He stared at her, gape-mouthed, his own seriously overstyled hair falling across his face. "You're kidding me, right? You're on in fifteen."
"Let them see me as I am."
She walked around the studio, her fiefdom, watching her employees scurry around, running to and fro to make sure everything went off without a hitch, and that was no mean feat, given that she'd called everyone at three yesterday to change the theme of today's live show. She knew that several of her producers and bookers had worked late into the night to put it together. She herself had been up until almost two in the morning, doing research. She'd faxed and e-mailed dozens of the best oncologists in the world. She'd spent hours on the phone, relaying every bit of information on Kate's case that she'd been able to glean. Every specialist said the same thing.
There was nothing Tully could do. No amount of fame or success or money would help her now. For the first time in years, she felt ordinary. Small.
But, for once, she had something important to say.
The theme music started, and she walked onto her stage.
"Welcome toThe Girlfriend Hour," she said as she always did, but then something went wrong, just stopped. She looked at her audience and saw strangers. It was an odd and disconcerting moment. For most of her life, she'd sought approval from crowds like this, and their unconditional support had buoyed her.
They noticed something was wrong and fell silent.
She sat down on the edge of the stage. "You're all thinking I'm skinnier in person and older. And that I'm not as pretty as you'd thought."
The audience laughed nervously.
"I'm not wearing makeup."
They burst into applause.
"I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm just . . . tired." She glanced around. "You have been my friends for a long time. You write to me, e-mail me, come to my events when I'm in your city, and I've always appreciated it. In return, I've given you my honest self or as close as I can without some kind of medication. Do you remember a show from a few years ago, when my best friend, Kate Ryan, was ambushed on this very stage? By me?"
There was a nervous rumbling, a shaking and nodding of heads.
"Well, Kate has breast cancer."
A murmur of sympathy.
"It's an extremely rare kind of cancer that starts not with a lump, but with a rash or a discoloration. Kate's family physician diagnosed it as a bug bite and prescribed antibiotics. Unfortunately, this happens to too many women, especially younger women. It's called inflammatory breast cancer and it can be aggressive and all too deadly. By the time Kate was diagnosed, it was already too late."
There wasn't a sound from the audience.
Tully looked up through a blur of tears. "Dr. Hilary Carleton is here to talk about inflammatory breast cancer, and to educate you about the symptoms: the rashes, the localized heat, the discolorations, the puckered skin, and the inverted nipples, to name a few. She'll remind us all that we need to look for more than just lumps. The doctor has brought a woman with her—Merrilee Comber from Des Moines, Iowa—who first noticed a small scaly patch near her left nipple . . ."
The show rolled forward as they all did, on the wheels of Tully's personality. She interviewed guests and showed pictures and reminded her audience of millions not only to get yearly mammograms but to watch for any changes in their breasts. At the end of her broadcast, instead of her usualWe'll talk tomorrowtagline, she looked into the camera and said, "Katie, you're the best friend I have and the best mother I know. Except for Mrs. M., who is good, too." Then she smiled at her audience and said simply: "This will be my last show for a long while. I'm taking time off to be with Katie. As all of you would."
She heard a gasp following her announcement; this time the sound came from backstage.
"This show is, after all, just that: a show. Real life is with friends and family, and as an old friend pointed out to me a while ago: I do have a family. And she needs me now." She unclipped her microphone, dropped it to the floor, and left the stage.
On Kate's last night in the hospital, Tully convinced Johnny to take the kids home, and she took his place in the room's other bed. She pushed the bed across the linoleum floor until it practically butted up to Katie's. "I brought you a tape of my last show."
"Youwouldthink that's what a dying woman wanted to watch."
"Ha ha." Tully put the tape in the machine and hit play, then crawled into her bed. Like a pair of eighth-grade girls at a slumber party, they watched the taped broadcast.
When it was over, Kate turned to her. "I'm glad to see you'll still use me to bump up your ratings."
"I'll have you know that was poignant and powerful. And important."
"You think that's true of everything you do."
"Do not."
"Good comeback."
