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Gossip.
They do say that you should never believe what you read in newspapers, or half of what you read on
the internet. That is especially true, they say of gossip magazines. After all what they print is just
gossip and, usually unfounded, rumours. Isn’t it?
Steve McDonald was sound asleep in his bed at the Holiday Inn in Shepperton when his phone woke
him.
At thirty-three he was one of the rising stars of Hollywood. His last picture, the third film he’d
directed had generated eight hundred million at the box-office from a budget of seventy two million.
And he’d signed a contract for fice million against one percent off the top.
As he glanced at the alarm at the side of the bed, it was three am, seven pm in California. He
doubted that it was his agent telling him the vheque for his one percent had arrived. He was right.
He reached over the sleeping form of Jenna McKenzie, the female star of the film he’d started
shooting at Shepperton studios the week before, picked up his phone and looked at the screen.
It bore the single word Sarah.
Sarah Giles, one of the world’s top models, named one of the world’s ten most beautiful women by
GQ magazine and, for the past three years Mrs Steve McDonald.
He tapped the answer icon.
“Hi, love, how come you’re calling me at this ungodly hour of the morning.”
“Are you fucking your ex-wife?” she asked, her tone less than friendly.
“At this present moment in time, my love,” he said, “I’m not actually fucking anybody, but if you
want to geta flight over here we can change that.”
“Don’t change the subject,” she demanded, “let me rephrase the question. At any time since you
started rehearsals for this project has your dick been in any of Jenna’s bodily orifices?”
“I take it that one of the scandal sheets has printed something,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “an article asking whether our marriage is on the rocks and were you pining for your
ex since you seem to be so friendly with her out there.”
“Well yes, of course we’re friendly, we’re working together. I assume there’s some badly
photoshopped pictures to go with the story.”
“There are pictures,” she said.
“Sarah, I promise you that I have done nothing on this trip that contravenes our agreement.”
“So you have fucked her then?”
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“Of course I have,” he said, “didn’t you find a good stiff prick to keep your motor running on your
last shoot? How did that go, by the way?”
“Well, lover, I’m going to scan the article in and email it to you. I’ll use tour outlook account.”
“Ok, send a copy to the PR company too, let’s see how we can swing it.”
“Did you do her in the back of that boat?”
“No,” he said, “I btought her back here and we did it in her room.”
“Is that where you are now?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “we’re in my room now, she’s asleep.”
“So are you going to leave me for your ex?”
“No,” I said, “you know I’ll never leave you.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you, and where else would I find a woman who’d let me play around when I’m
working and come home to her and just carry on as if nothing had happened, apart from wanting a
blow by blow account.”
“You know I get turned on thinking of you slipping that long, thick hard pole in some other woman’s
honey pot.”
“And then coming home and sliding it into you.”
“I’m getting so wet,” she said, “thinking of you ,putting me face down on the bed, lubing me up and
slipping into my hot tight little arsehole.”
“Well at least the only things we’ll need to wash for the first week we’re both at home will be the
bedsheets, we won’t be spending much time in clothes.”
So you see, that’s why you shouldn’t believe stories about movie stars cheating on their spouse that
you read in gossip magazines.
They may be true, but it’s not cheating if she knows about and encourages it, right?