now that the article about her and Cory was probably buried deep within the site. By Hollywood standards, she was certain that Saturday morning’s news might as well have been last month’s scoop by now.
When the site loaded, she sucked in her breath, almost choking on her oatmeal in the process. Saturday’s news might have been on page three or four, but it looked like her most recent date had just caught up with her.
Above the article, a photo showed her and Cory, hand-in-hand. The photographer had captured what she remembered as one of the sweetest moments of their afternoon together, when he’d leaned over to kiss the top of her head as they walked down Robertson Boulevard in Beverly Hills.
Their entire date had been pretty blissful, she recalled with a smile, beginning from the moment he’d picked her up outside of her apartment building. He had greeted her with a warm hug and a kiss, and once they’d gotten to the Ivy, he’d taken her hand in his and didn’t let go of it during lunch. The way he had looked at her, seeming to hang on to every word she said, had made her feel as buoyant as she’d been on Friday night at the Standard.
Last night as she had lain in bed, drifting off to sleep, she’d heard her phone vibrate on her bedside table. With one eye shut and the other half-open, she’d reached over to pick it up. On its screen she had found a text message from Cory. Good night, little love. Sweet dreams. Reading the text message he’d sent, then smiling as a content feeling washed over her, were the last things she remembered before waking up yesterday morning.
When she had turned on her phone, she’d been pleasantly surprised to not experience a repeat of the morning before. There were no texts from curious friends, and no missed calls or voicemails. She’d even gone to Wally Hood’s blog just to make sure she wouldn’t be caught off-guard and had seen no mention of her afternoon with Cory.
Apparently, though, there’d been a one-day delay between being sighted and it making the entertainment news. If her friends’ reactions to the first article that had been posted on Wally Hood Goes Hollywood had been any indication, it wouldn’t be long before they started texting and calling.
Emily closed her browser and opened the column she was working on. Move over, little black dress, she typed, forcing herself to focus on the words in front of her. A new fashion staple has come to town.
She stopped typing and opened her web browser again. So much for focusing. With her hands hovering above the keyboard, she wrestled with the temptation to search for her name online, to see if anyone else had picked up on Wally Hood’s report of her date. She began typing, then stopped after three letters.
“No,” she told herself, shaking her head. “Work first.” She closed the browser again and stared at the screen. She raised her fingers over her laptop keyboard. No second sentence to type came to mind.
“Pointless,” she grumbled, and was almost relieved when her phone rang.
The number that came up on the screen belonged to Marjorie Brighton, an editor at Sweltry. Emily quickly answered the call.
“Good morning, Marjorie,” she chirped. She hoped she sounded like she was alert and working hard.
“Hmmm, I guess it is morning.” Marjorie’s voice sounded hoarse, like she was getting over a cold or had been speaking all morning after very little sleep. Knowing Marjorie, who often emailed her at three a.m., it was probably the latter.
“What time were you up working until last night?” Emily asked.
“You know me,” Marjorie said. “I was on a call until about two in the morning with some of the team over in Sydney.”
“Australia?”
“That would be the place.”
“On a Sunday night?” Emily shook her head at the thought of being on a call at such a late hour.
She heard Marjorie yawn. “Sometimes things happen that don’t coordinate with my time zone.” She paused, and Emily heard her tapping on her keyboard. “I hope your weekend was a little more fun?”
That’s one word for it, she thought, thinking of the Wally Hood headlines. While she’d grown close to Marjorie over the years, this was still a work call. She knew it was probably bad etiquette to bring up her personal life, even if complete strangers now knew about it. “I got a few things done, and I talked to my mom. It had