Sweetheart in High Heels Page 5

  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 keyboard, recreating my perfect line.

  IT MAY BE ONE JOINT TODAY FOR OUR FAVORITE FAIR-HAIRED TEENY-BOPPER, 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 threw it out. But, seriously, she played the perky “Pippi Mississippi” in a tween cable show. This was tabloid gold.

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

  I glanced at the clock. Quitting time. And somewhere there was a big beefy burrito dinner with my name on it. I grabbed my Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox that doubled as my purse and made for the exit.

  Unfortunately, not before Eagle Eyes Dunn could catch me.

  “Bender?”

  I thought a dirty word and turned around to find him leaning against his office doorframe. “Did you want something, chief?”

  “You finish up that Wood piece yet?” he asked.

  “Just emailed it to you.” I loved it when I was one step ahead of the boss.

  “What about Pines?”

  “Pines?”

  Edward Pines was the director who’d recently been arrested when police found a stack of pornography under the seat of his car during a routine traffic stop. Not that naked bodies were a novelty in Hollywood, but these particular magazines had included photos of thirteen-year-old boys in the buff. I don’t care how much his last action pic grossed, that guy was total Hollywood roadkill now.

  “What about him?” I asked.

  “Being arraigned today. It’s your story, right?”

  Damned straight. My headline the morning after Pine’s arrest had read: PINES PINES AFTER PINT-SIZED PRE-TEENS. What can I say? I have a thing for alliteration.

  But as much as I was relishing the story, I wasn’t thrilled with the timing.

  “He’s being arraigned now?” My stomach growled. “It’s dinner time.”

  “The news waits for no one, love. Cam’s meeting you at the courthouse,” he said, ducking back into his office.

  So much for my burrito. “Shit.”

  “Bender…”

  “I know, I know.” I reached into Strawberry Shortcake, pulled out another quarter, and dropped it into the ceramic pig on my way out.

  At this rate, I’d be broke by Christmas.

  SCANDAL SHEET

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