Fifteen Minutes

wonderful. On the way she checked her look in the mirror. She resisted the urge to frown. Travel aged her. She hated that. She pressed lightly at the top of her cheekbones. More Botox, sooner than later. More yoga. She looked herself up and down. At least her body looked young—mid-twenties for sure—thanks to the two training sessions every day, even on the road.

She stared at her image a little longer. Every week someone younger came onto the scene. A twenty-two- year-old Oscar winner, a fifteen-year-old American Idol winner. Some blond singer- songwriter who would take the nation by storm and win a roomful of Grammys before she was twenty.

Meanwhile, every day Kelly Morgan grew older, another day away from her prime. Relentless, ruthless age. Her opponent in the battle to stay at the top. She breathed in deep again. Amber and sage. The candles she’d chosen for her Manhattan home. The smell of peace. If things went well with Fifteen Minutes, she might be asked back. In that case, she and Michael might buy this place. They’d talked about it. The scent would stay.

Peace in the midst of the crazy city.

She poured herself a glass of cabernet and dropped to her spot in front of the kitchen computer. The screen was the size of most televisions, Apple’s biggest and best. Before turning it on, she tapped a button on the nearest wall. Instantly Michael’s music sang to her from a dozen hidden speakers in the kitchen. Another deep breath. There. That was better. She checked the time and her heart fell. After eleven at night in New York meant five in the morning in South Africa. Michael partied hard after a show, staying awake into the wee hours of the morning. But even he would be asleep now.

She thought for a moment. She would text him. Just in case he was up.

Home sweet home. Finished shooting Leno this morning and flew straight back to New York. Miss you, baby. You awake?

Without waiting for a response, she set down her phone and brought the computer to life. Another e-mail from her father. Two from Rudy Smith, probably about Cal and his refusal to sign the papers. Another few from the Fifteen Minutes production team. She would read them later. First she wanted to see how the media was handling the recent L.A. interviews, specifically how they were playing up her part in the show. Her fingers moved over the keyboard and she called up yahoo.com. Sure enough—the launch of this season’s Fifteen Minutes was the top story. The headline was favorable. “Kelly Morgan, Chandra Olson Set to Spice Up Fifteen Minutes.”

Kelly smiled. But before she opened the story, the one next to it caught her attention. A piece about Michael Manning. Her smile died. At first the words didn’t make sense, didn’t connect. They shouted at her and made her head spin, made her dizzy and breathless. Seconds passed before she could get the slightest grip on her panic, enough so she could read the story.

No, she told herself. No! This isn’t happening. It couldn’t be! He would’ve told me if . . .

Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest and she struggled to grab a full breath. Open the story. You have to open the story. The headline over the full-page piece was the same as the teaser. “Michael Manning Hooks Up with South African Star.” In case there was any doubt, the photo showed her boyfriend in two separate moments with a stunning blonde. In the first, they were walking down a busy street, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. The second, they were in what looked like a dark-lit nightclub, locked in a passionate kiss.

Kelly could feel her stomach twisting, the nausea grabbing at her, suffocating her. This couldn’t be happening. They had promised each other. If they felt the need to move on, they’d say so. He wouldn’t have an affair without breaking things off with her first. That was his promise.

She stood and paced across the kitchen and then back. Her eyes found the headline again and for the first time she saw the second, smaller headline. “Fifteen Minutes Judge Kelly Morgan Jilted for Younger Woman.” Anger ripped through her veins making her head hurt. How could he? On the very week the Fifteen Minutes season debuted? Michael knew how important the show was, and how hyper-sensitive the media would be to any story dealing with Kelly Morgan.

She took her seat and despite the panic and pain welling up inside her, despite her racing heart, she read the story. The facts jumped out at her in jarring detail. Michael Manning planned to spend a few extra days in South Africa with his latest love—Saphira Sanders. At just nineteen, Saphira was that country’s hottest pop star. Manning had been in town for a series of concerts, and he and Saphira had been inseparable. On and on it went. The last paragraph etched itself in Kelly’s heart.

“Manning has previously been linked to a number of high-profile celebrities, including most recently this season’s Fifteen Minutes judge Kelly Morgan, a decade his senior. Good thing Kelly has the hit show. Otherwise she’d have a lot of time on her hands to handle her heartache. Then again, Kelly shouldn’t be surprised. Michael Manning has a track record, after all.”

Shouldn’t be surprised? Kelly felt sicker than before, her heart racing ahead of her. She ran to the nearest bathroom and dropped to her knees at the toilet’s edge. She couldn’t believe a word of it. He wouldn’t do this to her, not publicly. Her dinner sat perilously close to the back of her throat and she held her hair in one hand. Michael was her muse, her love, her life. The one she planned to share her future with. But if the article was flawed, the photos were not. The evidence was there for all the world to see.

Michael Manning had moved on.

Tears streamed down her face. How had this happened? Hadn’t she been enough for him? He had chosen a girl almost two decades younger—a princess in the one area where Kelly could no longer compete.

Age.

Kelly’s body convulsed at the reality, emptying her stomach and heart, her mind and soul of all things Michael. When it was over, when she had nothing left inside her, she struggled to her feet and with shaking hands she gripped the sink. For a long time she stared at herself.

She hated this, hated the feeling of her broken heart. Hated being alone. She breathed in, filling her body with the strength to survive another minute. At least that long, while she tried to think of what to do next. Maybe she didn’t need Michael. She was Kelly Morgan, star for two decades running. An American icon. But what about tomorrow? What about the photos of her boyfriend and his new love? The press would be unbearable. People would ask her about the broken relationship, and then what? She stared at herself awhile longer grasping for control, any control.

An idea began to take root. She could tell them the truth of her choosing. Not that she was jilted, definitely not. She thought another minute. Michael was a diversion, a hobby, that’s what she could say. The two of them were never really in a formal relationship. The possibility grew. She would tell the press the split had been mutual. Yes, that was it. She blinked, letting this version of the truth sink in. Mutual. Maybe that would stop the press.

Even if it didn’t stop her heart from breaking.

Kelly rinsed her mouth and dried the tears and water from her face. She would survive. Michael Manning wouldn’t dictate how the public viewed her or how her life was defined. He wouldn’t turn her into a victim. She was strong. Like every other hard time in her life, she would get through this.

Her feet moved slowly, her new reality taking shape around her as she made her way to the kitchen. She no longer wanted the wine. From the distance of the kitchen bar she stared at the computer screen, the image of Michael and Saphira remained, shouting at her. Confirming the truth. Whatever she’d had with the singer, it was over.

Anger added to her barrage of emotions. She hurried to the computer, sat down, and closed Safari. The screen saver was a stunning shot of New York City, one she’d snapped from the Top of the Rock. The observatory on the sixty-ninth floor of Rockefeller Center. She’d been on a date with Michael. She stared at the view and remembered the possibilities she’d felt that day.

With a few quick clicks she changed the photo. Something from a beach trip she’d taken with a few of her girlfriends two years ago. Blue skies, pale green waters and white sandy beaches. There. She leaned back and looked at the image. That was better. She exhaled. What did her counselor’s tapes tell her? With every out-breath a negative thought left her body. Yes, that was it. She could picture them leaving her heart and mind and soul.

Breathe, Kelly. Breathe out. Kelly exhaled and pictured Michael Manning leaving her. After four breaths her heart still hurt. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She should sleep.