Hello, Sunshine

“I lost my phone.”

“You lost your phone? Of all days!”

I looked around at the chaos, the production assistants moving at double speed. “Why is everyone packing up?”

Violet’s eyes went wide. “Do you not know?”

“Clearly not.”

“Guys, we are going to need the studio for ten. If you would get the fuck out, thank you . . .” She motioned for the production assistants to go. “But don’t go far. There’s a lot to do!”

Everyone shuffled out, leaving the two of us alone.

Then Violet motioned for me to have a seat. “A Little Sunshine’s cooked,” she said.

I looked at her, stunned. “What?”

“Evelyn emailed with a spreadsheet of all the advertisers who have pulled their ads, or who are threatening to pull, or are threatening to sue,” Violet said. “No one wants to be in the A Little Sunshine business. And the studio wants us out of here by the end of business today. They sent . . . like . . . an official legal email saying you had rented the studio space under false pretenses and they demanded we vacate by the end of the business day.”

Violet, who looked seriously afraid I might throw something, turned away and continued the work of loading files into boxes, of packing up the studio.

I took a breath and focused. Of course advertisers were going to balk. I just had to prove that the fans were loyal to me over any of these rumors. I just needed to stop the hemorrhaging. I would draft a carefully worded email, supportive notes from my fans attached. As long as the fans stayed loyal, I’d have the money folks back in no time.

“And how’s the fan base hanging in?” I said.

“About eight hundred thousand on Twitter.”

“I lost eight hundred thousand followers?”

“No, you have eight hundred thousand followers left. You lost 1.9 million.”

“I can do the math!”

“Do you wanna do it for Facebook, too?”

A nightmare, this was turning into a nightmare. And why would the studio also sting me? It didn’t make any sense unless there was another reason. A business reason. A way to turn my loss into their gain. Or someone who had figured out how to.

Ryan. The hit from the studio had Ryan written all

over it. He had convinced them to kick me out. He had given them a compelling reason. But what was it, exactly?

“Get Ryan on the phone,” I said.

Violet stared up at me, again a deer in headlights. “I will, but I think you should know first that Ryan and Meredith just issued a joint press release,” she murmured.

“Proclaiming my guilt?”

“No, announcing that they are doing their own show.”

And there it was. My loss, their gain.

Violet opened the phone and held out the press release, so I could see for myself. “Putting the Pieces Together,” she said. “A tale of divorce and dessert.”

“A show about their divorce?”

“Divorce. And reconciliation,” Violet said. “They did a flash poll, and it seems that people want them to work it out, despite his affair. With you.”

“It was hardly an affair.”