Lens Flare


Carson and all the staff of Jenna’s mansion were told to set their alarm clocks for 5:30am. The plane would leave at 7:30. In his servant quarters, Carson had a portable CD player alarm clock that he set to play “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” by the Smashing Pumpkins when it was time to wake up.

When it played this tune in the morning, he did not turn it off or hit the snooze button; rather, he let the whole song play through while he dressed. He was still humming it to himself when he stepped out into the cold morning and walked to the garage. His only assigned task was to take the limo out to the driveway and wait. He did this, then made sure all his packed belongings were with him for the trip: three days’ worth of clothes, his favorite small camera in a carry-on bag, extra film, cigarettes, the $200 from last night along with the other emergency money in his wallet... Everything was set to go. He briefly checked the rear-view mirror to make sure his appearance was alright; he had showered before bed, which was not his usual practice, but because of his chauffeur cap, his messy hair would not be an issue--at least not for now. He had not brushed his teeth, but he had some breath mints--a must for any smoker to have on hand at all times. While Carson sometimes enjoyed the ability to repel people with nothing more than an exhale in their direction, this talent would not be useful today.

To accommodate all the servants, several cars were needed. There were also family members, band members, and friends of Jenna traveling with them. Everybody emptied from the mansion at once and went to his or her assigned vehicle. Carson admired the planning that had gone into this. Where had all those people come from overnight? There had to be a lot of coordination to make this work.

Jenna instructed Carson to go to the airport, and as she and Carson both expected, press cars followed their train the whole way there. No matter. Once the plane was in the air, they could not track it anymore. They would not know where the plane was going to land. For that matter, Carson still did not know where the plane would land, and neither did anyone else except Jenna and Palmer. Palmer rode in the last van of their group; his role was to make sure none of the following press cars got past airport security and into the boarding area. He did a good job, too. When they arrived at the airport, the press were all led away from the area behind the security fence. Airport guards and Palmer seemed in good communication with each other, Carson observed.

The airplane was well away from the fence and could not be seen from the press’s vantage point. Also, the plane was considerably larger than the one Carson had seen a few days ago. This might have been a 757 or larger, by the looks of it. And no wonder, since it had to seat so many people...

Meanwhile, in the cockpit...

“So what’s this new flight training program you mentioned?”

“It’s called, ‘Look, Learn, Fly.’ I’ve never flown before, and I’m not supposed to touch the controls, but they want me to watch a master at work so I can get the feel of it.”

“Oh. Righteous. I wish they had that thing when I was in flight school, man.” Dave “The Dude” Sullivan was a bit disturbed by the absence of his regular copilot, but this new Martin O’Reilly guy seemed nice enough. The shift in flight school training program policy was a surprise, but every now and then the program changed anyway, and Dave guessed it was time for some things to be shifting around. Past time, in fact.

Riley watched “The Dude” lean back in his seat. The pilot was in his mid-thirties, clean-shaven but long-haired for a man of his profession. He worked private flights for celebrities, and his job for the last year and a half had been transporting Jenna Pierce and a few other singers on tours. It had been a while, he said, since he had flown a plane this large, but he used to do it all the time a few years ago, so it was really no big thing.

In the hour Riley had come to know this man, Dave had talked about three subjects: planes, piloting, and surfing. Riley could see him as that type--easily. The man looked out of his element in pilot uniform; a Hawaiian shirt would have gone with his personality much better. True, he was getting a little old for surfing, but equally so, he might never outgrow the sport. Growing old was mandatory, after all, but growing up was strictly optional.

“When I was learning to fly,” he said as he brushed some stray hair strands from his eyes, “they had us do this little exercise in the middle of flight, and I thought it was the sweetest thing. Y’know, it’s the one where they teach you how to avoid a hijacking. Basically all it is, is--have you had that lesson yet?”


“Oh, that’s right; you’re just getting started. Well, it’s this lesson where you have to make the plane drop down real fast...” He took his hands, which were next to the wheel but not touching it, and he motioned them upward as if to make the plane dive. “...And then you pull it right back level.” He put his hands down again. “Anyone who’s not sitting with their seatbelt on will get knocked real hard into the ceiling. That’ll most likely knock out any hijacker or at least put ’em on the ground. Pretty cool, huh? Just, when you’re gonna practice, make sure you haven’t eaten much in the last hour, ’cause oh man, that can do horrors for your stomach if you’re not used to the effects.”

A few things went “clang” behind them. “People are boarding now,” Dave explained. “The dudes handling the luggage are probably almost done, too.”

Private jets did not need flight attendants typically, but since this was a large plane with many passengers, some had to be hired for the occasion. There was still a short staff, though, since the plane had no captain aboard. Dave would have to handle all of the technical aspects himself--evidently, Jenna did not trust anyone else with the location of their arrival. At least... nobody but her regular pilot, probably...

“So where are we going?” Riley asked, quiet but innocent enough.

“Paris, man. Jenna’s got something going on there, and while I don’t know for sure, I think she’s getting married. ’Cause y’know, she said she’d get married, and I know she’s not on another tour already.”

“You don’t say.” It was hard for Riley to contain his mirth, but he managed.

“Yeah. I think she’s trying to be all ‘secret’ about it, though, to keep out the press. I can’t blame her, man. Some of those Paparazzi bastards can be real annoying.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Sometimes, man, I want to strangle those sons of bitches. All they do is hound people, man. It’s because they’re so pathetic, they can’t get lives of their own, so they try to leech off the popularity of others. Let me tell you, those are some real losers right there, man. Sorry, soulless, crooked...”

“I get the point,” said Riley.

The plane took off in another half hour. Things went smoothly, and Riley did his best to stay to the side and not get in the way. Carson, meanwhile, sat next to the other servants in what would have been the coach section of the plane had it not been a commercial flight. He put his headphones on--screw the no-electronics rule--and tried to catch up on sleep.

Jenna and her agent sat in first class. The former was nervous, the latter still worn out.

“The second we land, the press will be there,” Palmer said.

“I don’t think so,” said she. “According to our plan, the won’t catch up with us for a couple hours after that.”

“I’ve done all I can,” said he. “I’m afraid now we can only hope for the best. I still say we should have done the wedding at your house, which could have been secured better. Or we should have made a big spectacle of this and used it to our advantage...”

“Oh, but there’s no fun in having it at home.”

“Yes, I know.” He sighed. “‘No fun’ equals ‘not happening.’”

“You got it.”

In the cockpit, Riley did a little mental math while the plane leveled out of its ascent. “So wait... If we’re going to Paris... That’s a pretty long flight from L.A., isn’t it? Aren’t you going to get tired?”

“Aw, don’t worry. We’ve got autopilot on this baby. Unless you want to take the controls for a bit. It’s not so hard, really. Mostly just keep going straight.”

“What about turbulence?”

“Oh, that’s the best part, dude! Catch some breezes, and it’s just like riding a killer wave back home. See those clouds over there? I bet there’s some pretty strong rotating wind in them... Wanna check it out?”

“Uh... Not really?”

“Ha. Well, too bad you’re not the pilot. I’m gonna see what’s over there... Mind, don’t be surprised if I get too caught up in finding waves... Try to keep your lunch off the controls, okay?”

Carson’s CD player skipped, but that was the least of his problems right now. The whole plane was shaking, and he could not get to sleep... The maid lady next to him was scared of flying and was about to go berserk... Refreshment servings would have to wait until things were level again... All of this reminded Carson why he had not flown in over a decade.

He put his headphones down and turned off the CD player to save its batteries. Then he sighed and looked at his watch. Oh for the love of... only half an hour into the flight? This did not bode well.

There was a ding, and a voice spoke over the intercom. “Hello, passengers... Uh, we are experiencing some turbulence... Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I have to introduce myself first. This is your copilot speaking. We’re getting turbulence, as you may have noticed by now...”

A different voice over the intercom, one more distant but loud all the same, yelled, “RIGHTEOUS!”

The first voice said, “Dave, will you cut that out? You’re making me airsick.”


“I... Oh, wait, I’m still on this talk thingy... Do not worry, folks, everything is under control.”


Then the speaker went silent, and the plane’s shaking grew more violent. Of the people in the cabin, those who had not feared for their lives before hearing the message began to do so now. All around Carson, people prayed to every god they could think of: Jesus, Buddha, Tom Cruise... all of them.

Carson, though, thought for a moment: he knew that voice on the loudspeaker. That copilot. He. Oh no. Not that psycho stalker kid, Riley. Anybody but--

The speaker came on again. “Hi, folks. Copilot again. Still in turbulence, still under control. Uh, yeah. Let’s just keep telling ourselves this, okay?”

It was him, Carson knew. He got on this plane--but how? Carson grudgingly respected the implications here; getting a copilot spot on the plane could not have been easy on such short notice.

Something angered Carson, though: Why is that runt stepping on my turf? He knows damn well this is my assignment. He must really be one desperate man, he thought. He wants to be at the wedding, and he wants to take pictures. That’s clear enough. And that’s my job, not his. Reporters from the same paper were never supposed to do this to each other; rather, they were to respect one another’s turf. Carson looked straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him and thought, This means war.

Carson would have smoked a cigarette then, but he would not be allowed to do so while the plane was in the air--yet another reason Carson hated flying.

After a solid hour, the turbulence subsided.

“Whoa,” said Dave. “Sorry about that, dude. Got caught up in the moment. Good news is, it made our flight go a lot faster than I knew was possible before.” He laughed. “I need a rest. You want to take it for a while and try it out? Or should we go auto?”

Riley looked solemnly at his second vomit bag and said, “Auto. For the love of God, auto.”

“No problem.”


Carson did not get to sleep until the plane was over the Atlantic Ocean. When he finally dozed off, he dreamed he was chasing a Paparazzi’s dream target: a major celebrity caught at a nudist colony. The blonde bombshell was running through a maze of halls and staircases in a seemingly endless house of sorts, and he was always a step behind her. He got his share of photos--good ones--and laughed as he went. To anyone else, his laugh might have sounded a little bit evil, but to himself, it sounded far worse: deeper, fuller, louder. And he would not have it any other way. It was a very nice dream.

He was about to reload his camera, when someone from behind knocked him to one side and ran past him. It was Riley, and he was laughing too.

Carson woke up briefly, but he would not let the things troubling him keep him from any more sleep. The next time he woke up, the plane was in descent toward Paris. The “fasten seatbelt” sign was not yet on, but it soon would be. Last refreshments had already been served. The maid lady sitting next to him was nice enough to save him a roll from her snack.

In the cockpit, Riley had been awake for two hours. Dave was about to contact the Paris airport (Orly), and Riley would once more do his best to stay out of the way. He would continue to be as quiet and useless as possible until the plane landed. Then he would need to take care of Carson...

It was as obvious to Riley as it was to Carson that both of them could not go to this wedding and take photographs. Carson would have to be detained all the way through the wedding. Riley had a plan for that... Not the world’s most sophisticated, but he hoped that knocking him out and stuffing him in the lavatory without clothes would take care of him for a while.

On Dave’s direction, Riley turned on the seatbelt sign. As soon as that light turned off again, he knew, his plan would have to go into effect...


As a boy, Carson had seen some cartoons, old ones, in which whenever a character got a bright idea or had an epiphany, a lightbulb would appear over that character’s head. This was similar to what happened to Carson, except that it was the seatbelt light instead of a normal bulb, and he was not in a cartoon, last time he checked. All the same, at that very second, he realized that if the wedding party were really on this plane, something very crucial was missing: the groom, whose identity Carson still did not know.

Carson thought of a couple explanations for this: the groom could be waiting for them on the ground. Or he might already be at the church... though it was very late in Paris right now. Hm, church, he thought. Where will Jenna have this wedding, anyway? And how will she keep a party this large under wraps--in Paris, of all places?

Carson looked around him. The coach section of the plane was not completely full. Most of the empty seats were near the front. Carson and the others in coach had been told to stay toward the back to make room for the others--but why would they have to make room if there were not enough others to fill the whole space? Wait, how many empty seats are there? One, two... About ten or twelve. That’s almost as many seats as are in the first class section.

And then it hit him. This is where the wedding will be! Paris isn’t the location of the chapel; it’s the location of the honeymoon! Carson checked his carry-on bag to make sure his camera was ready to go. It was. All he would need to do was lift it up and click when the time came. He smiled. He had wanted a seat at the wedding, and now he had it. Now if only he were in the aisle seat instead of against the window... Ah, but he would not complain now.

I wonder what Riley will do when he finds out what’s happening, he thought, but he did not dwell on that subject for long. Instead, he tried to remember the people he had seen in first class when, he had looked them over during a trip to the lavatory. Most of those people were Jenna’s close relatives. But a few were faces he had not seen in any of the paper’s file pictures of her family. Those, he figured now, would have to be the groom’s family. Which meant that the groom was somewhere on board...

Dave was about to land the plane. He said to Riley, “I bet you’ll be a very good pilot someday, man.”

“Thank you,” said Riley.

“You just need to work on not getting sick in flight, that’s all. Now, my usual copilot, Dan, he had that same problem you did. But he got through it pretty quickly, and I’m sure you will too.”

Riley nodded and thought to himself about the copilot--the man whom, many hours ago, he had followed from home to the freeway... The copilot saw he was being followed, so he pulled his car, a small but well-kept Mercedes, over to the right. He came out of the car, like Carson had, and Riley stepped out, too, but this time Riley grasped in his right hand a Jenna Brand Beauty Products Perfume-soaked rag--it was his best makeshift substitute for chloroform.

The man was about Riley’s age, if not a few years older. He was taller than Riley, better built, and was not as tired from staying up all night searching through records at the newspaper office to track down a copilot’s home address (tabloid offices contained information on nearly everyone in Hollywood; one only had to know how to find what he was looking for). But despite the man’s physical advantages, Riley had the element of surprise, and the man had scarcely inhaled one pungent whiff of the “Lusty Lavender” perfume before he was out cold.

Riley had then dragged the man into the Mercedes. Once in the car, he took the copilot’s uniform and luggage (one suitcase, one carry-on with various airline logos stitched onto it) and ID card for getting past airport security. Though the uniform was very loose on Riley--not to mention somewhat awkward to put on while inside a car--he hoped it was a close enough fit that it would not gain attention.

Riley had slashed one of the copilot’s tires to assure there would be no chase anytime soon, and from there he had sped off for the airport.

Riley sighed contently in the cockpit and wondered if he should have brought more of the perfume with him for using on Carson. The copilot had been much stronger than Carson, though, so Riley doubted he would have much of a problem, Lusty Lavender or not.

Yeah... Knocking out that copilot had been some feat... typical L.A. muscle builder jock, the type who made Riley’s adolescence hell on earth... Riley had enjoyed defeating him.

The plane landed at last, and Riley admired for a moment what Dave had done--in spite of the man’s passion for turbulence. With a shorthanded crew, he had simultaneously filled the positions of pilot and captain with only minimal help from an incompetent copilot during both takeoff and landing. That took a lot of experience to do. Riley stayed silent but watched as the plane taxied away from the commercial flights and toward an empty lot behind some hangars. There the plane stopped, and Dave turned the engines off. Riley pointed at the button to turn off the seatbelt sign.

“Should I?” he asked.

“No,” Dave said. “There’s no point. Nobody’s coming with the stairs, so until the crew at Orly get their act together, we can’t get off this flight. This is where they told me to go, though, so here I am.”

Riley was confused. Before he could ask another question, though, someone knocked on the cockpit door. Apparently the seatbelt sign was mere formality to whoever this was.

“Who is it?” Dave asked.

“Palmer,” said a voice from the other side of the door. “Is Dan ready to go?”

“Uh, no...” Dave was just as perplexed as Riley.

“Oh, that’s right. You need your tuxedo, don’t you? Here, I’ll get it; it’s with Jenna’s gown.”

Then all Riley heard were the footsteps of Palmer--whoever that was, Riley did not know--going away from the door.

“Weird,” Dave said. Riley agreed.

It took almost a minute for Riley to put the pieces together, but he did.

“Were Dan and Jenna seeing each other?” he asked.

“Heh. Jenna was ‘seeing’ practically everybody who toured with her, dude.”

“Oh. I was just wondering if Dan was supposed to be the groom at the wedding.”

“I don’t know, but that would explain why Palmer wants him to wear a tux.”

Riley thought about this. “Out of curiosity... Does my voice sound anything like Dan’s?”

Dave considered for a second. “Y’know, yeah, you kinda do. You don’t look like him, though.”

So when I went on the intercom, Riley thought, nobody in the plane noticed the difference. They think I’m Dan, and Dan’s the groom--but he’s not here--but I’m here--and that means--

Palmer knocked on the door again and said, “Here’s the tux. Get dressed, and we’ll start this in about twenty minutes.”

Riley opened the door only a crack to snatch the tux. Then he abruptly closed the door and said, “I have to speak with Jenna.”

“Uh, okay...” Palmer sounded confused. “I’ll get her. She’s putting her dress on in the back.”

Carson saw Jenna march through to the back of the plane, and he saw Palmer come and bring her back when she was in her wedding gown. The people in coach understood then what was happening, that the wedding would be here and very soon. Throughout coach, people got their cameras out of their carry-on bags.

Good, thought Carson. I won’t be alone, at least, when the flashbulbs go off.

Dave’s eyes opened wider as Riley undressed and changed into the tuxedo.

“Dude! You’re not gonna try and take Dan’s place here, are you?” Dave asked. “I mean, I know Jenna’s easy, but aren’t you like, someone she’s never even met before?”

“Not exactly,” Riley said. He did not elaborate on that.

Knock knock.

“Dan?” It was Jenna. “What is it, honey? Something wrong?”

Riley could not believe Jenna was speaking to him that way, but then, she did think he was someone else, after all. He said back, “Um, Jenna, there’s something I have to tell you...”


“I’m... not really Dan.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m not. Dan’s not here.”

“But you sound like Dan...”

“I know. Listen, Dan uh...” Riley breathed hard for a moment before he could think of something to say. “Dan ditched you and was gonna leave you at the altar. He chose me as a copilot but didn’t have the guts to tell you to your face.”

Jenna gasped. “What a jerk! His whole family is here, too!”

“Yeah, but before you get too angry, there’s something else I wanted to say.”


“I... Look, you may not know me or remember me, but I was with you all through your tour. I’ve watched you perform for ten years now, and well... Dan might not love you enough to go through with the wedding, but Jenna... I do. I love you and I love everything about you.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. What’s your name?”

“My name is Marty... Please don’t say it’s too dorky.”

“Hehe, nah, I think it’s cute.”

Wow. Dave was right: this woman was easy.

“What’s your last name?” she asked.

Without thinking, he said, “Riley.” He soon realized his error.

“Riley,” she repeated. “Wait... Riley... Where have I heard that name before?”

Uh oh. “Um... It’s a fairly common last name. I’m sure you’ve heard it lots of times in several perfectly innocent contexts.”

“Waaaaaaaait a minute...”

The cockpit door was still unlocked from when Palmer had passed the groom’s clothes through. Jenna opened it and looked right at Riley, who, not wanting to be cornered in the cockpit, slid past her into the small space next to the lavatory in front of first class.

“YOU!” Jenna screamed as he went by her. “Oh my God, you’re that crazy stalker freak!”

“No, please Jenna, don’t think of me like that. I’m, uh, a really devoted fan, that’s all!”

“I thought you were under a restraining order!” Furious, she advanced on him and forced him to walk backwards through first class, much to the amazement of all the people there.

Said Riley, “Well, see, the funny thing about laws is...”

“Shut up!” She slapped him, hard, and continued to advance. Riley gave up negotiating and walked faster--though still backward--right into coach.

Carson stood up immediately when he saw Riley. Carson had overheard the talk in first class, and at the sound of the slap, his journalist instinct kicked in. He picked up his camera and, the second Jenna walked in yelling obscenities at Riley, the pictures started. Every other person in coach took this as a signal to start their picture-taking as well.

Jenna, meanwhile, continued to slap Riley and beat him as he stepped backward. Carson moved past the maid still sitting in the aisle seat and pretended to try for a better picture angle. All he really wanted to do, though, was trip Riley when he stepped past Carson’s row of seats. Jenna, blinded with rage, paid no attention to the cameras. Instead, she pounced on Riley when he tripped, and then she hit him several times. Carson would try to remember the words she screamed for his report later on. For now, though, he kept taking his pictures in rapid succession. This was too perfect; an angry celebrity bride, a wedding ruined, exclusive photos up close... Carson was at the height of ecstasy, even though he had done little more than raise a camera and click a button--many, many times.

Riley, before blacking out from a punch to his temple, saw Carson standing like a specter above and behind Jenna’s shoulder. That big shot was smiling with every tooth he had...

Just as Jenna raised her fist for the knockout blow, Riley thought he could hear Carson’s voice whisper in taunt:

“Dance for me, baby, dance... Make love to the camera...”




Rita-Mae Clugg hefted her 250-pound body through lane two at the supermarket, and as the teenager at the register started ringing up her items, she took a copy of The Comet off the aisle display and read the cover headline: “Jenna Pierce Wedding DISASTER!!!” She added the paper to her groceries. Any story with three exclamation points had to be worth reading.

The picture looked interesting, too: the singer was in her gown, and she was pounding the crap out of a man who Rita-Mae could only assume was the groom. Rita-Mae shook her head and said probably the deepest, most philosophical thing she had uttered in weeks: “Mm, mm-mm-mm-mm.”

Every day the papers came up with more and more unbelievable stories--yet they had to be true, did they not, in order to be in the paper? This story, with a psychotic stalker getting into that poor singer’s wedding, was a perfect example... And ooh, it said over on page three (she turned the page briefly) that the stalker was part of a cult that wanted to sacrifice her. How intriguing.

Rita-Mae’s thoughts were distracted by someone yelling from lane one, the express lane. A mean-looking man was giving the poor cashier trouble because the store was out of the man’s favorite cigarettes.

“Sir, I can’t help it if we don’t have it,” the teen pleaded.

“Yeah, yeah. Screw it, I’ll shop somewhere else.”

Then the man walked away without taking his items or paying for them. The cashier had to clear them away himself.

“What a bad man,” Rita-Mae said aloud. The word “jerk” was too sophisticated for her vocabulary. “Well, I’m glad they don’t let those types of people write for the papers.” Of course they did not. Because tabloid reporters strove for honesty and fairness in their journalism--why, it said so right on the paper’s cover: “Fair and Honest.” And if they strove for these things, surely they must be nice people, pillars of the community... Rita-Mae loved her papers and hoped she could meet some of their writers and photographers someday. Maybe she could even get a few autographs. Oh, that would be exciting. Almost as good as meeting the celebrities themselves!

As she thought about this, Carson walked back to where his cab waited.

“No groceries, sir?” said the driver.

“They didn’t have what I wanted. Go up the road, I think there’s a convenience store at the corner of the second stoplight.”

He needed provisions, because he was going on another trip--thankfully not by plane this time. With a story this big, he was able to get Gerhart to pay up on his bonus as well as earn some much-needed vacation time. So he was headed to Tijuana.

As for Riley, Gerhart bailed him out of a Paris jail and promoted him for his role in the wedding. What Riley saw as a failed attempt at matrimony, Gerhart interpreted as the ultimate exercise of courage and self-sacrifice to get the story. Riley’s pay doubled instantly, and he was allowed not only to take pictures, but write as well.

To anyone else, it may have seemed an extremely lucky break for him, considering the circumstances. Riley, however, wished in his own way that he were still behind bars...

While Carson was off to Mexico, Riley sat in front of Derek Mahler and said, “Thank you very much for granting this interview, sir.” His voice remained flat throughout. “It is truly an honor to be invited to your home to discuss this amazing new movie you have made.”

Mahler smiled his cheeky smile and crossed his legs. “Oh, the pleasure is mine, I assure you, yes.”

Riley shuddered.

Said Mahler, “Let us discuss first the personal aspects of the film, shall we?”

“Personal aspects?” Riley repeated.

“Yes. You see, this movie was a major breakthrough in my process of coming to terms with my sexuality--which, by the by, while I hope it does not offend you at all, is not so much straight as it is squiggly.”

Riley wrote this down. If nothing else, that would at least be good enough for a story or two.

“So go on and interview me,” Mahler urged. “I know you must have many questions. Ask away, you young stallion, you.”

Riley stopped writing and looked up. Mahler raised his eyebrows at him. Twice.

“In what way,” Riley asked, “did this movie help you come to... terms with your orientation?”

Mahler took a deep breath and responded, “Well, it really is a very interesting story, I must say! It all started with my last plastic surgery attempt...”

Riley obediently took his notes and whimpered. It was going to be a long day...

Jenna Pierce married Dan as soon as she returned to Los Angeles. His only condition for the marriage was that she never, ever use her own brand of perfume near him again. She never understood the reason for this, but for his sake, she agreed to use other celebrities’ brands instead.

They lived happily most of the time during the three years their Hollywood marriage lasted. Then Dan caught Jenna cheating on him with Dave. Then they lived separately ever after.

The End.

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