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bad?”
    Dean shook both hands in a comical choking gesture.
    â€œShe tries to control everything . Nothing matters unless she wants it to matter. And even the dumbest shit gets treated like an international incident.”
    â€œHasn’t she always been this way?” Finn asked.
    â€œYeah, pretty much,” Dean Paul admitted. “Don’t ask me why. If it wasn’t for Cantaloupe ...”
    â€œPlease. That would make two divorces. You’d be almost halfway to Billy Bob Thornton country.”
    Dean Paul shook his head. “She’s not comfortable with me having any women friends. And she hates my guy friends.” One beat. “Except you. Only because you’re gay, though.” He laughed. “It’d serve her right if you were sucking my cock whenever we got together.”
    Finn stopped breathing. He could not tell whether that was a joke or an invitation.

THE IT PARADE
    BY J INX W IATT
    Â 
    Fill in the Blanks
    Â 
    Even Gucci girls fall on hard times. A certain model slash actress slash soon-to-be talk show host was in the double G boutique on Fifth Avenue attempting to buy the new top-handle bag in black patent leather. But declinedcredit cards (one right after another until she ran out of stock) prevented her from closing the deal. The Nubian princess left in tears. Here’s hoping her new employer offersa pay advance. She needs all the retail therapy she can get on accountof that psycho ex-boyfriend, who just happens to be baseball’s hottest outfield attraction.

    4
    Simone
    It was like being in one of those big budget, loud Hollywood disaster movies. As the world fell down all around her, Simone Williams was running as fast as she could.
    She burst inside her sunny one-bedroom Upper East Side apartment and flattened her back against the door, chest heaving.
    The humiliation was total—possibly her most embarrassingmoment ever.Worse than the flat-on-her-face fall she took on the Paris runway during her first Karl Lagerfeld show. Even worse than the time she vomited on William L. Petersen when she guest-starred on CSI: Crime Scene Investigation .
    Oh, God, yes, this situation was far worse. Being denied credit on Fifth Avenue. Over and over again.
    Chanel, a beautiful silver Egyptian Mau, chortled a soft melody, delighted by Simone’s return. The feline wiggled her tail at great speed as she treaded the hardwood floor with her forepaws.
    Simone made a direct move for the antique rolltop desk, lifting it up to reveal a disaster underneath. She fired up her sleek new black MacBook and sorted through piles of statements and scribbled Post-its in a mad search for user names, passwords, and account numbers.
    With a steadily rising panic, she logged on to check her balances, card by card. American Express Optima, American Express Blue, Citi Platinum Visa, MBNA Platinum MasterCard, Capital One Visa, and so on. Every account had careened past its approved credit line.
    For a moment, Simone struggled to breathe. This was impossible.How could every credit card be maxed out? An internalthunderbolt dropped. Somebody must have stolen her identity!
    She retraced her online steps to check recent activity. Hmm. All of the charges looked very much like her own—the same restaurants, retail boutiques, and beauty outlets that Simone had frequented over the last week glowed back on the thirteen-inchmonitor.
    For at least two hours, she worked the phone, enduring interminable holding spells for account managers and supervisorsin an all-out bid to have her credit lines increased. Most of them hovered around twenty thousand. Maybe that was an acceptable limit for a college student. But Simone Williams was hardly a struggling coed.
    Not long ago she had been featured in the Us Weekly “Who Wore It Best?” contest (against Jessica Simpson). They were both pictured in the same Cavalli black paisley-print empire-waist dress. Of course, Jessica had won with