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"You only think you know me, Tully. It isnt like we traded secrets. "
She remembered suddenly, sharply, what she was supposed to forget. "You tried. "
"I tried," he agreed.
"Katie would want you to be happy. Youd kick ass at CNN. "
"In Atlanta?" He laughed. "Someday youll understand. "
"You mean when Im married, with kids?"
"I mean when you fall in love. It changes you. "
"Like its changed you? Someday Ill have a kid and want to write for the Queen Anne Bee again, is that it?"
"Youd have to fall in love first, wouldnt you?" The look Johnny gave her then was so understanding, so knowing, she felt skewered by it. She wasnt the only one who was remembering the past.
She got to her feet. "I gotta get back to Manhattan. You know the news. It never sleeps. "
Johnny put down his beer and got to his feet, moving toward her. "You do it for me, Tully. Cover the world. "
It sounded sad, the way he said it; she didnt know if what she heard was regret for himself or sadness for her.
She forced herself to smile. "I will. "
Two weeks after Tully got home from Seattle, a storm dumped snow on Manhattan, stopping the vibrant city in its tracks. For a few hours, at least. The ever-present traffic vanished almost immediately; pristine white snow blanketed the streets and sidewalks, turned Central Park into a winter wonderland.
Still Tully made it to work at four A. M. In her freezing walk-up apartment, with the radiator rattling and ice collecting on her paper-thin antique windows, she dressed in tights, black velour stirrup pants, snow boots, and two sweaters. Covering it all with a navy-blue wool coat and gray mittens, she braved the elements, angling her body against the wind as she made her way up the street. Snow obscured her vision and stung her cheeks. She didnt care; she loved her job so much shed do anything to get there early.
Inside the lobby, she stamped the snow off her boots, signed in, and went upstairs. Almost instantly she could tell that much of the staff had called in sick. Only a skeleton crew remained.
At her desk, she immediately went to work on the story shed been assigned yesterday. She was doing research on the spotted owl controversy in the Northwest. Determined to put a locals "spin" on the story, she was busily reading everything she could find—Senate subcommittee reports, environmental findings, economic statistics on logging, the fecundity of old growth forests.
"Youre working hard. "
Tully looked up sharply. Shed been so lost in her reading that she hadnt heard anyone approach her desk.
And this wasnt just anyone.
Edna Guber, dressed in her signature black gabardine pantsuit, stood there, one hip pushed slightly out, smoking a cigarette. Sharp gray eyes stared out from beneath an Anna Wintour razor cut of blue-black bangs. Edna was famous in the news business, one of those women whod clawed her way to the top in a time when others of her sex hadnt been able to come in the front door unless they had secretarial skills. Edna—only the single name was ever used or needed—reportedly had a Rolodex filled with the home numbers of everyone from Fidel Castro to Clint Eastwood. There was no interview she couldnt get and nowhere on earth she wouldnt go to find what she wanted.
"Cat got your tongue?" she said, exhaling smoke.
Tully jumped to her feet. "Im sorry, Edna. Ms. Guber. Maam. "
"I hate it when people call me maam. It makes me feel old. Do you think Im old?"
"No, m—"
"Good. How did you get here? The cabs and buses are for shit today. "
"I walked. "
"Name?"
"Tully Hart. Tallulah. "
Ednas gaze narrowed. She looked Tully up and down steadily. "Follow me. " She spun on her black boot heel and marched down the hallway, toward the office in the corner of the building.
