what?" I asked.
"Italian slang for a person with no class."
"I'll have to remember that," I said. "So Scott, you do this every day?"
He nodded. "When I first started Angelo noticed I was buying nothing but pastries after the show. He told me I was approaching the vampire shift the wrong way."
"I've been getting up at two in the morning for years," said Angelo. "Sugar is not your friend on this shift."
"Anyway," said Scott, "he invited me to stop by for breakfast. And I've been coming here every day at three-thirty sharp ever since."
"Well, save a chair for me, Angelo," I said.
***
At one minute till seven my heart slammed against my chest for the first time in my television career. I'd never, ever been nervous, but this was more pressure than I'd ever felt.
And even though I was putting up a brave perky face, Scott noticed. He knows me too well.
He reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. "Hey. You're with me. Nothing can go wrong."
He looked into me with those incredible eyes of his, and seemed to suck whatever anxiety I had out of my body. I felt myself melt into the leather chair as the tension evaporated. Then I felt a burst of energy and took care of the most important thing: I yanked down my skirt as far as it would go, which, for some reason, wasn’t very far in the leg chair. Gavin must have designed the thing. I tried shifting into different positions, but no matter what I did America would get a great shot of my thighs.
"Thirty out!" yelled the floor director.
Half a minute before millions of Americans woke up with me.
Half a minute before every TV critic in the land sat poised holding a red pen filled with venom.
Half a minute before my first guest, the President of the United States, would be ushered from the green room.
The old line hit me. Americans worship success. But they root for failure.
"Ten out!"
So, this was it. They say there are forks in the road of life, moments during which your future can take off or do a swan dive into the dumper.
And as the light red light on top of the camera lit up, I knew this was a make or break moment.
***
The next day I knew how Sally Field felt when she won the Academy Award.
They liked me! They really liked me!
The reviews were positive across the board, from television critics to entertainment magazines to the Big Apple tabloids. My life felt like one of those movie posters with one line quotes from critics, like, "You'll stand up and cheer!" or, "The best morning show host since Katrina the bimbo!"
In reality, no one stood up and cheered at that hour of the morning, but apparently the country was comfortable with me. Some highlights from my own personal movie trailer:
"Veronica Summer brings a long overdue dose of journalistic credibility to The Morning Show."
"Summer is smart, informed, upbeat, and obviously has good chemistry with her college buddy Scott Winter. She looks like a solid choice out of the gate."
This one was my favorite, touching on the fact that I had no idea what a Louis Vuitton purse was supposed to look like during a fashion segment. "Nice to see a morning anchor who knows more about the Middle East than designer handbags. Her interview of the President was tough but fair."
However, as someone who has made a living being a credible journalist, I was a bit put off by the amount of ink used to describe my appearance. And it was a barrel of ink.
"The spunky copper-top has a mound of red tangles and killer legs bound to get any man's motor running in the morning."
"Scott Winter's wife must be incredibly trusting to let him spend the middle of the night with a woman who should be in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue."
"Only a matter of time before Playboy makes Ms. Summer an offer."
But the most telling comment came from Hal the newsstand guy. Actually, it was more of a scary prophecy that he offered as I arrived for my daily haul of print and chocolate.
"So, big star now," he said. "Guess you'll have some handmaiden pick up your papers from now on. Just remember, I knew you before you were famous."
"I can still do my own shopping," I said. "But if I ever do get the big head, please let me know."
"I won't hold back, Freckles." He turned to take some money from another customer, then looked back at me. "So, how you gonna handle the dating thing now that you're a household name?"
"What do you mean?"
“Well, I guess if I was in your shoes, I’d be wondering if a guy was really interested in me or my salary.”
Hal's prophecy, such as it was, would apparently be put to the test very soon.
Two weeks into my new job and six weeks since I "threw Alexander off the porch" my friends thought it was time for me to put myself back on the market. My love life, or lack thereof, was the subject of our Sunday brunch conversation.
"I met a guy who I think might be a good match," said Layla, attacking a slice of london broil.
"See if he wants to have dinner at four," I said, stifling a yawn as I sipped a virgin mimosa. (Orange juice.) "He'll save money taking me to the early bird special."
"So, who is he?" asked Savannah, even though I knew damn well the two of them had already conspired on this project.
"You two reading off a prompter?" I asked.
"Smart ass," said Layla.
"I know how your devious minds work. Just get on with it."
"His name's Rob. He's a media buyer for an ad agency. Smart guy, funny, extremely cute. Thirty, never married. He already knows who you are."
"See, that's not fair," I said. "He knows what I look like and I don't—"
Layla interrupted me by shoving her iPad under my nose with a photo of this prospect, who, I had to admit, was extremely cute. My eyes widened and I absent-mindedly licked my lips.
"You were saying?" asked Savannah.
"Her prompter went out," said Layla.
Suddenly I was waking up. "He's uh, attractive."
"Yeah, right,"
