It hadn't.
Next, Julia directed the browser to an Internet search engine. She held her breath as she typed "Julia James" and "Lance Collins" into the query field and clicked Go. Soon she found herself looking at results one through twenty of 250,000. To make matters worse, the banner at the top of the screen said that she was the most searched-for item of the week. It's official, Julia thought. I am utterly and completely Googled.
She clicked on the first link and read until the words were burned into her mind.
WHAT WILL WOMEN DO NOW? THE NEW STATE OF SINGLE by a columnist at a national daily that had weather predictions, box scores, and a place on the lobby counter at every hotel in America.
With bestselling author Julia James off the market, single women, psychologists, and cultural analysts are all asking the same question: Will single ever be the same?
From the time Table for One debuted five years ago, Julia James has been the face of the single woman. But since she and boyfriend Lance Collins were photographed on a New York street in the shot heard around the world, fans and critics alike are calling her career into question.
"She's a fraud," says Maria Snider, who once chaired the Albany, New York, chapter of the Julia James Appreciation Society. "I paid my twenty-five bucks," she says, holding up a copy of the runaway bestseller 707 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire. "I bought it looking for a role model, but what I got was a phony. I want my money back."
But few share Snider's point of view. In the Albany chapter of the JJAS alone, splinter groups have formed. Some, like Snider, long for the Julia of old. But most see this new chapter of their her**ne's life as a testament to the power of true love.
Competing picket lines formed outside a bookstore in Chicago today, the "pro-relationship" faction brandishing signs and GIVE LANCE A CHANCE T-shirts. Others, like Snider, rallied behind cries of: "Table for one, not table for two. Lance, we have no use for you."
Controversy or not, sales for 107 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire have been described by one industry insider as "mind-blowing."
"These are the same arguments about women's role in society we have seen since the end of the Second World War," said Peter Frisco, professor of Women's Studies at Columbia University. "Rosie the Riveter started it. Julia James is simply bringing it into the next century."
But the debate rages on. Has James abandoned her feminist credo, or has she simply followed her heart to another lifestyle choice? If this is the end of Julia James, this man wants to know what women will do without her on bookstands or in magazines telling them how to live. Without Julia, women may have to trust some other lifestyle guru—or, Heaven forbid, their hearts—to guide them.
"Thanks for coming," Lance said as he opened the door to Nina and Caroline. "I didn't know who else to call."
"What happened?" Caroline said. "You sounded upset on the phone."
"She's still up in her room," he said. "She won't come down. I didn't want to go in there, but ..." He whispered, "I think she's crying."
Caroline and Nina took in quick, sharp gasps.
"I shouldn't have gone in, should I?" he asked, feeling utterly out of his league.
"Oh, good night, no!" Nina exclaimed. "Z don't even want to go in." She gave Caroline a shove toward the stairs. "You go, C. You're her sister. She won't hurt someone who's lactating."
Caroline batted Nina's hands away and turned to Lance. "What happened?"
Lance moved to the club chair, and Nina and Caroline took seats on the couch. He ran his hands through his hair and said, "I'm really not sure. My agent called and asked for me. She hung up on him, didn't tell him a thing, but he pretty much knew I was here."
"So that sent her over to the dark side?" Nina asked.
"No, that's the thing. She was fine when she went to bed. Well, not fine really, but okay. When I came downstairs this morning, those doors were open." He pointed toward the study. "And I haven't seen her yet today."
Nina got up and went into the study, and Lance and Caroline followed through piles of books and past broken-down shelves. The windows had the aged look of old glass, a prism distorting the occupant's view of the world. The walls were covered with peeling paint and layers of old wallpaper that rippled from years of heat and humidity. The ceiling bore the stains of a room that has lived too long beneath a leaky roof. Everything smelled of neglect.
Caroline wrinkled her nose, "I don't know how she lives like this."
"Don't look at me," Nina said, throwing up her hands. "I stayed with her through nine months of decorating hell. I have more than paid my dues."
Lance guessed that Julia did all her writing in this room, and suddenly he felt wrong for being there. He realized that for Julia, the study must be as sacred and private as the master suite. "I don't think we should be in here," he said.
Nina waved him off. "If she wants to come downstairs and throw us out, that would suit me fine." She poked through papers on the desk: memos and letters, fan mail.
"The computer isn't on, is it?" Caroline asked.
"No," Lance said, "but the printer is."
"Julia," Caroline said, knocking on her bedroom door. "Nina and I are here. Lance called us."