Cover

Dedication

For Ruthanne, Grampa, and all
of my amazingly supportive family.
(Though I’d like to note that all Aunt Sues in this work
are purely fictional and bear no resemblance to any other Aunt Sues I may know.)

Chapter One

TEEN SENSATION ON MORAL VACATION

LAST NIGHT THE INFORMER CAUGHT EVERYONE’S FAVORITE TEEN ACTRESS, JENNIFER WOOD, AT THE HOLLYWOOD MARTINI ROOM WITH A MEMBER OF A BOY BAND IN ONE HAND AND MARY JANE IN THE OTHER—

“Shit!”

“Tina!”

I swiveled in my chair to face my boss, Felix Dunn, standing in the doorway to his office, hands on hips.

“What?”

“Swear Pig.”

I pursed my lips. “That doesn’t count.”

“I just heard you say ‘shit.’”

“It was computer related. Everyone knows computer-related swearing doesn’t count.”

He narrowed his eyes. Clearly my argument wasn’t cutting it.

“It’s your own fault, you know,” I protested, changing tactics. I’d been typing up a juicy tidbit about the It teen actress, who’d been caught with a joint in her hand at last night’s after-party, when my backspace button stuck, taking out one very cleverly worded line, even if I did say so myself. “I mean, how many centuries old are these things anyway?” I went on. “Would it kill you to buy some new hardware once in a while?”

He shook his head. “Swear Pig, Bender,” he repeated, then disappeared back into his office.

“Shit.”

“I heard that!”

I stuck my tongue out at his door and dropped two quarters into the purple piggy bank on my desk. Somehow our newly appointed editor in chief was under the impression that yours truly swore too much. I have no fucking idea where he got that impression. But he’d set up the Swear Pig as a way to break my bad habit. Personally, I was fine with my bad habit. It’s not like I was shooting heroin or anything.

Which brought me back to my story.

I swiveled around, pushing my glasses back up onto my nose, and put my fingers to the keyboard, re-creating my perfect line.

IT MAY BE ONE JOINT TODAY FOR OUR FAVORITE FAIR-HAIRED TEENYBOPPER, BUT WITH THE WAY HER LIFE IS SPIRALING OUT OF CONTROL, CAN COCAINE, METH, OR EVEN HEROIN BE FAR BEHIND? HOW MANY BLONDES DOES IT TAKE TO SPELL “REHAB?”

I sat back in my chair, surveying my work. Okay, so it was a little mean. And the truth was Wood claimed someone had thrust the “stinky cigarette” into her hand just before the paparazzi flashbulbs went off, after which she’d promptly thrown it out. But, seriously, she played a perky cheerleader in a tween cable show. This was tabloid gold.

I hit “send,” letting my daily gossip column zip through the L.A. Informer’s network to Felix’s inbox, then gave my knuckles a satisfying crack.