Britney woke up with a start. As she lay alone between her silk sheets staring at the ceiling, she reflected that if anything, her sabbatical from performing had sone just the opposite of what she had hoped. It seemed as though the world were closing in around her. The media wanted to write about her as much as ever and now, with no musical career, the only fodder they had was her personal life.
That was part of why it so galled her that Christina Aguilera had taken this opportunity to turn the knife by putting together a video duet with Justin so salacious that MTV was furiously negotiating with the FCC about the times of day they would be allowed to air it. She just loathed that little slut; everyone was keen to call her a slut in the press every time she looked at anyone other than Justin but Christina didn't get any flak for posing naked in Rolling Stone. Imagine if she'd done that!
Here she was, awake at 6:37am already grinding her teeth thinking about Christina and Justin. That horrid little cunt! she thought to herself. Britney thought about phoning her shrink -- Marvin Velmond; he was her fifth in seven months. She hadn't been terribly impressed with him either. She considered firing him too.
The problem, Britney reflected, couldn't be solved by therapy anyway. The problem was people wanting to fuck with her -- just because she was on top. Drifting into her thoughts for the seventh time in as many days was a recollection of a party she'd recently attended. She looked over at her nightstand. Sure enough the card was still there. Even if these people were cranks, wouldn't they be worth a call? She reached over to the phone but stopped herself. What if this was one of those prank shows? No. She'd get her assistant to check them out, see if they were on the level.
Britney looked down at the card, the hint of a smile playing across her face. Revenge Inc. she read. That sounded promising.
Mon Feb 17 20:59:29 2003
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