by Kylie Adams
Finn experienced a flash of anger. “God, you’re such a prick!” He rose up and started for the door. His hand was on it when he halted and spun around. “Why do you play these fucking mind games with me? You know my feelings for you are complicated. You know that. I try to be a platonic guy friend. I try like hell. And the only time I don’t succeed is when you taunt me with this bullshit.You dangle the idea of something more out there.You tease me by stripping down in this steam room when you could just as well keep your goddamntowel on. And then you threaten to take all your toys and go home. The other day you were moving to Miami. Now you’re ditching me to go back to your straight friends. How can you call me a bitch? You’re the bitch. Jesus Christ, you play more games than a woman!”
Dean Paul shook his head. “You’re too high maintenance, man. I can’t be emotionally responsible for you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Finn raged. “You couldn’t be emotionally responsible for a rescue dog! It took Cantaloupe almost dying for you to realize that she was actually a child! If you’re attracted to a woman, chances are you’ll marry her! God! You put out this notion that I should be more laid back like one of your old dopey buddies, but you don’t treat me like one of those guys. So what happens is I end up acting like your stupid boyfriend. And you benefit from that. I’m overly thoughtful. I wait around for your calls and texts. I drop everything when you say go.You know this. And you play into it just enough to keep me going because it’s good for you. Well, you know what, asshole? It’s not good for me anymore. I’m done.”
The hiss of the steam jets started up again.
And then Finn walked out. He occupied himself in the city for several hours—browsing the bookstores, taking in a matinee, shopping in SoHo. When he got back to the apartment,it was eerily empty. Dean Paul had packed his things and left his key on top of the bar.
He was gone.
For the next few weeks, Finn channeled all the energy that had gone toward Dean Paul into his new venture—Sacred. His dream was to make it the VIP nightspot of the moment.
Amazingly, he found a perfect 2,000-square-foot space in Chelsea.A high-end custom denim boutique had gone out of business in the middle of a lease, and Finn managed to broker a good deal.
Finn fancied himself the next Amy Sacco, the high priestessof the Manhattan hot scene with exclusive velvet rope destinations like Lot 61 and Bungalow 8. But he envisioned Sacred taking exclusivity a radical step beyond.
People who passed through the doors would be paid members. And not just anyone could write a check. They would have to be invited. Sorry, Benji. He also imagined a Sacred membership Internet-based social network accessible by secret password only. My Space and Facebook were for the masses. Finn had secured the URL sacredonline.net for a privileged few. That way members could cyber chat about goings on at Sacred without undesirables horning in.
On the strength of Finn’s kick-ass business plan—and his unexpected success on The Beehive, his parents agreed to loosen the reins on his trust fund, though only enough to front the initial capital in his dream venture. He would still need other investors.
Finn’s notoriety got him meetings with several cash-rich potential partners. But it did not close the deal. Most of them gave him lip service on the frightening mortality rate of nightclub ventures. “It’s a high risk business with a short lifespan,”one lawyer told him. “You need more than a hip idea.”
Deep down, Finn truly knew that he had more than that. Sacred would be a slam dunk. With a high membership fee, fifteen-dollar drinks, two-hundred-fifty-dollar bottle service, and regular patronage, investors could be paid regular distributionsof both equity and debt service faster than Tara Reid could say, “Another round, please.”
Unfortunately, few believers were out there. So many startup entrepreneurs had been burned on the sex appeal of co-owning a hot nightclub that ultimately went bust. After being told no again and again, Finn wondered if he would ever be able to make a go of it.
And then a courier knocked on the door to deliver an envelope. There was a check inside for the exact amount he needed to move forward. Attached to it was a note:
I want in. At last, you can finally call me your partner.Just kidding ...
Dean Paul.
Finn smiled. There was just no getting rid of the adorable bastard. And he secretly didn’t want to. He hoped the unrequitedfeelings would go away. But for right now, at least, it was what it was.
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
Has talent gone the way of the cassettetape and VHS format? Can you even find it anymore where celebrity is concerned? For example, take our favorite Black American Princess, she of the dim-bulb talk show banterasides, not-quite-there modeling career, blink-and-you-miss-her stints as an actress, and bad choices in boyfriends.Now what’s put her on the fame radar is almost getting run over and spending herself into debtor’s prison. I give up, darlings!
28
Simone
“What went through your mind?” Emma asked gently.
“That I was going to die,” Simone said. “Honestly, I thought it was over for me.” Tears welled up.
Emma reached out for her hand and clasped tight in a gestureof support. “I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been.”
The studio audience was riveted.
“It’s strange,” Simone continued, regaining her composure.“It wasn’t fear that I felt the most ... it was regret. I thought about my father, who died when he was only forty-six.I thought about my mother, whom I haven’t spoken to in years. I thought about the bad choices I made to get in—and even worse stay in—a relationship with this person.” She paused. “You know, it’s amazing how much can go through your mind in a matter of seconds.”
“It sounds like this incident changed you,” Emma ventured.
Simone considered the statement. “I think it did. Profoundly.I saw Tommy’s car jump the curb, and it downloaded in that instant that my relationship with myself was so ... flawed. I chose the wrong guys—or let them choose me. I didn’t respect the role of money in my life. I didn’t honor my relationship and responsibility to my family. I thought I was going to die, and I had this horrible sense that I’d gotten everythingwrong.” She looked out at the audience. “And let me say for the record that I realize how incredibly lucky I am. A woman died that day. And she left behind a little girl who will grow up without a mother. That’s the biggest heartbreak.”
“Did you ever have any suspicions or fears that Tommy Robb might react this way?” Emma asked.
Simone shook her head. “Maybe I should have. The warning signs were there from the very beginning. He was controlling and possessive and verbally abusive.When we broke up, I felt stalked to a degree, but I felt helpless. He could just autograph a baseball and get out of almost anything. And he always had a girl hanging on his arm, so people thought I was the crazy ex-girlfriend instead of the other way around. It was terrible. If I had to do it all over again—and this is my advice for all girls out there—forget athletes and date an accountant!”
The audience laughed and clapped their approval.
Emma smiled and took Simone’s hand again in a show of sisterly solidarity. “We can’t wait to have you back tomorrow in The Beehive where you belong. But so much has been written about this tragedy—”
“Most of it is completely bogus,” Simone cut in.
“Exactly. And we wanted our viewers to get the truth straight from you.”
Simone gave Emma a wry look. “There’s a lot of truth about me heading their way this week.”
Emma smiled. “That’s right. Simone has courageously agreed to be the first subject of our new Debt Makeover series,which will put consumers in financial crisis under the hot lights of a lifestyle coach, credit expert, forensic accountant,and retirement planner. That’s later this week. Stay with us. We’re coming right back with new country and pop sensationTaylor Swift.”
Simone breathed an extended sigh of relief.
“You were wonderful!” Emma gushed. “Brave and honest and so relatable.You should feel proud.”
Simone beamed as Jay gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up. For the first time the show had debuted, she felt like she belonged, like she had carved out a place uniquely her own, just as Sutton, Emma, and Finn had. It was a glorious feeling of accomplishment, relevance, and a new way of being.
She made a beeline for her dressing room and walked in just as her cell phone started to ring. Rushing to retrieve it atop the cluttered vanity, Simone saw that it was Tilly, no doubt calling about the live interview that had just wrapped. She hesitated, wondering if she was in the mood, then reluctantlypicked up.
“Michael is going positively mad!” Tilly exclaimed before Simone could even peep out a greeting.
“Who’s Michael?”
“My agent!” Tilly roared. “I told you that I’d put in a word, and he’s been waiting for this interview to air to assess you as a potential client. And, well, now he thinks I’m brilliant for suggesting you to him in the first place. But he thinks you have loads of potential. He wants to scoop you up right away and start taking you around to publishers.”
Simone’s stomach did a series of little flips. “Publishers? What for?”
“To get you a book deal! What else?”
“But I don’t know how to write!” Simone exclaimed.
“Oh, please, you don’t have to know how to do that. They’ll find you a ghost writer. Trust me. All you have to do is gab with them over coffee or something. They’ll do the rest.”
“Tilly, I—”
“Simone, Michael is waiting for your call. And let me put this in proper perspective for you. He doesn’t wait on many calls. People wait for his calls. He’s one of the best, and he can get you out of this financial mess you’ve gotten yourself in. You kicked Kevon Edmonds to the side, so it’s all up to you now. Just say, ‘Thank you, Tilly,’ and take down this number. I have to run. Cantaloupe’s wardrobe stylist is due here any minute, and we have to pick out a new ski suit.”
“This is crazy,” Simone murmured, experiencing a stirringsense of excitement as she jotted down the nine digits. Her life was about to change. She could feel it.
THE IT PARADE
BY JINX WIATT
Fill in the Blanks
It was boldface names galore at the splashy opening for the hot new nightspot Sacred on Chelsea’s club row. Certain NY haunts have a tough door. That’s a given. Long lines, unbreakablevelvet ropes, immobile bouncers, you name it. But the door at Sacred is downright brutal. Ask anyone who put their ego on the line to brave entry. Those mirror-imageJapanese sisters were all dressed up with no place to go. And they were even accessorized by a megabucks publisher! To add insult to injury, the latest Laugh Track skit on the dim-bulb twins became the number one requested video on YouTube within hours of its posting.The goof on the girls is so popularthat there’s already movie talk. Expect them to be skewered on the big screen soon. Any coincidence that the parody writer’s BFF claims the Asian imports’ billionaire boyfriendas an ex? You tell me, darlings.Sacred is oh-so-exclusive that you can’t even buy your way in. The annual membership fee for the sanctified pass is $2500, and one is offered that by invitation only. After being refused the opportunity to join, that ubiquitous hip-hop mogul threatened to open his own rival club across the street. Could it be a battle of the bars? We’ll see. One certified Sacred member who never made it to the opening was that heiress/cosmetics model/mommy to a juicy melon. The poor recent di-vorcéehad to evacuate her Tribeca apartment when her unit became infested with bedbugs. Yuck! She’s taken up residence in a plush suite at the Chambers Hotel and has hired a small squadron of power attorneys to sue every resident in her building, the developer, the contractor, her real estate agent, the City of New York, and anyone else she can think of. Of course, the real story isn’t who wasn’t there but who was. That fabulousfoursome from TV’s buzziest daytime chat show dripped honey like a quartet of queen bees. And why shouldn’t they? Life is sweet, darlings. Everybody’s favorite Black American Princess was toasting the completion of her first book, a memoiron her days as a teen model, struggling actress, and girlfriend to that psycho baseball star still awaitingtrial for that deadly hit and run. Rumor has it the big-dollar advance (high sixes, I’m told) cured all of this beauty’s money woes. Helping her celebrate was her gorgeous blonde cohost, looking downright cozy with her new beau, that too yummy for words British actor she met on the show when he stopped by to promote his latest film. What a dating service! Proudly watching over the whole affair was the veteran newswoman of the group. She’s fifty, still going strong, and late-life super-successhas inspired her to metamorphosefrom hellcat to pussycat. Don’t believe it? The story is that she took pity on her down-on-his-luckformer boy toy and put in a word to get the unemployed bartendera job serving Sacred drinks. Too bad the creep got fired early into the night for showing off his tallywacker jewelry. The real kudos of the evening went to morning television’sfunniest gay sidekick. The Sacred concept was his brainchild and bankrolled by a trust fund raid and a business partnership with America’s prince. These buddies (not the Brokeback Mountain kind, says a source who knows) are on a roll and planning a Sacred Miami, Sacred Los Angeles, and Sacred Cabo. Hopefully,the ambitious plans won’t be derailed by the lawsuit just filed by the witty TV boy’s former boyfriend, a con artist recently jailed for credit card fraud who claims the entire Sacred venture was his idea. Exes! Like cockroaches and Cher, they never seem to go away. Of course, the real tragedy is that television’s most buzz-worthy jabber-jaw hour has gone from bitch-fest to love-fest.No catfights, no frigid silences in the makeup room, no complaints to the higher-ups about this one or that one. Just respect, friendship, and mutual admiration for all involved. Have you ever heard more depressingnews? I give this show one more year, darlings. It has no hope of stayingon the air with this kind of appallinglypolite behavior.
29
Sutton
Once again, the German techno-inspired theme music commenced,followed by the announcer’s booming voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you have officially entered The Beehive! Please welcome your hosts and winners of the 2008 Daytime Emmy Award for Best Talk Show Hosts ... Sutton Lancaster ... Emma Ronson ... Simone Williams ... and Finn Robards!”
Explosive applause and uproarious cheers greeted Sutton Lancaster as she emerged first from backstage, followed by Emma, Finn, and Simone.
She walked with pride, triumph, and renewed purpose. All those years of bottom-feeding at the local affiliates, of languishingin the middle ranks of network news. It was all worth it. For this.
Sutton assumed her perch at the center of the black BeeBoardtable as her cohosts settled in around her. “Daytime Emmy Award winner,” she intoned sweetly. “You know, I still like the sound of that.”
The crowd erupted with another thunderous ovation.
“Me, too,” Finn enthused. “Announcer, please say it one more time.”
The booming voice did the honors again.
“I should just have him record that and put it on my iPod,” Finn remarked.
“We can’t live on past glories, guys,” Emma said easily. “Remember—we’re only as good as our next show.”
“But even if that one sucks, we’re still Daytime Emmy Award winners,” Simone put in. She raised a hand, unleashed a street-worthy, “Holla!” and accepted the high-fives of all of her laughter-collapsing cohosts.
“It’s Monday,” Sutton announced. “We just got the award Friday night, so we might be gloating a tiny bit.”
“No, we’re just being informative,” Finn said. “Gloating is having this same conversation six weeks from now, which I’m sure that we will be.”
“Now I have to say this,” Sutton continued. “I’m sort of the den mother here. I’m a woman of a certain age.”
“Fifty is the new forty!” Finn blurted.
“Thank you, dear,” Sutton murmured. “But I’ve been knocking around this business for three decades. I’ve lived in countless cities, worked for dozens of affiliates, done a tour of duty on every network and cable news channel. I’ve seen talentand colleagues come, go, rise, and fall.” Her eyes misted with tears. “But I’ve never had any better experience than what I’ve enjoyed on The Beehive here with all of you. I mean that from the bottom of my ratings-focused heart.”
“The bitch is back,” Finn sang.
There was an extended group hug. And then the show went on ...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kylie Adams is the author of ten previous novels, Fly Me to the Moon, Baby, Baby, Ex-Girlfriends, First Kiss: The Bridesmaid Chronicles, Cruel Summer: Fast Girls, Hot Boys Book One, Bling Addiction: Fast Girls, Hot Boys Book Two, Beautiful Disaster: Fast Girls, Hot Boys Book Three, and the USA Today bestsellers The Only Thing Better Than Chocolate (with Janet Dailey and Sandra Steffen), Santa Baby (with Lisa Jackson, Elaine Coffman, and Lisa Plumley), and The Night Before Christmas (with Lori Foster, Erin McCarthy, Jill Shalvis, Kathy Love, and Katherine Garbera).
Visit Kylie online at www.readkylie.com.
All characters in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2008 by Jon Salem