Drama Is Her Middle Name by Wendy Williams Page B

quintessential crossover personality. But one call to Ritz erased
all remnants of the image she had worked so many years to
craft. Ritz put her business in the street and her career in the
toilet, and with one call, Delilah Summers flushed it.
    â€œYou are such a jealous, grimy bitch,” Delilah continued.
“After all I’ve done for you . . . Ritz, you will get yours. You
will
get yours!”
    And she hung up.
    â€œWell!” Ritz said. “I guess she was mad, huh? I don’t blame
her. But I will tell you all this: What hasn’t caught you hasn’t
passed you. She shouldn’t be mad at me, she should be mad
at her damn self.”
    Deep down inside (and that place was growing deeper by
the day), Ritz did feel a little remorse. She and Delilah had
been friends—even if it wasn’t an equal relationship. Delilah
had worked hard, and Ritz had learned a lot from her. But oh
well. If bringing Delilah down put Ritz on top, so be it.
    â€œI deserve being here more,” Ritz said to herself, trying to
convince herself of that. “She didn’t look out for me. Not
once. Fuck her!”
    The phone lines lit up just as they had the first night of the
Delilah Summers scandal. And there were calls from all of
the entertainment and newsmagazine shows—including
60
Minutes
—wanting a response from Ritz. It was announced
that afternoon that Delilah Summers was let out of her network contract for “personal” reasons. While her star had fallen,
Ritz’s was on the rise.

7
    ON THE AIR
    â€œYou’re on with Ritz. What’s on your mind?”
    â€œHey, girl! This is Sheila from Atlanta, and I have a problem. I have been seeing this man for about a year now. But I
met this other guy and I can’t stop thinking about
him.
”
    â€œOkay?” Ritz said. “This man you’ve been seeing, would
you consider him your boyfriend? I mean, you say you’re
seeing
him, but are you in love with him? Are you all talking
marriage? What’s the deal?”
    â€œWe have a little boy together and yes, we’re talking marriage.”
    â€œOh my!” Ritz purred.
    â€œI love him,” Sheila from Atlanta said. “I really do. He’s a
great father. He’s a great boyfriend. But we’re not compatible
in bed. I want it all of the time and he doesn’t.”
    â€œOoooooh!” Aaron, the engineer, howled. Ritz kept his
mike open because Aaron was good for a dumb-ass comment
or sound effect during the show. He also provided lots of
color that Ritz liked.
    â€œYes, you
do
have a problem,” Ritz said.
    â€œI don’t want to cheat on him, but this other man who I
met online is so freaking sexy. We’ve talked on the phone,
and Ritz, without even touching me, he made me come
harder than I ever came with my man.”
    Aaron was quick on the “beep” button when she said
“come.” He was always ready. Ever since that whole Janet
Jackson titty flack at Super Bowl XXXVIII and Howard
Stern’s many, many violations that cost him and his station
millions, Ritz didn’t take any chances. She skirted the line often but she never crossed it. She wasn’t messing with the
FCC, which she called the Fucking Cunt Commission.
    â€œFantasies are fine,” Ritz said. “In fact, I think they’re
healthy. And as long as you two don’t actually get together, I
say use your Internet jump-off and fantasize about him while
you’re in bed with your man. See if that works. And during
those times when your man isn’t in the mood, I suggest you
get you a Jackrabbit vibrator. They have a new one out called
the Impulse and, girl! Well! I won’t tell you . . . you go see for
yourself. And if I were you, I would pull out my old Jackrabbit and go to work in front of him. Trust me, if he doesn’t get
the hint, then he’s not a real man. And if it