Runner-up 2

Genie plotted her revenge against Bonner as perfectly as she acted the dumb blond trophy wife. Her plans went smoothly. That is until Ernesto wrestled the Beretta from her hands and pointed it at her head. The plan hadn't called for that.

"Note to self," Genie thought as they approached Falco's door, "unhire this SOB as soon as this is over." Genie cursed, thinking about the sum she paid this chump to double-cross Charlie. Now she was the chump.

"First, though," Genie thought, "Get back on track."

Her marriage to Charlie was over as soon as it started: the novelty of new sex wore off; the attentiveness of new love faded, the gift-giving of courtship stopped.

All that would have been OK -- she'd sustain herself living in Malibu, leaving behind the pitiful acting career, shopping Rodeo -- if the money hadn't disappeared.

At first, she thought Charlie was just a poor money manager. Since she was smarter than she looked, she knew that had to change. She quickly stripped him of that responsibility.

Nothing changed.

Then she noticed little things, odd things, that didn't add up. It didn't take her long to piece together the signs: His agitation grew intense, his mood swings like giant arcs. It all added up.

"Bipolar, by coke," she snorted to herself. "How utterly cliché. Not even an original habit."

But that wasn't his only one. Before long, she noticed the frequent trips. Alone. To Vegas.

"Let's see," Genie said one day. "No money, coke, these trips." She hadn't bargained for this.

Genie had him followed. She tapped his computer. She discovered the Birds.

"The last straw," Genie said. "If Charlie discards me this quickly, he'll need to pay."

She waited, plotted, and gathered information. Day by day, evidence mounted.

"Blackmail is the best revenge," she smiled to herself, tweaking an old adage. "How sweet it is."