by Kylie Adams
“Jesus Christ! You crazy bitch!”
Sutton, still fuming and not even a little bit sorry for the random act of violence, glared daggers at him. The fucker was only bleeding. For hurling those words, she wanted him dead.
Scooter winced in pain. He touched the wound, then checked his fingertips, which were now dripping blood, too. “Shit!” He looked at her with a mixture of confusion and fear. “What the fuck?”
“Lesson number one, asshole. Never toss out shots about a lady’s age.”
“It was a joke!”
“But not funny. Obviously.”
Scooter shook his head, as if shell-shocked. “Yeah, obviously.”
Sutton felt a fleeting moment of regret. It passed. And then just as quickly, it returned. She sighed. “Do you need medical attention?”
Scooter reached down on the floor for his crumpled underwear,then used it to blot dry the injury. “I’ll be all right. I don’t have insurance anyway.”
“Of course not.” She draped a blanket around her like a bath towel and crawled out of bed to inspect the damage herself. It was a nasty gash. Stitches would make it pretty again. Forgoing them would make him look Steve McQueen tough. “You’ll live.”
Scooter rolled his eyes. “Look, everybody, it’s Florence Nightingale.”
She cracked a smile. “A historical reference that predates Britney Spears? I’m impressed.”
Scooter managed a crooked smile. “I didn’t really mean what I said. I was just talking shit. I had fun last night. This morning, too.You’re a great fuck.”
Sutton kissed him full on the lips. “Now that’s what a woman likes to hear.”
“See, I’m not so dumb.”
She took another glance at the wound and began to worry. “You probably need to get that checked.”
Scooter strutted into the bathroom to see for himself. He returned with a diffident shrug. “I’ll be fine. It’s not worth half a day waiting in the emergency room.”
Suddenly, Sutton felt an inexplicable urge to baby him. “Are you sure? It’s really an ugly cut.”
“I’m tough. I watched as they stuck a needle through my dick. And I never flinched once.”
Sutton took possession of the bloody underwear in his hand and gently wiped the wound. Now that the bleeding had stopped, it looked less severe.
“What happened here exactly?” Scooter asked. “I’ve heard of road rage. Was that ... I don’t know ... age rage?”
“Something like that.” With exaggerated shame, Sutton bit down on her lower lip. But then she narrowed her eyes. “It was a really mean thing to say, though. You’re lucky I don’t keep a gun in the nightstand drawer.”
“Yeah, lucky me,” Scooter deadpanned.
“Even so, I want to do something to make it up to you.”
He shook his head. “Forget about it.”
“No, I insist.” An idea came to mind. “We could go shopping.”
Scooter’s eyebrows shot up. “For a mattress?”
“For something that fits inside a gift bag,” Sutton countered.
Scooter thought about it. “My roommate gave away my Xbox to score some drugs.”
Sutton nodded. “Okay. Buying you a shirt sounds sexier, but you’re the one who’s bleeding. Xbox it is.”
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
Children, behave! Ex-boyfriends (both those from the past and those soon-to-be) can bring out the absoluteworst in girls ... and boys. It took more than a burly bouncer to control the mania and mayhem at New York’s tough door haunt for rock lovers. A trusted source tells me there were slaps, curses, threats, tears, and at least one secret video. But that’s what comes out of the kitchen when you mix up America’s prince, his heiress wife, his TV-star ex, comedy’s number one female scribe, the new Carson Kressley, and that notorious queer who loves to pass himself off as a celeb relative or fake royal.
14
Emma
There were three fast knocks on her dressing room door. “It’s Jay, Emma. Are you decent?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
He slipped inside and gave her a supportive smile. “Oh, the vagaries of fame.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “More like the insanity of others.” She was fully made up, perfectly coiffed, well-prepped for the segments ahead, and ready to get today’s goddamn show over with.
“Some new viewer research is in,” Jay announced. “Do you have a minute?”
Emma glanced at the digital clock. “I have seven, actually.”
“They like you,” Jay said. “They really, really like you.” One beat. “I’m talking about the viewers.”
“That’s why I got the job,” Emma remarked easily. “I have a high Q rating. Among the eighteen to fifty-four demographic. Not the regulars at Retox in Chelsea. They don’t like me at all there.”
Jay pulled a face. “Please don’t become my Shannen Doherty. I don’t need a Shannen Doherty. Or a Lindsay Lohan for that matter.”
Emma sighed wearily. “Honestly, Jay, I’m not sure how much serious news girl is left in me anymore. But there’s at least enough to prevent that. Promise.”
Jay put his hands together in prayer. “Bless you, my child. I would ask what happened over the weekend, but I’m guessingit would take you longer than seven minutes to tell me.”
Emma glanced at the clock again. “Actually, it’s down to five now. Talk fast. We’ll get coffee later, and I’ll fill you in on the drama.”
He nodded eagerly and perched himself on the edge of the sofa. “It’s a date. Viewers are responding to you in a big way. They want to be you.You’re their aspirational host.”
“They want to be me?” Emma asked warily. “Our viewers must be dumb.”
“They want Finn to be their best friend,” Jay went on.
“Our viewers must be very dumb.”
“They want to see Simone’s personal wardrobe closet.”
“Our viewers must be shallow and bored.”
“And they want to see more of Mio and Mako Kometani.”
“Our viewers must be idiots.”
Jay shrugged. “What can I say? It’s daytime.”
Emma laughed.
“I didn’t mean that. If this conversation ends up on YouTube,then we are both fired.” He made a show out of lookingaround for a hidden camera.
“You didn’t mention Sutton,” Emma said.
“Her research didn’t spike.”
Emma raised a brow.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Jay said quickly. “It wasn’t negative.Viewers see her as a stabilizer. She’s a welcome mature presence. But in this latest research it was the younger personalitiesthat generated the most feedback.”
Emma nodded. “No matter what it says, trust me, Jay. Viewers do not want to be me. Who should I slip that note to?”
“We’ve made ratings gains with each successive airing,” Jay said. “Viewers are responding to you. Seriously. Anyway, that’s just the little bit of sunshine I wanted to spread. I actually came in here to ask you about something else.”
Emma gazed at him expectantly.
“White Glove is already thinking about possible brand extensions of the program. Do you think Garrison would be willing to discuss the possibility of a magalog?”
Emma was stunned. “For The Beehive?”
Jay nodded. “The editorial package is already there—careeradvice from you, humor pieces and trend analysis from Finn, fashion obsessions from Simone, and sage advice on life and living from Sutton.”
“God, everything is happening so fast,” Emma murmured, still trying to wrap her head around the concept but knowing in her gut that it was a slam dunk. “Okay, sure, I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks. And you’re right—it is happening fast. So strap yourself in tight. My hunch is that you, Finn, and Simone are going to get the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy treatment. When that show hit, a world of opportunity opened up for each of tho
se guys. That can be quite the tightwire act, too. You have to strike while the interest is red hot but at the same time be very smart about your choices.”
Emma got hung up on the concept of smart choices. If only she had made one of those Saturday night and stayed at Delilah’s apartment instead of insisting that they go out. She would have never darkened the doorway of Retox. And she would have never seen Dean Paul dancing with that Blondie wannabe ...
She was total bar trash, bleached from her roots to her split ends and wearing a white sequined top cut down to there over a pair of black leggings and thigh-high vinyl boots.
Dean Paul Lockhart was grinding against her with the kind of smile that told the room he considered himself a shoo-in for the next season of Dancing with the Stars.
Emma retreated quickly. One of those Horny Goat drinks turned to two. Then three.
“No more!” Delilah had intervened when she wanted a fourth. “Switch to water.”
“It’s too late for that,” Emma slurred. “And I’m already too far gone.”
“You have a point,” Delilah agreed. She drank up and motioned for two more.
“He’s a pig,” Emma grumbled. “Actually, he’s worse than a pig.” One beat. “What’s worse than a pig?”
“Dean Paul is,” Delilah said. “I happen to like pigs. George Clooney had a pig. His name was Max. He slept with George. I wish I could’ve been a pig named Max.”
“Me, too,” Emma murmured. She glanced back at the dance floor she was trying so hard to ignore.
Dean Paul was moving his hips in perfect synchronization to Lenny Kravitz’s guitar riffs from “Lady.”And Debbie Harry’s slutty niece was enjoying every raunchy moment of the lusty action.
Emma spun back around, feeling a powerful flush of the most regrettable kind of anger—drunken anger. “He’s vile,” she seethed.
“So is she,” Delilah put in. “I feel like I should take a cycle of antibiotics just for watching her from this distance.”
Emma stewed over the past in the way that only too much alcohol could make you do. “If he had married me insteadof Tilly, then this would still be happening. Only I’d be the one at home with our baby. And he’d still be here with that ... girl.”
Delilah leveled a serious look at Emma. “You’re exactly right. Men like Dean Paul never change. Unless they’re Warren Beatty. And who really cares if a man makes that change at the age of sixty? He stops running around just in time for you to deal with his gout and his back problems? Fuck that.”
Emma raised her Horny Goat in salute. “Yeah, fuck that!”
“Fuck what exactly? Who knows? I might actually want to.”
Emma turned to her left to identify the owner of that voice and came face-to-face with her favorite cohost. “Oh, Finn!” she exclaimed delightfully, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so happy to see you! Have you met Delilah?”
He extended his hand. “Not formally, but I TiVo Laugh Track every week. I love your work.”
“Thank you. I wish more of it made it onto the air, but what can you do when you’re the only female writer in a room full of Harvard grads?”
“I’ll never get that. Funny is funny. What does gender have to do with it?”
“Unfortunately, I exist in a world where the first person who throws up after the deviled egg eating contest gets the biggest laugh.”
“Poor you,” Finn said sympathetically.
Delilah regarded him strangely for a moment. “I’m not trying to stereotype. But is this really your kind of place?”
“First of all, you are stereotyping,” Finn accused lightly. “And, no, it’s not my kind of place. I’m here on a rescue operation.”
“I need rescuing,” Emma put in desperately. “Take me anywhereelse. Please.”
“Someone’s got a cell phone video of Dean Paul dancing with that—”
“Whore,” Emma finished.
“As I understand it, her name’s Juicy,” Finn said. “But I’m sure that she also answers to Whore.”
“How do you know this?” Delilah asked.
“That she also answers to Whore? I’ve seen her eye makeup.”
Emma nearly doubled over with laughter.
“No,” Delilah clarified. “How do you know about this cell phone video?”
Finn sighed heavily. “It’s a long story. I know the guy who has it. He’s a hanger-on of the worst kind. I’m hoping I can convince him to—”
“Not bury it!” Emma protested hotly. “Let the creep sell it to TMZ or do whatever he wants to do. Dean Paul deserves that!”
Finn looked at Emma, then over to Delilah. “How much?”
“Three bottles of wine at my apartment and four Horny Goats,” she answered.
Finn focused on Emma. “Dean Paul might deserve it, but Tilly doesn’t ... well, actually,Tilly deserves it, too. Cantaloupe. The innocent baby. She’s the one who doesn’t deserve it.The only one, apparently. Her parents’ marriage may be hanging on by a tattered thread, but the snap doesn’t need to come from something like this.”
Emma felt a surge of irrational hostility. “You’re just protectingDean Paul because you’re in love with him!” she sneered.
“I love him,” Finn said matter-of-factly. “As a friend. I’m not in love with him.”
Emma stumbled and splayed out her hands in some grand theatrical gesture. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Finn Robards, Queen of Denial!” She cackled at her own bitter play on words.
Finn’s face turned pink with embarrassment. “Somebody take this drunk bitch home,” he said to no one in particular.
“I’ll be more than happy to.”
Growing increasingly bleary-eyed, Emma spun around to see a glowering Tilly Lockhart.
“I assume you live at the bottom of the Hudson River?” Tilly continued.
Finn stepped forward to intercede. “Tilly, wait—” “Wait a minute!” Emma fumed. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Mrs. Dean Paul Lockhart. The woman you wish you were. I came to take my husband home. I hear he’s been dirty dancing with a trashy blonde. Are you done with him yet?”
Emma made a fast move toward Tilly.
But Delilah moved faster to hold her back. Then she stepped in front to directly address Tilly. “You have made three terrible mistakes. The first one was marrying that overrated playboy. The second one was naming your child after a melon. And the third one was tonight’s case of mistaken identity. Follow my finger.” Delilah pointed to Juicy and Dean Paul practically dry-humping each other against the speaker in the corner.
Tilly gasped in horror.
Emma took the opportunity to fling what remained of her Horny Goat into Tilly’s face. But in her drunken clumsiness,she missed and sloshed an innocent bystander.
And that’s the last thing she remembered before waking up on Delilah’s couch the next morning with the worst hangoverof her life.
“Ninety seconds, Ms. Ronson!”The production assistant’s voice sent her careening back to the awful present, where things were messier than ever.
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
Who ever would’ve thought that the busiest bee on that much buzzed about new daytime chat fest would turn out to be the poor little rich boy? He’s quite the character, and I have it on good authority that he was born with a silver spoon in his ... ahem ... mouth. Okay, I’ll be nice. Stories are circulating that in additionto his television hosting duties, this ambitious lad might open up his own Manhattan gathering spot for the beautiful, the rich, and, of course, the badly behaved. From dilettante to workaholic? Must be something in the honey, darlings.
15
Finn
“Ladies and gentlemen, you have officially entered The Beehive!” the announcer boomed. “Please welcome your hosts ... Sutton Lancaster ... Emma Ronson ... Simone Williams ... and Finn Robards!”
As they emerged from the backstage holding area, thunderousapplause g
reeted them. The instant adrenaline from the reaction shifted Finn’s toxic state of mind from I-hate-these-bitchesto let’s-give-the-people-the-best-show-we-can.
“Thank you ... thank you,” Emma said, pushing down her manicured hands in a gracious gesture to bring an end to the ovation. “Welcome back to The Beehive. It’s Monday. And I think it’s safe to say that all of us here had an eventful weekend.”
“Oh, really? Why do you say that?” Finn remarked. The studio crowd seemed to pick up on his fake innocence and real bitchiness.They tittered uncomfortably.
“I might’ve read a few things ... experienced a few things,” Emma admitted with a certain self-deprecating charm. “Seriously,though, my weekend was awful.”
“Mine sucked,” Finn added.
“Mine started off terrible but ended well,” Simone put in.
Sutton just sat there, a somewhat vacant smile glazed across her face. For the first time, Finn noticed her new (and not necessarily improved) look. Edgier eye makeup, hair tousled for that just-out-of-bed impact, a much shorter skirt, and loads of rock-inspired costume jewelry, some of it sporting skull-and-crossbonescharms.
“And your weekend, madam?” Finn pressed. “How was it?”
Sutton gave him a pointed look. “Exhausting.”
“Yes,” Finn said with a cheeky knowingness. “As I remember,men that age typically are.”
The audience hooted and whistled.
Sutton pursed her lips disapprovingly, but her mouth still betrayed a hint of a smile. “I believe it’s time for ‘Bee in Our Bonnet.’”
The crowd erupted at the mere mention of the popular segment. Its accompanying logo flashed onto the giant monitor.
“Because of the wonderful people in this audience—and all of the wonderful viewers watching at home—our show has become an amazing success,” Sutton said. “With that comes a certain degree of media interest and scrutiny that we just have to deal—”
“Honey, you are being way too diplomatic about this,” Finn cut in. “Allow me.” He turned to face the studio crowd. “Gossip columnist Jinx Wiatt is on the show today to plug her new book, and if all of you would just politely turn away and cover your ears, then the four of us will each take a turn strangling the bitch.”