Philadelphia Magazine plastered me on their cover for an article on the city's Top Ten Female Movers and Shakers. There I stood, looking dazed, as I wondered why they hadn't put the new mayor on the cover. Sean said she wasn't as photogenic as me but, I don't know, I thought she looked pretty good for a sixty-year-old.
A week after the article hit the newsstands, I caught a piece in the City Paper on Marianne, or 'Madame M' as she called herself now. It seemed she'd set herself up as a dom-cum-sex therapist and quickly scaled the heights of the local S-and-M-for-hire community. She informed the reporter that she had a number of international clients as well. "The Japanese find bondage very therapeutic,’ she confided.
Trust Marianne to land on her feet. I was glad her current victims considered the abuse she doled out a privilege. I even felt, strange as it sounds, an urge to call and congratulate her on her career move. I quashed it, but it told me I was over my bitterness.
And then there was Joe.
For a while we heard nothing and I told myself: well, he's a struggling actor, we're not likely to hear. If he's lucky, he's off-off Broadway and waiting at tables, and so much for Desmond Gerrard's high-powered agent friend.
Then I saw him in a sweets commercial. He played one rowdy teenager in a crowd of rowdy teenagers. He looked skinny, but it was definitely him. He even had a line. 'Tastee-licious,' he said with a heart-stopping grin. The ad ran every five minutes, it seemed, and my pulse jumped every time.
"They have to pay him residuals whenever they run it.' Sean nodded sagely. 'So we know he's not starving.'
We also know he's in touch with you, I thought, giving him a sideways glance. Words like 'residuals' weren't part of Sean's normal vocabulary.
I assumed Joe had sworn him to silence. While I admired Sean's loyalty, I resented it, too. After all this time, I could have been trusted with a lousy postcard. I wasn't going to stalk Joe, for goodness sake. Our relationship was fun while it had lasted but now it was over - end of story. What I felt was the concern any woman would feel for a former lover, no more and no less. If no one else made the stars shake in my firmament the way Joe had, that was only because lady tycoons didn't have much time for dating, or sex, except with Sean - and Sean didn't want to shake my stars.
The sweets commercial, apparently, was just the start of Joe's brilliant career. Over the next month, we watched him hawk soft drinks, gardening implements, and a call screening service for the local phone company.
Then he got the Big Break, a juicy part in a torrid night-time soap. Manhattan Nights, they called it. Before the show even was aired he popped up on Good Morning America and Entertainment Tonight - the newest, hottest, flavour of the month. The tabloids had him engaged to three different actresses in a week.
Sean found the latest scandal sheet stuffed in the bin beneath my kitchen sink. 'You'd be an idiot to believe that crap,' he said.
I agreed, but crumpling the paper into a ball made me feel better.
We watched the first episode together. Neither of us cooked if we could help it, so Sean brought a goody hamper from his mother. It held roast chicken, mashed potatoes and a tiny green salad - which Sean ignored. Mrs Halloran had let it be known she considered me prime daughter-in-law material. Sean insisted she was barking up the wrong tree, but mothers will hope.
Eating her chicken seemed dishonest, under the circumstances, but it smelled too good to resist. Besides, I needed sustenance to face Joe's national debut.
I sat up as the opening credits rolled. Joe appeared first thing, striding down a bustling New York street
in a natty double-breasted suit. He'd gained back the weight he'd lost before the sweets commercial. His walk radiated health and strength and single-minded purpose.
'Wow,'I said.
'Yeah,' said Sean. 'He looks good.'
He acted well, too.
Joe played a chameleon-like stockbroker, the black sheep businessman in a family of cops. He was courting the daughter of a wealthy magazine publisher - the second patriarch of the saga. Between the script and Joe's natural acting ability, deciding whether his character was good or bad was impossible. Without a doubt he was dangerous, not to mention sexy.
Sean hooted as the camera panned lovingly over Joe taking a phone call in the shower. 'Do you think they could make him spend any more time with his shirt off?'
I noticed he didn't look away. Of course, neither did I.
"This is going to be a big hit,’ I predicted, impressed with the look of the show, with the quality of the actors and the chemistry between them.
Sean leant back against my knees and pointed his fork at the screen. 'Big with a capital "B".'
He sounded happier about Joe's prospects than I did. I guess he was the bigger man. But it was hard to be big when you'd been dropped like a stone for doing what you knew was right.
'He'll come round,' Sean assured me, reading my frown. 'People don't forget someone they're so crazy about.'