I’m about to text Tessa back when my phone vibrates in my hand. This time the text is a link, and I quickly click on it. It takes me to the go-to account for anonymous celebrity blind items and gossip.
Which recently separated power couple from a certain beloved fantasy franchise may not have had the amicable split their joint statement suggested? Sources close to the situation say one half was spotted getting very cozy with a costar weeks before the announcement was made.
Oh . . . no. No, no, no.
I quickly text Tessa back.
Me:How bad is it?
The little dots appear as I wait for her answer.
Tessa:Too early to say, but so far people are blaming River
That gives me some relief. Except I know how quickly public opinion can change. And cheating rumors are scary because they have a long shelf life. Fans don’t forget, brand partners get nervous; it can follow people to their next audition, and they give studios reasons to start reviewing contracts.
Translation: Cheating rumors are super bad.
Which is why I need to be ahead of this—ahead of whatever might come next.
“What did you think of that one?” Colin asks.
“Huh?” I look up from my phone.
“My acting? It was good, right?”
I’d completely forgotten where I was for a moment. Which is crazy, considering how weird the situation with Colin is.
I stand up from my chair.
“I’m so sorry, Colin,” I tell him, yanking my purse strap over my shoulder and then pointing at my phone screen. “I have a work emergency and I need to go.”
I’m sure Colin will think I just made this up, and even though I was about to do just that, I’m actually telling him the truth right now.
I don’t wait for him to answer; I’ll have Sam apologize to him later. I pivot on my white sneakers and head out the door of the restaurant, pulling up Tessa’s number and hitting the call button once I’m outside.
“Tell me everything,” I say before she can even say hello.
“Okay, so far, we’ve got public opinion on our side,” she says. “I haven’t found one gossip site or influencer pointing the finger at Bailey.”
“When did the blind item go out?”
“Thirty minutes ago,” she tells me as I unlock the door to my red Mazda CX-5. “I got a Google Alert for it.”
“It’s still bad, though,” I say, getting into the driver’s seat and pressing the start button. “It puts the breakup back into the conversation.”
And completely defeats the purpose of the joint statement, which was to kill any assumptions about Bailey and River and keep the focus on the show.
“Do you think it’s true?” she asks.
“I have no idea,” I respond.
The truth is, it’s not our job to know what really happened. What matters is what people believe. And right now, we’ve lost control of that.
A half hour later, I’m sitting on the green velvet couch in my living room, my laptop balancing on my knees, Brandwatch open and tracking mentions and sentiment on both clients, a piece of licorice dangling from my lips—the best I could do for dinner since I never got to eat mine—as I try to brainstorm ways we can stay ahead of this.
I could call Simone, but this isn’t an emergency just yet. I’ll wait until it is one before putting this all back on her plate. For now, I can handle this. I’m pretty sure.
I’ve got Tessa monitoring the internet in real time so we know if and when we need to move. For my part, I’ve been drafting up a few potential response options in case we need one, and I’ve reached out to a couple of press contacts to gauge how much traction the blind item is getting. So far the answer is: too much. But at least it’s not looking bad for Bailey. Yet.
