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Soap Opera "As The Mouse Moves" - Monday May 7th 2001
Jan took another bite of her pastrami sandwich that her housekeeper Ilona had prepared for her before taking a well-deserved evening off. She reached towards the remote for the television set in her Upper East Side mansion and hit the button "on" cradling the plate in her lap as she sat on her sofa. She quickly flipped through the channels and stopped at her favorite show "Go Gossip", the local TV show that interviewed politicians and celebrities of New York.
"Mr. Morgan! Could you talk to us a moment sir," a reporter said rushing towards Jan's Father with his microphone extended. Jan quickly dropped her sandwich on the plate in her lap and swallowed as she watched her Father on the screen.
"I'm sorry. I don't have time to talk this evening," Stanley said as the cameraman rushed towards him revealing Tiffany's nineteen-year-old blonde haired sister, Starlene on his arm. The voluptuous Starlene, dressed in a short skirt, low cut blouse and fish net stockings smiled broadly into the camera as Stanley kept his head down rushing her towards the long white limo.
"Mr. Morgan, I'm with "Go Gossip TV." Could you just tell us who your new girlfriend is?" the reporter persisted.
"I'm busy. No comment." Stanley said rushing as a smiling Starlene slid into the back of the car. The camera panned inside the long white limo showing Starlene looking straight into the camera smiling as Stanley slid in beside her as the driver shut the door.
The camera quickly turned towards the reporter. "We were informed by a reliable source that the young woman's name is Starlene and she is an actress and model from Georgia. That's really all we know about her at this time but we promise to find out more. Back to you Donna in the newsroom."
Jan placed her plate on the coffee table and noticed that her heart was beating so rapidly she thought she might have a heart attack. She took several deep breaths hoping to calm down. She quickly got up and started to pace across the oriental carpet in her luxurious living room. This couldn't continue she thought. Tiffany had moved to New York and won the heart of the man that would have been perfect for her, her boss Amir. Now her sister Starlene had been seen with her Father. The only satisfaction she could feel was that she was having an affair with Tiffany's estranged husband Skeeter. That wasn't satisfying her need for revenge because she had kept her affair with Skeeter a secret. Skeeter wasn't of the social class she was accustomed to being associated with and she knew he saw other women from time to time. Someone had to pay for this and now, she thought as she picked up the telephone and dialed the familiar number on Bleecker Street.
Skeeter closed and locked the front door. He ran towards the ringing phone.
"Hello", he said throwing his keys on the table.
"Skeeter did you know that Tiffany's little tramp sister is seeing my Father?" Jan snapped.
"No," he lied.
"I just saw her with Father on "Go Gossip", that horrible trash show on TV," Jan said.
"It's probably nothing," Skeeter said.
"Nothing! What do you mean nothing? They were on TV together getting into the back of his limo in Times Square."
"What did they say?"
"Father didn't answer any questions, of course."
"Then it's probably nothing to worry about. Maybe your old man is just having himself a good time," Skeeter said thinking how much any man would enjoy Starlene.
"They said she's nineteen years old Skeeter! My Father is a very important political figure in this city. This could hurt his image."
"Or help it."
"Whose side are you on anyway?"
"Starlene's harmless, Jan," he lied smiling as he thought how quickly Starlene had managed to get exactly what she wanted.
"Harmless as a snake!"
"Remember when I saw you with that rich dude on that TV show just a few days ago? You told me then that nobody watches 'that trash gossip show'," Skeeter said with satisfaction.
"Shut up Skeeter. You aren't any help at all. Give me Starlene's phone number, right now" she demanded.
CONTINUED TOMORROW. MORE PHOTOS BELOW.
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