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“At this point in my life, I don’t think being in a magazinedeserves a congratulatory phone call,” Jo said. She dropped her silverware from dinner into its rack in the dishwasher.

“You and yourgirlfriendmadeUs 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 wepleasestop this?”

Evelyn laughed.

“I hate you,” Jo said.

“You hateUs 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 youthinking?” 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.”

“How in the world did they?”

Jo sighed. “Emma decided me inviting her as a buffer meant she had to barge onto the red carpet when people yelled questions about Agent Silver.”

“Did you train her as a guard dog, or did she come that way?”

“Don’t call my assistant a dog.”

Evelyn laughed. “You know that only explains why she was next to you. It still doesn’t explain the picture. The way you’re holding her wrist? The way you’re looking at each other?”

“She almost fled,” Jo said. “With all the cameras on her. I held her in place and I made her laugh to calm her down. It wasn’t anything more.”

She was there. She knew it wasn’t anything more. But a copy of the picture sat in the top right drawer of Jo’s desk. She kept looking at it; she didn’t know why.

Eventually, Evelyn said, “It will die down at some point.”

“I know,” Jo said.

“How’s Emma dealing with it?”

Jo chuffed out a laugh. “By coming out to me.”

“What?”

Jo relayed the story, much to Evelyn’s delight.

“I’m surprised they haven’t found evidence of relationships she’s had with other women,” Evelyn said. “Surely that’d be gossip fodder.”

“Don’t even suggest that,” Jo said. “These rumors are going away, not stirring up more shit for us.”