Something to Talk About(14)
Jo sipped her coffee and remembered when Emma first started as her assistant, how afraid she had been of speaking out of turn.
“What if I want to date someone, but they think I’m dating you?”
Jo rolled her eyes. “If a man doesn’t believe you when you tell him the rumors aren’t true, he’s not worth your time.”
“I didn’t say a man,” Emma snapped, and Jo blinked at her. Emma colored slightly. “I mean—maybe a man. But not necessarily.”
Jo nodded once. “Regardless. Anyone interested in you should trust you. Besides,” she said, shifting away from the subject of Emma’s sexuality, “a comment is going to make this story bigger, not make it go away. Like I said, I haven’t discussed my love life in almost thirty years in Hollywood. To say something now would make this time seem somehow different, which isn’t going to make reporters stop calling.”
Emma scowled.
“Not commenting will make them stop calling,” Jo said. “Any comment leads to clarifying questions, leads to requests for more. When they know you’re never going to say anything, they eventually leave you alone.”
Jo was right, whether Emma wanted to believe her or not.
“I’ve been in this business as long as you’ve been alive, Emma.”
That got Emma to sigh and tell Jo her schedule, apparently done with discussing the rumors.
* * *
—
Jo’s brother called her when she was eating lunch.
“Jo Jo, have you been keeping secrets?”
“You know I hate that nickname, Vinny,” Jo said. “And no, I have not.”
Vincent laughed. “Really? Because it seems like you’re dating!”
“Don’t believe everything you read.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled. “I was just hopeful. Thought you had finally found someone who’d put up with you.”
“She does put up with me,” Jo said.
“Maybe you should be dating her.”
Jo didn’t dignify that by addressing it. “These rumors have done wonders for my social life,” she said instead. “Evelyn yesterday, today my little brother. I probably have a call from Father to look forward to.”
“Nope,” Vincent said. “He’ll call me for the details later.”
“Of course.”
Jo was glad. She last spoke to her father at Christmas, and she’d prefer not to again until next Christmas. She didn’t want to deal with her father’s disapproval, even over something fictional.
“How are the boys?”
Her nephews were five and nine and were some of her favorite people in the world. She’d never wanted kids herself, but she adored her brother’s. Even when she was busy, she found time for their baseball games and birthday parties and anywhere else they might want her.
Vincent told her all about them, and Jo let her lunch run long.
* * *
—
The rumors truly were great for Jo’s social life. Evelyn called again that evening. Again, she didn’t lead with hello.
“You made Us Weekly.”
“At this point in my life, I don’t think being in a magazine deserves a congratulatory phone call,” Jo said. She dropped her silverware from dinner into its rack in the dishwasher.
“You and your girlfriend made Us Weekly,” Evelyn clarified. “It’s gold.” She began to read over the phone. “‘No best-dressed list would be complete without the it couple of the week: Jo Jones and Emma Kaplan.’ In parens they write, ‘Her assistant! Shh!’ They say she’s your assistant with an exclamation mark, but then they say ‘shh’ like readers aren’t supposed to talk about it.”
“Do you really need to read this to me?”
“Absolutely,” Evelyn said. She went on, “Blah blah blah, what designers you’re wearing. Then: ‘We can hardly believe the way these two look at each other! Even on the red carpet they’re too busy being enthralled with each other to bother looking at the cameras.’”
Jo considered hanging up on her. She started the dishwasher.
“‘Jo keeps her fingers around Emma’s wrist like she can’t bear to let her out of reach,’” Evelyn continued. “‘Though it doesn’t look like there’s much chance of that—the way Emma leans closer.’”
“Can we please stop this?”
Evelyn laughed.
“I hate you,” Jo said.
“You hate Us Weekly,” Evelyn said. “I’m just the messenger.”
“Taking joy in rubbing this in my face doesn’t count as being the messenger,” Jo said. She poured herself a glass of red wine, certain she’d need it if this conversation continued.
“You know, you should probably hate yourself, actually.”
“Oh, thanks for that,” Jo said. “Really good advice, best friend.”
“Aiyah, what were you thinking?” Evelyn asked. “You go over twenty years without taking someone to an awards show, and then you bring your assistant. This would have been a big deal even if you’d kept your hands off her.”
Jo rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I thought I’d get more of the ‘Jo Jones is obsessed with work’ story,” she said. She’d told Emma this already, and it was the truth. “I didn’t think they’d get a picture of us like that.”