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Authors: Kylie Adams

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THE IT PARADE

BY
J
INX
W
IATT

Fill in the Blanks

A straight guy best friend. It's the must-have accessory for every
swish
boat veteran in Manhattan. Trust me, darlings. By comparison, the new Prada collection is an afterthought. And television's newest gay sensation(those
Queer Eye
lads are beyondover) has bagged what may be the premium hetero pal in America's prince. But with all the whispers about this pseudo-royal's lackluster sex life with the new wife (babies can be quite the libido killer), one has to wonder. Is this MWM just an open-minded fag stag, or is he part of the ever-growing legion of the bi-curious?

Finn

“I don't know what any of it means,” Finn said, staring down at the scribble scratched onto the back of a Barney's receipt.

Dean Paul made a face. “Don't look at me. All that ratings shit gives me a headache.”

Tilly sighed her annoyance. “The two of you have no business acumen whatsoever.” She snatched the perplexing note from Finn's side of the table. “You're like two dumb jocks.”

Finn beamed. “No one's ever called me a jock before.”

“You're more like a dumb cheerleader,” Dean Paul corrected.“I'm the dumb jock.”

Finn just sat there, momentarily deflated. Dean Paul had a cruel habit of always pointing out who was the real man and who was the faggot.

“These are one-day metered results from fifty-five markets,”Tilly began. “
The Beehive
improved on its lead-in by double digits. The same goes for year-ago time period averages.Wow.” She looked up at Finn. “It's not just good news. It's
great
news.”

“Assuming viewers will watch again,” Dean Paul put in.

Tilly slapped her husband's shoulder. “Stop being a jerk. Just because
your
show is tanking ...”

“Hey, I don't care,” Dean Paul said defiantly, proof that he
did
care, a great deal, in fact. “Maybe I'll become a househusband. You're always threatening to fireVeronika. Now's your chance.”

Tilly raised her hands in faux horror. “I can't even trust you to change Cantaloupe's diaper.”

Finn laughed. “Are you that pathetic?”

“Hell, no!” Dean Paul protested, instantly offended. He looked at Tilly accusingly. “I know how to change a diaper.”

“You don't wipe her properly, and she ends up with a nasty rash whenever you change her. Househusbandry is
not
for you.”Tilly checked her watch. “Sorry, boys. I have to go. I have an interview with a personal shopper in thirty minutes. She's supposed to be the best, and she only has one client opening.”

Finn registered surprise. “I can't believe that
you
would ever outsource shopping.” He laughed a little. “I guess motherhoodhas changed you.”

“Oh, it's not for me,” Tilly clarified. “This shopper is for Cantaloupe.”

Dean Paul turned toward his wife in disbelief. When he spoke, his voice was flat. “The personal shopper is for Cantaloupe.”One beat. “Our six-month-old baby.”

“Children's couture sells out in a flash, and I don't have time to go store to store trying to find the right size. These last few months have been a nightmare.” Abruptly, Tilly slid out of the booth and stood up. “Finn, congratulations. The show's a hit. Darling, I'll see you at home. Cross your fingers for this shopper to agree to take Cantaloupe on.”With a flutterywave, Tilly dashed out of Balthazar.

Dean Paul looked at Finn. “I don't know about you, but I plan on getting drunk.” He flagged down the waitress to order another bottle of wine.

“Are you really that surprised?” Finn asked. “I mean, this is the same woman who hired a sleep consultant from Switzerlandto stop Cantaloupe from crying at night.”

Wearily, Dean Paul shook his head and drained what remainedin Tilly's wineglass. It was the only alcohol within reach. “I don't get her, man. She obsesses over the kid, but she outsources everything.”

Finn often wondered why Dean Paul found anything about Tilly surprising. A few minutes with her generally told the whole story. So in answer, he just raised his brow and waited for the my-fucking-wife moment to pass. “Did you watch yesterday's show? You never said.”

“Yeah, I did.” He glanced up, a smirk on his face, knowingly withholding the approval that he obviously knew Finn craved.

“
Well?
”

Dean Paul shrugged. “It's a chick show,” he said dismissively.“The estrogen level is radioactive.”

Finn's spirits sank.

“But you were good. In fact, I'd say you were
The Beehive'
s secret weapon.”

Finn's spirits soared again. “Really?”

Dean Paul nodded fast, ready to move on. “What's up with those Japanese twins?”

Finn laughed. “Mio and Mako? How did you like their performance of Mary J. Blige's âNo More Drama'?”

“I only listened to the first few bars before muting the sound. Then I just watched and fantasized about nailing both of them at the same time.”

The waitress returned and went through the ceremony of opening the new bottle.

Dean Paul took quick possession and filled up two glasses. “I've never had a three-way. Can you believe that? No three-ways,no guys ... I guess I haven't lived.”

Finn stirred slightly in his seat, not quite sure whether he should respond or not.

Thankfully, Dean Paul saved him the trouble. “How long can that show go on before Emma and Sutton get into a seriouscatfight?”

“I'm surprised we got through the first day without one. I felt sorry for Emma, though. When that image of you and Cantaloupe flashed, her face looked pretty raw.”

Dean Paul drank deep on his wine.

“What happened with the two of you anyway?” Finn asked.

“Nothing, really. Typical relationship stuff. She was pushingfor a real commitment. She wanted kids. I just wasn't ready.”

Finn leveled a serious look at Dean Paul. “But you marriedTilly less than a year after you broke up with Emma. And the two of you had a baby right away.”

“So?”

“
So
... from Emma's vantage point, those would be some tough facts to get over.”

Dean Paul tilted his head and raised his glass. “Not my problem.”

Finn regarded him curiously. “What did your mother do to you as a child?”

He smiled at the insinuation. “Nothing traumatic, Dr. Phil. I've just always been able to get away with shit when it comes to girls. Back in high school, I would date a girl for about three months, get what I wanted, and then pretend like I didn't know her when I showed up at a party with a new chick.”

“And you're proud of this?” Finn challenged.

“No, but it didn't stop girls from dating me. They knew what the deal was.”

Finn took a generous sip of wine. “So explain this, super stud. How is it that you let women like Lara and Emma slip away and end up marrying the Aspens and the Tillys of the world?”

Dean Paul groaned miserably. “Oh, shit. I can't believe you just pulled the Aspen card. That's cold.”

Finn laughed.

Aspen Bauer's claim to fame was a stint on MTV's
The Real World
. Her marriage to Dean Paul lasted only a few months, after which she served jail time for fleeing the scene of a hit-and-run accident that left a child in a coma.

“The last thing I heard about her was that she was doing that pay-per-view Lingerie Bowl on Super Bowl Sunday.” Dean Paul shook his head. “I can't believe I married her. What was I thinking?”

His attention faltered as a model-thin brunette sashayed past the booth. Dean Paul tracked her with a heat-seeking gaze until she was out of sight.

“Do you know her?”

“I'd like to. I bet she tastes good in all the right places.” He laughed and refilled his wine.

“Would you ever cheat on Tilly?” Finn wondered.

“She takes Lexapro. The drive is still there, but it takes her forever to come, so she doesn't want to be bothered most of the time.We're a once-a-month couple at best.”

“Is that a yes?” Finn asked.

“How long could
you
live on boring sex once a month?” Dean Paul countered.

“I don't know. Probably longer than you.”

“Are you seeing anyone that I don't know about?”

Finn could feel his face grow hot. Whenever Dean Paul inquired about his dating life, he became instantly uncomfortable.“Not really.”

“
Not really?
Guess you're still hanging out in the back rooms of clubs late at night.”

“I've never done that!” Finn protested angrily.

Dean Paul zeroed in with a ray-gun gaze. “
Never?
”

“Well ... it's been years,” Finn admitted.

“Whore.” Dean Paul drank up and laughed.

Finn glanced around the restaurant. It was past two o'clock, and the lunch rush had filtered out, leaving Balthazar, the French bistro on SoHo's Spring Street, which was usually crammed to capacity, refreshingly near empty. “You never answered my question.”

“I'm almost hammered. Refresh my memory.”

“Would you ever cheat on Tilly?”

Dean Paul gave Finn a tipsy stare. “You're assuming I haven't already.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Stupid me.”

“I was in L.A. for
Hollywood Live
last May working the upfronts for the new television season. There was this hot young actress who's on some CW sitcom that'll probably be cancelled next week. I hit it. Couldn't resist. But that's the only time. Are you ashamed of me?”

Finn raised up both hands in mock surrender. “No judgmenthere. It's your life.”

“This is just between us, right? If you tell any of those bitches on that show, it'll get to Simone and then back to Tilly.”

“I know how to keep a confidence.”

“Good. And don't be jealous. Who knows? Next time I cheat, maybe it'll be with you.”

THE IT PARADE

BY
J
INX
W
IATT

Fill in the Blanks

And you thought Kimora Lee Simmons was a vacuous glamazon in grave need of a tour of hunger-ravagedAfrica. Some say Kimora has the empathy of Angelina Jolie when compared to the latest shallowprincess on the scene. As she wrapped up her first week on that new morning gabfestâa surprise runaway hitâstation e-mail boxes were cyber-stuffed with complaints from parents of less-than-beautiful babies, overweight people, Christians, lesbians with bad haircuts, women with more than one cat, and men named Chad. Who will she offend next week?

Simone

Simone glanced down at the Christian Dior handbag, then back to her reflection in the boutique's full-length mirror. The aged leather and suede messenger hobo looked good on her.
Very good
.

“I don't know how Punch secured one of these for you without prepayment. This is a wait-listed item, and we're sold out for the season. I can't hold it beyond today.”

“In other words, you're saying,âDecide now, bitch,' ” Simone murmured, spinning to survey her most flattering side.

Alexandra, a commission-hungry sales barracuda, pursed her collagen-treated lips. “In a manner of speaking.”

Lovingly, Simone fingered the handbag's gorgeous hardware.Punch always offered up some sort of discount, but she was off on this particular day. What horrible luck.

Simone adored Punch. She was sophisticated and bubbly. They had bonded over the shared misfortune of having been involved with professional baseball stars. Hard lesson learned: Any eighteen-year-old man who skips college and heads straight into the dugout with a contract for mega-millions in his back pocket should be staunchly avoided.

Alexandra gave a tight little smile of impatience.

Inspecting the purse, Simone stalled for time, her brain computer running the disturbing calculations. Her first salary installment from
The Beehive
had only managed to stop the financial bleeding momentarily.

All the debts just sucked up cash like a Hoover Dirt Devil. After paying the mortgage, second mortgage, consolidation loan, building maintenance, utilities, and daily living expenses, Simone found herself broke all over again. But this Dior purse was only fifteen hundred dollars. Considering her current state of affairs, adding that to the pile would hardly make a difference.

She fished into her wallet and grabbed the first piece of plastic her fingers could connect with. “I'll take it.”

“The lady's got good taste.”

Simone cut her gaze to the man who was suddenly invadingher personal space. Unimpressed, she turned away.

“Hi, Ke
von
,” Alexandra gushed. “I'll be with you in a flash. I'm just wrapping things up here.”

“I'll take one of those, too.” He reached out to stroke the handbag with a manicured, diamond-studded hand.

Reflexively, Simone drew back.

“Hey, don't freak, Foxy Brown. I ain't moving in on your shit.”

Simone was appalled. This man had just called her
Foxy Brown
and cursed at her in public!

“Wrap one up for me, baby.” Now he was addressing Alexandra.“I need a little happy to quiet a bitch down.You know what I'm saying?”

Simone secretly wanted to call 911. This pig should be arrested.

A pained expression skated across Alexandra's face. “Kevon, I'm
so
sorry. We are completely sold out of this bag.” She cut an accusing glance in Simone's direction. “This is our last one in the store.”

The man reached into the front pocket of his baggy warm-uppants and pulled out a bulging wad of crisp one hundred dollar bills. “How much you want for it, shorty?”

Simone could hardly believe the situation. Who
was
this vulgar beast?

He started to peel off the cash at a rapid clip, sometimes moving two or three at a time. “Just tell me when to stop.”

Simone regarded him like a derelict on the sidewalk. He was black, muscled, outfitted in a white velvet tracksuit and high-top sneakers, and dripping in garish diamonds, includingan enormous dollar sign pendant as large as a door knocker.

After a moment, Simone turned away in disgust and pushed the Dior treasure into Alexandra's spindle-thin arms. “Would you please just ring this up?”

The shop girl shrugged diffidently and disappeared into the back.

Without warning, bass-heavy hip-hop music screamed into the air. “All my bitches eating up my cell phone minutes/Every day and all night/These hos just eating up my cell phone minutes ...”

Simone realized with a current of outrage that this misogynisticaural assault was the thug's mobile ring tone.

“Yo! Just chilling, motherfucker. Crept up in Dior to get a little something-something for one of my dick divers. You know how it is.”

In a huff, Simone stalked away, intercepting Alexandra just as she returned.

With a cold glare, she slapped Simone's American Express Platinum onto the counter and rudely slid it back in her direction.“Your card was declined.”

“There must be some mistake,” Simone said automatically.It was her rote response to this all too common embarrassmentof late.

“I ran it through twice.” Alexandra sighed. “Do you have another form of payment?”

Simone could feel a flush of heat spread up from her neck. Nervously, she ransacked her purse and snatched out what looked to be half a dozen cards. “I'm having a problem with my bank. Just keep trying until one works.”

She stood there for what seemed like forever, nervously drumming her fingers on the counter until Alexandra returned,this time with a receipt, the sight of which triggered a grateful sigh of relief.

“All of these were declined as well,” Alexandra pointed out, handing over five credit cards. “This is the one that was charged.” She slammed down a gold Visa.

Simone shot back a haughty glare as she scribbled her signature.“I can't believe you let people like
him
in this store. I feel like my personal safety was compromised.”

Alexandra laughed a little. “Don't you know who that is?” Her tone was incredulous.

“Should I?”

“That's Ke
von
Edmonds.” Alexandra dropped the moniker with all the frustration one might employ when pointing out the recognition factor of, say, Bill Clinton.

But the name meant nothing to Simone. “Did he escape some grisly murder charge or something? Like O.J. Simpson?”

Alexandra shook her head. “People say he's the new Diddy. He's got a recording label, a clothing line, a reality show. The man even has his own brand of vodka.”

Simone shot a glance backward. “Oh, well ... he's still disgusting.”

Alexandra sniffed. “Your package should be out soon. Excuse me.” And then she darted away to engage the ghetto mogul. “Again, I'm
so
sorry about that bag. But I know we can find something that will be just as fabulous for your friend.”

Simone turned away. How vile. As she pushed thoughts of Kevon Edmonds out of mind, she attempted to do the same on the matter of her finances. After all, there were larger issuesto fret over. Like what to wear on tomorrow's show. As much as she loathed to admit it, Emma Ronson had been consistently outdoing her on the fashion front. A drippy news girl! And Simone was a model and actress. Something had to give.

A beautiful Asian woman emerged with Simone's purse. It was nestled inside a rich Dior box and nestled once more inside an equally rich shopping bag. An empty place in her heart seemed to fill up when she took possession of it. Shopping for luxury items always carried that impact.

Just as Simone was slipping into a cab, her cellular vibrated. The incoming number perplexed her. “Hello?”

“Name your price, Foxy Brown. I'm the kind of brother who doesn't like to be told he can't have something.”

Simone placed her hand over the mouthpiece to call out her address to the annoyed driver. “How did you get my cell number?” Her voice was humorless.

“I'm a resourceful motherfucker.”

Simone stewed in a cauldron of silence, feeling violated and preyed upon. “I don't find this amusing.”

“That makes two of us.”

The taxi crawled along Fifty-Seventh Street. A bus showcasingthe images of Simone, Sutton, Emma, and Finn on a massive promotional poster pulled up alongside in the right lane.

“Don't call me again,” Simone said icily. “
Ever.
”

“That's cold, baby,” Kevon cooed.

Simone could feel her heartbeat accelerate. “I'm not your baby.”

“Not yet. Have dinner with me.We'll see what happens.”

“When I dream about a dinner invitation, it's from George Clooney, not Snoop Dogg.” With that, Simone promptly disconnectedthe call and speed dialed Tilly. “You won't believe what I just saw!” she launched without preamble. “My face on the side of a city bus to promote the show! It was such a weird sensation!”

“The important thing is to be pleased with the photograph,”Tilly said. “I've dealt with this so many times in my career.”

Simone took in a quiet breath, allowing the condescendingresponse to evaporate. “Yes, butâ”

“And if you think advertising on a bus is strange,” Tilly went on, “try seeing yourself on a billboard in the middle of Times Square.”

“I suppose there is no comparison,” Simone shot back, somewhat acidly.

“Probably not. But I'm still thrilled for you. Finn showed me the opening show's overnight ratings at lunch this week. It's off to a very promising start.That's more than I can say for my husband's show. They just pink slipped fourteen productionstaffers. Any day now he's going to be unemployed.”

“Well, at least he has a trust fund to fall back on,” Simone said lightly. “My first paycheck disappeared instantly.”

“Oh, our trust funds are earmarked for the future,” Tilly remarked archly. “He still has to work. And so do I. Your problem is that you don't budget your money.You just spend, spend, spend with no regard for fiscal discipline.”

Simone's grip tightened on the cellular. The nerve of this bitch! Her best friend, her enemy ... her
frenemy
! “That would sound better coming from someone who wasn't handed the deed to a fabulous Tribeca apartment.”

“That was a wedding gift,”Tilly said defensively.

“A trip to Belize is a wedding gift,” Simone countered. “Being given an apartment puts you on another financial planet.”

“I still budget,”Tilly argued.

“I can't talk to you about money.”

“You can't talk to yourself about it, either. That's why you live in a constant state of denial.”

The cabdriver jerked to a stop in front of Simone's building.She paid the fare and a decent tip before swinging out. “Have you ever heard of Kevon Edmonds?” She was desperateto change the subject.

“It's pronounced Ke
von
,”Tilly corrected. “And yes, I have. He's a very successful entertainment mogul. But still a poor man's Jay-Z. Why?”

“He accosted me at the Christian Dior boutique, and then he had the audacity to ask me out for dinner.”

“You should go,”Tilly advised.

“You're not serious. He's
gross
!”

“Yes, but it would be good for your career. Especially now.”

Simone dashed into a vestibule to retrieve her mail, grimacingat the thickness of two credit card statements as she boarded the elevator. “God, I would rather be seen in public with an on-duty garbage man than Kevon Edmonds.”

The moment Simone stepped inside her apartment, she halted, sensing something very wrong. “Chanel?” she called out.

Nothing.

“Let me call you back,” she told Tilly, hanging up as she feverishly raced from room to room, searching for her beloved cat.

And then her cellular rang. She knew who it was. She knew what he would say, too.

“Looking for something?”

Simone's heart sank.

“I've got your pussy right here in my hand.” It was Tommy Robb.