Stephanie was livid when she saw the contents of the envelope. Inside was a check—her kill fee from Strive magazine. Now, if this didn’t add insult to injury. Not only had it taken her months to finally get her story on Lexis Richards accepted—and by a tiny, almost anonymous bimonthly at that—now the bastards were paying her not to publish the story.
“They could have saved the paper and paid me with a roll of quarters,” Stephanie said, crushing the check in her hand.
Not that others weren’t interested in the explosive young director’s story. It was simply that none were interested in her story. Thanks to the media blitz Felicia had managed to whip up, six weeks had passed before Stephanie was able to sit down with Lexis. By the time she’d gotten her promised interview, it was too late. Stories about the director had already run in the major daily papers around the country, and profiles were scheduled in Ebony, Esquire, Rolling Stone, and Playboy magazines. Still, an interview with a hot commodity like Lexis was too good for Stephanie to pass up.
At the top of their discussion, the director had been completely open and forthright, talking to her in depth about his business and his art. It wasn’t until he inadvertently mentioned that his first project had starred his twin brother, Lewis, that the interview took a quick slide downhill.
“That’s off the record. Nothing about my family goes in this story,” he said brusquely.
“Come on, Lexis. The public wants to know about your childhood.”
“I don’t give a damn what people want to know. This article is about me, not my family.”
Later, when Stephanie wrote her profile, she took great care to paint a positive picture of Lexis, dwelling on his childhood fascination with making movies. Other than a quick mention of the director’s twin brother, she honored his condition that the Richards family remain off limits. And what was the thanks she received? A story she couldn’t sell.
How selfish could Felicia and Lexis be? After all, if Stephanie hadn’t directed Lexis Richards to the Palio Restaurant, Felicia would have never signed him on as a client, thus leaving him and his movie to be swallowed up by a sea of bad publicity. In saving her client’s first shot at fame, Felicia had effectively killed Stephanie’s.
Why is life always kicking me in the ass? Stephanie asked herself bitterly. This article was to be her big launch into the world of magazine reporting. The story that put her in the Rolodexes of important editors around the city. But once again, instead of the glory she expected, she got zilch—nada. Nothing ever works out for me, Stephanie thought, full of self-pity. Not school, not writing, not Jack.
She missed Jack. Even though he had turned out to be just another dog who treated her like his personal fire hydrant, time and distance had not put an end to her obsession with him. When the pain of not having him with her became too much, Stephanie resorted to sophomoric tricks like calling his number late at night and hanging up after he said hello. Once, when a female voice answered, Stephanie claimed to be calling from the Gay Men’s Health Crisis with the results of Jack’s HIV test. She had no way of knowing if her insinuation had had any effect on the woman, but Stephanie took the chance that it would work on her just as it had apparently worked on Gabrielle.
She was sure that the story she’d concocted about Jack’s sexuality had everything to do with Gabrielle’s initial resistance to Jack’s advances. But even if it hadn’t done the job, Gabrielle’s burgeoning career left no time for Jack or any of the other men beating a path to her door.
Gabrielle Donovan. Now, that was one lucky bitch. Everything worked out for her. Everything. Not only was she beautiful, but she was well on her way to being rich and famous, the three things that Stephanie wanted most out of life. Sure, any one of the three was powerful enough to open doors, but in Stephanie’s mind it was the sacred trinity of beauty, wealth, and fame that all but guaranteed a fairy-tale life.
By now Stephanie had come to terms with the fact that great beauty was out of the question. It just wasn’t in the cards, let alone the gene pool. As for being rich and famous, Felicia had effectively shot Stephanie’s current opportunity to hell, and Stephanie had the minuscule paycheck to prove it.
Damn it. Felicia’s getting paid, Gabrielle’s getting paid, and here I sit with barely enough money to buy breakfast. It’s not fair!
“Life’s not fair, so why should I be?” Stephanie asked herself out loud as an idea fermented in her head. She rustled through the crumpled magazines and newspapers. Finding what she needed, Stephanie picked up the phone and dialed the number listed in the ad.
“ ‘Grain Harvest,’ ” proclaimed a smooth voice.
Stephanie immediately recognized Harry Grain’s voice from his public confrontation at the gallery. “My name is Stephanie Bancroft. I’m calling you about Lexis Richards, the director of Southeast.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Hip-Hop, Does His Mouth Ever Stop,” Harry answered dryly, amused by his attempt at snide humor. “I doubt there is anything that you could say that could possibly be of any interest to me.
“I know one thing he likes to keep his mouth shut about.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, taking the bait.
“The ad says that I can supplement my income.”
“It also stipulates accurate and interesting celebrity gossip.”
“This information is both.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Lexis Richards has a brother.”
“Really? So do about a billion other people in this world.”
“But this is a twin brother that I get the distinct impression he’s trying to hide.”
“Go on,” Harry said with renewed interest.
“I interviewed Lexis recently, and he accidentally let it slip out that he has a brother named Lewis. When I tried to get more details, he angrily cut the interview off, saying that his family was off limits.”
“It does sound rather mysterious, doesn’t it? I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you fifty dollars for this initial climb up Mr. Richards’s family tree. If you can find out anything more about his secret twin, I’ll give you another fifty.”
“Why don’t we say fifty dollars for this and we’ll leave the rest negotiable, depending on what I come up with,” Stephanie countered. She had a hunch that Lexis’s secret was big, and if she was right, she didn’t want to sell herself short. This time, come hell or high water, somebody was going to pay her for delivering Lexis Richards.
“No, ma’am, I’m looking for a Lewis Richards, not Lamar. Thank you anyway.” Stephanie hung up, crossed the name off the list, and began dialing the next number. This was her twenty-third phone call this morning and, while she was intent on calling every Richards listed in the Washington, D.C., phone book until she found Lexis’s brother, she sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Lewis Richards, please,” Stephanie requested after the third ring.
“He’s not here,” volunteered a female voice. “Who’s calling?”
Stephanie immediately put a cap on her growing excitement. “My name is Beatrice Braidburn and I’m calling from the Hecht Company department store,” she lied with great conviction. “Lewis was apparently in the store a few weeks ago and entered a drawing in our men’s department. He’s won a two-hundred-dollar gift certificate. When will he be back? I’d like to congratulate him personally.”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid you have the wrong person. Lewis could not have been in your store, and Lexis has been out of town for weeks,” the woman explained.
Lexis! Stephanie could feel the adrenaline start to pump through her body. She felt like Indiana Jones on the dig of a lifetime, just hitting pay dirt. “No, the card definitely says Lewis.”
“Miss, it is impossible that Lewis was in your store. He can’t even cross the street by himself, let alone shop. My son has been a quadriplegic for over twenty years.”
“I’m so sorry. How did it happen?” Stephanie felt a twinge of shame for asking, but polite tactfulness was no match for her growing curiosity.
“Why do you want to know all of this?” Mrs. Richards asked, her guard up.
“Forgive me for all the questions, it’s just, well, I have a sister who was paralyzed in a car accident,” Stephanie said, not missing a beat. “I guess I got a little excited talking to someone who understands what I’ve been through. You know—the guilt, the blame, messed-up family life …”
“Blame and guilt are a deadly combination,” Mrs. Richards philosophized. “And life after a tragic accident is never the same for anyone.”
“Please forgive me for being so inquisitive, but what actually happened?”
Ten minutes later, Stephanie hung up the phone, amazed by the story she’d just heard. With one shot, Lexis Richards had destroyed his entire family, and Stephanie couldn’t wait to tell.
“This is even juicier than I imagined,” Harry commented after Stephanie filled him in. Harry Grain loved digging up dirt on people. His philosophy about fame and privacy was simple: When you make a living demanding that people pay attention to you, you deserve for people to pay attention to you. If that meant people digging into the clothes hamper of someone else’s life—so be it. Nothing made him happier than finding out and revealing all the dirty laundry these spoiled celebrities thought they could keep hidden. “I applaud your resourcefulness.”
“I am very resourceful, Mr. Grain. I talk to a great many people. Famous people your readers would love to read about.”
“I see. And how do you know so many celebrities?”
Stephanie didn’t dare reveal her source. If she played her cards right, her job with Felicia could turn into a nice little bread-and-butter gig, particularly if Wilcot & Associates continued to grow at its current rate. “I told you, I’m a writer with lots of friends in the public-relations business.”
“You’re sure you can deliver?”
“I think my handling of Lexis Richards is adequate proof.”
“All right, I will make any substantive, verifiable news you give me well worth your while, but only if you give me complete exclusivity. No running to Cindy Adams or Liz Smith.”
“And you’ll guarantee that my name will never be mentioned?” “Darling, if I revealed my sources, I’d be out of business in fifteen minutes.”
“In that case, I’ll be in touch.”