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Angela@SmoothOperators.com

January 6, 5:30 a.m.

Heading out for my 7:00 a.m. interview on Daybreak Chicago. Hope you all remember to tune in. I’m a bit nervous, but excited at the same time. Call in with questions! I’ll post more later.

ANGELA WEATHERBY GLANCED up at her image in the video monitors, squinting into the bright television lights that illuminated the studio. She looked worried. Quickly, she pasted a cheery smile on her face.

The chance to make an appearance on Daybreak Chicago had seemed like a good idea when it had first been offered. But now, faced with the prospect of airing her dirty romantic laundry, Angie wasn’t so sure.

With her Web site, SmoothOperators.com, she could be anonymous, just another jilted lover with a score to settle. But on morning television, for all of Chicago to see, she might come off looking like a first-class bitch, out for revenge.

She glanced over at Celia Peralto, her Web master and best friend, who stood next to one of the cameramen. Ceci grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

A sound technician approached her from behind and clipped a microphone to her collar. “Just tuck the wire under your hair,” he advised, “and set the pack on the chair next to you.” With trembling fingers, Angie did as she was told.

“Thirty seconds,” the producer called.

“Just relax,” the host said as she took her place in the opposite chair. “This isn’t the Spanish Inquisition. Just a fun segment on single life in Chicago. And it’s great publicity for your Web site—and for the book you’re planning to write.”

The book. Her publisher was expecting the manuscript in three months and though she had gathered all sorts of anecdotal research from her Web site, the book still had to be written.

“Good morning, Chicago! I’m Kelly Caulfield and I’m here with our next guest. About two years ago, Angela Weatherby founded a Web site called SmoothOperators.com and it has become a national sensation. What began as a way for single girls in Chicago to network over their dating horror stories has evolved into something akin to the FBI’s most-wanted list for naughty men.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Angela said. “These men aren’t criminals.”

“I suspect some Chicago bachelorettes would disagree. Through the Web site, women are helping each other avoid those men who make dating miserable for all of us. And the trend is spreading—the site adds new cities every week. So, tell us, Angela, what gave you the idea for your Web site?”

Angie shifted in her chair, then drew a deep breath. If she just focused on answering the questions, her nerves would eventually calm. “After a series of not-sonice boyfriends, I felt there had to be a way for me to avoid guys who weren’t interested in an honest and committed relationship. I started blogging about it and before long I had over a thousand subscribers. They added their stories and my friend and Web master, Celia Peralto, put their comments into a database. Now, you can check out your date before you even step out the front door. As of last night, we have files on almost fifty thousand smooth operators in cities all over the country.”

“Don’t you think this is unfair to the men out there? An ex-girlfriend might not be the most objective person to provide commentary.”

“You’d check out the plumber you wanted to hire or the doctor you planned to visit, right? We offer information and leave it to our visitors to decide the truth in what they read. And I think we’re doing a service. We’ve even unmasked a number of cheating husbands.”

Kelly leaned forward in her chair. “Well, I looked up my cohost, Danny Devlin, and he wasn’t very well reviewed on your site. Your rating system goes from one to five broken hearts, with five being the worst. And he’s rated a four. Care to comment?”

Angela opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. A glib answer here might turn the interview in a different direction. “Mr. Devlin is always welcome to defend himself. We’re open to differing opinions. We just require that the discourse be civilized.”

Kelly flipped to her next note card. “Well, that leads us to the book you’re writing. Tell us about that.”

Angela drew a deep breath and focused her thoughts. She’d practiced her pitch more than once in the mirror at home. “I hope the book will be a guide to the different species of smooth operators out there. Most of these men fall into one of ten or twelve categories. If women can learn to spot them quickly, maybe they’ll save themselves a bit of heartbreak.”

“And what professional credentials do you bring to the table?” Kelly asked.

“I have an undergraduate degree in psychology, a masters in journalism and experience as a freelance writer. And I’ve dated a lot of very smooth operators myself,” Angie replied, allowing herself a smile. “I’m curious as to why they behave the way they do, as are most women.”

“Let’s take a few questions from callers,” Kelly said. For the next three minutes, Angie jousted with a belligerent bachelor, commiserated with two women who’d just been dumped and fended off the evil glares of Danny Devlin, who had wandered back onto the set. When the six-minute segment was finally over, she sat back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief.

“You were wonderful!” Kelly exclaimed, hopping out of her chair. “We’ll have to have you back again.”

“The switchboard went crazy,” the producer said as she walked onto the set. “The most calls we’ve ever had in this time slot. Let’s book another interview for next month. Maybe we can do a longer feature segment when the book comes out.”

Angie stood up and unclipped the microphone. “That would be lovely,” she murmured as she handed it to the sound technician. “Thank you. Is there anything else I need to do?”

“Get that book written,” Kelly said. “And personally, I think Danny Devlin deserves five broken hearts. He dumped me by e-mail.”

Angie crossed the studio to Ceci, then grabbed her arm and pulled her along toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, tugging her coat on. “Before Danny Devlin corners me and demands that I take his profile off the site.”

The early morning air was frigid and the pavement slippery as they walked through the parking lot. When they reached the relative safety of Ceci’s car, Angie sat back in the seat and drew a long, deep breath. It clouded in front of her face as she slowly released it. “So, how was I? Tell me the truth. Did I come across as angry or bitter?”

“No, not at all,” Ceci said. “You were funny. And sweet. And just a little vulnerable, which was good. You were likeable.”

“I didn’t seem judgmental? I want people to look at the Web site as a practical dating tool. Not some organization promoting hatred of the opposite sex.” She glanced over at Ceci. “I really do like men. I just don’t like how they treat women sometimes.”

Ceci smiled as she started the car. “Sweetie, if we didn’t like men so much, we wouldn’t waste our energy trying to fix them. Someone has to hold these guys accountable.”

“Did you get through to Alex Stamos?” Angela asked, turning her attention to the next bit of research for her book. “He’s been ducking my calls for a week now.”

“I got his assistant. She says he’s out of town for the next few days on business, but he’ll be sure to get back to me when he returns. She also mentioned that she had a few stories of her own about the guy.”

“You made it clear that this interview would be anonymous, didn’t you?” Angie asked.

“I said that you wanted to give him a chance to set the record straight,” Ceci said. “But I think getting an in-depth profile of each of these types might be kind of tricky. Especially once they’ve seen the site.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t do the interviews and go with my original plan.”

“Absolutely not,” Celia cried. “I think having a conversation with each of these types makes them real. Just move on to the next guy on your list and catch up with Stamos later.”

Angie had been working as a freelance writer ever since she got out of college. It had been a hit-and-miss career and there were times when she barely had enough to pay the rent. The blog had just been a way to exercise her writing muscles every day, but once it took off, she was able to attract advertisers and make a reasonably constant paycheck from the Web site.

She sighed. Her parents, both college professors, had wanted her to become a psychologist, but when she finished her undergrad studies at Northwestern, she’d decided to rebel and try journalism.

This book would give her instant credibility as a journalist—and it might appease her parents as well as open a lot of doors. The advance alone was nearly gone, lost to car repairs and computer upgrades. Right now, every Tom, Dick and Mary was a blogger. But not many people could say they were a real author.

“You’re right,” she said. “I can work on Charlie Templeton. Or Max Morgan.” But would they be willing to talk? She’d have to readjust her strategy. If the men weren’t going to be identified in the book, then maybe a bit of subterfuge to get their stories wouldn’t be entirely out of line.