I looked through the images of Ivanka Trump. I said, “She’s sexy in a very classy way.”
“Exactly.” Dru said. She looked at the pictures again and sighed. “Man, I’d munch her rug till my teeth fell out.”
“You’re horrible,” I said with a giggle. “So maybe I go for Ivanka Trump with a little bad girl cleavage.”
“Sounds perfect,” Dru said. She glanced at my meager closet. “Do you have anything like that?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Let me look.”
I tore off the tight halter top and shimmied out of the mini skirt. When my tits bounced free I heard Dru playfully moan. I ignored her and pushed through the racks until I found the dress that I’d worn to an awards dinner once. It was a red dress cut midway above the knee, with a wide black belt, and buttoned up the front.
I stepped into the dress and tugged it over my bubble butt and up my shoulders. I button the front, but left the three top buttons open. I put my hands on the sides of my tits and mashed them together. With my tits in a pushup bra, it might just do the trick. I slipped on the stilettos to finish the outfit. The stilettos were uncomfortable as hell, but Dru was right: they made my legs look amazing.
“What do you think?” I asked with my hands on my hips, turning from side to side.
“I think that’s the one,” Dru said, giving me a thumbs-up. “Wedge your big tits in a bra for cleavage, put on some red lipstick and he won’t be able to resist you.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” I said with a smile. “Now, if I can just learn to walk in these shoes, I’ll be all set.”
Kate
Getting an interview with a major sports star is not as easy as one might think. I couldn’t just stroll into Kings Stadium and ask to speak to Sean Donovan. They weren’t going to page him to come to the front desk to meet me, no matter how hot I looked.
There are protocols in place for interviewing anyone associated with the Kings. I would have been directed to the team’s media relations office, where I would have to su
bmit a formal request for an interview and hope it was granted at some point in the future.
I knew that would be a complete dead end.
SIO was banned from the stadium. Word was that they had photos of every SIO journalist, including me, tacked to a wall like criminals in a police investigation. I was going to use a pretty good disguise, but I knew they would have sniffed me out sooner or later.
The other tactic was to contact the player’s personal PR rep directly and request an interview. Sean’s PR rep was a hardnosed woman named Madge Sinclair, who guarded her clients with the tenacity of a pit bull.
Madge might consider your request if you were lucky, or most likely, just dismiss it outright. If she thought an interview with you was beneficial to her client, and you represented a prestigious media outlet like Sports Illustrated or ESPN, you might be granted an interview under Madge’s watchful eye.
That’s why no one had done an eyewitness exposé of Sean Donovan before. Madge controlled the media’s access to her bad boy client and personally monitored every interview.
If you were granted an interview, which was like getting Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket, you were required to submit your questions in writing first for Madge’s approval.
If she didn’t like a question, it was stricken from the list. Step over a line or go in a direction that made her client look bad, and Madge would end the interview immediately and blacklist you from ever talking to another of her clients.
I knew I’d never get access to Sean Donovan if Madge Sinclair had anything to do with it.
So, I would have to approach him directly without going through the proper channels.
And the only way to do that was to somehow find him away from Kings Stadium and approach him there. It would be a little like tracking a lion in its natural habitat, knowing there was the risk of getting mauled.
I knew Sean Donovan frequented a dance club on 10th Avenue called Maxie’s New York. The place was always teaming with celebrities and groupies, and was almost as hard to get into as Fort Knox.
But, with the right look and the right credentials, maybe Katie Holmes, former Playboy Playmate turned serious journalist, just might be able to get inside.
Kate
It was nearly midnight when Dru and I stepped out of the cab in front of Maxie’s New York. The rumor was that the stars didn’t come out to play until after midnight; like late night vampires crawling from their coffins and crypts. Being famous must be exhausting. I was already trying not to yawn. It was a work night; and hours past my bedtime.
I stood on the sidewalk and watched as hordes of young, scantily-dress party goers lined up at Maxie’s front door.
There were two large bouncers at the door, serving as the guardians of the gate.