by Kylie Adams
“What’s her issue?” Sutton asked.
“The Beehive is too soft. Emma wants more substance.”
“She’s right.”
“The research—”
“Fuck research,” Sutton cut in. “It’s based on attitudes that can change faster than you can act on the information. Research told ABC to put Regis in prime time four nights a week with that millionaire bullshit, and then the network was on life support until Desperate Housewives came along. The show is too soft. Those Kometani twits have served their purpose. Dump them. And I’m not saying this because they’re fucking Garrison Friedberg. I’m saying this because by the time viewers get sick of them, it’ll be too late. Use your instincts, Jay. You used to stage talk shows in your backyard as a kid. Stop using surveys, and start relying on those impulses. The public needs to be aware of The Beehive even if they’re not watching it. That’s real success. Look at The View. It’s never been hotter. We’ll never get there on the track we’re on. Giving airtime to those Japanese whores giggling about who was supposed to clean up the dog’s shit will never generate the kind of heat to make it to the next news cycle.”
Jay gave her an impressed nod. “You’re talking like a creativeconsultant.”
“Co-creative consultant,” Sutton shot back. “I’ll share the responsibility with Emma. I want an extra carrot to offer when I convince her to come back.”
“You’re serious.”
“I’ve been kicking around for almost three decades, Jay, and I’ve only made it to the middle. Never the top. But this is my chance to get there and prove all those motherfuckers wrong. I can’t do it alone, though. I need Emma. She’s the star. I’m fine with that. But I’ve got the experience of a veteran.And she needs that, too.”
“Get her back,” Jay said. “We’ll do it your way.”
Sutton challenged him with a steely gaze. “Do you mean that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then let’s start today. Send Simone home. Her first day back after this horrifying incident should coincide with a big one-on-one interview. She hasn’t really connected with viewersyet. That’s a golden opportunity.”
“Done.” Jay grinned. “Want to know a secret?”
Sutton looked at him expectantly.
“I low-balled the Paula Deen offer.”
She laughed a little. “You sneaky son of a bitch.”
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
Popular girls rule. Ask any high school cheerleader. She’ll tell you that she runs the world. Daytime chat’s newest blonde princess should give the same answer. All the beautifulcohost had to do was stomp her feet to get those silly Tokyo twins banned from her show. But it hasn’t been quite so easy for her to get the man of her dreams. The newly unemployedprince left her to marry another. But now he’s available again. Does this mean Missy High Q Rating has a real shot at fairytale romance?
26
Emma
“So what are you going to do?” Delilah asked. “I’d love to see you join the writing staff on Laugh Track. I mean, God knows the room could use another vagina.” She put a comforting hand on Emma’s knee. “But you’re just not funny. Never have been.”
Emma flicked her hand away good-naturedly. “I’m well aware of my shortcomings in the humor department.”
Delilah laughed. “I still can’t believe you quit. This was a huge career move, and you don’t have anything else lined up. Can you afford to quit? What did your agent say? Hey, maybe you can get your old gig back at Today in New York!”
Emma shook her head. “They promoted Mandy Gabler.” Delilah made a face. “Her nostrils are too big. I bet they’d take you back in a heartbeat. Call them.”
Emma sighed deeply, revealing more angst about her decisionthan relief. “I should probably just take some time. Maybe I could travel. I’ve always wanted to go to India.”
“You’re calmer than I’d ever be in this situation,” Delilah said. Her voice rang with a quality equal parts praise and you-must-be-crazy.“I haven’t been without a job since I was eleven. I went from babysitting to scooping ice cream to waitressing to more waitressing to still more waitressing until I got the nod from Laugh Track.” She paused a beat. “God, I’m so underqualified.I can’t do anything but balance heavy trays of food and write fart jokes.”
Emma laughed.
“It’s true!” Delilah insisted.
Emma tripped off into a faraway place where the doubts began to mount. “Do you really think I was too impulsive?”
Delilah shrugged in answer. “Who am I to say, really? It was impulsive in that you hadn’t planned on doing it. But it was also gutsy and highly principled.”
“Thanks for saying that.” Emma eased back against the sofa. Here she was, hibernating in her apartment in the middleof the afternoon, still in her silk pajamas and pink Uggs ... and unemployed.
“But there is tape of you sitting down for an interview with the Kometani sisters,” Delilah pointed out lightly. “So you’ll never be Christiane Amanpour. You do realize that, right?”
Emma flipped her off. “Yes, bitch, I realize that. Anyway, that’s not what I want. I don’t mind the lighter segments.They can be fun. At the end of the day, though, I’m a serious girl. And I want to talk about serious issues.” She let out a frustratedgroan. “There’s no reason why the show can’t do both. But it seems to be heading in another direction.”
“Yeah,” Delilah snorted. “It’s speeding straight into lobotomycentral. The first ten minutes of Regis and Kelly can be more intellectually stimulating.”
“Well, it’s not my problem anymore,” Emma said with a dismissive wave of her hand that belied the twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach.
The telephone jangled.
Emma glanced at the cordless, then back to Delilah. “Maybe CNN has heard the news.” She picked up.
It was Gregory, the doorman, announcing a visitor.
“Who is it?” Emma asked.
“Sutton Lancaster.”
Emma’s heart lurched in her chest. She clutched her palm over the mouthpiece and hissed the latest development to Delilah.
“Ooh—can I stay and watch?” Delilah whispered. “God, I wish you had a lily pond. It would be so Alexis and Krystle from Dynasty.”
Emma rolled her eyes. And then she cleared her throat. “Thanks, Gregory. Please send her up.” She clicked off the phone and just sat there for a moment, nervous as hell. Finally, she turned back to Delilah. “Go hide in the bedroom and write a fart joke or something.” Emma stood abruptly, wondering if she should change clothes. “I never expected this. What do you think she wants?”
“Maybe she wants the two of you to join forces and have Garrison Friedberg killed.”
Emma’s mind was racing. Maniacally, she glanced around the spotless apartment. There was nothing to straighten up. She had recently embarked upon a cleaning binge to pass the time. Even the baseboards had been scrubbed clean.
Suddenly, there was a dramatic knock on the door.
Emma motioned for Delilah to disappear into the bedroom.
“Watch out for her nails. I bet she’s one of those women who scratches when she fights.”
“Just go!” Emma half-whispered, half-shouted, now fully exasperated with her friend, as the anxiety over the imminent confrontation reached a near panic-inducing peak.
She walked over to the door. She took a deep breath. She opened it.
Sutton Lancaster stood primly on the other side, resplendentin her flawless St. John suit and Jimmy Choo heels. “Hello, Emma. I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. Thank you for seeing me.”
Emma gestured for her to come inside. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.” She waved a hand up and down her attire. “Clearly.”
Sutton managed a polite grin. “I’m not very good at apologies,so I’ll make this short. No matter, I certainly owe you one.”
Emma could hardly believe the words that were bein
g spoken.
“I’ve treated you terribly. I was unprofessional, petty, childish,and cruel. And I hope you can forgive me.”
Emma merely stood in stunned silence.
Sutton’s gaze turned expectant. “Well ... can you?” “Oh, yes, of course!” Emma finally erupted. “I’m sorry. Yes, apology accepted. It means so much that you came here to say this. Really, it does. I’ve always—”
“Be warned. If you say admired me since you were a little girl, then I’m going to push you out the window.”
Emma smiled and stopped talking.
“We have similar concerns about The Beehive,” Sutton went on. “So I’m asking you to come back ... with the added title of co-creative consultant.We’ll share the responsibility. I want you to work with me to make this show the kind of program we both know that it can and should be.”
“You’re serious,” Emma murmured, still shocked by the seemingly impossible turn of events.
“Yes, I am,” Sutton assured her. “If it’s a topical issues segmentthat you want, then we’ll add it. Maybe we can develop a point-counterpoint segment for the two us.You strike me as somewhat of a libertarian. I tend to be more conservative. Or we could take a generational approach. There are so many options. And we have the green light from Jay to experiment without interference. I know that we can make The Beehive something to be proud of, a show that’s worthy of our credentialsand journalistic experience.”
“Our?” Emma repeated, her hand falling to her heart. She was beyond apoplectic.
Sutton’s voice dropped an octave. “You have it all, Emma. You’re so much more together than I was at your age. Frankly, I find it somewhat intimidating.”
Emma laughed a little. “You find me intimidating.”
“Not standing right here in those stained pajamas, no,” Sutton said. “But in theory, yes. Sometimes I feel like a woman way past her prime when you’re on the set.”
Emma shook her head in disbelief. “But you’ve covered everything—Reagan’s assassination attempt, wars, 9/11. I feel like a little girl playing dress-up next to you.”
Sutton reached out and took both of Emma’s hands in hers. “Enough of this shit. Are you coming back or not? And before you answer, know that those Japanese tramps will never darken the studio door again.”
“Yes!” Emma squealed, practically jumping up and down. “I’ll come back!”
Sutton smiled.
It was not a huge smile. But it was big enough to fill Emma’s heart with pride. “Oh, God! Forgive my manners. Can I get you anything? Some coffee, perhaps?”
Before Sutton could answer, Emma’s BlackBerry began to vibrate on the coffee table.
She started to ignore it for now, but a strange and certain instinct told her not to. “Excuse me—just for a moment.” Emma dashed over to see DEAN PAUL CALLING on the screen. She hesitated. Her stomach did a somersault. And finally, she picked up. “Hello?”
The first sound Emma heard was the blood-curdling wail of a baby ... then came Dean Paul’s distressed voice. “Emma, it’s me. I’m with my daughter. Tilly’s out of town. She won’t stop crying. I think something’s wrong. Do you know anythingabout babies?”
Emma was instantly taken aback. She had never heard Dean Paul sound so vulnerable. “Where are you?”
“At our ... at Tilly’s place in Tribeca. I don’t know. I’m freaking out here.”
“Okay, just stay calm. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks.”
Emma disconnected the call and sucked in a deep breath.
“Is everything okay?” Sutton asked.
“I hope so,” Emma murmured. “A new father alone with a baby for the first time. It’s probably nothing serious.”
Sutton displayed zero interest in the situation. It was clear that she did not do children. “I’ll leave you to your crisis then.” One beat. “And I’ll see you on the set tomorrow.”
“Definitely,” Emma said. She waited for Sutton to leave, then dashed into her bedroom to get dressed, filling Delilah in on the latest developments as she threw on a pair of skinny Paige jeans and a distressed Juicy Couture hoodie, stepped back into her Uggs, dashed out the door, and raced downstairsto hail a cab, feeling every bit of the panic that she heard in Dean Paul’s voice.
Emma called him back.
“Hey.” One word. And yet his voice was still shaky. In the background, Cantaloupe continued to wail, only this time it sounded like a struggle.
“I’m on my way,” Emma announced.
“I think she’s getting worse,” Dean Paul said.
Emma took great measures to keep her voice calm. “It sounds like Cantaloupe is having trouble breathing.You need to call an ambulance. It might not be necessary, but it’s better to be extra-cautious. The nearest hospital is St. Vincent’s. I’ll meet you there. Don’t panic. She’s going to be fine. Now hang up and call.”
“Okay.”
Emma waited for the click. And then she exhaled deeply. “Forget the Tribeca address,” she told the driver. “Take me to St.Vincent’s Hospital on West Eleventh.”
The ride there seemed interminable. Traffic was slow moving, but thankfully, it was early enough in the afternoon hour to bypass total gridlock.
Emma paid the fare, vaulted out of the taxi at the emergencyentrance, and rushed the information desk, keeping her eyes on red alert for any sign of Dean Paul. “Has Dean Paul Lockhart checked in?”
The attendant did not share Emma’s distress. She glanced up wearily. “They just went back. Are you the mother?”
Emma hesitated. Amazingly, saying no would not have bothered her. But she nodded yes to avoid any further delays.
“Follow him,” the attendant said, pointing to a handsome young black man in blue scrubs halfway down the corridor.
Emma rushed to catch up and discovered Dean Paul in one of the private examining rooms, pacing nervously as a femaledoctor hovered above Cantaloupe.
The doctor looked up. “It’s a bad case of strep. I’ve never seen a throat as red as this. She has some open sores that are making it hard for her to swallow. I’ll prescribe a round of antibioticsand some Prednisone. She’ll be just fine.”
Dean Paul breathed a sigh of relief and reached out for Cantaloupe’s hand, which promptly gripped his index finger and held on for life. He smiled in a way that she had never seen before. It was pure love.
Emma was moved by this vision of him, so sweet, so perfect,so beautiful. But she was even more moved by her own reaction to it. The truth—she was happy for him.
And in that glorious moment, Emma Ronson opened up her heart, and she set Dean Paul Lockhart free.
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
If there’s one place rich and trendy New Yorkers adore, it’s a hot and swanky club that keeps them in and the bridge-and-tunnel crowd out. Tongues are wagging about a new VVIP (that’s not a typo, darlings; it’s double the very) haunt that will have the imprimatur of America’s newly single Prince and America’s Best Gay Friend. Suspicious talk has swirled about these two being secret partners. Is the about-to-go-publicbusiness announcement a cover-up or a shame-on-you moment for dirty minds?
27
Finn
Dean Paul was naked, flat on his back, but barely visible through the steam. “I’m still crashing at your place, we work out almostevery day, and now you’re suggesting that we go into business together? People are going to talk.” His voice boomed over the hissing jets.
Finn forced himself to look away. No good could come from staring too long. “People are going to talk about what?”
“About us.”
“And what will they say?”
“That we’re ... you know ... a couple. I don’t care. But I just don’t want you to hear that kind of gossip and possibly get your hopes up.”
The jets halted as hopes up ricocheted in the Crunch steam room.
Finn hung his head low in the wet heat. �
�Sometimes I wonder.”
“What’s that?”
“Whether it’s my hope or your latent fantasy.”
Dean Paul’s laugh was cocky. “Yeah, right.You wish.”
“You bring it up all the time. Maybe it’s your wish.”
“They don’t come off the hetero assembly line any straighter than me.”
“The fact that you just said that might indicate otherwise.”
There was a long stretch of silence.
“You guys think everyone is gay,” Dean Paul said, finally. “Name a hot celebrity, and there’s been a rumor floated that he’s gay—Brad Pitt, Matthew McConaughey, Tom Brady, the list goes on. I’ll say this much—you’re an optimistic bunch.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Finn said wearily.
“Am I?”
“Yes. And by the way, aren’t you the one who keeps insistingthat George Clooney is gay?”
“He’s never been married,” Dean Paul reasoned.
“Oh, well, there you have it, because every man who’s married—or ever has been married—could never be gay. And by the way, dumbass, George Clooney was married once.”
“Why so touchy?”
Finn lifted his head and tossed Dean Paul an annoyed look, so annoyed that he zeroed in on the man’s eyes, never once feeling tempted to steal a glance south. It was a baby step toward mitigating the crush. “It’s hard not to be touchy. You’re such a frustrating son of a bitch.”
Dean Paul stood up to hook his towel around his waist, maintaining eye contact, practically daring Finn to look.
Finn was resolute, staring eye to eye like a tractor beam.
Dean Paul stepped down to join him on the first row. “I just like fucking with you.”
“It’s a bit cruel.”
Dean Paul looked over at him in complete surprise.
“It is.”
“Cruel? That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” He paused a beat. “Well, now that Tilly’s out of the picture, maybe I should look up some of the old buddies she made me ditch. I’m not going to trade one moody bitch for another.”