The Cinderella Hour by Katherine Stone Read Free Book Online Page A

ample
reason to feel negatively about the woman who had been so callous toward her
friend. But she was stunned by Vivian’s reaction—that Vivian had any reaction
to Snow at all.
    “I never knew her,” Mira replied.
    “Neither did I,” Vivian said. “Not really. She was a
sophomore when I was a senior. We only overlapped for half a year. But that was
long enough. Snow was a disgrace to Quail Ridge. And to Larken High. It was a
relief when she left. And now she’s back. I can’t believe it.”
    “Chicago’s a big town, darling. I’m confident you can avoid
her if you try.”
    “This isn’t funny, Blaine.”
    “Yes, it is. Funny—and fascinating. I’m seeing a whole new
side of you.”
    His right hand touched Vivian’s face. It was a masculine
hand. Blaine was a handsome and masculine man . . . who wore, on his little
finger, a gold ring.
    Mira, who had met Blaine first, hadn’t noticed the ring. But
Vivian’s friend and law partner Lacey Flynn had. She had even toasted it at the
bridesmaids’ luncheon. Who’d haveimagined, she had asked with her
champagne flute held high, it would take a man with a pinkie ring for our
Vivian to fall in love? To pinkie rings and the studs who wear them!
    Vivian had taken the toast in good humor. She was marrying
the man she loved. Later, she explained the ring Blaine wore. It had belonged
to his sister, she said. A sister who had died, more than thirty years ago, at age
twenty-three.
    “Don’t worry,” Blaine said. “I love this feline side, Vivi.
Love you .”
    Vivian put her left hand, with the seven-carat diamond he had
given her, over his, distracted for a moment by their love. Only for a moment. “When
did the billboard say her show— The Cinderella Hour? —was debuting? Monday
night? You know people at WCHM, Blaine. You’ve donated so much time appearing
on their shows. You could tell them what a monumental mistake they’re making.
Having Snow on their airwaves is beneaththe integrity in broadcasting
they stand for. And the show itself . . . what is it, anyway? The radio
equivalent of Joe Millionaire? Call-in Cinderella hopefuls vying for
some ersatz Prince Charming? How tacky can they get?”
    “I don’t think it’s that kind of show. In fact, if I’m not
mistaken, I’ve agreed to be a guest on The Cinderella Hour Tuesday
night.”
    “What?”
    “The request came in yesterday afternoon. Louise took a
detailed message and called back with my reply. The show’s host was in transit
from Atlanta, but the producer wanted to line up a segment on postpartum
depression as soon as it could be arranged. The host—Snow—apparently has
complete editorial control. She was scheduled to be in town over a week ago,
but was delayed because of a crisis due to postpartum depression in someone she
knew. In the interest of being helpful—and, I imagine, in giving her a rousing
welcome to Chicago—the folks at WCHM booked her first week for her, a who’s who
of high-profile, feel-good guests. She threw them a loop by wanting to insert a
topic as serious, and potentially off-putting, as postpartum depression.
Frankly, I think that takes courage on her part.”
    “ The Cinderella Hour is a talk show?”
    “I’m afraid so. And, more bad news, it’s a highly respected
one. The format’s the same as many drive-time shows, with topics ranging from
sports to psychosis depending on what the producers—or, in this instance, the
host—decides. As I already mentioned, your friend calls all the shots.”
    “She is not my friend.”
    “That’s coming through loud and clear. What’s not so clear is
why.”
    “I told you.”
    “Not really. Not in a way that makes sense.”
    “I don’t want to talk about it. And, Blaine, I would like you
to get out of being on her show.”
    “Much as I love you, Vivian, that’s something I won’t do
without a compelling reason. Your simply not wanting me to isn’t enough. Any
opportunity I get to enlighten the public about a