Punk'd in Los Angeles & London

By Stan Ogwo

19 years old Cheryl Johnson has everything a girl her age could ever wish for: A flourishing lawn-tennis career, fat bank account, a charming millionaire footballer boyfriend, and much more. But all that security is about to come to a brutal end.
For when Cheryl took a short trip to California for a press conference in Los Angeles, her ex-boyfriend showed up from nowhere and died mysteriously inside her hotel suite.
In the twinkling of an eye, the 19 years old whiz kid who has just won the coveted Wimbledon Open has become a laughing-stock for the world media.
Is she really guilty of murder, or is she just being punkd?
Who knows!
As for Cheryls dear boyfriend, Steve Jones, when he decided to punkd his rich lawn tennis player girlfriend after he realised that his expensive gifts cannot impress her, little did he know of the tribulations he was getting themselves into.
Grab a copy, read and get PUNKD!!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463433536

Stan Ogwo

The author Stan Ogwo is an editor, writer, songwriter, movie producer and director. He lives quietly in Manchester, UK with his two dogs, Jappy and Gordon.

Book preview

Prologue

SW19

Barely twenty-four hours after the Wimbledon championships finished.

CNN can’t help it; in fact, every media house all over the world cannot help but make it their main topic of the day.

Cheryl Johnson a nineteen years old Briton has won the Wimbledon championships!

The fact that it was her first time at the championships did not help matters. The previous year, she had won the Australian open and the French open, reached the semi-finals in the US open, but missed going to her country’s very own Wimbledon championships because of a hamstring injury. She had injured herself in a training session in London. Everyone including her manager Dave Slade had assumed it was a minor injury, but the following morning, her physician gave them what Cheryl described in an interview she granted to BBC as the worst news of the year for me

Cheryl Johnson has a hamstring injury and could be out of action for three months, said Dr Phil Brown the physician. It was two weeks before the Wimbledon championships kicked off. Heartbroken, Cheryl quietly went for a holiday in the Bahamas even though she wasn’t physically fit for her favourite water sliding at the Atlantis. However, she recovered a month later but couldn’t join in the games and like every privileged Briton, she watched the Wimbledon championships from the spectators stand armed with a state of the art Leica made binoculars she bought on duty-free at New York JFK international airport.

Now exactly one year later, she had won the same event she grew up watching on television. She always watched numerous sports channels after every Wimbledon championships she had attended hoping to see herself collecting an autograph from her numerous lawn tennis star heroes, after all she had saved her hard-earned pocket money to purchase a cheap ticket to go see the championships live. Twice she was lucky to get an autograph on her bodice. One from Serena Williams and the second from Maria Sharapova, but none of them gets to be aired live on a national TV. Now sitting on a posh leather upholstered sofa in her cosy hotel suite watching CNN, an image came up on the screen. A familiar image, a new breed lawn tennis star signing autographs for fans and behold she was the lawn-tennis star and not one of the fans.

How did I become this lucky? She asked herself.

Thinking about it, she remembered how she had started. She had played lawn tennis for the first time at the age of thirteen and she had always played with boys. The first girl she played with was in a local tournament training at the age of fifteen.

How did you become this lucky Cheryl? she couldn’t help but ask her humble self again.

* * *

It all started two and half years earlier. Cheryl Johnson was sixteen going on seventeen. She and two of her friends Laura and Kate Merna (both biological sisters) lived on the same street and worked together in KFC (a fast-food restaurant) about two bus stops from where they lived. They were lucky enough to convince their boss on the importance of giving them the same work shifts, six hours Mondays to Wednesdays, then practice for their lawn-tennis careers Thursdays to Sundays.

This will give us the opportunity to practice together and not go about looking for someone to practice with Cheryl explained to Mr Khalid Ahmed their Pakistani boss. Mr Khalid who has lived in United Kingdom for twelve years always admired young Britons who were career minded. In his long sojourn in the UK in search of a greener pasture, he has come to believe that most British girls were bunch of useless opportunists who believe that getting pregnant and pushing buggies was a passport to laying their filthy hands on the proverbial national cake in the name of benefits and free housing scheme. However, meeting Cheryl, Laura and Kate had changed his perceptions positively. At first when they asked for the opportunity to be given the same work shifts, he had assumed that they were looking for an opportunity to use the remaining part of the week to hang out with boys and be fully ready to go clubbing during the weekend and as a result he refused to grant the request. Luckily for the girls, Mr Khalid’s neighbour and friend (Idris Mohammed) who worked at the Hilton Hotels & Resorts opposite the lawn tennis court where they always practiced saw them at the KFC eatery serving customers and told his friend how good the girls were at the game of lawn tennis. He was impressed but could not believe it.

Who knows? He said quietly to himself, maybe he’s sleeping with one of them a short friendly trip to where his friend worked did the magic. The next morning, he called the girls into his office and urged them to add more grease to their elbows. A week later, they were working on the same shift. It was a dream come through for the girls as it gave them ample opportunity to practice together.

And practice together they did. Two months on, and they were ready to face the world. However, a little obstacle they had was getting a sponsor and a possible manager on a professional level.

* * *

Dave Slade is a twenty-eight years old Irish lad. Tall, handsome with an athletic body. People who are not familiar with him and probably meeting him for the first time always assume he is a banker, lawyer or even a doctor. Maybe because he has made black designers business suits his trademark or because he is always clutching files and always has a pen in hand.

Whatever.

But people close to him when he was a lot younger called him dumb, good-for-nothing, sometimes scallywag, and very often illiterate, but most of the time dumb. He is not exactly intelligent in the classroom, and maybe the fact that he doesn’t have a qualification academically explains why he earned those silly names. But Mr Slade is a man who knows what he wants and as far as he is concerned let the tongues keep busy after all the end always justifies the means.

Did this popular saying worked for him?

Of course!

Barely ten years after dropping out of high school and moving into the ever exigent sports industry, he became the youngest manager to guide a female lawn tennis player to victory winning the French open etc back to back.

Finally, he was living the dream.

After a while, he observed to his dismay that people now took him seriously, listened to him when he was talking and even asked for his autograph anywhere he went even in abroad.

A proper testimony of the rejected stone.

Sadly, the lanky Irish, Belfast born and brought up lawn tennis manager’s success story was short-lived as his star player Michelle Ryan whom he had tutored for five years and owed all his accolades to became sick and died after a protracted mysterious illness. The two female lawn tennis player he tried to nurture into becoming his next Michelle Ryan turned out a disaster crashing out in the first round of every lawn tennis event he took them to. Faith jumped out of the window as frustration walked in through the door. As if walking in through the door without knocking wasn’t bad enough, frustration brought his good friend tiredness. Because of his two bad friends and neighbours, Mr Slade got tired of wasting his resources on endless flight tickets and hotel accommodations on the ‘useless wannabees’ as he always described them. He needed a new breed star that could put him in the spotlight again.

He liked being in the spotlight.

In the meantime, he reasoned that he was not getting any younger.

Thus, he said to himself I need to get married

In less than a month, about three weeks and four days of proposing to his girlfriend, they got married in a society wedding that left ninety-nine percent population of Irish spinsters heartbroken.

After wedding comes honeymoon.

There were so many suggestions from family and friends as to where their honeymoon destination was going to be. South of France was top of the list, followed by Sun City in South Africa, but Mr Slade wanted to be close to his base (London), as this would give him the opportunity to stay closer and take care of business. In reality, this wasn’t the case. Being a jet set manager to a high profile lawn tennis star means, he was always on the move flying first-class at will and sleeping in five-star hotels. Maybe ten years ago he would have considered the options, moreover that’s if he could afford it then. But now, the thought of jetlag seemed like contacting HIV and the successive back-to-back failures from his ‘useless wannabees’ didn’t help matters at all. If failure to qualify the first round of any lawn tennis event kills, then Mr Slade would have kicked the bucket months ago. His only motivation now, as in the real thing that kept him going and always brought smiles to his face was the thought of his fat bank accounts.

Lastly, he opted to check in into Hilton hotels & resorts (a mega five-star hotel) in London.

Coincidentally, this was the same branch where Idris Mohammed worked.

Idris knows Dave Slade.

Everyone knows Dave Slade, late Michelle Ryan’s manager, the youngest man to manage a female lawn tennis star to a back to back success in every lawn tennis games ever, the most successful young man in Britain as far as lawn tennis management was concerned.

Idris has spent the better part of his thirty minutes breaks at work in the last three months watching Cheryl, Laura and Kate play lawn tennis at the lawn tennis court adjacent to their hotel’s staff cafeteria. He has no doubt in his little mind that among the trio, at least one was capable of stepping into the shoes the death of Michelle Ryan had left vacant and has always believed that all they needed was exposure and a possible breakthrough. He reasoned that one cannot be a poor man and a witch at the same time. He is already a poor man and has no intention of becoming a witch.

‘What an honour it would be’ he reasoned ‘for the world to know that he is the one that recommended a lawn tennis player for the almighty Dave Slade. For all he cares, it will bring him joy and happiness if that player goes on to win the grand slams.

The moment Dave Slade and Prisca his newly wedded wife walked into the massive lobby of the hotel, everyone including the hotel manager recognized them without much effort. The news of their wedding had been making the tabloids.

Trust British press!

It was no surprise that at this point, in less than twenty-four hours after saying I do that the entire five-star hotels’ over worked staffs could even recognize Mrs Slade whom until the previous day was a virgin to limelight.

A very good evening to you sir! The hotel manager’s greeting was more like saying: ‘Thank you so so much for coming here, you can stay for free, please you can keep your money. Welcome very very much’

Actually, he had seen them from his office window alighting from the silver colour custom-made Range-rover sports. At first, he didn’t recognize them. For him, they were just rich couple coming in for a good time and he was just going to do his job. His job entails making the guests feel welcomed. If those guests happens to be the rich and famous type, for reasons unknown to the manager, he always finds himself trying to put in more efforts to make them enjoy every minute of their stay at the prestigious hotel. The couple alighting from the jeep at the parking lot looked loaded. The mere sight of them emerging meticulously from the expensive automobile with their gorgeous dresses can only remind the manager of one of those blockbuster movies he uses his hard-earned money to go and watch at the cinemas. Then something happened. A strange feeling overtook the manager. He was feeling like he knew the couple too well, but he couldn’t fathom how. It was strange because he was sure he had not seen those couple anywhere in the hotel in the past. All of a sudden, he saw their registration plate number. It was a private registration number and from where he was in his office, he could still read it properly.

‘Dave Slade 1’

This explains his suspicions. Dave Slade, late Michelle Ryan’s newly wedded manager is going to be a guest in the five-star hotels and he will be looking after them. ‘What an honour!’ By the time the couple could make it to the lobby, the manager was already there.

A very good evening to you sir! He greeted the second time, this time he said it louder as Mr Slade didn’t acknowledge his first greeting.

Good evening Mr Slade responded accessing him thinking: ‘Who is this bald man? No time for autograph please’ then it occurred to him that he could be the hotel’s manager. Still thinking ‘or maybe not, of course he’s definitely the hotel manager. He had better be’ and stretching out his right hand to shake hands with him he asked, are you the manager here?

Yes Mr Slade, the manager beamed happily making sure he let him know that he knew whom he was, and turning to his wife he said, this must be your new missus as he was talking, enjoying every seconds of the exchange of pleasantries, he was shaking the young lady’s hand profusely. Returning his attention to Dave Slade, he continued, I saw your wedding live on telly yesterday. Congratulations!

Thank you so much Mr… Mr Slade knows no other way of asking him his name. He seems to already know his, then why not.

Sorry said the hotel manager my bad my bad, please gentle man and lady forgive my bad manners and stretching out his hand once again he said, I’m Jerry, Jerry Alistair the hotel manager.

From there he took them to his office. They were there all evening. On Dave Slade’s request, he paid for his bills in advance with his credit card right there at the manager’s office. He had already booked for their reservation online earlier in the day, but the hotel’s policy requires that guests pay in person at the hotel not online. Online is strictly for reservation purposes. For this reason, the hotel’s credit and debit cards’ authorization machine was brought up inside the manager’s office on the 2nd floor. Jerry and Mr Slade did what they had to do, payment was successful and Mr and Mrs Slade became bona-fide guests at the Hiltons.

* * *

Idris rapped gently on the door.

Who’s there? Came the manly voice from inside suite 201

Room service! He lied.

One minute!

The supposed one-minute wait lasted four minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Mrs Slade was still in bed sleeping (getting used to being a rich girl) Mr Slade was taking his bath. The knock on the door made him restless, but he can’t get out of the bathroom with soapsuds all over his body just to be a nice guy.

Never! Not Dave Slade.

The four minutes and twenty-eight seconds wait seemed like a whole year for Idris, but he wasn’t complaining.

Why would he?

The previous day, he couldn’t talk to Dave Slade as his domineering boss has colonized the couple. He knew quite that he is not a shy guy and could have easily walked up to him and his gorgeous wife, introduce himself, and maybe, just maybe collect an autograph. He was capable of doing just that, but he dared not while they were still in the company of the main man Jerry Alistair.

So far, Idris was happy on how things were turning out as he had envisaged it. Coming to work early, making sure he is the hotel’s staff in charge of taking care of the couple, from there stir up a conversation.

Who knows, one of the girls might get lucky.

In as much as he hates waking up every morning dreading going to work, he still made it to the hotel much earlier than usual. Now he is at the door, a few meters away from the Slades, praying, hoping and thinking of a better format that will do the magic for either of the three girls.

The opening of the door and the emergence of Dave Slade brought him back to reality.

Good… good morning sir! he stammered.

Morning. I can’t remember ordering for any room service this morning young man

Dave Slade was brisk and went straight to the point.

No… no… no Idris stuttered, it’s just a routine morning checks. Later a member of our staff will come in and do your bed. For now, it’s just a matter of me coming in and… , he couldn’t think of a more appropriate lie to cover up his foolishness. His rehearsed format was not working. He now wished the ground could open up and swallow him.

No… he said almost to himself look Mr David Slade, I’m a big fan, big big big fan

Really? Dave Slade had compassion for him.

Yeah! He nodded like a ten year old, the room service here is great by the way, the best in London and that was it. Idris turned abruptly to his left and headed towards the elevator. He didn’t try in anyway to look back.

Mr Slade kept on watching him and smiling. He liked him. He wanted to know his name.

What do I call you mister?

Idris! Idris Mohammed! Idris was audible not to mention happy ‘wow, Dave Slade Wanted to know my name’ he thought sweetly. The short trip on the elevator was probably the best he’d had since scoring the blue-collar job at the Hiltons.

Chapter one

It’s been almost forty-eight hours since the grand lawn-tennis event at SW19 finished. Whereas Cheryl Johnson was still in Wimbledon, her big short manager has gone back to his wife in Surrey. Cheryl would have loved to leave as well but series of interviews from ESPN, Sky Sports, Super Sports from South Africa, CNN, and BBC etc wouldn’t let her.

She’s enjoying it anyway.

Who wouldn’t?

Spotlight, limelight, everything in the light, that’s the best place to be.

Her schedule for the day includes a simultaneous negotiation of her endorsement with both Nike and Adidas, which she must attend. The outcome of this appointment will determine either of the sports clothing giants who get the right to clothe her in her future games. Later she will grant thirty minutes interviews to both ESPN and Sky Sports respectively in her hotel suite. Finally, sign mouth-watering contracts for TV adverts for four different companies. All she has to do was just lie on national TV that she is using these products and probably fake it a little in front of the camera. That’s it, the next day, she’s smiling to the bank, two million pounds richer on each of the contracts, which were going to last for just a year. Her agent and publicist, Frank Damon has already advised her never to sign any advertisement contracts running for more than a year.

She’s hot, she’s getting hotter.

The hotter the better.

If she continues in her winning ways, of course more contracts will be coming in; existing ones will be renewed abundantly.

By the way, her endorsement negotiation with Nike and Adidas is starting 9am.The time is 7.30am and Cheryl was still in bed. She had gone to bed late at 3.20am because she was talking to her boyfriend (Steve Jones) on the phone. Steve, a first team Chelsea FC attacker has a very busy schedule, busier than Cheryl’s, so busy he couldn’t even afford the time to be with his sweetheart in Wimbledon. The only time they get the chance to talk properly for a long time whenever Cheryl or Steve was away on assignments was usually during the night.

The landline in her hotel suite rang.

Cheryl didn’t wake up.

It kept on ringing and was very loud. The loudness awoke Cheryl with a start. She is not a fan of alarms. Hell no! She hated alarms. It always reminded her of the useless nine to five work schedule she had in the past. Awake now she checked out the wall clock: 7.38am.

My God! she bellowed, I have to be with Nike Company by 9am.

By this time the noise from the phone has subsided. She was going to stand to go to the lavatory when it started ringing again. She used her left hand to pick it up and used the right hand to grab the TV remote control.

Her manager was on the line.

He was calling to remind her of her important appointments with Nike, Adidas and the rest of them.

I’m on it she managed to say and hung up.

She was taking her bath when the pest of a phone started ringing again.

Who invented phones? she murmured under her breath. However, she was going to get it. If there was anything Cheryl Johnson doesn’t like missing, it was her phone calls, as she always believes that it could be something that will change her life that is coming in through the phone. With all the soapsuds all over her slender body, she ran quickly as she could, get there in time, the caller was still hanging on waiting.

Cheryl Johnson here, who am I speaking with?

Cheryl Johnson here who am I speaking with? the caller mimicked.

"Laura! She exclaimed

That’s me babes

Can I call you back in like thirty minutes please? I’m still in the shower and I have to be somewhere at exactly 9am

That’s alright sweetie. I’ll be expecting your call. Congrats on your Wimbledon victory Thank you Laura, bye Laura

* * *

3.38pm says Cheryl’s twelve thousands pounds white gold Rolex wristwatch. A token from the watchmakers earlier in the year after winning the Australian open. Still driving, she eyed the watch again.3.41pm.

Wow, the time is flying

She had already finished the meeting with Nike and Adidas. The two sports clothing giants loves Cheryl Johnson. She loves them too, no one pays like them. Choosing one of them over the other to clothe her in her future games was a very tough decision for Cheryl.

Frank Damon likes Nike.

Dave Slade prefers Adidas.

The ball was now left in Cheryl’s court.

Aside being one of the world’s most talented new lawn tennis player, she is also the most intelligent. Before leaving her hotel suite in the morning, she had already decided on the best way to handle the two companies.

What way could be better.

Nike gets to clothe her for all her games outside Europe, Which includes Australian open etc While Adidas takes care of her in Europe.

The idea was weird, said the representative executives from both companies.

Meanwhile, their respective companies’ board had warned seriously that on no account should they return without the new whiz kid’s consenting signature. Ten-minute recess was giving to both parties to contact their superiors on the matter.

The board members of both companies were helpless.

Nike’s board at last decided that half bread was better than none, so was Adidas.

Good thinking.

The two companies’ board think alike.

Cheryl was lucky.

By 11.30am, she had signed for both Nike and Adidas simultaneously.

She is happy, Frank Damon is happy, everyone is happy.

That was it. Now 3.45pm, Nike and Adidas appointment is history, so was the thirty minutes interview to both ESPN and Sky Sports, so also was the signing of four mouth-watering contracts for TV/radio adverts.

All she has to do now was to return Laura’s call, call her parents and maybe her sister Jenny, then Steve her boyfriend and lastly but definitely not the least call her manager and give him the good news, that is if Frank Damon has not called him already.

Dipping her hand into her purse she reached for her cell phone and pressed zero seven seven button. Intuitively, she stopped pressing the phone buttons.

‘Laura is on Vodafone network, I’m on T-mobile’ she thought. Still thinking ‘calls from T-mobile to T-mobile are cheaper, T-mobile to Vodafone or any other network is expensive’

Shit! She said hating herself.

Poverty is a very bad disease, worse than AIDS. In the past she only gets to call her family and friends who were on the same T-mobile network as her, other networks was a no go area, she doesn’t even bother to try. But now, she can even call abroad directly from her T-mobile’s pay as you go network without blinking, after all she’s Cheryl Johnson the lawn-tennis superstar.

Is she not?

Her thumb continued working on the cell phone buttons, finished, she brought the cell phone closer to her ear and Laura was on the line.

Hello angel, how are you today?

Not bad, you?

"I’m alright. I’m just coming back from a meeting with some advert executives.

Before I forget, guess what Laura!

"What! Laura was full of anticipations. Ever since her best friend became a star she has always supported her wholeheartedly and Cheryl in return confides in her with every bit of the actions in her beautiful life.

I signed for both Nike and Adidas today!

Get out of here. You are kidding me

I’m not kidding baby Cheryl was hysterical I signed for both of them on the same pay level each was supposed to pay if I left the other. Nike clothes me outside Europe bla bla bla while Adidas clothes me in Europe

Wow Laura cooed. She was still on the phone talking to her friend when the door opened behind her. Her younger sister Kate was now standing at her back. She used her left hand to cover the mouthpiece of the phone and spoke to Kate in a whispering tone.

Cheryl signed for both Nike and Adidas today

Big deal? Kate returned almost immediately, her face rumpled in a disgusting frown. Ever since Cheryl became a star, unlike Laura, Kate hated Cheryl, but she always manage to hide her dislikes for her in public. Laura pretended she did not hear her sister’s comment and continued with Cheryl on the phone.

I’m so so happy for you Cheryl

Who were you talking to just now on the background? Cheryl inquired.

Ka… Kate Laura replied reluctantly Kate is here, she is at my back. Do you wanna talk to her?

Yeah, pass her the phone please

Laura obeyed, but Kate would not take the phone murmuring things like she knows my phone number, if she wants to talk to me, let her call my phone

Laura was taken aback. Her sister’s animosity for their friend was getting out of hand and she couldn’t understand why. She cannot possibly tell Cheryl that Kate refused to talk to her. No! Never! That would kill Cheryl.

Cheryl was still waiting to talk to Kate and she has to come up with some sort of excuse before she figures out what was going on.

Are you still there Cheryl? she asked her friend as her thoughts kept running wild.

Yes Laura Cheryl replied.

It’s like someone is at the door and Kate has gone to go get it

I’ll wait Cheryl said sweetly.

Laura’s brain was now in turmoil. She became completely confused, thinking, ‘what do I do?’

All the while Kate was there enjoying the state of confusion she had left her sister in. she could hear Cheryl on the other end of the phone. She knew she was still waiting to talk to her. She hates Cheryl not Laura her darling sister. Laura was now sweating profusely and she didn’t like it. She grabbed the phone from her sister. She took a deep breath.

I can do this, she said quietly to herself. And she did, she was quite an actress.

Hi Cheryl baby

Katie baby

Congratulations on your Saturday game, that was brilliant

Thanks a lot, I appreciate it. Meanwhile, the whole world has been calling to congratulate me on my first Wimbledon success on Saturday except you

But I’m doing that now Kate defended as if she meant every word.

Because I called, Cheryl corrected, what have I done to you Kate? So if I didn’t return your sister’s call, you won’t spare your credit to call and congratulate your best friend?

Common Cheryl, I just got back from the States yesterday

Yesterday was Sunday Kate. The game was on Saturday

Kate was now getting pissed off. Cheryl was getting on her nerves. ‘Who does she thinks she is? I don’t care, I don’t wanna care period! Is it by force?’ she had this devilish urge to tell her to go to blazes, but she didn’t.

Lastly, she managed, I know I know Cheryl but I figured a lot of people would be pestering you with calls, so I thought it would be better when you get back. You know what I mean?

Cheryl knew exactly what she meant.

She knew she still believes she took her career and boyfriend from her, she knew she hasn’t let go.

It’s alright, it’s alright, Cheryl said calculatedly so how are you anyways?

I’m alright, said Kate

Cheryl talked some more with her before inviting her and Laura to her father’s house for a party she was throwing there. She was going to present the trophy to daddy in a grand style.

* * *

Two and half years ago, sixteen years old Kate Merna, her sister Laura and Cheryl Johnson had started practicing lawn tennis like their whole life depended on it. Kate was with Steve Jones (Cheryl’s present boyfriend) whom as at that time was a youth team captain at Chelsea FC.

One Thursday evening as they practised their lawn tennis as usual, two men paid them a surprising visit.

One of them was a newly married big shot in