“I don’t know what the big deal is and why she thinks she has to fake it,” I said. “Everyone in Hollywood is gay. C’mon, there’s Rosie and Ellen on TV every day . . . and nobody really cared when those girls used to make out on The O.C. every week.”

Lauren agreed. “She’s pretty powerful in Hollywood, so I think it’s even stranger that she feels like she has to keep putting up this whole facade so no one finds out her not-so-secret secret.”

Cheryl was universally reviled in the offices of MoreTV. Soon after she joined the company, she proclaimed that the parking in the building was costing the network too much and that everyone would have to park off-site and be shuttled in. Who ever heard of such a thing? The 2,000 employees had to comply—and they all passed her Porsche, which remained in its reserved spot in front of the elevators.

Ms. Fox also thought the company was spending too much money on paper cups and sent out an e-mail advising employees that if they wanted to drink beverages at work, they’d better bring in their own cup from home, and if they were expecting guests for a meeting, they’d have to bring in extras for them.

She’d be mortified if she had any idea her current assistant had scrawled an obscene message on the underside of her desk, smiling to herself every day knowing Cheryl’s knees rested unknowing just a few inches below.

“She keeps e-mailing me to go out to sushi with her,” Lauren said.

“Are you kidding me? What are you going to do?”

“Well, luckily, I’m out of town a lot in the next few weeks, so I can keep putting it off, but at some point we’re going to have to have sushi together.”

“Well, order the spicy tuna at your own risk.”

“You are so gross.” She giggled.

“I write about dead people all day. What do you expect?”

“So how are you doing after the whole photo thing?” she asked. I had already filled Lauren in on the picture of Chloe’s breast.

“I’m okay,” I assured her, swirling my wine. “Hey, it’s not like I didn’t know they were together, ya know? It just shows what a conniving wench she is.”

“What did you do with the picture?”

“I ripped it into a million little pieces and tossed it.” I smiled.

“Well, I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you obsessing any more over it, and who knows, it could have been a mistake. Maybe it was from someone else, and meant for someone else who works at the show.”

I gave Lauren the hand. “Lauren, stop. Can’t we just accept that it was a photo Dave took of Chloe’s breast? He obviously gave her the picture, and she sent it to me to mess with my head.”