The Dancing Dame
Ah, Miss Ruby Rose. I remember her, pretty little thing on the west side of town. Used to do shows for the burlesque house once a week as their main act. A blonde babe for all the dirty rich man who thought they had a chance to throw money at. She had it, and it worked like a charm.
One fella had a shot with her though: Duncan Jones. See, this man was some kinda big cheese in the film industry, a director if I'm not mistaken. Miss Rose loved the lights and the stardom that came with dancing, but she must've thought she was better than that. Now... what would a beautiful, young gal like her do when a "proposition" was made to get on that fancy, red carpet? Exactly what you think.
Only problem was, some rag-a-muffin press decided to follow them and record their "business transition." This guy had been stuck on Ruby for some few months now, even got into her apartment one time to be welcomed to some bruises and a very, very sore head. But now he had something she wanted. He had her innocence printed on a polaroid. Her only chance of being the next Marion Davies all depended on thoughts on some no-good sleezeball.
"Hey you.
Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot.
And, I did some things that I wish I didn't.
But I was just angry. Scared.
Plus, you know how close I am to this movie deal now.
You see, everyone knows about my dancing, but...those pictures?
They just won't do.
So, I was thinking,
Maybe we can just meet up and talk.
And then, maybe we can forget about those pictures, ok baby?"
That was the most recent message sent to the press' telephone in his home. We found this along with the photos, some papers, and the scumbag himself laying face-down on the bed. Half-naked, dick wet with his own blood and scissors straight through his throat. Pretty sure Miss Rose is outta town by now, cause either this fella was fresh outta cash or our dancing dame made a withdrawal. God knows where she is now...
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