Free Talk of the Town by Sherrill Bodine Page A

endorphins.
    She ate ten pieces of Leonidas’ fabulous chocolates, even the raspberry ones she didn’t like, while she watched the hot love scenes between Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo
.
She loved this movie because Pierce had an age-appropriate leading lady. And she looked damn good.
    The goal of still looking fabulous in her forties usually kept her from late-night snacking. Lately, she had
no
willpower. She yanked open the refrigerator looking for her stash of bleu cheese and grapes to fill the gaping stress ache in her stomach.
    She knew she shouldn’t do yoga on a full stomach but pulled out old tapes anyway.
    I’ll think happy, positive thoughts.
    The dead man’s pose always put her right to sleep. But tonight her mind raced with horrible humiliating scenarios. Shannon and a faceless David Sumner were evil puppeteers, pulling her strings, making her dance around in a bra and thong.
    It must have been something I ate.
    She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. Four a.m. Only an hour and a half until the first edition hot off the press landed in the lobby—and she would be there.
    CHICAGO DAILY MAIL WEDNESDAY FOOD
    BAJA CHICKEN
    8 boned chicken breasts
    Salt and pepper to taste
    1½ cloves garlic crushed
    4 tablespoons olive oil
    4 tablespoons tarragon vinegar
    1 cup dry sherry
    Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper. Crush garlic into oil and vinegar in a skillet. Sauté chicken pieces until golden brown, turning frequently. Remove. Place in a baking dish. Pour sherry over pieces and place in 350-degree oven for 10 minutes.
    A Note from Rebecca Covington
    Darlings, please don’t ever experiment with these skinless, boneless chicken breasts like a certain embarrassed divorcée chose to do. For a totally organic push-up bra, she shoved chicken breasts in her low-cut formal gown and went off to a black tie at one of our most posh hotels. After three drinks, she was dancing so gleefully one chicken breast popped out and tumbled onto the dance floor.
    A woman slipped on it and fell, and her escort picked up the meat and screamed. He thought she’d lost a body part.
    Enjoy!
    Xo Rebecca

Chapter 8
    O n Wednesday at five twenty-nine a.m., Rebecca pushed through the
Daily Mail
doors. She stopped, stunned by dread. Pauline and Kate were at the reception desk, reading today’s edition.
    Pauline lifted her head, her face so pale her freckles stood out across her nose and cheeks. “Oh, Rebecca, I’m so sorry.”
    Kate squared her shoulders. “Yesterday Pauline told me you were concerned about Shannon’s column. We agreed to meet here to get the earliest edition.” She held out the paper.
    Rebecca forced herself to take it. The bright lights in the lobby provided enough illumination so she didn’t require glasses to peer down at Shannon’s two-page spread plus pictures.
    Right below Shannon’s smiling picture and her byline, “Shannon Shares with Her Friends,” Rebecca’s name jumped off the page in bold letters.
    Everyone in town (yours truly included) constantly raves about how fabulous Rebecca Covington looks for 39. Well, get ready to heap on even more accolades! Our Rebecca actually turns 45 next month! We all agree she looks closer to 35, which is why she can still date all those 30-something hunks. I’m sure all those undergrads will make her the belle of the ball at the Indiana University alumni gathering where she will be honored. Remember, Rebecca, those hunks you chase after better be over eighteen or they’re jailbait!
    Rebecca couldn’t move. Couldn’t lift her eyes off the paper. Only her fierce pride kept her standing. It wasn’t her true age being exposed that caused her entire body to cramp up in a ball. It was the ugly dig about younger men. It slashed at old scars from Peter dumping her for a nineteen-year-old. All the old weakness and vulnerability came rushing back. She’d never forgotten the horrible desperation that drove her to date young guys so she could say to Peter, “See,