Spiral by Jacqueline Levine Read Free Book Online Page A

window. “She’s with her publicist and her manager, I think. They’re helping her prepare statements for the press.”
    Mom pauses before adding, “But Jim’s sitting downstairs by himself. Why don’t you ask him to watch a game with you?”
    Because he doesn’t watch sports, he watches the History Channel
, I mutter in my head. But I can offer, especially if he is alone, and especially if Cherie is already occupied. I nod and grunt as I roll off the bed.

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    DIRTERAZZI.COM
    WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO LITTLE ORPHAN CHERIE?
    While Kidz Channel star Cherie Belle, 16, prepares to bury her parents after a terrible car accident claimed both their lives early yesterday morning, her handlers are scrambling to find out just what lies ahead for the teen queen. Sources very close to the family tell us that Cherie’s parents had a will and designated her uncle, James Goldman, as their executor and Cherie’s guardian years ago. Goldman, however, has twin teenage daughters (super-hot 15 year old daughters, apparently) and recently remarried to Eva Hansen, a woman with three children of her own. All of them reside in Pleasantville, New York, a suburban area of the state in which Cherie is none too keen on settling. Though Mark and Camille had a trust prearranged for Cherie, adding another child to James Goldman’s house may be too much. Carl Shwartz, Cherie’s long-time manager, is pushing for Cherie’s grandparents to step in as her temporary guardians and move to California with her so that she can continue her career. With movie deals, a new album, and ad campaigns on the horizon, Cherie’s entire brand hangs in the balance until a decision is made. Things would be so much less complicated if Cherie was 18 years old!
    Somewhere in LA, Caz Farrell is thinking, “Now you know how I feel…”
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CHAPTER 7
    J ust as Cherie had imagined, the word of this catastrophe is all over the news, and Mom tells us to leave the TV off so our houseguest doesn’t have to listen to any of it. I genuinely feel bad for Cherie. She is bratty and self-centered and all, but she doesn’t deserve this kind of attention at a time when she just wants to disappear. I know exactly how she feels.
    The Jewish religion insists on quick burials, so it’s 48 hours before we find ourselves standing in the cemetery, dressed in suits and dresses. Everyone is ankle-deep in fresh New York snow, watching the two caskets descend into plots that Jim’s parents had purchased for themselves many years ago. Today, they’re using those plots to bury a child and his wife who hadn’t bought their own plots because they hadn’t planned to die the way old people do. The thought makes my insides curl.
    Cherie had been right about the paparazzi, too, who are suddenly everywhere, snapping photos, following our cars and the hearse. Her limo leaves the funeral home first, and ours follows.
    “Don’t say anything to the reporters,” Mom warns all of us as we pile into the limo. “Let Cherie’s publicist handle the questions.”
    You would think people would be respectful and give a family space at a time like this. I’ve never seen such chaos over one person before. It doesn’t help that some of her celebrity friends show up, too. Danika made sure to call her agent, her manager, and her every last co-star. It’s like Hollywood threw up in my neighborhood. Naturally, I don’t have a chance to feel star struck. Instead of meeting starlets and rubbing elbows with guys I’ve seen on TV, I’m officially in charge of rounding up the youngsters and making sure we are all ready in time and no one is bleeding or dirty.
    The service is sad and crowded with a motley crew of Hollywood C-listers and average suburban New Yorkers. Cherie, donned in black from head to toe, has the aura of a tragic victim more so than any regular girl. With big, face-swallowing sunglasses, a large black hat and a black fur wrap, she looks like the wealthy widow from a cheesy movie. She stands