From the outside, the mission San Paolo, in southern California, looks exactly like what it is; an old Spanish Californian mission building. It's not until you get to the gate that the differences become apparent. That's when visitors are met by a smiling blonde woman dressed in the pressed white blouse and black trousers that form the uniform of PCC (Private California Corrections), the private security firm that landed the contract to look after a very specialised form of state correction. Although the prison is officially known by its original name, critics of the system have dubbed it the Paris Hilton Hellton.
The guard on the gate is wearing a brightly polished brass name badge with 'Sophie' picked out in black letters. I show her my press pass and she admits me, asking me who I am here to see. There's a raising of fair eyebrows as I murmur the name Angela Carmichael. "Please turn out your pockets and put the contents on the tray," Sophie requests, producing a tray, which I fill before it's run through a scanner. "I'll need to keep your cell phone and camera, sir. They'll be returned to you when you depart."
I nodded, although none of the inmates are high security, I can understand the institution's need for privacy. I pass through the security gates and Sophie holds up a hand-held scanning device with a grin. I rolled my eyes and lifted my arms. Sophie ran it up and down my body, ensuring that I was 'clean'. As the attractive blonde lady put the scanner back behind her desk, I noticed her wide utility belt. Attached to the gleaming black leather was a pair of handcuffs in a case, a can of capsicum spray and in a holster where I would have expected most prison guards to have a truncheon was an item shaped like a small paddle, the clear plastic handle that jutted above the holster told me that it was made of lexan; a light, dense material that stung like fury when applied to a tender set of buttocks.
I followed Sophie down a long corridor to the governor's office. Angela Carmichael was a well-known business woman. Thirty years ago she had been another mid-western beauty pageant winner who was trying to break into Hollywood. Her dream of starring on the big screen never got further than a handful of video clips and a few guest shots on TV shows, however she was seen by flamboyant property speculator, Roger Carmichael. Roger Carmichael was a good deal older than his pretty trophy wife and when their daughter was three years old his lifestyle took its toll and he died of a heart attack while on his way into the office. Angela stepped seamlessly into his place and expanded his business considerably. She moved into resorts, schools, hospitals and aged care. Her daughter was killed at the tragically young age of nineteen. It was believed that drugs, alcohol and a car driven too fast by a driver that was both high and under the influence of alcohol took the teenager's life. It was never proven, but rumours circulated that Sonia Carmichael herself was at the wheel of the car when it crashed. Devastated by the loss of her only daughter and the one link to the husband that she had loved, Angela Carmichael sold off her assets, except for her California mansion and retired from public life. She emerged at about the same time Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie first gained notoriety for their actions. She campaigned quite enthusiastically against the cult of celebrity that was being built up around these girls and their circle of wealthy, famous acquaintances. Following the very public debacle around Miss Hilton's arrest and subsequent imprisonment, she opened San Paolo.
Sophie turned to me with another 1000 megawatt smile and said "I'll leave you with Juanita. She'll take care of you from here on in." I looked at the young lady seated behind the desk in the outer office. "You must be Juanita."
"Brilliant deduction," the striking, olive skinned brunette with the flashing eyes observed acidly, "I'll let Governor Carmichael know you're here. Take a seat, please."
I settled into a chair along one wall, feeling rather uncomfortably like a child sent to the head mistress's office for punishment. The reception had that feel about it, although Juanita was far more attractive than any of my old head mistress's secretaries. Juanita had a brief conversation on the phone and then spoke to me. "Governor Carmichael will see you now. Please go through."
She rose gracefully and held the door to Angela Carmichael's inner sanctum open, ushering me in.
Angela Carmichael has not appeared in public for some years, and although she has obviously aged from her golden years she carries her age well and looks in rude health. She smiled at me and invited me to sit down opposite her, inquiring as to whether I would like coffee or tea while we chatted. I said that coffee would be appreciated and Juanita was sent to bring refreshments. As I sat down I flicked my eyes around the room and had to suppress a shudder as I caught sight of a rack along one wall, a rack containing a selection of canes. Governor Carmichael took note of my gaze and told me, "Yes, they are used here and I do cane some of the guests."
"Guests?" I asked.
"We don't call them inmates. I find it a rather dehumanizing term. I prefer guests. Generally the girls here don't stay as long as a normal run of the mill prisoner and not all are here at the order of the court."
That surprised me and I said so.
"Oh no," Angela Carmichael said, as Juliana arrived with coffee and set a cup down in front of her employer before inquiring as to whether I took cream and sugar, "some of our guests are here at the request of sponsors, family or management. A stay here can avoid unpleasantness with the law later on. I do wish Miss Lohan's management had been able to convince her of the wisdom of coming here before her latest court date." Angela Carmichael said wistfully, stirring her coffee.
"What about payment?" I asked.
"In most cases the guest pays for this herself."
"They pay for their own incarceration?"
"Yes, it helps to teach them a lesson."
"I guess they can afford it," I murmured.
"Most can. I'd like to get Miss Hilton and her mother in here too."
"Kathy Hilton? Paris' mother?"
"Of course. Part of the reason some of these girls are the way they are is due to their parent's example."
I sipped my coffee while I debated the wisdom of bringing up Mrs Carmichael's own daughter, and the circumstances surrounding her fatal accident.
I was prevented doing so by the governor herself "If only I'd paid more attention to Sonia instead of the business, she might still be with us today. I see this as part of my way of making resititution for her."
"But you make money out of this," I countered.
"I pay the bills, young man. There's not much profit in running a correctional facility."
I wasn't about to argue with those ice blue eyes, I had no wish to find myself on the receiving end of one of those canes and the furious look that Juanita was directing at me conveyed that she would help her boss with the task.
"In what way exactly do you differ from a normal prison, though?" I asked. "You mean aside from the fact that we spank the girls?" Angela Carmichael asked, obviously amused by my deliberately not mentioning the 'Hellton's' most controversial policy.
"I guess," I admitted with a shrug.
"Read this and then we'll talk," the governor told me, pushing a brochure across the desk to me.
The first few pages of the brochure extolled the virtues of the institution as opposed to a state run unit. One thing that was of interest was how the girls were kept occupied. There were a range of supervised activities from sewing to gardening. I queried this with Angela. "Oh yes," she replied, "one of the biggest problems with putting girls who are celebrities in a normal prison is their very notoriety. Everyone knows who they are and they become a target. This means that despite all good intentions the girl cannot be treated like a normal prisoner. They do most of their time in solitary, do not mix with the other inmates and it's rather like a child being sent to her room. Here we don't have that issue, all of our girls are from wealthy, privileged backgrounds, many of them mix in the same circles and have met before."
I nodded, seeing the sense of what the lady was saying. She continued. "I don't mean to imply that we run a holiday camp either. Many of the girls have no life skills whatsoever. I haven't come across one who can cook, yet. We assign them chores, they help in the kitchen, they clean up around the place, they are required to have their room spotless and it is checked daily. They only watch TV at assigned times, no cell phones and no internet. Many of the girls work on the grounds, where we grow a lot of our own fresh produce and the girls are encouraged to take pride in the fruits of their labour. Recreation is in the form of sport, the girls play basketball and tennis. We have plans to install a pool so that they can swim. There are also crafts such as sewing or knitting and we have a well supplied music area. Some of our guests who are in the music industry have appreciated that and we've had other girls who have availed themselves of the opportunity to learn a musical instrument. Please look at this." She handed me another document of a few pages, this one did not look like advertising.
It was a time table. The girls were woken at 6 AM, washed, dressed, fed and had their rooms inspected by 8 AM. Worked at various assigned chores until 12 when they had lunch, worked again from 1 to 5 and had an hour before dinner at 6. They were allowed to watch TV or do something else from 7 until 9 and lights out were at 10. My eyebrows rose as I read it and I commented "That's a pretty strict schedule." Angela shrugged "I think it has to be. Most of our girls have nothing like a routine. Many of them keep irregular hours. They don't sleep properly and a lot of them take sleeping tablets. It's simply not a healthy lifestyle for a young lady and we try to give them some structure and routine."
"This goes for everyone?" I asked.
"Everyone, unless the girl has a verified medical condition. We employ a fully qualified GP and a nurse and we also have a psychologist on staff." The governor's voice lowered slightly as she confided sadly. "Some of the girls come to us 'broken'."
I digested this and then I wondered about Sophie and what sort of woman would take on a job at San Paolo. "We have all sorts," Angela answered brightly." Some of the staff are former prison guards, who find the job too stressful and to tell the truth some are frustrated with the lack of authority they have over their charges in a state run system. We have a number of older ladies who were stay at home mothers and have raised girls of their own. We have former teachers, our nurse is a former school matron. All kinds. The only real demand we make is that they must understand that the girls are here to learn and rehabilitate and although they require a firm hand it is not to become abusive, nor should it be too lenient. Since beginning San Paolo, I have only had to dismiss one guard and that was because she was simply too soft for the position. The girls soon realised it and had her wrapped around their little fingers. Although I don't regard any of our girls as hardened criminals they will sense weakness and exploit it."
Angela finished her coffee and asked me "Would you like a tour of the facility? I'm busy, but I can get Juliana to show you around." "That would be excellent, thankyou Mrs Carmichael."
"Angela, please," the governor said, with a smile, "you're in luck. We have a new arrival today and you should get to see her being processed. I'll just ring through to Juanita."
There was a brief pause when Angela Carmichael picked up the phone "Juanita, could you please show our guest through? If it's at all possible I'd like that he witness the new arrival's settling in, too."
Processing a new arrival
I had to hurry to keep up with the dark haired secretary. She had long legs and walked quickly.
"Where's the fire?" I asked, breathlessly.
Juanita stopped and rounded on me, eyes flashing "There isn't one! If you want to see the new arrival from the beginning of the process then we need to get to her wing quickly. So move it!"
I had to admit that Juanita was very efficient, but more than a little bad tempered.
She ushered me into a room that had a large glass window. We could see the entire hallway that lined the wing. As most of the guests were working, all their rooms were open.
"Can they see us?" I asked.
Juanita shook her head "It's one way glass, we can see out, they can't see in. Governor Carmichael thinks it's beneficial and good security using this system. Shhh, here they come now."
We saw the guard first, she was a tall, well-built redhead. She had the same belt accoutrements as Sophie. Following her was a slight, dark haired girl, dressed in prison blues and sniffling. The girl turned and I saw her tear stained face, I gave a little start. She was the star of a high rating sitcom. I looked at Juliana, questions in my eyes "Oh yes," she said, "Governor Carmichael may have wanted you to see this to show you that we do not discriminate at San Paolo."
"But, I've never even heard anything about her getting into trouble. She parties hard, but she hasn't gone to court or anything."
A smug smile spread across Juanita's face. " She did go to court. They kept it very close and as long as she agreed to a short stay here it wasn't recorded. Her people thought that was for the best."
I still had questions and Juanita went on "She's about to kick off a movie career, they need to keep this quiet."
"So, she didn't break her leg ski-ing," I whispered.
"Shush." Juanita scolded me. "It's starting."
I turned my eyes towards the scene unfolding in front of us. The girl followed the redhead into her room miserably. The rooms were simple. They were furnished with a bed, a table and a chair. There was a window above the bed. The only other adornment was a plain sorority paddle hanging on a hook. "The paddle?" I asked Juanita as the guard explained to the new 'guest' about the room.
"Yes?" Juanita said irritably.
"That's for spanking the girls?"
"What else would you use it for?" the secretary asked acidly. "Every girl has one that is kept in her room, the girls are allowed to, and in fact encouraged, to decorate theirs within reason. New guest, brand new plain paddle."
The guard was explaining things to the girl. "This is your bed, it's expected to look like this every morning. You make it yourself and it is inspected. Do you understand?"
The girl nodded.
The guard let out a put-upon sigh. "Susan, we went through this earlier, young lady. When I ask you a question, you answer me. Now do you understand?"
"Yes," the actress replied.
"Yes what?" the guard, who was clearly losing patience with her charge, snapped. Susan looked lost.
"All staff, and that means ALL, are to be addressed as Ma'am or Miss. Let's try this again and you had better get it right. Do you understand?"
"Yes Miss Margaret," Susan said obediently.
"You better get that in your pretty little head soon, miss, because from now on you will be expected to do it and not everyone has my patience."
Susan's expression said that she did not believe Margaret's claim, although I suspected the tall guard was telling the truth.
"Now that we've got that out of the way," Margaret said, picking up the chair in the room and carrying it to the hall, "get the paddle from the wall and meet me outside."
Susan clearly had no idea what was going on, but did as she was told. I have to admit seeing her fetch the paddle was rather amusing. Susan Healy is a tiny woman and barely tops 5 feet. As a result she had to lift up onto the tips of her toes to reach the paddle and take it down from the wall. She padded out to the hall where Margaret had set the chair up against the wall and was sitting down. The guard reached her hand out for the paddle and Susan gave it to her. "Thankyou, Susan." Margaret accepted the implement and then set it down beside her, the handle leaning against the wall.
Susan stood in front of Margaret, her expression curious. I looked across at Juanita who said softly "She has no idea."
"Drop them," Margaret ordered.
Susan simply stared at the redhead, uncomprehending.
"Your britches, girl." Margaret explained. "Get them down, now!" Susan's eyes widened and she stammered "Bbut...I...ddon't..."
Margaret reached out quickly, grabbed the tiny TV starlet by the elbow, spun her around and planted sound spanks to the seat of her pants, punctuating her words with them "You do not ask questions!"
SMACK "You do as you are told!" SLAP "You address all staff as Miss or Ma'am!" SPANK "Now" SMACK "get" SPANK "your" SLAP "pants" SPANK "down!" SMACK. She released Susan and sniffling the girl lowered her thin cotton blue pants and stepped out of them. "Pick them up, fold them and place them on your bed. Untidiness will not be tolerated here." Margaret ordered the girl coldly. Gulping Susan did as asked and then stood in front of the stern faced guard.
"You've never been spanked before, have you, Susie?"
"No, ma'am," Susan said in a shaking voice.
"We'll remedy that now," Margaret stated, patting her muscular thighs, "over you get."
Susan looked around desperately for someone to rescue her. It was almost as if she expected Ashton Kutcher to leap out from somewhere and shout "Punk'd!" when nothing happened, she awkwardly lowered herself over Margaret's waiting lap. "Now this is cozy." Margaret told the girl, as she shifted her easily into a more comfortable position. "You fit my lap like you were born for it. I think we'll be spending a great deal of time together like this, Susie, so you better get used to it."
Susan's reply was a whimper.
Margaret hooked her fingers into the waistband of Susan's plain navy cotton panties. 'Lift up," she ordered.
A clearly confused Susan did as asked, but did not know why. Her eyes turned alarmed as she felt her pants being lowered down her legs "No, Miss Margaret!" she blurted out. "Not my bare bottom!"
"Susie, you're going to be paddled, young lady. A paddling simply is not effective unless it is applied to the bare buttocks."
"Bb..but why am I being paddled, ma'am?" a miserable Susan stammered, her tears already starting to flow. 'I haven't done anything wrong." "How did you get here, Susan?" Margaret asked, twisting Susan's underwear around her knee hollows to prevent her from kicking her legs around too much.
"I got caught driving too fast and with some stuff in the car, miss."
"Would you say that was wrong?" Margaret probed.
"Yes, ma'am," Susan blubbered.
"There you have it, besides the governor likes all our new guests to be given a paddling on arrival, just so you know what's what here." Susan's response was an anguished howl as the paddle cracked loudly across her tender, unprotected cheeks.
Image from Bad Tushy
Susan continued to yell and scream as Margaret determinedly applied the paddle firmly to her twisting, rolling, flaming red bottom. I had to wince, attractive as the sight of Susan Healy's glowing cherry red backside was. Margaret certainly knew how to paddle and she was not going easy on the new guest at all. "They all get this on arrival?" I asked Juanita quietly.
The brunette nodded "It shows them that we're not fooling around here. I think Mrs Carmichael got the idea from something she read about a British boarding school where they caned every new pupil just as a matter of course."
"We're about done here." Juanita announced as Margaret helped a blubbering Susan off her lap and held her arms to her sides, talking to her softly and clearly. Susan nodded and limped into her room, where she lay on her bed, face down and sobbed into her small, flat pillow.
'That was pretty intense," I said as I trailed behind the secretary. Juanita sniffed as if she did not agree with me.
"Where are we off to?"
"Kitchen," Juanita replied shortly.
I had never seen a prison kitchen and wasn't sure what to really expect, but aside from the fact that all the girls in the kitchen were clad in their blues, this looked like a hotel kitchen, which I had seen. Proceedings were overseen by one guard, who was also the head chef, as was proclaimed on the white apron she wore. She had a large wooden spoon in hand, which she waved threateningly at the girls as she barked out instructions and they scurried to and fro trying not to incur her wrath.
"Maria is a fully qualified chef," Juanita informed me, a touch of pride in her voice.
"The kitchen is entirely staffed by the in...guests?" I asked correcting myself, as Juanita's eyes flashed when I began the word 'inmate'.
"Yes," Juanita informed me. "Most of the girls have no idea how to cook, before coming here they barely know how to operate a microwave oven, let alone prepare a proper nutritious meal. We also make sure that they eat properly and know how to eat properly before they leave. A lot of them eat the wrong things at irregular hours. Waste is another issue with many of them. Because they have no idea what goes into preparing food or any idea of cost or quantity and they've never had to go hungry they waste an astonishing amount of food. That seems to cease after they leave here if they've had a stint in the kitchen, and Mrs Carmichael tries to ensure that ALL girls serve at least some of their sentence here. If you were here tomorrow you'd probably see young Susan working here."
As Juanita finished her comments about the kitchen there was a shout from Maria and a plump, young woman turned from a counter where she had been preparing fruit and occasionally popping some of it into her mouth. The girl blushed as red as her flaming locks and lowered her head.
"Donna!" Maria said firmly, advancing on the girl. "What have I told you about snacking while working?"
"That I'm not to do it, ma'am."
"Is there any part of it that you did not understand?"
"Then why are you doing it?"
Donna gulped and murmured at the toes of her shoes "It's a habit ma'am. I can't help it."
"What did I tell you would happen if I caught you doing it again?"
"I'd get a spanking," Donna stammered.
"Did you think I was saying that just to hear myself speak?"
Maria nodded "Very well, turn around and assume the position please." With a resigned sigh Donna lay herself over the bench and rose up on her toes, pushing her round plump hemispheres up obediently.
"Elle," Maria commanded a tall, willowy brown haired girl standing next to Donna, "can you please remove young Donna's pants and lower her underpants?"
Elle's eyes went wide, but she offered no comment and hastened to obey the chef's command, possibly in fear of joining the luckless Donna. Maria stepped forward, raised her spoon and brought it slashing down across Donna's raised backside. It connected with a loud splat and as the shape of it bloomed red across the girl's bottom she let out a howl.
"What are the rest of you looking at?" Maria demanded, her eyes blazing as every girl in the kitchen had her attention riveted on Donna's rear end. "Get back to work unless you'd like to share in Donna's hiding." Everyone immediately went back to their assigned task as Maria lit into Donna's squirming hindquarters with her spoon and turned them a blazing scarlet.
Image from Spanked Teen Girls
"Is that a regular occurrence?" I asked as Juanita and I left the kitchen. Juanita nodded "I don't visit the kltchen every day, but I'd be surprised if Maria's spoon didn't get a daily workout. Once a month she has every girl there lined up against the wall for a preventative paddling."
"Where are we off to now?"
Cut a switch
As Juanita and I left the cluster of buildings that comprised San Paolo and headed to its extensive acreage outside, I took the opportunity to question the secretary.
"How did you come to get this job, Juanita?" I asked.
"Why?" she queried back, amusement in her tone.
"Well, you don't look like the sort of girl who would work here," I said, my hand encompassing the grounds.
"What sort of girl works here then?"
"They're mostly older, or have had experience in a relevant field. You're not much over twenty and you haven't had the opportunity to work in another field."
'Aren't you the know-it-all?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"I'm right though, aren't I?" I asked with a grin.
'Yes," she sighed, "I'm a foster kid. I was a rather tough case to deal with. I bounced from foster home to institution. I always seemed to find a way to get kicked out. I was sixteen, in juvie and headed nowhere fast when Mrs Carmichael plucked me out of my life. I was one of her first 'projects'. She took me out of detention and to her house. She forced me to take stock of myself and actually think about the future, and yes before you ask she did spank me and a lot. After a fair few sore bottoms I started to see that she only wanted what was best for me and that I could win at life. She gave me the job and I'm studying business at night school. If I can pass and make a success in my current position I'll be given something on the executive track."
"So you're almost like a foster daughter to Mrs Carmichael?"
Juanita blushed "We've never formalised it, but yes I think that's how our relationship could be categorised. She's trying in a way to do all the things with me that she never did with her own daughter."
I digested this and then the girl spoke again. "This is where we grow our own produce."
I had seen pictures in the brochure, but I simply had not believed that they had such an extensive setup. "This is amazing," I gasped.
"Yes, isn't it?" Juanita beamed. "We grow nearly everything we use. We still need to buy meat, but nearly all our fruit and vegetables are grown here. Mrs Camichael hopes to get an excess in the future and actually sell it."
Looking around the orchards and the fields I could believe it. They positively swarmed with girls in their blues, harvesting the produce. Each section was manned by a guard, wearing the black and white uniform of the company and carrying the ubiquitous lexan paddle in a holster on their belts.
'Let's go to the orange field," Juanita said in an almost girlish voice, taking my hand and dragging me with her, "that's my favourite."
The orange field was busy with girls up ladders, picking the oranges and other girls ferrying baskets full of the citrus fruit to a flat bed truck parked in the middle of the field. There was some commotion before we arrived and a blonde guard with the name Wanda pinned to her blouse was upbraiding a tall, slim blonde girl.
"Charmaine!" Wanda roared at the girl. "Again, how many times do I have to tell you?"
"I don't know, ma'am," a miserable Charmaine answered, tears already trickling down her cheeks.
Wanda huffed and took a clasp knife from a pouch at her belt. "Do not move a muscle girl." she warned Charmaine. "I am going to cut a switch, it's going to be long, whippy and green. You do know what that means, don't you miss, the rules don't apply to me?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm going to have my naughty little bottom cheeks properly switched."
Wanda returned with a long flexible freshly cut switch, and was still removing the buds and peeling it, as she approached a trembling Charmaine. Wanda pointed at a nearby tree. "Get your britches down, young lady and hug that tree."
Charmaine stumbled to the tree, lowered her trousers and hugged the tree, pressing her smooth cheek into the rough bark.
Wanda whipped the switch through the air and Charmaine was not the only girl present who flinched and jumped at the sound of the branch hissing through the air.
Wanda put a hand in the waistband of Charmaine's panties and roughly tugged them to the girl's knees, getting a wail of dismay from the about to be switched girl.
Wanda lined Charmaine up, tapped her bottom a few times with the switch and then let fly. Charmaine's back arched and she screamed as the switch left a line of red fire behind it.
Wanda was merciless, she switched Charmaine from the hollows of her legs right up to the top of her buttocks, she turned the entire area fire engine red with the stripes left by the thin, whippy length of wood. For her part Charmaine went past howling and wriggling and simply lay against the tree sobbing incoherently.
Image from JPC
Juanita looked at my face and giggled. "Anyone would think you were the one that got the switching. You've gone all pale."
"Juanita," I croaked, "that was intense."
"Charmaine is one of our hardest cases and one of our longest termers."
As we left the orchard I could hear Wanda telling Charmaine, "If you're not up that tree within the next fifteen minutes I'll tell Helen to administer a bedtime paddling to you tonight"
'That concludes the tour," Juanita told me as we retraced our steps back to the office. "Anything you haven't told me?" I asked.
The Ultimate Sanction
"No," she said and then slapped her forehead with a palm, "I forgot the ultimate sanction!"
"The ultimate sanction?"
"Oh yes, Charmaine's experienced it a couple of times. Do you remember that rack of canes in Mrs Carmichael's office?"
I shuddered, that rack was the stuff of nightmares.
Juanita grinned at my reaction "I can see that you do. That's the ultimate sanction. A taste of one of those bent over her desk. She's quite an artist with them, too. She can make you feel like you've been cut in half, but not break the skin."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Oh God no!" Juanita matched my shudder. "I've seen her do it and spoken to some of the girls after. They generally can't sit down for the next day."
As we got back to Juanita's office I asked, "Why the attitude earlier?"
"You're a reporter."
"I thought you were here to do a hatchet job on Mrs Carmichael. She's like a mother to me. After taking you around the place I can see you're not like that and you'll give us a fair, balanced article."
"I'd better say goodbye to Mrs Carmichael." I said reaching for the door handle. I stopped dead as from the office came the unmistakable sound of a cane swinging through the air and impacting on a tender female behind. It was answered with a girlish scream of anguish.
Image from Real Spankings
"Maybe I'll just see Sophie on my way out and pick up my stuff."
Juanita smiled at me, "You just do that and I look forward to reading the article."
Paris Hilton cries while on the way to San Paolo for an attitude adjustment.