Nic Tatano - It Girl

"Gee thanks, Hal," I said, as I leaned against his stand to read the article.

By Gemma Farrington

It's a network catfight in a game of musical chairs.

Producers of The Morning Show didn't waste any time holding tryouts Sunday morning for Katrina Favor's now empty co-anchor spot. Sources tell us that network execs are scrambling to find a replacement after Ms. Favor's arrest last week following her embarrassing dalliance with a male prostitute. Co-anchor Scott Winter was dragged in on his day off Sunday as the network shuttled a parade of info-babes onto the anchor desk. And with ratings sweeps just around the corner, the decision will come quickly.

Despite the long hours of tryouts, we're told the short list has but two names on it. Former morning show queen Noelle Larson, who left her post at the competition a year ago due to a contract dispute, and NYC reporter Veronica Summer, the fiery redhead who makes corrupt politicians run for cover.

While Larson's assets (both journalistically and physically) are well known to viewers, Ms. Summer is a wild card in the deck, having no anchoring or morning show experience. She's also a local reporter, so is unknown to a national audience. While this might seem to leave her at a disadvantage her off-camera relationship with Mr. Winter makes her a formidable challenger. The two attended college together and are said to be close friends; Ms. Summer was even a bridesmaid at Mr. Winter's wedding.

Chemistry could be the deciding factor in the choice, even though Ms. Summer does not seem to possess the typical morning show perkiness that has become the industry standard for women. It's no secret that Katrina Favor did not approve of Winter's hire two years ago, and their relationship off camera was said to be ice cold.

Who would you rather see sitting next to America's Boy Next Door? His attractive best friend from college with whom he has a warm (yet platonic) relationship? Or the towering blonde with the mile-long legs and the cheerful attitude that will give you a cavity? Vote in our Internet poll. Results on Wednesday.

" Sources tell us , my ass," I said aloud.

"Story not true?" asked Hal.

"It was supposed to be a secret."

"Well, I voted for you," he said, holding up an iPad.

"Thank you, Hal." I grabbed another candy bar and tossed him a buck. "Think I need a double today."

I turned and headed back to my apartment, feeling naked as it seemed every person on the street was staring at me. I'm used to being recognized, but not like this. I forced a smile at everyone, but it was through clenched teeth.

Gavin Karlson was pissing me off. I knew damn well he was the "source" and was using the newspaper to float a trial balloon. Yeah, he wanted to keep it quiet. Bullshit. The damn story would be in the paper until Thursday, the day after the results of the "poll" were released. And the whole thing would no doubt be picked up by every entertainment publication in the country.

And speaking of the poll, did it mean I really was on the short list of two? Or was this simply a ploy to find out if people wanted to wake up with Noelle again?

Inquiring minds wanna know.

It was time for this reporter to start digging.

As an Emmy Award winning reporter, you'd think I'd be able to investigate my own life. But despite the tabloids seemingly permanent pipeline to that network "source" I've not been able to find out a damn thing about the decision to replace Katrina. Even Scott has been no help, apparently being left out of the loop after pleading my case to the network. (He also told the bigwigs his apprehension about working with a glamazon who made him look like a hobbit when she stood next to him in heels that took her up to six-foot-four.)

Oh, and that resolution I made to forget it and smell the roses? Fuhgeddaboudit. That barn door has sailed, as we say in the news business.

By Friday I had turned into a teenage girl hoping for a date to the prom. Every time the phone rang I jumped, waiting for news that would at least resolve the situation. Luckily Savannah has asked me to lunch, obviously noting I had become a walking frayed nerve ending.

While Layla is my best friend, Savannah is a world class expert at putting things in perspective with that Southern way of looking at things. (The laid-back and relaxed view of life, not that of her relatives whose family trees are of the pine variety with reunions that might have been accompanied by banjo music.) And since she works in politics, she always knows how to spin things. The girl could make a colonoscopy sound like fun.

Since I would be off to work in an hour I sadly bypassed the glass of wine I really needed in favor of club soda with lime. Savannah had chosen a quiet, elegant restaurant featuring soft violin music instead of my usual preference, a loud place with flat screens filled with ballgames that served kick-ass fried cheese.

"Y'all look so pretty today," she said, as always starting things off with a compliment.

"Considering I've hardly slept all week, I'm sure you're being polite."

"Well, you can't handle this all by yourself, sweetie. If you don't let go of the worry, you're fixin' to have a nervous breakdown."

"I think that happened when I saw my picture in The Post ."

"Hey, you did well in the poll. Against Noelle, that's saying something."

I nodded slightly, realizing she had a point. I had expected a landslide in favor of the competition, but I actually came in a close second with forty-eight percent of the vote. "I was surprised at that, considering the photo of her that they ran."

"Did y'all forget that morning shows are predominantly watched by women? They don't want to tune in and watch a girl who looks like a wanton harlot."

"Wanton harlot?"

"Genteel Southern way of calling her a cheap bimbo." Savannah sipped her glass of wine as she looked over the menu. "That dress she almost wore was not exactly appropriate."

"Yeah, but a few years ago her producer was quoted as saying her legs were worth five share points. Why do you think they never put her behind a desk?"

"Let's not talk about that trollop anymore."

"I guess we could talk about the boyfriend I no longer have."

"You havin' second thoughts about throwin' your dog off the porch?"

I chuckled at the Southernism I'd never heard before. "Hell, no. He needs to move to Connecticut and find himself some Junior Leaguer who will bring him his slippers when he gets home, put on her kneepads and service him when the lights go out. Then send him a thank you note for not taking more than ten minutes."

She snapped her menu closed and waved for the waiter. "Ah'm sorry that didn't work out, but it's for the best. You don't need a man like that. You've got too much goin' for you."

"But not quite enough for the network."

"Will y'all stop it? You're young, you've got that beautiful red hair and those darling little freckles and gorgeous eyes and a great body. Plus you're smart and you've got a great job that you love." She leaned forward and gave me a soulful look. "And friends who love you."

"I know, I shouldn't complain. I really do have a lot to be thankful for. And I do appreciate you guys more than you know. But the shot at the evening anchor job comes along once in a lifetime."

"I guess we're not going to get off that subject. By the way, did you find out who is leaking all that information to the newspaper?"

"I don't have concrete proof, but it's gotta be the producer. However, he may have been under orders from the network president. That's the one thing that worries me about the job."