CHAPTER EIGHT
Carlo gave me the red carpet treatment. Jesus, I felt like a star when he escorted me around his studio and introduced me. "This is Kitsy McRae," he would say. "We have big plans for her."
Then, in his wide, carpeted office, he had his lawyer there with a stack of papers an inch thick. I wished for the Congressman or someone who knew that lead-weighted legal s**t, but I was on my own. I trusted Carlo. Oh, well, I would probably have done it even if he hadn't used a bit of trickery.
There I was. I had in my pocketbook a plane ticket from Paris to New York and then back to the nearest airport to Old Town. That was from the Miss One World Organization. I had a few bucks in expense money from the same place. Back home in the Old Town bank I had about five hundred bucks, which
