Ritz had Jamie running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
“Jamie! Get me my diet Pepsi! I need it now!” she yelled from her basement studio. “I also need more pillows. I need more pillows!”
Jamie rolled her eyes. She was thisclose to quitting for the third time since she started working with Ritz. The contempt for her boss was overflowing. Jamie was grateful for the promotion to assistant producer and the regular paycheck. She was grateful for the opportunity to learn so much. But she was getting tired of being treated like a peon by Ritz. And being at Ritz's place practically twenty-four/seven was wearing very thin on Jamie.
However, there was a part of her that was okay with keeping so busy. At least she didn't think about Derek.
“Jamie!” It seemed like a constant rant coming from Ritz, who seemed to need something every second. Jamie was waiting for Ritz to start ringing a bell to beckon her.
She brought down the drinks and the pillows and set up the computer so that Ritz could communicate with Aaron and the studio. Jamie also made sure that all of the ringers on all of the phones were turned off. Ritz was going to sound like she was in the studio even if she wasn't. There would be no distractions.
She had the television, tuned to CNN Headline News, on mute. She kept that on for breaking headlines. Ritz wanted to make sure she was on top of everything. If the world blew up, she would know and immediately let her audience know.
Jamie did a test with the studio to make sure that Ritz's voice levels were perfect and to make sure there was no feedback, which could be really distracting. It was two minutes to showtime. It had felt like two eternities since Ritz Harper was on the air, and she was nervous.
“Let's rock and roll!” she screamed into her headset before her theme music started. Ritz was a bundle of excitement.
On Air.
“I mean, whose side are you on, Jen's or Brad's?” It was a cheesy question, Ritz knew. It was an old and tired topic, too. This she also knew. But it was one that Ritz could guarantee brought some calls once she put her spin on it. She needed to get back into the flow with her audience, so she decided to take an easy path and work her way in slowly the first hour. She had a trick up her sleeve for hour two that would definitely make headlines. But for now, it was Jen and Brad.
“Oh, this is so tired,” Ritz continued. “Are we still talking about this? Who cares, really? I definitely don't. But I've been away for a while and you all haven't had the pleasure of getting my analysis of the whole affair. So get your pens and some paper, and Mother is going to break it all down for you right now and tell you what really happened. And what's great about this is that it's a lesson for all you women out there.
“Okay, ready? Jennifer Aniston never wanted to have a baby with Brad Pitt, because she knew somewhere deep inside that he was a low-down, dirty cheat who couldn't keep his wanker in his pants for more than twenty minutes. I will list his girlfriends— the women who came before Jennifer Aniston. You will need a couple sheets of paper for this. Okay. He dated Robin Givens— remember her, Mike Tyson's punching bag… I mean wife? That gives him a little extra credit, because it shows that he's an equal-opportunity screwer. He went out with Gwyneth Paltrow (the two starred together in the movie Seven). He bedded Jill Schoelen, who was his costar in some unmemorable movie called Cutting Class. Nine months later he was on Juliette Lewis, another costar in another lousy NBC movie called Too Young to Die. The strangest thing is that whomever he dated he started to morph into. He starts to look like his girlfriends.
“Juliette Lewis was going through this ‘goth,' freakish look, and Brad looked weird, just like her. When he was married to Jen, his hair was ashy blond, like hers. Now it is
Angelina Jolie dark brown. I find this a little odd, but hey, to each his own, right?
“He also dated Julia Ormond, his Legends of the Fall costar. Then he met and married Jennifer, then he met, screwed, and had a baby with his Mr. and Mrs. Smith costar, Angelina Jolie.
“Now, I understand why Jennifer Aniston got with Brad. Ladies, can I get a witness? And all you ‘how you doin's' out there, holla! He is the sexiest man in the world— of any race or ethnicity. Tell me you haven't seen those naked pictures of him in Playgirl?! Yummy. Okay, okay… he ain't packing like the brothers. But I suspect that there is more ‘there' than meets the eye. I have seen things go from dud to ‘whoa buddy!' and surprise the hell out of me before. I think Brad Pitt is in that category. But to tell you the truth, just looking at him and that freaking perfect body makes me not really care whether he's packing or not. Um, we're going to have to go to commercial or a song or something while I get me some ice water. And I'm not drinking it, either!”
Aaron took his cue, played “Ay, Papi Chulo!” and started a commercial set.
Ritz smiled to herself. She was in her element, getting back in the game. She would prefer to be in the studio, but at least she was on the air again. She didn't know whether she would be rusty, whether the audience would be ready for her to return. There were a lot of unknowns. But the display on her laptop computer that was loaded with “assistant producer software,” giving her a direct link into the studio's computer, showed her that the audience was still there. She hadn't even asked a real question and every line was lit. Her adrenaline was pulsing through her body. Being on the air again was better than any drug or any man she had ever put in her body.
She was getting pumped up for the bombshell she was going to drop in hour two. She wanted to take her audience by surprise. It involved a rapper and his wife. It was a story that came to Ritz simply because she was Ritz. People in hospitals, nurses and even doctors, folks who worked in hotels, waiters and hostesses in restaurants— were all her informants. She was able to get the dirt on just about anybody, because people wanted to be in Ritz's good graces. She realized she didn't need Chas as much anymore; she had more than ten million Chases spread out over thirty-plus states.
One of her informants gave her a nice, juicy tidbit that nobody knew. Ritz was back. She was back and more explosive than ever. She had gotten a tip about a Grammy-winning singer who was checking into a health spa, but it was actually rehab. The music world hadn't had this kind of scandal since they found out that Whitney was on crack—er, um, cocaine (because “crack is wack!”). This multiplatinum singer, who had endorsements with the Disney company, was known to be a bit eccentric, showing up on the red carpet in outlandish outfits. Now Ritz was going to tie her strange behavior to cocaine abuse.
Ritz also had more dirt on Hardcore, the former hot rapper who used to be one of Tracee's artists. Ritz had outed him last year and ruined his career. The worst thing for a hardcore gangster rapper was to be rumored to be gay. Now she had him linked up with another famous rapper. It was so juicy, Ritz could hardly wait until Wednesday to drop that bomb.
Or maybe, I'll save this until Friday, she thought. Give them something to talk about over the weekend.
No thought was given to Tracee. Ritz wasn't trying to think about anything but her mission ahead— to be back on top.
Jamie was trying to settle in. She spent most of the time in the room Ritz had for her. It was a beautiful bedroom, bigger than her own, with the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in, but Jamie wasn't comfortable there.
Ritz appreciated the company. She felt safe having someone in the house. But Jamie was very standoffish. She was sad. Ritz would ask her about it, maybe. Actually, she thought more about Jamie's boyfriend and hoped he would stop by some night to see her. She didn't know how she would do it, but Ritz had to have Derek again.
After another successful show went off without a hitch, Jamie retired to her room after asking if Ritz needed anything. Ritz was exhausted. The adrenaline of being back on the air had carried her over the last few days, but it was all catching up with her.
“I don't need a thing, Jamie,” Ritz said. “Just some sleep. I'm turning the ringer off on the phone. I don't want to be disturbed. I'm going to be out for the next twelve hours.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Jamie said, closing Ritz's bedroom door behind her.
The knock was so hard, it jolted Ritz out of her sleep.
“What the fuck!” she said, looking at her clock and seeing that it was a little after three in the morning.
The knock came again.
“Yes!” Ritz screamed. “What the fuck is the matter?!”
Jamie cracked the door.
“I am sorry to bother you, but it's your uncle. He's on the phone,” she said. “He needs to speak with you.”
Ritz grabbed the phone next to her bed.
“Uncle Cecil?” she said, hearing the click on the other end as Jamie hung up the phone in the guest room.
“Ritz? Ritz?” he stammered. “It's your aunt. She's gone.”
Ritz was stunned. She knew her aunt was sick, but Ritz never imagined her dying— especially not dying before she had a chance to see her one last time. Ritz had been meaning to get by to see her again. She was going to go earlier in the day, but she was all caught up with getting back on the air. She was caught up with her life. She figured she would have time.
Ritz meant to have a heart-to-heart with Aunt Maddie. While they had reconciled, there was still so much more to say. And she knew Aunt Maddie wanted to talk to her about something, about Randolph. About her father.
But the truth was, Ritz didn't really feel like talking— not about that. She also didn't like seeing her aunt like that. She didn't like how weak Maddie was, how sick she was. After spending so many weeks in the hospital herself, Ritz just didn't want to go back there— not even for her aunt. But it was over now.
“Uncle Cecil, I'm sorry,” said Ritz. “Don't you worry about a thing. I'll be right there. I will be right there, Uncle Cecil. I'll take care of everything.”
Ritz hadn't driven since she got out of the hospital, but she found her keys on the island in the kitchen, started up her Aston Martin, and headed to the hospital. She would take care of everything. Aunt Maddie would have a queen's send-off. Ritz was not going to spare a single expense.