he scandal broke with gale force. Those humiliating photographs were everywhere, and the newspapers and television stations that didn't own the pictures described them in excruciating detail.

Nora sat huddled in her own living room, refusing to go anywhere. The thought of being seen terrified her.

Her assistant, Dee Langhor; had shown up bright and early in the morning-I came the minute I heard-and Nora had felt pathetically grateful. Now Dee was in Nora's home office, fielding phone calls.

With everything on Nora's mind, one thing kept rising to the surface; she should have called Caroline the day before, to warn her about the coming media storm.

But how did you tell your child something like this? Oh, honey, and don't mind about the pictures of your naked mother that are front-page news?

In the end, Nora had chosen to handle the impending disaster as she handled all difficult things: she'd taken two sleeping pills and turned off her phone.

In the morning, she'd had a short respite... then she'd turned on the television. The story had been picked up by every morning show.

Now she had no choice. She had to call.

She reached for the phone, accessed the second line, and pushed number one on the speed-dial list. Her heart was pounding so hard she couldn't hear the ringing on the other end.

"Hello?"

It took Nora a moment to respond--God, she wanted to hang up the phone. "Caro? It's me. Mom"

There was a pause that seemed to strip away a layer of Nora's tender flesh. "Well. Well. I hope you're going to tell me you were kidnapped yesterday and the FBI just freed you from your prison in the back some psycho fan's trunk."

"I wasn't kidnapped."

"I found out this morning when I dropped Jenny off at preschool." She laughed sharply. "Mona Carlson asked me how it felt to see pictures of my mother like that. How it felt."

Nora didn't know how to respond. Defending herself was pointless; worse, it was offensive. "I'm sorry. I couldn't... call."

"Of course you couldn't." Caroline was quiet for a moment, then she said, "I can't believe I let it hurt my feelings, either. I should have known better. It's just that in the last few years... I thought... oh, hell, forget it."

"I know. We've been getting closer..."

"No. Apparently I’ve been getting closer. You, obviously, haven't changed at all. You've been like some Stepford mom, pretending, saying the right things, but never really feeling connected to me at all. I don't know when I got stupid enough to expect honesty from you. And I'm not even going to get into the content of those photographs, what they mean to our family."

"Please," Nora pleaded, "I know I screwed up.

Don't shut me out of your life again..."

"You're priceless. You really don't get it, do you? not the one who shuts people out, not in this family. Maybe Ruby was the smart one—she hasn't let you hurt her in years. Now, I've got to go."

"I love you, Caroline," Nora said in a rush, desperate to say the words before it was too late.

"You know what's sad about that?" Caroline's voice broke. A little sob sounded in her throat. "I believe you." She hung up.

The dial tone buzzed in Nora's ears.

Dee rushed into the living room, her eyes wide. "Mr. Adams is on the phone."

"Oh, God-"

"I told him you weren't here, but he screamed at me. He said to tell you to pick up the f-+ phone or he was going to call his lawyers.

Nora sighed. Of course. Tom Adams hadn't become a newspaper mogul by playing nice. He was a good ole boy who had fought his way to the top by never giving an inch to anyone.

She rubbed her suddenly throbbing temples. "Put him through."

"Thanks," Dee said. Turning, she hurried out of the living room and went back into Nora's office.

Nora answered the phone. "Hello, Tom."

"Jee-zuz Kee-riste, Nora, what in the Sam Hill were you thinking? I heard about this godawful mess when I was on the crapper this A.m. If I hadn't had the television on, I don't know when I'da found out. My little woman said to me, "Gee, Tommy, your little gal has herself in a pickle, don't she?"

Nora winced. "Sorry, Tom. I was caught off guard by the whole thing myself."

"Well, you're on guard now, little lady. Tamara tells me that you haven't gotten any letters yet, but you will. My guess is they'll start comin" in tomorrow."

"You've got two months' worth of columns from me on file. That'll give me some time to figure out how I want to handle this." He made a barking sound. "I pay you a wagonload of money to answer readers' letters, and now that they finally got something interesting to ask about, you sure as hell aren't going to play possum. Scandals sell newspapers and I mean to cash in on your heartache. Sorry, Nora-and I do mean that; I've always liked you—but business is business. Your agent sure understood business when he bled me for that million-dollar contract."

Nora felt sick to her stomach. "The radio station is giving me some time off-"

"Don't you confuse me with those tie-wearin' Panty waists. I haven't backed down from a fight in my life, and my people aren't going to, either."

The headache blossomed into a full-blown migraine. "Okay, Tom," she said softly. She'd say anything to end this conversation. "Give me a few days. Use what you have for now and then I'll start to answer the hate mail."

He chuckled. "I knew you'd see the light, Nora. Bye now."

She hung up. The silence that came after all that yelling was strangely heavy.

Tom actually expected her to sit down and read angry, disappointed letters from the very people who used to love her.

Impossible.

Ruby stood in her steam-clouded bathroom, staring through the mist at her watery reflection. The lines beneath her puffy eyes looked like they'd been stitched in place by an industrial sewing machine.

It wouldn't do to look this old, not in Hollywood. She wanted people to think of her as young and hip and defiant, not as a woman who'd wasted her youth in nightclubs and had nothing to show for it except early-onset wrinkles.

She used makeup to take off the years. Enough "heroin-chic" black eyeliner and people would assume she was young and stupid. Sort of the way gorgeous celebrities wore godawful hairdos to the Academy Awards; their message had to be, looks don't matter to me.

As if.

Only a beautiful woman would even consider making that ridiculous statement.

Ruby dressed carefully--V-necked cashmere sweater; black leather miniskirt, and black tights. She hadn't had time to run to the store for temporary hair dye, but a lot of gel had made her hair poke out everywhere instead. She layered fourteen cheap plastic Mardi Gras necklaces around her neck and painted her stubby, bitten-off fingernails a glittery shade of midnight blue. Finally, she put on a pair of clunky black sunglasses--Rite Aid knockoffs of the newest designer fashion.

Then she took a deep breath, grabbed her handbag, and headed outside.

The sleek black limousine was already parked at the curb. Ruby couldn't help wishing that Max were here right now. She'd just love to shove past him and drive away.

A uniformed driver stood beside the car. "Miss Bridge?"

She grinned. No one ever called her that. "That's me. I'm going to-"

"I know, miss. The Paramount lot. I'll be waiting to take you home after the taping."

The driver came around and opened the door for her. Ruby peered into the dark interior and saw a dozen white roses in a sheath of opalescent tissue paper lying on the backseat. An ice bucket held a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon.

Ruby slid into the seat, heard the satisfying thud of the closing door; and plucked the card from the flowers.

People as talented as you don't need luck. They need a chance, and this is yours. Love, Val.

God, it felt good. As if those tarnished dreams of hers were finally coming true. She had never meant to need it all so much. It had begun as a lark--something she did well without a lot of effort. Ruby the class clown, always making people laugh. But after her mother abandoned them, everything had changed. Ruby had changed. From that moment on, nothing and no one had been quite enough for her. She'd come to need the unconditional acceptance that only fame could provide.

She scooted closer to the window, grinning as the limo pulled up to the security booth at the entrance to Paramount. The twin white arches, trimmed in golden metallic scrollwork, announced to the world that through these gates was a special world, open only to a lucky few.

Ruby hit the button to lower the privacy shield just in time to hear the driver say, "I have Miss Bridge for Uproar."

The guard stepped back into his booth, consulted a clipboard, then waved them through. Ruby plastered herself close to the window, looking for celebrities, but all she saw were regular people milling about. The closest she came to seeing a movie star was a red Sports car parked in a stall marked JULIA ROBERTS.

At the visitors' lot, the driver parked the car and came around, opening Ruby's door. "There's your ride," he said, pointing to a vehicle that looked like a stretched-out golf cart. A man in tan-colored shorts and a matching polo shirt was standing beside it.

"They'll zip you up to the studio. I'll be right here whenever you get back."

Ruby tried to look blase', as if she did this all the time. To tell the truth, if her blood pressure bumped up another notch, she was probably going to stroke out.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the cart. Once she got in, the driver settled behind the wheel and started the soundless engine. The cart moved jerkily between the huge sound stages. There were people everywhere, walking, riding bicycles. They passed a battalion of aliens-" that Patrick Stewart-and veered around a gathering of cowboys. Finally, they pulled up to sound stage nine, a hulking, flesh-colored building. Above the door was a neon sign that read UPROAR! A NEW KIND OF TALK SHOW WITH JOE COCHRAN.

Ruby jumped off the cart and crossed the street. She paused a minute, then opened the door. Inside was a kaleidoscope of colored lights, darkened seating, and people. That's what she noticed most of all –there were people everywhere, scurrying around like ants with clipboards, checking and rechecking, nodding and cursing and laughing.

"You're Ruby Bridge?"

Ruby jumped. She hadn't even noticed the small, platinum blonde who now stood beside her; peering up at Ruby through the ugliest pair of brown-framed glasses she'd ever seen. "I'm Ruby."

"Good." The woman grabbed Ruby's arm and led her through the swarming people, down a quieter hallway and into a small waiting room. On the beside a brown sofa were a bowl of fruit and a bottle of Perrier on ice. "Do you need makeup?"

Ruby laughed. "Are you thinking of an intervention?"

The woman frowned, cocked her head, birdlike. "Excuse me?"

Ruby nodded stiffly. "My makeup's fine. Thanks."

"Good. Sit here. Someone will come and get you when it's time to go on." The woman consulted her papers. "You get two minutes up front. You were a last-minute guest, so there's no time for an interview; we'll just have to make do. Be fast and be funny." With a quick sniff, the woman was gone.

Ruby collapsed on the sofa. Suddenly she was more than nervous. She was terrified. Be funny.

What had she been thinking? She wasn't funny. Her material might be funny, but she wasn't. It usually took her three minutes into a routine before she calmed down enough to make people laugh.

So, a minute after she was finished, she'd be a riot.

She shot to her feet. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought for a second that someone was at the door.

"Calm down, Ruby," she said, forcing her fingers to uncurl. She focused on her breathing. In and out, in and out. "You are funny. You are."

There was a knock at the door. "They're ready for you, Miss Bridge."

"Oh, my God." Ruby glanced at the wall clock.

She'd been standing here, hyperventilating, for thirty minutes, and now she couldn't remember one goddamn line of material.

The door swung open.

Bird lady stood there, pointy face tilted to the left. "Miss Bridge?"

Ruby exhaled slowly, slowly. "I'm ready," she said, and though she was facing the woman, she was really talking to herself. She was ready; she'd been ready all her life.

She followed the woman toward the stage. As she got closer; she could hear the familiar strains of the opening music. Then came Joe's voice; the audience laughed in response to something he said.

"Remember," the woman said in a stage whisper, "we want opinions, the more outrageous and controversial the better."

Ruby nodded in understanding, although truthfully, she didn't think she had an opinion on anything right now except her own shortcomings. And as an added bonus, she was sweating like a geyser. Mascara was probably running down her cheeks.

She'd look like something out of Alien by the time-

"Ruby Bridge!" Her name roared through the sound system, chased by the sound of applause.

Ruby pushed through the curtains, smiling to the best of her ability. She forced herself not to squint, although the lights were so bright she couldn't see anything. She just hoped she didn't walk off the end of the stage.

She went to the microphone. It made a fuzzy, crackling sound as she pulled it off its stand. "Well," she said with a bright smile, "it's nice to know I'm not the only person who can come to a talk show in the middle of the day. Of course, it's easy for me. I was fired yesterday. Fired, from a trendy, shit-ass restaurant that I won't name--but it sounds like Irma's Hash House. I won't even tell you what I thought we'd be selling..."

A smattering of laughter.

"Actually, if they were going to fire me, I'm glad it happened on Thursday. Friday is all-you-can-eat night. And trust me, people take that literally. Irma's is the only restaurant in L.A. where they have defibrillators on the table. Ketchup? Mustard? Restart your heart?" She let silence have a beat of her time. "I mean, this is the new millennium. I kept saying to people, for the love of God, eat fruit."

More laughter, deeper this time. It gave her confidence.

She grinned, then launched into the rest of her routine, saving the best jokes-about her mother-for last.

At the end of her abbreviated routine, Ruby stepped back from the mike. Amid the beautiful sound of applause, Joe Cochran crossed the stage toward her. He was smiling, which was definitely a good sign.

He placed a hand warmly on her shoulder and turned to face the crowd. "You've all met the very funny Ruby Bridge. Now, let's meet the rest of our players for tonight. There's family therapist Elsa Pine, author of the best selling book Poisonous Parents, and the honorable Sanford Tyrell, congressman from Alabama."

Elsa and Sanford walked onstage, looking like a pencil and a softball. They were careful not to make eye contact with each other.

Joe clapped his hands together. "Let's get started."

The three guests followed Joe to the artfully arranged leather chairs on the stage. Joe sat down in the center seat, then looked up at the audience and smiled. "I don't know about you all, but I'm sick and tired of the way our judicial system handles criminals. Every time I open the paper, I read about some psychopath who killed a little girl and got off because the jury felt sorry for him. I mean, sorry for him. Who's looking out for the victims here?"

"Now Joe." Elsa leaned forward, her eyes narrowed and hard beneath the sensible, round glasses. She was so thin, Ruby wondered how her lungs could fill with air without knocking her over. "Criminals aren't born they're made. It makes perfect sense to understand that some people have been so abused by their parents that they no longer know right from wrong."

"Little lady," the good congressman said, his florid face creasing into a good-ole-boy grin, "that's about as wrong-headed as a filly can be."

Ruby frowned at the audience. "Did he call her a filly? Tell me I heard wrong...

Laughter.

Elsa ignored it. "You heard right. Congressman-"

"Call me Sanford." He pulled almost four syllables out of his name.

"The measure of a society is its compassion."

"What about compassion for the victim's family," Joe said, "or do you bleeding-heart liberals just want us to be compassionate toward the murderer?" He looked at Ruby. "You know something about toxic parents, Ruby. Is everything wrong in your life your mother's fault?"

Elsa nodded. "Yes, Ruby, you of all people should understand how deeply a parent can wound a child. I mean, your mother is a huge proponent of marriage. She positively waxes poetic about the sanctity of the vows-"

Ruby laughed. "So does Bill Clinton."

Elsa wouldn't be sidetracked by the audience's laughter. "You were probably the only person in America who wasn't surprised by the Tattler today."

"I don't read the tabloids," Ruby answered.

A whisper moved through the audience, chairs squeaked. Joe's enthusiastic smile dimmed. He shot a quick look at bird woman, who was standing just off-stage. Then he leaned forward. "You haven't read today's Tattler?"

Ruby's frown deepened. "Is that a crime now?"

Joe reached down, and for the first time Ruby noticed the newspaper folded beneath his chair. He picked it up, handed it to her. "I'm sorry. You were supposed to have known."

Ruby felt a sudden tension in the room, the kind of hush that fell just before a bar fight started. She took the newspaper from him, opened it. At first, all she noticed was the headline: RAISING MORE THAN SPIRITS. It made her smile. How did they come up with this stuff?

Then she saw the photograph.

It was a blurry, grainy shot of two naked people entwined. The editors had carefully placed black "privacy strips" across the pertinent body parts, but there was no denying what was going on. Or who the woman was.

Ruby looked helplessly at the faces around her. Joe appeared focused, a dog poised on the scent. The therapist frowned thoughtfully. They were imagining her pain.

She tossed the newspaper down in disgust. It landed on the floor with a muffled thwack. "There's a lesson to women everywhere in this. When your lover says,

"One little photo, honey, just for us," you better cover your naked ass and run."

Elsa leaned forward. "How does it make you feel to see-"

Joe raised his hands. "We're getting off the topic here. The question is, how much of our screw ups are our fault? Does a bad parent give someone a free ride to commit crime?"

"This country's gone excuse crazy," the congressman said, not meeting Ruby's gaze. "Every time some loony bin goes crazy, we put his mother on trial. It ain't right."

"Exactly!" Joe said. "Too damn bad if you were abused. If you do the crime, you do the time."

Ruby sat perfectly still. There was no reason for her to speak, and truthfully, she couldn't think of a thing to say. She knew she'd given Uproar what it had wanted--a reaction. Her surprise was icing on the cake. By tomorrow, she knew her blank-eyed, dimwitted reaction to the scandal would lead every report. She'd look like an idiot from coast to coast.

She should have known it would be like this... her big break. What a joke. How could she have been so naive?

Finally, she heard Joe wrapping up. She blinked, trying to look normal.

"That's all the time we have for today, folks. Tune in next week, when our subject will be communicating with the dead-possible? Or just plain fraud? Thank you."

The applause sign lit up and the audience responded immediately, clapping thunderously.

Ruby rose from her chair and moved blindly across the stage. People were talking to her; but she couldn't hear anything they were saying.

Someone touched her shoulder. She jumped and spun around.

"Ruby?" It was Joe. He was standing beside her, his handsome face drawn into a tight frown. "I'm really sorry about ambushing you. The story broke yesterday. It never occurred to us that you'd miss it. Every station covered it, and since so much of your material is about your relationship with your mother..." He let the explanation flounder.

"I turned off my phone and television," she answered, then added, "I was getting ready for the show

He sighed. "You thought this was your big break. And it turned out-"

"Not to be." She cut him off. The pity in his voice was more than she could bear. She knew he used to be a stand-up comic himself; he knew exactly what had happened. She didn't want her disappointment cemented into words she'd remember forever.

"You know, Ruby," he said, "I've seen your act a few times. The Comedy Store, I think. Your material's good."

"Thanks."

"Maybe you should think about writing, like for a sitcom. They could use your talent at the networks."

Ruby stood there with a fake smile pasted on her face. He was telling her to give up. Try something else.

It felt to Ruby as if she were fading away, but like the Cheshire cat, she'd smile to the end. "Thanks, Joe. I have to go now."

She ran back to her chair and grabbed her handbag. At the last second, she plucked up the Tattler and crammed it under her armpit. Without glancing at anyone, she raced out of the studio.

In her apartment, Ruby closed all the blinds and turned off the lights.

She slumped onto her worn sofa and thumped her feet onto the cheap, wood-grain coffee table. A half full water glass rattled at the movement. The tabloid lay beside her; barely seen in the darkness.

Mommie Dearest had an affair, after all.

It didn't surprise her; that realization, not truly. Any woman who would leave her children to go in search of fame and fortune wouldn't think twice about having an affair. What surprised Ruby was how much it still hurt.

Her fingers shook as she reached for the phone and dialed her sister's number. It was rare that Ruby called Caroline-too expensive-but it wasn't every day you saw naked pictures of your mother having sex with a stranger.

Caroline answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sis," Ruby said, feeling a sudden tide of loneliness.

"So, you finally plugged your phone in. I've been going crazy trying to reach you."

"Sorry," she said softly. Her throat felt embarrassingly tight. "I saw the pictures."

"Yeah. You and everyone else in America. I was always afraid something like this would happen."

Ruby was stunned. She had never imagined it.

"Did you know about the affair?"

"I suspected."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Come on, Rube. You've never once mentioned her name to me, not in all these years. You didn't want to know anything about her."

Ruby hated it when Caroline acted like she knew everything. "I suppose you've already forgiven her; Caroline-the-saint."

"No," Caroline said softly. "I'm having a hard time with this one. It's so... public."

"Ah. Appearances. I forgot about that."

"Don't make me sound so shallow. There's more to it than that and you know it."

Ruby was instantly contrite. She hated how easy it was for her to say hurtful things--even to the people she loved. When Mom had left them, Caroline had been the one who held the family together; even though she'd been no more than a teenager herself. She'd stepped up and been everything Ruby needed. Without Caroline, Ruby honestly believed she wouldn't have made it through that awful year. "I'm sorry. You know how goodness brings out the worst in me."

"I'm not so good. Yesterday, I said some really nasty things to her. I couldn't seem to help myself. I was so mad."

"You talked to her? What did she say?"

"She's sorry. She loves me.

Ruby snorted. "Yeah, just imagine if she hated us"

Caroline laughed. "I'm going to call her when calm down. Maybe we can finally talk about some of the things... you know, the stuff that matters."

"Nothing she has to say matters, Caroline. I've been telling you that for years."

"You're wrong about that, Rube. Someday you'll see that, but for now, all I know is that this thing is going to get a heck of a lot worse before it gets better.

"Only for you, Glenda. I'm not the one who keeps trying to forgive her."

Before Caroline could respond, the doorbell rang. It played a stanza of I just met a girl named Maria...

Ruby made a mental note to change the damned bell. Max had thought it was funny; Ruby disagreed. gotta run, Caroline. There's someone here to see me. With my luck, it's probably the landlord, looking for my rent check."

"Take care of yourself."

"You, too. And kiss my niece and nephew for me." She hung up, then decided not to answer the door anyway. It probably was the landlord.

She went into the kitchen. Flipping through the mostly empty cabinets, she found a half-full fifth of gin and a bottle of vermouth, both of which Max had obviously forgotten. She made herself a martini in a Rubbermaid container; then poured the drink into a plastic tumbler.

By the third repeat of "Maria," she gave up. Taking a quick sip of the martini, she padded across the shag carpeting and peered through the peephole.

It was Val, standing beside a woman so thin she looked like a windshield wiper.

"Oh, perfect."

She wrenched the door open. Val grinned at her. He looked acutely out of place in the dim, ugly corridor.

Val leaned forward and kissed Ruby's cheek.

"How's my newest star?"

"Fuck you," she whispered, smiling brightly at the strange woman. "I never saw it coming."

Val drew back, frowning. "I tried to call you. I even sent a messenger over. You didn't answer the door." Ruby would have said more, but the way the lady was watching them made her uncomfortable. She turned to her, noticing the woman's severe haircut and expensive black dress. An unlit cigarette dangled from her bony fingers.

New Yorker. Definitely. Maybe a mortician.

"I'm Ruby Bridge," she said, extending her hand.

The woman shook her hand. Firm grip. Clammy skin. "Joan Pinon."

"Come on in." Ruby backed away from the door, made a sweeping gesture with her hand. She tried not to see the apartment through their eyes, but it was impossible. Tacky furniture, dusty shag carpeting, garage-sale decor.

Val went right to Max's old velour Barcalounger and sat down. Joan perched birdlike on the end of the sofa.

Ruby flopped down on the sofa's other cushion. She took a sip of her drink. A big gulp, actually. "I know it's early for drinks, but it's not every day you see nude pictures of your mother and lose your career. I'll probably get hit by a bus later today."

Val leaned forward. "Joan is an editor from New York."

"Really?"

"She's here because of your mother."

Ruby took a long, stinging swallow. "Of course she is." She wished she had an olive to nibble on; she needed something to do with her hands. She turned Joan. "What do you want?"

"I work for Cache" magazine. We'd like you to write an expose' on your mother." Joan smiled, showing a mouthful of smoker's teeth. "We could hire a ghostwriter if you'd like, but Val tells me you're a first-rate writer.

A compliment. That felt good. Ruby settled back in her seat, eyeing Joan. "You want a daughter's betrayal."

"Who betrayed whom?" Joan said. "Your mother has been telling America to honor commitments and put their children first. These photographs prove that she's a liar and a hypocrite, plain and simple. We checked the records. Nora was married to your father when those pictures were taken. People have a right to know who they're taking advice from."

"Ah, the people's right," Ruby said, taking another sip of her martini.

"It's just an article, Ruby, not a book. No more than fifteen thousand words, and..." Val said, "it could make you famous."

"Rich and famous," Joan added.

Now that got Ruby's attention. She set the glass down and looked at Joan. "How rich?"

"Fifty thousand dollars. I'm prepared to pay you half of that amount right now, and the other half when you deliver the article. The only catch is: can't do any interviews until we publish."

"Fifty thousand dollars?" Ruby reached for her drink again, but she was too wound up to take a sip.For a few measly words...

And all she had to do was serve up her mother's life for public consumption.

She set her drink down. This wasn"t something to take lightly. She wished she had someone to ask about it, but Ruby had always had problems trusting people, and that made close friendships impossible. There was her dad, but he was so busy with his new family that he and Ruby weren't as close as they'd once been. And her sister had spent the past decade trying to forgive their mother; there was no doubt she'd tell Ruby to turn down the deal. Caro would despise the idea of airing their family's dirty laundry in public.

"I don't know my mother that well," she said slowly, trying to think through it. "The last time I saw her was at my sister's wedding nine years ago. We didn't speak."

That wasn't entirely true. Ruby had spoken to her mother. She'd said, "And I thought the worst part of this day would be wearing pink polyester." Then she'd walked away.

"We don't want cold facts and figures. We want your opinions, your thoughts on what kind of a person she is... what kind of a mother she was.”

"That's easy. She'd step on your grandmother's throat to get ahead. Nothing-and no one-matters to her; except herself."

You see?" Joan said, eyes shining. "That's exactly the perspective we want. Now, I'm sure you'll understand that we need to go to press fast. While the scandal's still hot. I brought the contract with me. Val has already had a literary agent look it over—and a check for twenty-five thousand dollars." She reached into her black snakeskin (appropriate, Ruby thought) briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers and a check. She slapped the papers down on the table, with the check on top.

Ruby stared down at all those zeros and swallowed hard. She'd never had that much money at one time. Hell, it was more than her salary for all of last year.

Joan smiled, a shark's grin. "Let me ask you this, Ruby. Would your mother turn down this offer if you were the subject of the article?"

The answer to that question came easily. Her mother had once had to make a choice like this. She could have chosen her husband and her daughters... or her career. Without a backward glance, Nora Bridge had chosen herself.

"This is your chance, Ruby," Val said. "Think of the exposure. The networks will be fighting over you.

She felt flushed. There was this strange sensation that she was removed from her body, watching the scene unfurl from a distance. Slowly, she heard herself answer, "I'm a good writer..." That was one thing she'd always believed. Now she knew that Val believed it, too. She bit her lower lip, worrying it. If the article made her famous, maybe she could parlay notoriety into a sitcom. "I certainly know the beginning of her career--who she may have fucked to get to the top and who she just plain screwed."

Joan was smiling now. "We've tentatively booked you on The Sarah Purcell Show for a week from now... to promote the article."

The Sarah Purcell Show...

Ruby closed her eyes, wanting it so much her head hurt. She'd clawed and scratched through life for so long, been a nobody, a nothing...

She thought of all the reasons she should say no--the moral, ethical reasons--but none of them found a place to stick. Instead, she thought about those damned photos...

And all of her mother's lies.

She took a" deep breath, then exhaled. Slowly, she reached down for the check and picked it up. The numbers swam before her eyes. "Okay," she said. "I'll do it."