They reached the studio, and despite the damp morning air, tourists had already lined up outside the Today show's windows. Charlie pulled the car to the talent entrance and got out to help Julia with her door. A cry rose up from the crowd when she emerged from the car, but Charlie quickly stepped between Julia and the masses, shielding her with his broad body. "You be careful out here. Some of these women'll get ya."
Julia chuckled and pulled a fresh copy of 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire from her bag. She scribbled inside and handed it to Charlie, who looked down at the book in his hands as if he were staring at a block of gold. "Oh, Ms. James, I wasn't fishing for a . . ."
She squeezed his arm. "It's not for you. It's for Lou Ann," Julia said with a wink, then stepped away from Charlie and the car, turned and gave a big wave to the masses, and slipped through the studio entrance.
This can't be good, Julia thought as she sat next to the tiny and adorable Katie Couric. Katie always looked trim and petite on TV, but it wasn't until Julia saw her in person that she remembered how truly waiflike the anchorwoman was. Julia did the mental math. If Katie looks like this in real life, and like that on TV, what am I going to look like on TV? She straightened up, sucked in her stomach, and suddenly wondered why she cared.
"Now, the new book is called 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire. Isn't that right?" Katie asked.
"Yes, it is. I love playing cards, Katie. I carry a deck with me everywhere I go, so when I was discussing themes for my next book with my longtime friend and editor, he pointed to my purse and said that the answer was right in there. I guess he was right."
"Your first book is a staple on the bestseller lists. You followed that with a cookbook, Spaghetti and Meatball: Meals for the Single Person, and that further broadened your fan base. How do you keep moving forward? Keep the material fresh?"
"Well, Katie, all of my work deals with helping single people cope in a couple's world. In Table for One, I wrote about how it doesn't have to be scary to be alone. With Spaghetti and Meatball, I wanted to help single people tackle common challenges, like shopping and cooking for one in a family-sized world. With 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire, I have taken a huge, and for some women very intimidating, concept—the idea of being single for the rest of your life—and broken it down to a manageable size, one hundred and one easy things that every woman can do to thrive as a single person."
Katie shifted and rested her chin in one perfectly manicured hand. "So, how does Julia James cheat at solitaire?"
"I'm a thirty-four-year-old single woman, Katie. And I'm happy. I don't believe happiness is reserved for those who are dealt great hands. Happiness is a decision you make—a goal you work toward. And when life doesn't give you the cards you need to win easily, then ..." Julia cocked an eyebrow as a guilty expression flashed across her face, "it's time to cheat."
Katie shifted. "You were listed as one of the ten most bankable writers in America. How does that make you feel?"
"Blessed." Julia waited a beat and then added: "And rich."
They laughed their way into a commercial break.
Lance Collins woke up to the sound of the ringing phone, although he couldn't imagine that he'd even been to sleep. He picked up the receiver, dropped it immediately into the cradle, and tried to return to the comfortable place on his pillow. But again the phone rang, so he rolled over and answered it. "Hello," he said, groggy.
Sunlight streaked through the dingy window and horizontal blinds and fell across the rumpled sheets that tangled around Lance's legs. He fought to straighten himself as he heard an unfamiliar female voice ask, "Lance?"
"Yeah."
"It's Tammy."
"Who?"
"Tammy at Poindexter-Stone. You know, great eyes. We got Thai food one night," the woman named Tammy went on, irritation rising in her voice. But in his current state, Lance wasn't sure if he could remember his own mother's eyes.
"Oh, hey, baby," he said, realizing too late that the "baby" might have been too much.
"Save it," Tammy snapped. "You're late. I know. I'm calling to remind you to take your head shots."
At this, Lance swung his legs to the floor. "Take them where?"
"Are you still in bed?" Tammy shouted, forcing Lance to hold the phone away from his ear.
Lance looked at his feet on the floor. Technically, he was on the bed, not in bed, but Tammy with the great eyes and the love for Thai food probably knew bs when she heard it. Tammy probably had a BS in bs, so he didn't argue.
"I can't believe you're blowing this off!" she jabbed at him.
"Blowing what off?" Lance shot back.
"You got a call for Wesley Star," she said, her tone resonating with "duh."
"First I've heard of it," he said.
"I left you a message," Tammy said, as if her efficiency had been offended. Call her baby. Forget her name. Do any of a number of things, but don't accuse her of being unreliable. That was where Tammy at Poindexter-Stone drew the line.
"Well, I never got a . . ." He looked at his answering machine with its blinking red light and yelled, "Shit!"
"Be there by nine fifteen, and don't forget the head shots," Tammy said and hung up without a good-bye.
When she left the studio, Julia got a cab. The publishers had offered to have a car at her disposal while she was in New York, but hailing a cab was the most quintessentially Manhattan thing she could do, and she wanted to do it as much as possible before she had to go home to Oklahoma for Cassie's birthday.
"Where to, lady?" the cabbie asked, and Julia loved the sound of it. Ah, New York, she thought. It's good to be back.
"The Ritz," she answered, and the car pulled away from the curb.
According to Lance's agent, the mysterious Wesley Star was a casting agent who held the key to the city of starving actors and, one by one, decided who would get out and who would go home with a bus ticket paid for with Western Union money. Wesley also decided who would keep waiting—the unfortunate few who had just enough talent to remain in permanent limbo.
Finally, Lance thought as he pushed the elevator button, he was going to meet the mysterious Wesley and, he hoped, step a little closer to the gates. But like his career up until that point, he ran up against a brick wall as soon as the elevator doors slid open.