“You don’t need to know everything, do you?” she asked coyly, crossing her legs and sitting back in the big soft armchair.

That smirk of hers was well known now. She was on the cover of every tabloid magazine and a lot of men’s magazines as well – those that wanted the publicity.

Jacqui tried not to sneer at her. She despised this type of woman. Famous for being famous, or famous for being infamous, in this case.
Famous for being disgusting, is what Jacqui thought, but she was not an independent journalist, she worked for someone. She had a boss, and her boss told her to interview this idiot, expecting sales to be made from it.
Jacqui said she would do it, but it was not likely the boss would be too happy with the interview. She wasn’t going to be “nice” to this IQ-challenged, money-grubbing bitch. Why be like all the rest of the magazines and blogs? All cooing and fawning over her like she was some kind of important person who made a difference in the world. She wasn’t. She was a piece of trash, in the worst way, and came by her “fame” through the most low means.
Jacqui was not going to hold any punches in this one. She was tired of this shit. Tired of people who did nothing, helped no one except themselves and thought this made them better than everyone else. Oh no, bitch, not this reporter. You’re in my sights, she thought to herself and tried not to grin evilly.

The pause that Jacqui took to arrange her recorder, and fold her notebook to a clean page and click her pen, made LaDonna (“Like Madonna, but with a La!” insert stupid giggle here.) very uncomfortable. She shifted in the chair and uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Her smirk was gone, replaced with thin lips pressed together.
Jacqui took a moment more to stare at her, to really look at her. She was actually very plain under all the makeup, even a little left of plain. Her hair was clearly not naturally blonde and she had a slightly droopy left eyelid which would catch up with her in a few years. Unless, of course, she found some wealthy man to pay for her corrective surgery. It wouldn’t surprise Jacqui in the least if she got married in the next few months to some aging starlet or wall street fat cat. That’s how this type worked. Strike while the iron is hot, while the fame is high, while the media loves you – because it’s gone in a flash. Well, this one will be gone in a flash, if Jacqui had any say in it.

“So, LaDonna, tell me about your childhood. Nobody seems to know where you came from, or who your people are.” Jacqui began.
“I prefer not to talk about my childhood, because it’s not important.” said LaDonna, her confidence returning as she got her set answers ready and knew where she stood.
“I believe you signed a document when you agreed to this interview, that stated you would answer all questions put to you. Or no deal. Let’s begin, shall we?” Jacqui said with a slight smile and a cock of her head.
“I don’t remember signing anything!” LaDonna giggled, “I was probably high on something at the time!” she added, in what she thought was a suitably conspiratorial tone but was really just a stage whisper so that her “crew” of hangers-on would hear, most likely. Jacqui heard a few snickers from her loyal entourage. Loyal for not much longer, she thought.
“Whether you remember or not, LaDonna, you signed it. I have a copy if you need to be reminded.” she said.
LaDonna’s face twisted and Jacqui watched something churn there that she hadn’t noticed before in other interviews. Rage. A temper. Wonderful!
“I don’t like being talked to like a child!” flashed LaDonna, and made as if to get up and leave.
“Does it bring back bad memories?” Jacqui asked quickly, jabbing it at her like a knife.
LaDonna gaped in anger and Jacqui could see how bad her teeth really were. Yeah, she needed to get those done too, when she found her rich man. Her face flushed and she stood and crossed her arms like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.
“Sit.” said Jacqui. The voice worked on her dogs at home, so it should work on this woman, who was far less intelligent. She definitely heard a titter from behind her, in the dark corner of the room, from one of the cronies.
LaDonna looked toward the corner, but couldn’t see who it was. She kept her arms crossed, but she sat in a great huff. She made a great show of adjusting her far too short dress, and checking her far too tall stilettos, and then crossed her arms again and stared belligerently at Jacqui.
“Where were we? Oh yes. Your childhood, LaDonna. Tell me about it.” she began again.