Gayle King (finally) gets her due
LOOK UPON GAYLE KING, YE MERE MORTALS, AND weep. Unless you set your alarm for 3:22 a.m., have two full-time jobs, got your biggest break at 56, are the dream interviewer of most living authors and once received a $1.2 million check from your best friend, you are not keeping up. Do you buy your co-workers lottery tickets when the jackpot gets above $300 million? Slacker. Somewhere in the world is someone prepared to say something even a tiny bit unflattering about you? Thought so. King has you beat. King has us all beat.
This was not supposed to happen. King, 64, had carved a very comfortable groove in the public consciousness as Oprah’s best friend. She was the plus-one, the sidekick, the friendly wingwoman you bring along to the party because everybody likes having her around and she doesn’t threaten anyone. She was Robin to Oprah’s Batman, Keith to Oprah’s Mick, Samwise to Oprah’s Frodo. She was not offered the
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