Papier Maché

By Carolyn J. Bingham

Cody Dorsey, the hottest personality in
tinsel town, owned the music charts. At
the top of his game, he is the prince of
pop. But Cody was bored. Although he had all the
money, fame, glitter and glamour anyone could
claim, it didnt phase him. A new name and a new
face and he could completely disappear.
Lisa Dunbar, A young, idealistic Kansas City girl,
wanted to become an actress. With meager savings
and a heart of gold, she headed for Hollywood.
Th rough a series of improbable, uncanny events
the rock star and the actress meet.
From Los Angeles to Hollywood to the wild
west their love aff air explodes into every persons
fantasy. Across the States, the world, across history
they lead a life unfathomable.
Papier Mach CAROLYN J. BINGHAM

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456753603

Book preview

© 2011 by Carolyn J. Bingham. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 07/29/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5361-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5360-3 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011903941

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The cover image is a photograph by Andres Palencia of models (L) Alex Rose Wiesel and B.J. Bingham.

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

This book is dedicated to my father Theodore Lloyd Jackson, M.D., a hero who taught me how to live life, and to my mother Gloria Davidson Washington Jackson who gave me the imagination to live that life.

Papier Mache’

You may be nothing tomorrow

Yet you’re the brightest new star today

in this glittering, elusive world

our dreams are like papier maché.

Put your hopes on an 8 by 10 glossy,

trade your soul in for come what may,

watch your life which was once worth something

crumble like papier maché.

Love is something you haven’t got time for.

The spotlight is calling your name.

Roll the dice, and it’s all a gamble.

You’re trading everything in for the fame.

Look around you, there’s no one beside you.

You’re excuse was to let the cards fall where they may.

One morning you did it for glory.

But what you wind up with is just papier maché.

It’s the same old tried and true story.

Stranger stories I have been told.

The girl who goes searching for glory and ends up

losing her way.

In a world made of lies and corruption.

A world made of papier maché.

Wake up with no one beside you.

It all looked so bright yesterday.

Look again, it’s tarnished and faded.

Your dreams turned to papier maché.

Carolyn J. Bingham.

THE ESSENCE OF LOVE

Love is patient; love is kind and envies no one. Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude; never selfish, not quick to take offense. Love keeps no score of wrongs; does not gloat over other men’s sins, but delights in the truth. There is nothing love cannot face; there is no limit to its faith, its hope and its endurance.

St. Paul, 1 Corinthians 13, The New English Bible

Part One

CHAPTER 1

CODY WANTED TO be inconspicuous, but his worn, brown leather cowboy hat didn’t fit that image. Nor did his tight Levi jeans. He rode with one of the Sky Captains; his heavy, suede full-length, mustard-gold Dior coat, tailor-made for him, was slung over his shoulder. It would be cold in Kansas City. His plastic Calvin Klein suit carrier was over his other arm. He was a very handsome man. The only visible signs of age were the deep, brown circles under his somewhat sad brown eyes.

He was thin. Perhaps a little too thin. Traveling from city to city aboard airplanes and buses kept the weight off.

People pointed at him and stared as he rode through the airport in the small, jeep-like airport transport. Young girls went as far as trying to follow the yellow luggage cart. Groups gathered and whispered in hushed tones as he rode by. He hated airports.

Cody was riding with the head Sky Captain, Bill O’Neal, a black man who had worked his way up from porter to head of security. In all his forty-one years of working at LAX, he had never seen as much pandemonium as rock stars created. Even more than when the Prince and Princess of Wales had toured Los Angeles. His son had made him promise to get an autograph when he heard his dad would be escorting the famous singer. He felt funny, although the young singer had been terribly accommodating, even a little embarrassed.

Cody passed quickly through the airport, past the moving, mechanical walkers, past the escalators, past the large glass windows that viewed the spacious airfield with planes in various stages of arrival and departure. The yellow transport went out mechanical doors that opened automatically as the luggage cart applied pressure on the black rubber floor mats, and then went out onto the field.

It was a warm California day. No breeze off the ocean that day. He hated the thought of snow in Kansas.

They rode along in silence. Bill was a man of few words; while Cody was in a sulky, contemplative, even depressed mood. He was glad for the silence.

He hopped off the cart as Bill swung it around as close to the plane as possible. He grabbed the case that contained his wooden acoustic Gibson guitar as he swung down. He carried the guitar as closely as one would hold a newborn baby. He affectionately called it his six-string Super Lady.

He took the stairs two at a time. He averted his eyes from the beautiful, blonde stewardess, Heather, who greeted him overzealously. He managed a brief, artificial smile, although he kept his eyes averted. Bonita Alverez, another pretty stewardess, led him to first-class. Still another pretty replica led him to his seat. He declined their further assistance. He hoped the stewardesses wouldn’t fawn all over him; he needed some sleep. He was extremely tired. He watched out the window with tired red eyes as the SJA ground crew loaded his luggage into the side of the plane.

The pilot and co-pilot were already on board and about to taxi. They had been waiting for him. He watched as they closed the luggage compartment and the small uniformed SJA crew workers scattered in different directions.

Cody had held up their departure half an hour. Usually, he was much worse. He’d kept many a plane waiting for as long as three hours, not to mention his tardiness when it came to his sold-out performances. His fans thought it was all fun and games, but it was hard work. He tried to sleep during the day after being hyped up from his performances all night. He was plagued with telephone calls and interviews. And even though he had a reputation for being late, he was still treated with respect and admiration.

The tall, lean, handsome, well-dressed man with the wide, striped Geoffrey Bean tie and dimpled, smiling face, gave off a special aura. He just looked like someone important. His hair was brushed back with some loose strands falling across his forehead. He looked like a lost little boy.

All the stewardesses adored him. He had learned to look straight ahead not to encourage them and not to encourage the kind of thing they and the other young girls and women had in mind when they thought of him. He’d had a traveling companion who had boarded the plane on time with the rest of his entourage. He had purposefully had his public relations’ manager purchase her a seat with the other band members’ wives. Although she was extremely beautiful, tall, model-thin, with blonde hair down to her waist and swept to one side—the kind of woman most women envied—Cody gave her as much attention as one would an old habit. She had been disposed of two rows back. The truth was he was tired of her. He was tired of most things these days. Girls like her came as easy as water to Cody without his putting forth any effort at all. He ignored them or treated them like second-class citizens, but they never seemed to tire of him, always giving him the royal treatment.

On the way to his seat, Cody had reached over to say hello to Linda, his drummer’s wife. She was pregnant; perpetually, it seemed. He had then slapped David, his drummer five and gave him their special handshake. His band members felt a special camaraderie with their lead singer. They all loved and respected him. He was a special and rare human being to them; they valued his friendship and advice. They knew he would spare no expense if one of them were in trouble.

After saluting the rest of the band, he had reached over to tickle the chin of Amy, his horn-player’s six-year-old little girl. She laughed delightedly. Her older sister, Robin, laughed too. Cody loved children and felt especially akin to them. Their innocence and unconditional love was something he never tired of.

After he was seated in first-class, the first-class stewardess came over to make him comfortable. She gave him her special smile, the one she reserved for very important people. Her even white teeth broke into a gorgeous smile as she recognized the famous singer. She was just one of the many beautiful girls Cody saw all the time. She didn’t phase him in the least.

In first-class, three widely spaced seats form a row. The stewardess asked, May I put your guitar in the closet reserved for valuables and large items carried on board?

He shook his head adamantly. He had purchased the seat next to him for his guitar, and personally set it beside him. It was his only girl, the only one he trusted. He didn’t like it out of his sight. He guarded it like a jealous man would his lover. He might get an inspiration on the plane and need it to pick out the melody. He never trusted anyone with his guitar, not even his roadies. Although the plane was completely booked, no one sat next to Cody in the third seat.

The radiant stewardess, Cindy, brought his favorite drink. He never had to ask. They always refilled his glass. As Cindy handed him the drink, he averted his eyes again. Cindy, like most women was disappointed. She had not attracted his attention.

Cody was twenty-seven and he was tired. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to focus. He’d taken some qualudes just before leaving the limousine and had washed them down with a shot of JB Scotch from his bar, which Allan, his chauffeur, kept well stocked. He was high and mellowing out. He was just where he wanted to be. Although the captain had not turned off the Fasten Your Seatbelt sign, Cody ignored it and adjusted his seat to a more comfortable angle. He was aware of a heaviness in his mood although the drugs seemed to mask it. Just below his surface facade, he was depressed, monumentally depressed.

Show business had not been what it was represented to be. He had spent all of his waking hours as a teenager teaching himself to play the guitar, struggling in small dark and smoky nightclubs, lying about his age to be allowed in. Now it was just a lot of hot lights and a never-ending stream of inquiring reporters.

With star status came the loss of his private self, and it was taking its toll on Cody’s psyche. He was almost beginning to believe the hype they wrote about him. Deep down inside, Cody had a shy self hiding. Being the center of attention whenever and wherever he went made him extremely nervous.

He patted his brown monogrammed briefcase under the passenger’s seat in front of him with his square toe, handcrafted, dark brown leather Italian boot. Thank God for the pills and marijuana, and the coke, especially for the coke. The sense of euphoria, calm and up feeling they provided him was his saving grace. He thought of Kansas City. Just another city with screaming girls who’d almost kill to grab a bit of his clothes.

He thought about being shuffled out of concerts wrapped in a blanket to avoid such occurrences. He thought about dashing through the back entrances of hotels and restaurants. He thought about how room service meals were beginning to taste like cardboard. He’d played so many one-night stands he was like a baseball who had been hit too many times. He was coming unraveled.

Cody smiled at the analogy. He thought about how he might use it in a song. He reached for his guitar, took the pick out of the strings, and then laid it down again as was becoming his custom. The inspiration to write just wasn’t there like in the old days.

He had been in LA that morning. Three days earlier, he’d been in England. He would be in Kansas City that night and then directly on to Tokyo, Japan the same evening.

He was enormously popular with Japanese teenagers. Even the reserved English had displayed unusual abandon during his recent tour there by screaming, fainting and mob scenes. He had that effect on women. The fan magazines attributed it to his little-boy looks.

He brushed a nagging curl from his brow. The first class attendant automatically brought him another scotch. Forgetting himself for a moment he gave her an appreciative smile.

She suddenly became clumsy, all professionalism gone as she thought how much like a handsome little boy he looked, a lost little boy. She saw such vulnerability in him. To her mind, he was cuter than Elvis as a young man, any one of the Beatles, Rod Stewart, or Rick Springfield. She ached to know the magnificent person up close, but realized she had about as much a chance that he’d notice her as the ugly duckling she had read about as a child. The thought saddened her. She thought about his sweet, melodic, sensual voice, and the meaningful lyrics he wrote. Like everyone else who came in contact with him, she fell instantly in love.

Cody was still thinking about the little and not-so-little cities he had played in, all the hotels, the charity benefits, the awards shows, the concerts where he had to give his all to entertain a whole forum of people. It was getting harder and harder to come up with the energy he needed. It was draining him. He thought of all the beautiful young groupies who were his constant companions. Most weren’t even eighteen. He couldn’t come out of his estates and hotel suites because he was a prisoner to his own popularity.

As far back as he could remember, he had sung. He thought of his mother. A warm feeling came over him just thinking of how she had taken him to church where he used his talents to sing for the congregation. He had been appreciated there. He hadn’t been in a church in more than twelve years.

Cruising on the jumbo jet, he thought about the public and how fickle they were. All they do is take. You play your heart out for them, and if they don’t like you, you are forgotten—instantly.

Fans make or break someone with their approval or disapproval. And it seemed that every month brought a new idol into their consciousness. It could be a source of constant worry. Most of his fellow band members did worry about whether they’d have enough money to pay the bills the next month.

Fortunately for Cody, the day-to-day existence that most entertainers found themselves entangled, did not exist for him. At twenty-seven, he had already amassed a large fortune. Forbes listed him as the highest paid entertainer on the contemporary scene. He had invested well, and was now much more than just comfortably wealthy.

Cody became melodramatic as he thought about his band members, their families, especially their children. Cody had no children and had never been even close to marriage.

He had seen many an entertainer fall and lose everything. Cody helped his contemporaries whenever he could, loaning large sums of cash and donating to countless charities. No questions were asked was how it was with him. If he could do it, he would.

Presently, Cody was at a new plateau in his singing and recording career. His latest release was No. 1 on the Billboard pop chart and had been for six straight months. It had broken a record for length of time at the top. He had another song from the same album, just released, that was steadily climbing the charts as well. It was what the industry referred to as No. 15 with a bullet. They were still playing cuts from his previous album from the year before, and the new album was going quadruple platinum according to Billboard and Record World, the industry trade papers.

The surge in his already burgeoning popularity had set him off on a nationwide and international tour. His Empire Tour concerts were sold out months in advance. It gave the scalpers their day in court. His records were doing well internationally in Japan, China, the United Kingdom, Greece, France, Sweden, Australia, Italy, Belgium, Germany, Holland, the Netherlands, Spain, Africa—North and South—and Russia, not to mention the United States. He had sold-out performances in several foreign countries in a matter of only a few short weeks.

His public relations man was not on the flight, but would join him in New York before connecting to their Tokyo flight. Brandon, his PR man, was so busy that he had to take a later flight out, and Cody was his only client. He was a constant reminder to Cody of the talk shows, the record signing promotions, and the promotional parties—the side of music he hated.

But being with the people, especially small groups, feeling them and them connecting with him was different. The exchange that went on between him and the audience was electric. He let them know through his music, they shared a common bond and that they were not alone in their problems, trials, and tribulation. Giving that special something was what he loved about music. He enjoyed the pure singing. With a feeling of paranoia though, he was beginning to feel they were taking that last joy away from him. Fame was an ugly monster that continually and more increasingly reared its ugly head of late. After all his years of being on top in the record industry, he still hadn’t quite learned to deal with it.

He remembered when he used to walk along the strand of beach in Manhattan and Redondo Beach, California, barefoot, a singing minstrel. How the people loved him! How he loved the singing! It had helped him develop his skills, talent, and confidence. He was playing his kind of music, what he liked regardless of the current trend. He was carefree, yet he had wanted fame. He almost begged for it. And his wildest imaginings had come true. Almost too easily. Now, more than anything, he wished to be back on the beach, an unknown. He sat back as the ludes began to take full effect. The smooth, even roar of the jet’s engines pulsated with the ever-present rhythm in his head. Although he was exhausted, he took out the small spiral notebook he always carried and started to write a song.

The senior flight attendant doted on Cody to the point of neglecting the other passengers aboard the 747. He was never found to be without a scotch in hand and whatever amenities a first-class ticket afforded him. I wonder who he is? asked a silver-gray haired lady of her traveling companion.

Whoever he is, said the other elderly lady, he must be very important! Why, we’re hardly getting any service and that stewardess has hardly left his side the whole flight. You’d think he was the king of Siberia the way they’re treating him. I just might report this unfair treatment to the airlines when we land.

Yes, we hardly get any attention, and he rates above and beyond first-class service. I think it’s a shame. Cody was never found to have an empty glass. Cindy brought him another drink before he could polish off the previous one. He always received more than the limit, although the airline did have a strict drink limit. It was waived in his case.

Cody had taken a lot of pills. I shouldn’t drink all this booze. What the hell! After tonight, he thought, nothing else matters.

He lay back and closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them and gazed out the window at the wide expanse of sky that seemed to go on forever. He gazed at the fluffy cloud formations and the patches of land below. He detected tiny movement below.

They climbed high to avoid the mountains and the clouds became so fluffy and thick that they appeared to be a dense white blanket. Nothing was visible below them. For a split second, Cody felt an overwhelming urge to jump into the clouds, they looked so ingratiating. He felt powerful. He thought for a moment he saw Jesus with outstretched arms. And underneath are the everlasting arms, came to his mind.

He blinked and when he opened his eye again, the illusion persisted. It appeared so inviting to just jump out and be free.

I must be really exhausted, he thought. Soon afterward, the hum of the airplane’s engines lulled him to sleep.

CHAPTER 2

CODY WAS IN the small, confined area of his dressing room while his roadies set up his equipment. This consisted of amplifiers, microphones, instruments, the midi system, the synthesizers, Apple computers, and the special effects equipment, which was all part: of Cody’s highly-touted stage show. It was a hard job and they were sweating despite the Cold weather.

Backstage, Cody’s dressing room was crowded with band members, their families, girlfriends, groupies and the hangers-on. Cody and most of the others were getting high. It was a ritual they practiced every time they readied to go on stage, except in Cody’s earliest days of stardom. They were laughing and joking with each other. They all exchanged a warm banter of camaraderie and affection. They had spent so many years and tight quarters together—day in and day out. He got high with them, rehearsed with them, cried with them and, especially, shared good times with them. And they made beautiful music together.

They were his constant companions, and they took the place of family for him. They were there to get him out of trouble if he drank too much or took too many drugs. But most of all, they made the eclectic sounds that the fans adored. It hadn’t always been easy. They practiced long arduous hours getting the sound perfected in the beginning, and they still did. Cody never let them slack off. He was a perfectionist, but he didn’t demand any more from them than he did of himself. They argued, but they always made up. They were his brothers, his soul mates.

CHAPTER 3

KANSAS CITY, KANSAS:

A young and excited Janet and Lisa, clad in twin white cashmere sweaters, imitation rabbit fur coats, and blue denim, skin-tight, straight-leg blue Levi jeans over their just budding junior high school figures, anxiously accepted the corsages their dates had brought. The boys in this town were used to the particular show of protocol. Actually, it was their first real date, except for an occasional junior high school dance that their parents drove them to and then they met their dates, who had also been driven. Janet and Lisa could barely stand still long enough for the boys who were just barely older, to pin the corsages on. They had trouble containing their excitement and happiness. The thrill though was not Greg or Larry, their escorts, but it was the fact that they were going to see their teen idol, rock’s hottest and handsomest singing sensation, Cody Dorsey.

To Lisa driving across town past the open fields toward the Palladium Palace was a dark, magical, starlit night. There was a full silver moon, and the sky, clustered with bright beacons of light, was midnight blue. It was her first time seeing Cody Dorsey in person. For that matter, it was her first chance to see any real rock star in Kansas. And since Cody was her favorite, it was especially exciting. Lisa’s date parked his father’s Buick, and they joined the throngs of people flooding the parking lot and heading to the overcrowded turnstiles. The Palladium Palace was filling up quickly. It was a mixed crowd; people of all races and ages.

Lisa and Janet practically dragged their dates to their seats. The girls didn’t want to miss a minute. They did not have to wait long. For once, Cody was on time. He was anxious to do the gig and get on with his flight overseas. Once he began, the concert became just barely contained fury. Police and security guards constantly had to usher the screaming fans away from the stage and back to their seats. Lisa and Janet were caught up in the excitement. To the boys’ chagrin, they were being totally ignored. The date they had sprung for should have put them in the girls’ good graces, but instead they were drooling over the singer on stage. The boys had to admit the singer was really good, but that was as far as it went. They couldn’t see what the girls saw in the thin lover boy with the high girlish voice. When the lights went down, Lisa was in a magical world, full of wonder and joy, a world