Mica takes a rubber band from her skinny wrist and pulls her stringy blonde hair back into a ponytail. “Yeah. I tried to rent it. All out at Blockbuster.”

The ET host swivels to face a monitor where a matronly woman appears. A microphone pinned like a brooch, tugs down her turquoise knit sweater. The screen flashes: “Dr. Jan Brenner, Psychiatrist.”

The host glances at the notes in his lap. “Dr. Brenner. In your professional opinion, was Jackie Gold’s recent behavior consistent with someone harboring suicidal feelings?”

Suicide? There were a few people I wanted to kill, but none of them were me.

Dr. Brenner clears her throat. “Well, we would have to consider Jackie Gold’s entire history. The stay at Betty Ford, her battles with depression…”

What the? Sure, I’d gotten depressed, but not enough to make me jump off a building. And I’d only gone to Betty once for a fundraiser! Was this to be my legacy?

Amanda picks up the remote and lowers the volume. “You think she was as screwed up as everyone says?”

Pierre shakes his finger at her. “Is. She’s still alive, remember.”

“I wouldn’t want her odds,” Mica says, as the three of them surround me, gazing down like they’re at my viewing.

A public service announcement and a number for a suicide hotline flash on the screen.

“Should we peek at her boobs?” Mica whispers.

“Girrrl!” Amanda punches her arm.

“You know what you could get for a picture of her?”

“One of the orderlies was offered ten grand,” Amanda says.

“Come on you two. Time to go,” Pierre insists.

“Relax dude,” Amanda straightens a corner of my blanket—a gesture I might find touching were her presence less disingenuous.

“I love you, Jackie,” and, “We’re praying for ya, honey,” come muffled shouts from the fans below my window.

Mica snorts “Damn don’t those people ever go home?”

The host returns with a preview of the following evening’s show then swivels back to the monitor. Suddenly, shockingly, Nicole’s face fills the screen.

She looks haggard. Dark circles under her eyes, hair dull and lank.

“Who’s that?” Mica points.

The nurses look up at the TV.

“We’re here with Nicole Abrams, Jackie Gold’s publicist and lifelong best friend.”

“Aww, like us,” Mica puts her arm around Amanda.

Hell no. Former best friend. Brutus to me now! Am I really the only one who hears me yelling?

“Miss Abrams, maybe you can set the record straight.”

Yes, Miss Abrams. Start with how you ratted me out to the paparazzi.

Nicole squirms in her seat. “All I know is this. The last time I spoke to Jackie she was extremely upset.”

But not suicidal. Tell them!

“Suicidal?” The host leans forward.

“Um, maybe.”

What? No! What was she saying? My heart pounds as if my chest will explode.

“Jackie had…I mean has issues.”