Drama Is Her Middle Name Read Online Free PDF

was an “explosive ABC special report” with the new Palestinian leader.
The interview was billed as “changing the face of the Middle
East conflict.”
    When Ritz came back from her break, she was still thinking about how big Delilah Summers had become. Delilah was
the hottest news interviewer in the country and had even
overtaken Barbara Walters. Many saw Delilah Summers as
not only the heir apparent who would move in when Barbara
Walters retired but as the one who could actually push Walters into retirement. Delilah had easily bagged seven major
interviews that others wanted last year, including an exclusive with the president, an interview with Saddam Hussein in
prison, and the bombshell of bombshells, the interview with
Whitney Houston that all but finished the diva’s career.
Delilah Summers was a superstar.
    â€œDelilah Summers,” Ritz cooed the name over the air after
she came back from her song set. Ritz would normally give
the time and temperature and maybe a little banter about
something in the news, but Ritz had Delilah on the brain.
    â€œCan you all believe that she and I went to school together? She’s a little older than I am, of course,” Ritz said.
“Boy, was Delilah Summers a wild one! Now look at her—all
famous and serious and everything! Wow, people sure do
change. Or do they?”
    Inside, Ritz had sharp pangs of jealousy. Delilah Summers
was not only wild, she was reckless. She was the one at the
frat parties getting pissy drunk. Not Ritz. Delilah went through
boys the way dudes go through women. Not Ritz. And Delilah was a real bitch. She had been very condescending to
Ritz from the day they met. They’d been college roommates.
While Ritz was a little bit shy and a little bit corny back then,
Delilah capitalized on those traits. Ritz became her doormat
and her confidante.
    One night Ritz played lookout for Delilah while she gave
a blowjob to the program director of their campus radio station. He also just happened to be the husband of the dean of
the media department who was a chaperone at the party.
Delilah did a good job of making everyone believe she was
the golden girl—the consummate talent, the ultimate professional. She was good at fooling people into thinking she
even had morals and scruples. Nobody got to see the real
Delilah—except the people who were involved with her sexcapades. And Ritz, of course.
    Ritz knew things about Delilah that she had vowed to take
to her grave, but now those same secrets were scratching at
the surface, itching to get out.
    Delilah had the complete package. She had the look—
clean, All-American. Her hair was always well done. She
kept it cut just above the shoulder in a simple pageboy that
framed her face. Delilah was pretty, even during the 1980s
when everybody looked bad with the big hair and horrible
fashions (remember Gloria Vanderbilt jeans?). Delilah had
style. But she also had substance. She could read copy better
than anyone, and her delivery was flawless.
    Delilah also understood a few things that Ritz was only beginning to understand: It’s not what you know, it’s
who
you
know. Or better yet, it’s who knows you. Delilah Summers
seemed to make it her business to be known by all the right
people. While Ritz knew that deep inside herself, there was a
diva waiting to get out, she hadn’t quite allowed her to be
free. Delilah, however, flexed her diva muscle until it bulged.
    In addition to spending time partying and socializing with
the “right” people, Delilah also put a lot of time into polishing her act. She perfected everything from her diction to her
looks. Before they graduated, Delilah had already landed a
gig at a local television station working as a news anchor.
Within in a year, she had made it to a major network as a reporter, and a year later she was sitting comfortably in the anchor’s seat.
    She had all of