Done to Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

Stromstein; his desperation was a kind of poison. He’d started so full of promise, with that successful Model Behavior that had brought him to her attention. But that was three years ago and since he’d come on board at LPP, he and his team had done a few mediocre episodes of Lenore Says and come up with two half-baked shows that barely made it through their pilots, each derivative of something else. He’d come to the end of his shelf life. It was familiar, and if Lenore were a sentimental person, she’d find it sad. But the Barrys of this world were like an expensive dish, a perfect Lobster Thermidor or exquisite Pinot Noir. You enjoyed them, savored the last morsel or drop. But when they were done it was time to toss the bottle and throw the carcass on to the compost.
    â€˜Let’s finish the moving asanas,’ Jodi instructed, ‘with twelve sun salutations, one breath per movement, hands in prayer, and …’
    Fifteen minutes later, Lenore thanked Jodi and chuckled as her trainer, with her severe blond haircut and warm brown eyes, chided her.
    â€˜I think you were with me maybe twenty percent?’ Jodi said, handing Lenore a towel.
    â€˜At least that,’ Lenore offered, openly admiring Jodi’s flat abdomen and toned legs. If it wasn’t that she was such an excellent trainer, she would have made a play for her. But lovely young bed-mates and eager-to-please producers were plentiful. A trainer that could keep her middle-aged body as a taut size two, however, was not to be messed with.
    â€˜We’ll shoot for twenty-five tomorrow,’ Jodi said as she pulled on sweats and a hoodie.
    Lenore watched as Jodi returned their mats to the eighteenth-century armoire that housed a variety of exercise equipment. Yes, there was a fully equipped gym one floor down, but Lenore preferred these private before-airing office workouts. She felt invigorated, her blood pumping and her breath full. Even her pores tingled. She felt alive and vital, and ready to give her viewing public − however pathetic they might be − a glimmer of glamour.
    Her reverie was interrupted by the phone. She glanced at the clock; it was too early for wardrobe and make-up. And her assistant, Justin, knew not to intrude on her quiet time unless it was a true emergency.
    She picked up. ‘Lenore,’ her assistant sounded tenuous, ‘it’s Richard on three. He said it’s important.’ Of course it is , wondering once again why she’d ever thought having children was a good idea. ‘Hello Richard.’
    â€˜Mother, we’ve got a problem.’
    Her yoga glow dissipated as her son laid out the latest crisis. Before he’d said the words, she accurately predicted their content.
    â€˜It’s Rachel,’ he said.
    She bit back the surge of annoyance. Richard was the good one, the one that stayed out of the tabloids, the one who’d get his MBA and take a meaningful role in the running of Lenore Parks Productions. Why she’d felt the need to have a second … ratings … ‘I’m waiting.’
    â€˜She’s in the emergency room. I’m with her now.’
    She didn’t flinch; a hospital is better than jail . ‘Please Richard, I’m heading into wardrobe, so just the highlights.’ She brought up her web browser and typed in ‘Rachel Parks’ and ‘most recent’.
    â€˜She’s stoned to the gills and not making any sense. They found her passed out in front of a club in Brooklyn and brought her in by ambulance.’
    â€˜I can see that,’ Lenore said, scanning through a lurid piece with pictures of her nineteen-year-old daughter, legs akimbo, a black bar both concealing and underscoring that she wasn’t wearing underwear, passed out on a sidewalk. She knew that while the paper had to put in the black box, there were probably dozens of others shooting explicit shots of Rachel’s genitals, which would