The Dangerous Kind & Other Stories by Robert Chazz Chute

cried all night. Then I went to that stupid fucking funeral and threw the letter in the grave and—“
    “And the wind picked it up and delivered it to the world’s media.”
    She nodded, the tears coming in long hot lines now, burning down her face, burning away her invulnerability and divinity.
    “Shit,” he said.
    “Tomorrow it will be everywhere. It’s probably already in China and when the sun comes over each horizon my private shame won’t be private anymore. It’s no doubt already all over the net. I haven’t checked whether it’s trending on Twitter yet. Can’t look.”
    “People will understand.”
    “I don’t want people to understand. I want them not to know!” She dug through her purse and found some tissues. She blew her nose loudly and when she looked at him again, her gaze was an accusation.
    “Technically, I’m media, too, but not tonight.”
    “What are you tonight?”
    “I’m the guy who’s poured you too many drinks. Tomorrow…no. In a few days this will blow over. Britney will drown her kid or Paris will blow some politician in public and it won’t be long before the public will confuse heiresses and stars. They’ll screw it up and think your story really is about Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan.”
    She smiled. “I’m glad you’re here to pour me too many drinks. You were there for me at the beginning, so maybe you’re the only guy I can trust in the world.”
    “We’re not all so bad.”
    “You don’t think so? Let me tell you one more story. A couple years ago I dropped out. People thought I was in rehab, I disappeared so long. I got out of Hollywood and went to the one place in all of America where there’s not a news rag jerk off within a short plane flight. You know where I went?”
    “Rural Texas?”
    “Still too close to California.”
    “Where?”
    “Cincinnati.”
    “Cincinnati?”
    “I dyed my hair purple and blond, tied it in a ponytail and got some baggy Old Navy clothes. I even picked up a job working as some professor’s personal assistant.”
    “You are shitting me.”
    “Nope. I’d just done my third supermodel spy movie and then my writer-director-asshole husband started banging his assistant director.”
    “That’s so Hollywood.”
    “The assistant director was a guy so it was so West Hollywood.”
    “I have no idea what that means but I’m sure it’s funny. What happened to your new life of obscurity among the mere mortals of Cincinnati?”
    She drained her glass again. “God is capricious in His wrath, Marky. He sent me another dreamy asshole. I was looking for revenge so I hooked up with a guy in a bar. I called myself Suzy but he must have seen right through the disguise because…you’re going to love this shit.”
    “What?”
    “I took him home and made the one night stand mistake. I fell asleep before kicking the fucker out and he stole my brand new vacuum cleaner.”
    “What?”
    “What. Just as I said.”
    “Who steals a vacuum cleaner?”
    “Oh, it probably ended up on E-bay. Who steals a vacuum cleaner is a guy who knows it’s my vacuum cleaner. He knew who I was, fucked me and now he can brag about that plus he got a celebrity souvenir! People think it’s so easy, and a lot of it is. If I could eat like a normal person it might all be worth it but I can’t even do that and keep my job. And I’ve got all these people around me. The agent, the personal assistants, make up and their fucking assistants. I quit Cincinnati and went back to Burbank as quick as I could after the whole vacuum cleaner thing.
    “Of course, I still don’t know who to trust. You can’t trust everyone when they’re all paid to be there. You should have seen them. They went into shock when I said I was flying back to Maine alone. I guess I should have kept the bodyguards so they could have thumped a few of those goddamn paparazzi at the funeral.”
    “Now I’m sorry I didn’t punch out a few for you.”
    “Thanks, Marky. You were always my