Tully laughed. "We both are. That's why we're a perfect team."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Girlfriend Hourwas a runaway success from the first day it aired. Suddenly Tully was more than a journalist or a morning news anchor; she was a bona fide star. Everything about the show had been designed to play to her strengths and highlight her talent.
What she did well—what she'd always done well—was talk to people.
And she connected, not only with the camera, but with her guests, her audience, and her viewers. In the first two weeks of the show, she became a sensation. Her picture graced the covers ofPeople, Entertainment Weekly, Good Housekeeping,andIn Style. Syndiworld had trouble keeping up with demand; that was how fast her show was growing into new markets.
Best of all was: she owned it. Sure, she shared ownership with Syndiworld and the Ryans had a small piece, but she was the powerhouse. As anyone knew, half as successful asOprahwas damned successful.
Now she sat in her office, going over the notes for the taping that would start in—she looked up at the clock—twenty-five minutes.
This was one of her celebrity shows. A smiling, don't-we-just-love-each-other interview. To be honest, there was still enough of the journalist left in Tully to bristle at these segments, but the businesswoman overruled her. The public simply couldn't get close enough to their stars these days. Johnny put up with these segments in exchange for his change-the-world bits.
There was a knock on the door, then a respectful, "Ms. Hart?"
She spun around in her chair. "Yes?"
"Your goddaughter is here. For the take-your-daughter-to-work segment?"
"Great!" Tully shot to her feet. "Let her in."
The door opened farther, revealing Johnny, who stood there dressed in faded jeans and a navy blue cashmere sweater. "Hey," he said.
"Hey."
Beside him, Marah couldn't keep still, she was so excited. "Hi, Aunt Tully. Daddy said I could be with you all day."
Tully walked over to them. "I couldn't ask for a better daughter. You ready to see what it's like to make a show work?"
"I can hardly wait."
Tully turned to Johnny, realizing a second too late that she was too close. She could see a tiny place by his ear where he'd missed shaving.
"I'll be in my office if you need me. Don't buy her a car or a horse while she's here."
"How about something small?"
"Normally I'd say fine, but with you small could be a diamond."
"I was thinking of aGirlfriend Hourtote bag."
"Perfect."
Tully smiled up at him. "You're my producer. You have to say I'm perfect."
He stared down at her. "The whole world thinks you're perfect."
A lot of years were suddenly between them, conversations and moments and opportunities she'd walked away from. At least that was what she was thinking about; she no longer knew him well enough to read his expressions. Even though they worked together every day, they were always surrounded by people and focused on work. On the weekends, when she went to his house, he was Katie's husband, and Tully kept her distance.
He didn't move, didn't smile.
Tully smiled and backed away, hoping her smile looked real. "Come on, Marah, let's go play mother/daughter. I have Lindsay Lohan in the green room. You can ask her how she got started."
On a bright Wednesday in the first full week of September, Kate stood on the sidewalk outside of Ordway Elementary School. The parking lot, which only moments before had been clogged with buses pulling up to the curb and cars—mostly SUVs and minivans—inching through the carpool lane, was now empty and quiet. The bell had rung and fallen silent; the principal had gone back inside the squat, low-roofed brick building to start his day. Directly overhead, two flags flapped in the early autumn breeze.
"Are you still crying?" Tully tried to sound reassuring, but her voice was too honest for that. There was the merest hint of laughter behind the words.
