing for us today?”
Mio cleared her throat. “Today we are singing a very specialsong called ‘The Prayer.’”
Mako beamed proudly. “And we are dedicating it to all of the models with eating disorders.”
Emma did an involuntary double take and nearly toppled over.
Finn steadied her with a firm hand. “I think Emma is alreadyovercome with emotion.”
“Yes,” Emma managed to say through clenched teeth. “If only I could describe precisely what I’m feeling.”
The treacly strains of canned karaoke music commenced as Mio and Mako teetered off set toward a small stage where two wireless microphones awaited them.
They began to sing the Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dion classic in breathless voices devoid of personality—and clearly aided by pre-recorded vocal overlays. “I pray you’ll be our eyes/And watch us where we go ...”
“This is for the runway models who won’t eat,” Emma muttered under her breath.
“Wounded war veterans and the crisis in Darfur were alreadytaken,” Finn murmured.
“I used to be a journalist,” Emma whispered tragically to no one in particular.
“This is news,” Finn whispered back. “It’s an act of terrorismset to music.”
Emma struggled to contain her laughter, then morphed into more serious mode when she caught the look of consternationbeing leveled against her by Jay Lufkin.
Thankfully, Simone had been blocked to appear with Mio and Mako at the close of the song and provide the lead-in for the next commercial break.
Somehow Emma managed to endure what remained of the show with some semblance of professionalism—the cookingsegment, an interview with a indie film actress about her latest edgy project, the obligatory before/after fashion makeover featuring a member of the studio audience.
When it was over, she bolted from the set, seeking immediatesolitude.
But she was intercepted by Jay. “Emma, what’s going on? You spent most of the show looking like you had someplace else to be.”
“Maybe I do.”
Jay regarded her curiously, a question in his eyes.
Emma sighed heavily and slumped against the studio wall as a phalanx of people scurried this way and that. “I don’t know, Jay. I was sitting there with the Kometani twins, and it just hit me. What am I doing here? Talking about a psychic dog? Pretending to be interested in a stupid makeover that you could find on any local morning show? I feel like my brain is rotting already. I’ll be a vegetable before the first season is over.”
Jay opened his mouth to speak.
Emma raised a hand to halt him. “Don’t say anything about research. I don’t care about that right now.”
“I’ll admit—today’s show was more fluff than usual. The segment mix was slightly off, and Sutton was gone. But still ... I think you’re overreacting,” Jay said.
Emma shook her head, not convinced. “I can’t sit there and talk about which idiot was supposed to clean up White Diamonds’ shit.”
“Emma—”
“I feel like an imposter, Jay. I realize that daytime is soft, but this is ... it’s embarrassing.”
“It’s a hit,” Jay argued.
“So is Maury. But I’d never do that, either.” She sighed deeply, thinking of her agent, Adam Moss, wondering if he could extricate her from this horrible mistake. It had been an emotional decision to leave Today in New York. She had believedthat shaking up her life and embarking upon a new career would liberate her from the melancholy over Dean Paul ... yet it was still front and center, crowding out more important things. Oh, God, she resented him for that. Hated him, in fact. Was that possible? To hate the man you thought you loved?
“Don’t bail on me,” Jay said. He was almost pleading. “We can fix this.”
Emma gave him a doubtful look.
“The perfect formula isn’t there, Emma. I’ll admit that. What’s working, what’s not quite working—it’s still a work in progress. And you’re right—the softer segments were overpoweringtoday.”
Emma could feel herself caving in. She liked Jay. She trusted him, too. But deep down she sensed that the format of the show would never lend itself to becoming the kind of program she needed to be a part of.
“There’s an opportunity in the ‘Bee in Our Bonnet’ segment,”Jay said eagerly. “You can talk about any issue of the day.”
Emma’s faint smile was uncertain. “Don’t take this the wrong way. Finn and Simone are great at what they do, Jay, but I’m not sure engaging them in a discussion on the crisis in the Middle East is the best way to give The Beehive some gravitas.”
Jay registered a look of panic. When he spoke, his voice was half its full compass. “Emma, you’re the anchor to this enterprise. Your approval numbers exceed your cohosts two- to threefold. If you want changes, we can discuss them.” He paused a beat. “Even big changes.”
She really looked at Jay to determine his meaning. “As in talent?”
Jay nodded severely.
Emma was shocked to discover that her popularity renderedher such power. “That’s not what I want, Jay—”
“I realize that the situation with Sutton has been strained at best. There’s already—”
“I’m not asking you to fire Sutton Lancaster,” Emma hissed. She glanced around to make certain that no one was within earshot. “This isn’t an ultimatum. It’s got nothing to do with her. Anyway, you told me that the research on her was solid.”
“I said that it didn’t spike,” Jay corrected. “And I was being kind. I hoped that the negatives would level off. But it’s not happening fast enough. This is just between us.”
Emma nodded.
“She’s not out the door yet, but an offer did go out to Paula Deen. Her interest is lukewarm, but if she accepts ...”
Emma could hardly believe it. “Paula Deen? That Southern woman who cooks like we’re still living in the fifties?”
Jay opened his mouth to answer.
But Emma thundered on. “Taking Sutton Lancaster out of the equation and putting Paula Deen in makes this situationeven worse for me.” She shook her head and started to walk away. “I can’t do this, Jay. I’m sorry. This was a mistake.” Her next words were impulsive ones. But for once the decisionshe made had nothing to do with Dean Paul Lockhart. In fact, he had scarcely entered her mind. A gut instinct told her that it was the right thing to do.
“I quit.”
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
New York’s nightclub scene has definitely seen better days, darlings. Get a club impresario talking, and he/she will bore you to tears with complaints about party-stomping police (they hate noise and cigarettes)and weekend bridge-and-tunnelriffraff (they shop cheap boutiques and wear bad jewelry). So talk of a VVIP (the extra V is not a typo) establishment being dreamed up by America’s popular new gay blade and a very surprising business partner has the tongues of boldface names wagging like crazy.
23
Finn
“Finn, please don’t let on that it’s me. If he’s there, just say so, and I’ll hang up.”
“He’s not here, Tilly. I’m not sure where he is. The gym, probably.”
“Well, I have no doubt that you’re taking Dean Paul’s side in all of this, but I hope you can at least grant me a civil conversation.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Finn insisted wearily, insulted but not surprised by her assumption.
“Oh, of course not,”Tilly trilled sarcastically.
Finn experienced a quick flash of anger. “Tilly, you called me. I answered. And I’ve given you no indication to think that Dean Paul has someh
ow turned me against you. Now, what do you want?”
“What do I want? Oh, that’s charming. And you say there’s no bias.”
Briefly, Finn shut his eyes. Perhaps Tilly and Dean Paul deserved to be married to each other. “I know this is a difficulttime for you, too,” he said gently. “Is there anything I can do?” One beat. “Maybe you’d like to move into my apartmentand not clean up after yourself.”
“How funny. I just got rid of a roommate like that.” Her tone carried a bitter edge. “Seriously, Finn, I need your honest,unbiased take on something. I’m having a childcare crisis.”
“Is something wrong with the baby?”
“No, Cantaloupe is absolutely fine. But I’m without a nanny at the moment.”
“What happened to—”
“Veronika? Oh, it’s been dreadful. She spends half her life online looking for a sister that she claims is trapped in a prostitutionring somewhere in Germany. I thought that only happened to beauty pageant contestants in Saudi Arabia. Anyway,she gave me some ridiculous story about finding her in Amsterdam and had the audacity to ask me to pay for her to travel there and bring her sister back. Are you believing this? Naturally, I refused. I mean, I’m not running a travel agency for runaway prostitutes. But now some of my jewelry is missing.And—surprise, surprise—so is Veronika. She never showed up this morning, and I finally put it all together. Finn, I need you to be honest with me.What kind of state is Dean Paul in? Could he be trusted with Cantaloupe? I only ask this because I’m in a horrible bind. I’m due in L.A. for a 24/7 event that I can’t possibly reschedule. It’s a new product launch, and executivesfrom all over the world are flying in. It’s for an amazing eye cream that retails for five hundred dollars. But it’s worth every penny. It’s made from horse semen. I’ll bring you back a free sample. Anyway, I can’t possibly hire a new nanny, check references, and have a background report done in a day. I could take her with me, but she was running a fever a couple days ago, and I don’t trust the cabin air on commercial flights—too many germs. So I’m at my wit’s end and actually consideringDean Paul for the task of taking care of her until I get back. It’s just an overnight trip. So has he been drinking heavily?Be honest. I know you adore Cantaloupe, so think of her welfare before you answer.”