Fame Read Free Page B

to be other pictures of him; there always were. A few pages in he saw a short article in the section titled “Police Blotter.” The small heading read “Is Dayne Matthews Being Stalked by a Woman?
    Police Find More Clues.”
    Dayne rolled his eyes. Often there was a nugget of truth to the articles in the gossip magazines. Police had notified him three times in the past month about a stalker, someone who was mailing strange letters to the police department threatening violence against Dayne Matthews.
    So far Dayne hadn’t seen any sign of a stalker. The matter wasn’t something he thought about for more than a few minutes when he was talking to the police. But leave it to the rags to have the latest scoop. He read the article, looking for anything truthful.
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    Police say they’ve received another letter from the person writing threatening letters about Hollywood heart throb Dayne Matthews. This time handwriting specialists say the letter is from a woman.
    One source close to the story said he was fairly certain the person writing the letters was a deranged fan, someone intent on harming Matthews. “She could be a phov, someone looking for attention, but still,” the source said, “we can’t be too careful.”
    Exact details of the letters’ were not available, but a source told our reporter that the person writing the letters is demanding a day with Dayne Matthews or his death.
    Police will keep us posted on the story.
    Dayne blinked and a chill ran down his arms—more because of the breeze off the Pacific than any fear the article might’ve stirred up. A day with him or his death? Were people really that crazy? He scanned the story again and dismissed it. Anytime information came from the ever-popular and oft-quoted “source,”
    Dayne and his friends knew to ignore it.
    Real truth came from real people—not imaginary sources. He turned the page, looking for additional stories. This was his ritual, his way of staying in touch with the audience and its view of him. Whether the stories were true or not didn’t matter. If they were in print, he wanted to know about them, He kept flipping. Near the front was a section titled “Regular People.” Sure enough.
    There he was coming out of Starbucks with his double espresso. The caption read “Dayne Matthews loads up at his favorite haunt.”
    Ten pages later was a photo of him and J-Tee Ramiro, a hot Cuban singer he’d dated a month ago. Okay, maybe they never went on an actual date. But they spent the better part of a week together, and the paparazzi hadn’t missed a moment.
    The shot was of the two of them sharing a salad at a small care near Zuma Beach.
    The point of the story was that J-Tee was seeing someone 9
    new and that she had better rebound abilities than half the guys on the CA Lakers.
    Dayne thumbed through the rest of the magazine. For the most part the thing was made up of pictures. It was why the photographers followed him, why they followed anyone with celebrity status. Whatever the rags paid the paparazzi, it was enough to keep them coming back for more.
    And some of the pictures were ridiculous.
    A section near the middle of the magazine showed half a dozen actresses and the undersides of their arms. “Who’s Flabby and Who’s Not?” the banner headline shouted. The photos were close-ups of actresses caught pointing or raising their arms in a way that showed less-than-perfect triceps muscles.
    Dayne rolled his eyes and turned the page. In the past few years the rags had gotten even uglier. One of his friends—an A-list actress named Kelly Parker—was definitely feeling the effects of the pressure. She used to go out dancing or shopping with friends. Now she rarely left her house, and the last time he talked to her the spark was missing from her voice.
    He flipped another ten pages, and something at the bottom of one of the layouts caught his eye. A breeze off the ocean rustled the pages as Dayne squinted. It was a small article with two