Drama Is Her Middle Name Read Online Free PDF Page A

top.”
    â€œIt seems like my cream is curdling. It’s getting boring
every night. The same old songs, the same old promos, the
same old words. I feel like I’m not getting better. Maybe I
should go to another market. Maybe Philadelphia or Detroit?”
    â€œYou’re in the best place you can possibly be,” Aunt Madalyn tried to reason. “People would kill to be where you are,
honey. Everybody is trying to get to New York. You’re already
there. You better not give up that seat. Have some patience.”
    â€œAuntie M, that patience stuff if wearing thin,” Ritz said.
“You don’t understand.”
    â€œI understand better than you think. Don’t lose yourself in
your frustrations, baby. Stay focused on being the best you
can be and it’ll pay off.”
    Ritz’s frustrations were getting the better of her. Every
night when she got home, she would stay up a couple of hours
watching reruns of the newsmagazine shows. There seemed
to be a revolving door of “fresh” faces covering the entertainment scene but very little talent.
    â€œWhatever happened to people working their way to the
top?” Ritz asked herself as she watched that Latin chick who
once was a fill-in get elevated to NBC’s morning show. Then
she landed a juicy spot as host of a reality show on top of that.
    â€œSo all you have to do nowadays is sleep with the head of
the division and you get the world,” Ritz muttered to herself
about the rumors of how Miranda Chicano actually caused
the divorce of the head of the network. “I should purchase
some knee pads and practice my jaw exercises. That seems to
be the easiest way to get to the top.”
    Then Ritz let her imagination wander. Ruff
was
kind of
sexy for a man in his fifties. He wisely shaved his head, which
was already balding, and he worked out enough to not have
a potbelly but not enough to be in really good shape. He always smelled good, too. Some people could wear Paul Sebastian and just stink. But when Ruff wore it, he owned it. He
must have been wearing that scent since high school, but by
now it smelled like it might be part of his own body chemistry. Ruff’s hands were very strong, sexy and masculine, like
Bill Clinton’s. Ritz met the president at the press conference
when he moved his offices to Harlem. She dusted off her
press pass, which she forced herself to renew every two years
just in case. Ritz made sure she got in line to shake his hand.
She instantly understood the buzz about him. He had a hypnotic air, an undeniable magnetism. And best of all, he had
these big, smooth but very masculine hands—just like Ruff’s.
    Ritz quickly snapped herself back to reality.
    â€œWhat in the hell am I thinking?!” she said to herself. “I’ll
find another way. I have to find a way to get to the next
level.”
    During her shift the next night, Ritz got the first edition of
the next day’s papers. The early edition of the
Daily News
and
USA Today
and the
Post
were usually on her desk by nine or
nine-thirty P.M. On Thursdays, she made sure the night intern brought her the
Star
, the
Enquirer
, and the
Globe.
She
needed to stay abreast of the real news, the news that was
popular with the people. Ritz had started delving into gossip
on the air about a year before—simply to cut the boredom. It
was fun reading about the outrageous lives of some of these
celebrities, and it kept Ritz and her listeners in a frenzy, kicking these rich folks when they were down.
    Ritz liked asking questions like “Why do you think Eddie
Murphy’s wife
really
left him?” Then she would invite her
callers to explore all of the rumors and all of the options. Doing her show was nothing but pure fun.
    On this night, with her shift heading into the final hour,
Ritz picked up
USA Today
. On the front cover in full color
was a photo of Delilah Summers. Her article