came to getting the money
shot.
So The Vulture would take
flight, but this gig needed a truly high perch, and she had called
in a marker to get it.
Well, not exactly a
marker. But Roger the phone man knew that if he ever wanted to see
Roxanne Rizzo do the equivalent of a pole dance around his four
poster bed again and whip her raven hair across his face, he'd
better play ball and do it fast.
His bucket truck was
already at the location when she screeched to a halt one block from
the Jackson estate. The rest of the 'razzi were already there of
course, lining the driveway like electronic shrubs. She turned down
a side street and ditched her car, then ran back up the hill where
Roger was standing next to the truck.
"I can get in serious
trouble for this," he said, wiping a bit of sweat from his
forehead.
She walked up to him,
wrapped her arms around him, then pulled back and gave his crotch a
little squeeze. The concern melted from his face as she reminded
him that she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose without
smearing her lip gloss. "It'll be worth your while."
"Of that I'm sure." He
reached into the front seat of the truck and pulled out a phone
company vest and hard hat. "Put these on. You need to at least look
the part."
"Fine." She dropped her
camera bag, put on the vest, pulled back her hair and was good to
go.
Roger put the hard hat on
her head, then leaned back in admiration. "It's you."
"Very funny."
She grabbed her bag and
hopped in the bucket. "Okay, take me up."
"Hold on to the sides," he
said. He pointed to the controls inside the bucket. "These are the
only levers you have to worry about. This one releases the bucket
so that it always remains vertical while I'm sending you up, and
this one locks it when I get it extended. Got it?"
"It ain't brain surgery,
Roger. Let's rock."
Roger moved toward the cab
of the truck. As soon as he was out of sight, Roxanne Rizzo morphed
into a bloodthirsty killer. The bucket began to move, and The
Vulture took flight.
***
Desmona sat in the back
seat as Nicole drove her through the streets of Beverly
Hills.
The world's most famous
and beloved actress was about to become a prisoner in her own
home.
"Okay, look alive. There
they are," said Nicole. Desmona looked out the windshield and saw
them running into the street, an angry electronic mob jockeying for
position. She slid down onto the floor of the Lincoln Navigator and
pulled a blanket over her body. She felt the warm carpet of the
floor mats against her face while the smell of pine air freshener
filled her lungs.
She felt the car slow down
and knew Nick was at the entrance to the compound. "Stay down,"
said Nicole.
"Way ahead of
you."
She heard the 'razzi
yelling her name, screaming questions at the tinted
windows.
"Des, how drunk were
you?"
"Des, are you still hung
over?"
"Des, what was it like in
jail?"
She felt a few thumps
against the car door and knew they were shooting through the glass.
She pulled the blanket tighter around her and began to
shiver.
She heard the motor of the
gate as it swung open and knew she was almost home. She felt a bump
as the car rolled over the curb. The pounding on the car doors
stopped and the voices faded. Her heart downshifted as the car came
to a stop.
"You can come out now, I'm
at the back entrance," said Nicole.
Desmona Jackson threw off
the wool blanket and took a breath of fresh air like she had been
holding her breath underwater. Nicole opened the car door. They
were safe in the back of the compound. The trees that had once
offered an easy perch to the 'razzi had been cut down.
She climbed out of the
car, felt the world spin, and passed out.
***
"Timmmm…berrrrrrrr!" said
The Vulture as she saw Desmona Jackson teeter like a bowling pin
before collapsing into the arms of her agent. She missed the sound
of the auto-winder from the days of film, but the digital clicks in
quick succession were enough of an aphrodisiac. Her heart was
trying to escape from
shot.
So The Vulture would take
flight, but this gig needed a truly high perch, and she had called
in a marker to get it.
Well, not exactly a
marker. But Roger the phone man knew that if he ever wanted to see
Roxanne Rizzo do the equivalent of a pole dance around his four
poster bed again and whip her raven hair across his face, he'd
better play ball and do it fast.
His bucket truck was
already at the location when she screeched to a halt one block from
the Jackson estate. The rest of the 'razzi were already there of
course, lining the driveway like electronic shrubs. She turned down
a side street and ditched her car, then ran back up the hill where
Roger was standing next to the truck.
"I can get in serious
trouble for this," he said, wiping a bit of sweat from his
forehead.
She walked up to him,
wrapped her arms around him, then pulled back and gave his crotch a
little squeeze. The concern melted from his face as she reminded
him that she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose without
smearing her lip gloss. "It'll be worth your while."
"Of that I'm sure." He
reached into the front seat of the truck and pulled out a phone
company vest and hard hat. "Put these on. You need to at least look
the part."
"Fine." She dropped her
camera bag, put on the vest, pulled back her hair and was good to
go.
Roger put the hard hat on
her head, then leaned back in admiration. "It's you."
"Very funny."
She grabbed her bag and
hopped in the bucket. "Okay, take me up."
"Hold on to the sides," he
said. He pointed to the controls inside the bucket. "These are the
only levers you have to worry about. This one releases the bucket
so that it always remains vertical while I'm sending you up, and
this one locks it when I get it extended. Got it?"
"It ain't brain surgery,
Roger. Let's rock."
Roger moved toward the cab
of the truck. As soon as he was out of sight, Roxanne Rizzo morphed
into a bloodthirsty killer. The bucket began to move, and The
Vulture took flight.
***
Desmona sat in the back
seat as Nicole drove her through the streets of Beverly
Hills.
The world's most famous
and beloved actress was about to become a prisoner in her own
home.
"Okay, look alive. There
they are," said Nicole. Desmona looked out the windshield and saw
them running into the street, an angry electronic mob jockeying for
position. She slid down onto the floor of the Lincoln Navigator and
pulled a blanket over her body. She felt the warm carpet of the
floor mats against her face while the smell of pine air freshener
filled her lungs.
She felt the car slow down
and knew Nick was at the entrance to the compound. "Stay down,"
said Nicole.
"Way ahead of
you."
She heard the 'razzi
yelling her name, screaming questions at the tinted
windows.
"Des, how drunk were
you?"
"Des, are you still hung
over?"
"Des, what was it like in
jail?"
She felt a few thumps
against the car door and knew they were shooting through the glass.
She pulled the blanket tighter around her and began to
shiver.
She heard the motor of the
gate as it swung open and knew she was almost home. She felt a bump
as the car rolled over the curb. The pounding on the car doors
stopped and the voices faded. Her heart downshifted as the car came
to a stop.
"You can come out now, I'm
at the back entrance," said Nicole.
Desmona Jackson threw off
the wool blanket and took a breath of fresh air like she had been
holding her breath underwater. Nicole opened the car door. They
were safe in the back of the compound. The trees that had once
offered an easy perch to the 'razzi had been cut down.
She climbed out of the
car, felt the world spin, and passed out.
***
"Timmmm…berrrrrrrr!" said
The Vulture as she saw Desmona Jackson teeter like a bowling pin
before collapsing into the arms of her agent. She missed the sound
of the auto-winder from the days of film, but the digital clicks in
quick succession were enough of an aphrodisiac. Her heart was
trying to escape from
Similar Books
