Money Shot Read Free

hundred, but
those are the greatest hits. I would think the Hollywood Grapevine
would love to have one for its cover. And I believe your deadline
is tomorrow, am I right?"
    Nigel shook his head.
"Roxanne, you are, without a doubt, the smartest paparazzi I've
ever known."
    "Hey, I'm from Jersey. I
know how things work."
    "I will have to get back
to you for something of this magnitude."
    "I thought you might.
You've got my number. And I'll be here for about the next half
hour. Sure you don't want any stuffed French toast?"
    Nigel rolled his eyes.
"I'll be in touch shortly," he said.
    He got up and started to
leave. She grabbed him by the arm. "Oh, Nigel?"
    "Yes dear?"
    "When you come up with a
number, keep this in mind. I would love to work whenever I feel
like it."
    ***
    "Oh my God!"
    Desmona heard the panic in
Nicole's voice. She wrapped her thick red bathrobe around her waist
and headed downstairs. She saw Nicole in the foyer, sitting on the
black marble floor, legs sticking straight out.
    She was holding a
supermarket tabloid.
    And staring into
space.
    "Nicole?"
    Nicole said
nothing.
    "What is it?" She reached
the bottom of the stairs and quickly moved toward Nicole.
"What?"
    Nicole handed her the
tabloid, upside down. Desmona flipped it over and the headline on
the Hollywood Grapevine slugged her in the soul.
    America's sweetheart out of the closet!
    EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS PAGE 2-6
    The picture on the front
page screamed at her.
    You're out!
    She bit her lip and peeled
open the tabloid, wondering if anything would be worse than the
cover shot.
    Ten seconds later she
dropped the tabloid. It fluttered to the floor, pages separating,
landing as a photo album that taunted them both. Desmona wrapped
her arms around her waist and looked up at the ceiling. "How did
this happen?"
    "Does it matter?" said
Nicole.
    "What do we do?" asked
Desmona.
    Nicole looked up at her.
"We're out, Des. Can't unring that bell."
    "There are always
options."
    "Not this time. Jesus,
Des, look at the cover. You're practically giving me a
tonsillectomy." Nicole shook her head. "No, Des, we're gonna have
to live with this one. Your drinking problem is one thing, but
this… the studio…"
    Neither woman said
anything for two minutes. Desmona looked at the floor.
    The pictures looked back
at her.
    Taunting her.
    Desmona's anger welled up,
the years of denial for the benefit of seven-year-old children
rushing forth and fueling it like never before. She started
breathing harder, giving oxygen to the raging monster brewing
inside her.
    "Get up,
Nicole."
    "Just leave me
alone."
    "We have work to do. Now
get up and help me save us both."
    ***
    Two weeks later the
Vulture was dead. Or at least on vacation.
    Roxanne Rizzo yawned as
the hazelnut crème softly gurgled in her coffee machine. The house
was small, a two bedroom Spanish style stucco, but it was gorgeous,
new, and all she needed. It offered a spectacular view of the
Pacific ocean.
    Her new bank account
offered her a lot more.
    Freedom.
    She could dine on
Hollywood carrion when it suited her.
    She'd even said goodbye to
an old friend, almost feeling sad as she crumbled up the cereal box
and looked at the face of the Count for the last time.
    Almost.
    The coffee machine hissed
like a cat, telling her the java was ready.
    She poured a cup into a
giant brown ceramic mug. It was winter and the air was crisp, so
she decided to drink her coffee on the patio that sat on the side
of her new home.
    She walked toward the
door, slid it open and walked into the sunlight. It blinded her for
the moment, but the familiar sounds she heard were crystal
clear.
    Cameras.
    Dozens of them. Firing
away.
    Her vision adjusted to the
light and her eyes grew wide as the 'razzi descended.
    On her.
    What the hell?
    A television photog
brought his lens within a foot of her face. "Why did you destroy
Desmona Jackson, Roxanne? What's your agenda?"
    "How did you create those
photos?"
    "Does the Grapevine want
its money back? How much did you