Trouble, the "Rich Bitch" is no longer tethered at the end of her lizard-skin leash. When Leona "I'll Fix You!" Helmsley entered the Eternity Suite, Trouble (and her lawyer) looked on. "Thank fuck", they sighed.
Then it began.
Almost immediately Trouble was seen around town, still for all intents and purposes in mourning (the black bow in her upper tuft being constantly tended to for coming loose as she wept and trotted) to reconnoiter with her various well known companions: Paris Hilton's shaved pussy Fred, Nicole Ritchie's desiccated beef jerky remains Phoebe, Nan Kempner's ferret Nat Turner and Jerry Zipkin (deceased but still a fine companion). Sporting piercings on all but two of her many nipples, Trouble seemed to be conspicuously trouble-free as she went on a post-Leona pub crawl that would put Linday Lohan's plastic panties full of sea monkeys (all named Ralph pronounced rayfe) to shame.
The society pages were scandalized as reports of all night kibble pigouts culminating in full scale auto-lingere filled the columns, keeping New Yorkers simultaneously mesmerized and revolted.
What is it about the media's propensity to build a pet up and then tear a pet down?
Is it a case of living vicariously through the charmed life led by a cajoled canine who lived in luxury and lapped lusciously at the diamond-encrusted demi-god (demi-dog?) vittle vat? And then suddenly detesting the domesticated Dandie Dinmont out of pure green-eyed and blue-balled envy? Surely, even the rarified existence of one of The Big Ashtray's most infamous denizens would inspire some sympathy, despite the years of unrepentant defecations all over the city's world famous thoroughfares and landmarks, unifying Gotham's grid into a League if Urinations in which all New Yorkers were its unwilling delegates. How many times have we found ourselves skidding in shallow, amber puddles of pee, only to look heavenward and cry "I smell Trouble!"?
And yet, Trouble is just a dog. Trouble by name and by nature. An old, dumb dog what's been seduced into thinking it is more. Even pets, it seems, are saps. Just look at its so un-dog-esque behavior? How could Trouble not act out after years of living opulently in the Taj MaWoof, leaping and rolling to the short, sharp shrieking commands of the Dark Empress? Who knows what she was witness to and how much she had to choke back when all she wanted to do was bark "Foul!"?
So let the dog have its day. What's 12 million dollars if it means she can exorcise the demons of her imprisonment? "Money, shmoney!" as Leona used to say while using Trouble as a living Swifferâ„¢ to mop up spilled caviar, Crystal...and, yes, the blood of the concierges who, let us say, failed to properly recommend the best the city had to offer.
So let us not do unto Trouble what we have done unto other equally troubled trouble makers, desperately trying to cleanse themselves of the demon Abundance. Because as Cat Stevens sings:
Trouble
Oh trouble move from me
I have paid my debt
Now won't you leave me in misery
Trouble is miserable. Can't you see?

Posted September 3, 2007 | 01:23 PM (EST)