Money Shot (4 page)

The lawyer shrugged.
"Well, you know they're going to put up an expert that says it's a
fake. But Eddie is pretty convincing to a jury. Besides, you don't
have a police record, and you've never had any kind of altercation
with an actor, which is extremely rare for a 'razzi. They may all
hate you, but you've never actually made anyone's personal shit
list."

"I try to be polite when I
ruin people's lives," said Roxanne. "Is there any—

"You sure this is the
right stick?" asked Eddie.

Roxanne's head whipped
around toward him. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing on
it."

Roxanne jumped up and ran
around the table so she could look over his shoulder at…

A bunch of wavy
lines.

"No!" She shook her head.
"That's the stick. I'm
sure
of it. I brought it to the Grapevine myself and
never let it out of my sight. That's the one. Load it
again."

She drummed her fingers on
the table as Eddie removed the stick and then re-loaded
it.

Same result.

The blood drained out of
her face.

Can this get any
worse?

Eddie clicked his mouse a
few times and brought up what looked like a ghost of an image that
was close to the one on the Grapevine cover. "Wait a minute.
There
was
an
image on this memory card at one time…"

"What do you mean… was?"
asked the attorney.

He turned to face them.
"This thing has been fried. Demagnetized."

Roxanne shook her head.
"No. That's not possible. I know digital cameras. Household magnets
can't do any damage. These are solid state."

"Yeah, but this has come
in contact with a really powerful electromagnet."

"I haven't been near
anything like that."

"This memory stick has.
I'd stake my career on it."

Roxanne slumped into the
nearest chair and buried her head in her hands. "I… I don't
understand. How could this happen? It's been in the safety deposit
box."

"Well, somehow, someone
managed to get a very strong magnet close enough to scramble the
images." Eddie clicked the mouse and whipped through more faint
images of Desmona Jackson and Nicole Wine. None were usable as
evidence.

"Someone at the bank
talked," she said. "Everyone knows I stopped there when the TV
stations did their little O.J. Simpson number on me."

"We've got bigger
problems," said the attorney. He turned toward Eddie. "The big
question is… can you fix it?"

"Unfortunately, no. You
can't just hit
undo
and bring your images back to life. These are gone
forever."

Roxanne leaned back in her
chair and looked at the ceiling. "I'm toast. My life is
over."

***

The two a-m phone call
would have normally jolted her out of a deep sleep… had Roxanne
actually been able to get to that point.

She looked at the screen
of her cell phone, which, thankfully, the media hadn't discovered.
She hoped for a clue, but it offered words instead of a
name.

Private Number

She slid the phone open.
"Hello?"

"You know, Miss Rizzo,
someone might say you have a bit of an… image problem."

The voice was strong and
female but Roxanne didn't recognize it.
Be
careful what you say on the phone
, her
lawyer had told her. "Who is this?"

"Someone who can make your
problems go away, Roxanne. Kind of like pictures being deleted, you
know? Press a button and everything disappears. Press another
button and you get your life back."

Now she was wide awake.
"Okay, you've got my attention. Who are you and what do you
want?"

"We need to meet in
private before this goes to trial, Roxanne. Right now. Especially
since your Exhibit A is no longer admissible in court and you've
got shit for a defense."

"Perhaps you should call
my lawyer—"

"I don't deal with
ambulance chasers like Jensen. What do you think A.C. stands for?
No, we meet with you and only you. Right now."

"I can’t exactly go
anywhere without being followed. How will I—"

"Look out your living room
window, Roxanne."

"Huh?"

"Look out the window. Go
ahead, I'll wait."

Roxanne got up and walked
from the bedroom, down the short hallway and out toward the living
room. She didn't turn the lights on as a little moonlight was
filtering through a skylight and lit her way. She gently pulled
back the curtains to look out into the street.

And saw
nothing.

No satellite trucks, no
Bible thumpers. No 'razzi.

Just a quiet street in the
middle of the night.

She put the phone back to
her ear. "How did you
do
that?"

"You have no idea who
you're dealing with, Roxanne. Now get dressed, get in your car, and
drive to the Exeter Hotel. Register under the name Kelly Harris.
Your room is already paid for. Come to room 1401. If you are not
there in the next hour, we will bury you in court and those happy
conservatives will be back bright and early for the rest of your
life. Clear?"

"You've made your
point."

"You now have fifty nine
minutes."

"On my way."

***

"She swallowed the hook,"
said Desmona, hanging up the phone that was attached to the voice
modulator.

"How did she sound?" asked
Nicole.

"Scared. Getting rid of
the protestors was a nice touch."

"We can put them right
back if we need to, Des."

***

The elevator stopped, the
doors opened and Roxanne walked out onto the fourteenth floor of
the Hotel. It was nearly three in the morning and dead quiet. The
only sound was that of her shoes across the plush carpet. Fresh
flowers lined the hallway, sending a wonderful aroma that filled
her lungs.

May as well grab some of
those for your funeral.

She reached the room, slid
the key into the door, and opened it.

It was dark. She turned on
the lights and moved inside. It was a spectacular two room suite
with a four poster bed and antique furniture that probably cost
more than her new house.

But it was
empty.

She put her purse down
beside the couch.

Then the connecting door
to the next room opened.

A tall, lanky middle-aged
man entered the room and smiled at her. He wore sunglasses and
carried a long metal wand.

"Hello, Roxanne," he said,
his voice softly floating through the air without
malice.

"Do I know
you?"

"No. Please hold your arms
out at your sides. Just pretend you're at LAX. C'mon, Simon Says
arms up!"

"What for?"

"To see if you're wearing
a wire, dear. Can’t be too careful these days."

"I'm not wearing a
wire."

"Then you won't mind
putting up your arms."

"Fine. Whatever." The
Vulture displayed her wingspan. The man moved closer to her and
swept the wand up one side of her body and under her arm, then did
the same on the other side.

Until it
beeped.

"Aha," said the man. "And
what do we have here?" He politely pulled her riding jacket away
from her body and removed the tiny microphone and recording device
that were hidden in her inside pocket. "Thought you weren't wearing
a wire."

"It came with the
outfit."

"Wait here."

The man turned and walked
back through the connecting door. "She's clean….now," she heard him
say.

Then Desmona Jackson and
Nicole Wine walked into the room.

Roxanne stood up straight
and tall but the actress towered over her. She was dressed in
sweatpants, a running jacket and had her hair put up under a
baseball hat, but the face was unmistakable. The agent was also
incognito, opting for a hoodie sweatshirt and jeans.

"Well," said Desmona. "We
finally meet. Face to face, not two hundred feet apart."

Roxanne just stood there,
not knowing what to say.

"Please sit," said
Desmona, pointing to the couch.

Roxanne sat down while
Desmona and Nicole remained standing.

"I trust you have not
enjoyed having the shoe on the other foot," said Nicole.

"I'm sure you get used to
it," said Roxanne.

"That's the whole point,"
said Desmona, turning angry. Roxanne thought it was weird to see an
actress from children's movies looking like she was ready to
strangle someone. "You
never
get used to it. Day after day, a prisoner of your
own fame."

"You all want to be
famous," said Roxanne. "You want the fame and then you go around in
sunglasses. Make up your mind."

"Ever hear of a thing
called privacy?" said Desmona.

"Ever hear of a thing
called the first amendment?" said Roxanne.

"I'm not going to argue
with you," said Desmona, who began pacing back and forth. "You're
not worth it. However, at this point in time, you are worth
something."

"Actually," said Nicole,
"You're only worth something for the next few minutes."

"Yes, here's what's going
to happen," said Desmona. "Tomorrow there will be a news
conference. At that time you will admit to concocting a hoax
designed to destroy my reputation and state that the photos you
sold to the Hollywood Grapevine were very elaborate digital fakes.
You will apologize to me, Nicole, and my fans. You will agree to
return the money you received to the Grapevine, which I believe
was... Nicole?"

"One point two million,"
said the agent.

"I've already spent part
of it on a house," said Roxanne. "And anyway, why would I do
this?"

"I'm not done, young
lady," said Desmona. While I despise you for both your profession
and what you have done to us, I am not so heartless as to make you
homeless. In return for these admissions and your reimbursement of
the Grapevine, I will deposit in your account an equal amount. Your
house will be bought by a dummy corporation, thought I will be
writing the check. Then you and your little collection of
spyglasses will leave the state of California forever."

Roxanne thought it over.
The deal wasn't bad, but the career she loved, the rush she got
from getting the money shot, the better-than-sex high would be
over. "So let me get this straight… I tell the world that the
photos were fakes, give back the money to the tabloid, and you give
me the same amount to leave the state and never bother you
again?"

"You're not as dumb as you
look," said Nicole.

Roxanne shook her head.
"Why not just admit you two are lovers?"

"The world can't see its
fairytale princess wearing comfortable shoes," said
Nicole.

"My image and reputation
are worth millions," said Desmona. She finally stopped pacing and
looked directly at Roxanne. "Lesbian role models aren't terribly
popular with parents."

"So, do we have a deal?"
asked Nicole.

Roxanne stood up, looking
resigned to her fate. "Okay," she said, thrusting her hand
forward.

Desmona looked down her
nose at Roxanne's hand and left it there, hanging in space. She and
Nicole both turned and started to leave the room.

"My estate, eight a-m
tomorrow," said Desmona. She moved through the door, then stuck her
head back into the room. "Oh, and you can use the room. It's paid
for. I'm told all the high priced whores sleep here."

***

Roxanne Rizzo stood to the
left of Desmona Jackson as the actress addressed the media. She
noted how the low angle of the morning sun was sending perfect rays
through the woman's hair, making her look like an angel descended
from heaven.

Of course, that was no
accident.

Because image is
everything.

"And so," said the
actress, "despite all the pain this woman has caused myself,
Nicole, and my fans, I am going to do the good Christian thing and
forgive her. It has taken a lot of courage for her to come forward
this morning, and I know that she will certainly be absolved of her
sins. I ask that my fans pray for her, that she may receive the
divine guidance she needs."

Desmona extended her arms
toward Roxanne and gave her a quick hug.

Then Roxanne moved to the
podium and looked into the other end of the lens. "Thank you, Miss
Jackson and Miss Wine, for both accepting my apology. I am here
today to tell the world the photos you saw in the Grapevine were
simply elaborate fakes. I will not go into my reasons for
perpetuating this hoax. I am truly very sorry for the grief I have
caused these two women. I would also like to apologize to the
editors at the Grapevine. I lied to them, and stole their money. I
will return every penny."