She continued shootingwith one hand while she gently tucked the memory stick with themoney shot into a pocket on her vest, Velcroed it shut, and pattedit for good measure.
She saw Desmona Jacksoncoming back to life, her head rising up. Nicole Wine sitting downnext to her on the edge the chair, stroking her hair.
Then what she saw turnedThe Vulture into Roxanne Rizzo, honest-to-goodness movie fan forone moment, as Desmona Jackson, poster child for wholesome familyvalues, lone Tinseltown defender of the Religious Right, grabbedthe breast of her agent and started passionately kissing her on thelips.
The Vulture's jaw droppedas she kept her fingers pressed harder on the camera, squeezing thelife out of the button that took pictures, shooting as many imagesas it would allow.
Ho-lee shit.
***
The Vulture held back alaugh as Nigel Hack weaved his way through the tables, keeping hisarms pinned to his sides as if he was afraid to touch anything. Sheknew he couldn't stand places like this, his proper Britishupbringing taking a big hit as he passed the tourists with fannypacks wolfing down huge plates of breakfast specials.
He spotted her. She heldup her coffee cup and nodded toward him as if offering a toast.She'd grabbed the table in the back of the restaurant, not just forprivacy but for the kick of making Nigel walk through the wholeplace.
"Slumming again, I see,"he said in his perfect British accent, as he arrived at herbooth.
She shoved a forkful ofpancakes into her mouth and talked through them. "Have a seat,Nigel. I'm buying if you're hungry."
He pulled a handkerchieffrom his pocket, dusted off the seat, and slid into the booth,careful to keep his hands in his lap. "I've eatenalready."
A waitress showed upholding a coffee pot. "Coffee, honey?"
"Nothing, thank you," saidNigel.
The waitress snapped hergum, said, "Okay," and disappeared.
"This had better be good,Roxanne," said Nigel.
"Now Nigel, would I dragyou all the way down here if it wasn't?"
"I don't know. You have aperverse sense of humor."
She reached into hersatchel, pulled out a manila envelope, and slid it across thetable. She quickly glanced around the restaurant. No one was payingany attention to them.
Nigel grabbed theenvelope, opened it, and pulled out a half dozen eight-by-tenglossies. His eyes bugged out and his jaw nearly hit the table."Surely not!" he said.
She smiled as his eyesburned holes in the pictures as he quickly flipped through them,then put them back into the envelope and slid them back across thetable. "You like?"
"Roxanne, you have outdoneyourself. Exclusive?"
"Absolutely."
"Talked to anyone elseyet?"
"You're the first," shesaid, casually pouring more maple syrup over her breakfast. "You'vealways been good to me, Nigel. I wanted to give you a chance topre-empt before I put it on the market."
"I appreciate that,Roxanne. How much do you want?"
"How much yougot?"
"Give me a number,Roxanne."
She shook her head."Uh-uh. We're not playing that game. You want these, you gottaknock my socks off. I'm giving you till the end of businesstoday."
"How many photos do youhave?"
"Several hundred, butthose are the greatest hits. I would think the Hollywood Grapevinewould love to have one for its cover. And I believe your deadlineis tomorrow, am I right?"
Nigel shook his head."Roxanne, you are, without a doubt, the smartest paparazzi I'veever known."
"Hey, I'm from Jersey. Iknow how things work."
"I will have to get backto you for something of this magnitude."
"I thought you might.You've got my number. And I'll be here for about the next halfhour. 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 toleave. She grabbed him by the arm. "Oh, Nigel?"
"Yes dear?"
"When you come up with anumber, keep this in mind. I would love to work whenever I feellike it."
***
"Oh my God!"
Desmona heard the panic inNicole's voice. She wrapped her thick red bathrobe around her waistand headed downstairs. She saw Nicole in the foyer, sitting on theblack marble floor, legs sticking straight out.
She was holding asupermarket tabloid.
And staring intospace.
"Nicole?"
Nicole saidnothing.
"What is it?" She reachedthe bottom of the stairs and quickly moved toward Nicole."What?"
Nicole handed her thetabloid, upside down. Desmona flipped it over and the headline onthe Hollywood Grapevine slugged her in the soul.
America's sweetheart out of the closet!
EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS PAGE 2-6
The picture on the frontpage screamed at her.
You're out!
She bit her lip and peeledopen the tabloid, wondering if anything would be worse than thecover shot.
Ten seconds later shedropped the tabloid. It fluttered to the floor, pages separating,landing as a photo album that taunted them both. Desmona wrappedher arms around her waist and looked up at the ceiling. "How didthis happen?"
"Does it matter?" saidNicole.
"What do we do?" askedDesmona.
Nicole looked up at her."We're out, Des. Can't unring that bell."
"There are alwaysoptions."
"Not this time. Jesus,Des, look at the cover. You're practically giving me atonsillectomy." Nicole shook her head. "No, Des, we're gonna haveto live with this one. Your drinking problem is one thing, butthis… the studio…"
Neither woman saidanything for two minutes. Desmona looked at the floor.
The pictures looked backat her.
Taunting her.
Desmona's anger welled up,the years of denial for the benefit of seven-year-old childrenrushing forth and fueling it like never before. She startedbreathing harder, giving oxygen to the raging monster brewinginside her.
"Get up,Nicole."
"Just leave mealone."
"We have work to do. Nowget up and help me save us both."
***
Two weeks later theVulture was dead. Or at least on vacation.
Roxanne Rizzo yawned asthe hazelnut crème softly gurgled in her coffee machine. The housewas small, a two bedroom Spanish style stucco, but it was gorgeous,new, and all she needed. It offered a spectacular view of thePacific ocean.
Her new bank accountoffered her a lot more.
Freedom.
She could dine onHollywood carrion when it suited her.
She'd even said goodbye toan old friend, almost feeling sad as she crumbled up the cereal boxand looked at the face of the Count for the last time.
Almost.
The coffee machine hissedlike a cat, telling her the java was ready.
She poured a cup into agiant brown ceramic mug. It was winter and the air was crisp, soshe decided to drink her coffee on the patio that sat on the sideof her new home.
She walked toward thedoor, slid it open and walked into the sunlight. It blinded
