An editor of See You There magazine held two stories in his hand. One was about an actress named Shelton Wade and the other was about a TV star, Krystal Adams. The editor called in a columnist passing by.
“Hey, Jane – help me with this. I need a filler piece to follow the Espinoza’s divorce drama article. Here I have that Shelton chick’s new house. I think it was once Orlando Bloom’s bachelor pad or something, okay?” He put one set of sheets down and picked up the other. “Over here I have Krystal Adams doing a vodka launch. It’s not her line, she’s just there. What’s His Name isn’t there but she is falling out of her dress and I have some shots of her dancing provocatively with another guest – which should I go with?”
“Shelton,” Jane said.
“Okay, but the other guest Krystal is grinding against is a porn star,” the editor added.
Jane took the photos and pursed her lips as she looked at them.
“Yeah, I’m still going with Shelton. She just got a part in the new Malick film – doesn’t deserve it, but got it. Krystal can’t even get arrested,” she said, handing the photos back to him.
The editor put the Krystal piece in the drawer. “Okay, Shelton it is.”
In Krystal Adams’ bathroom, Krystal herself let out a deafening scream as a deep line etched itself to the left of her mouth.
