Stalked

By Sharyl Bales

Twenty-two-year-old Brittany Carlson has just been signed by Baez Productions to star in a film that everyone in Tinsel town is sure will be the next Oscar winner. Brittany should be thrilled, but instead she is terrified. Her life has been turned upside down and she is trying desperately to keep it a secret. Someone is stalking her and yet the police are suggesting this is merely a publicity stunt!
She is even more horrified when her Pulitzer Prize-winning mother descends on her home in the middle of a party only to find that cocaine is one of the guests.
Between the efforts of her world famous mother as well as Brittany’s two sisters, life begins to look as though it might just have a chance to get back to normal; at least as normal as any life in Hollywood can be. That is until the stalker makes a lethal threat against her mother and her sisters. Brittany is sure this nightmare can’t get any worse. Now, her whole family is in danger. How do they find this psycho and will they be in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: PTP Book Division
• Release date: Mar 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781987433937

Book preview

complete.

CHAPTER 1

Santa Monica Beach, 1968

Brittany Carlson was a runner.

Not just an ordinary runner, mind you, out for some fresh air and exercise. Britt ran for sheer pleasure and her face glowed with delight as she sprinted along her chosen path. Her long, clean strides were effortless and came as naturally to her as if she were an antelope bounding along a city trail. It was impossible for the people she sped past not to turn and watch her tall, slim body flying by, mahogany tresses tied back into a ponytail that streamed out behind her like a prize racehorse nearing the finish line.

According to her mother, Britt had never walked. She crawled longer than most babies and then, one day, standing on her chubby little legs and balancing against the edge of a chair, she had simply taken off running and never stopped. Oh, she had learned to walk, but it was harder for her to keep her muscles in check than it was to simply let loose and race across whatever space was in front of her.

It was about 10 o’clock on a bright June morning in Southern California. The wind and sun had only recently dispersed the fog that hugged the coast earlier in the morning and the sky was so blue that it almost hurt her eyes. Brittany was running north, along the sidewalk that ran between the rippling sands of Santa Monica Beach and the parking lots and traffic along Pacific Coast Highway. To her left, waves gently washed along the Pacific shore and a cool breeze ruffled the green fronds of the palm trees standing majestically to her right.

It was extraordinary how the shimmering rays of the sun, once they had broken through that first chilly bleakness, could so quickly banish the remaining mist. Sunlight streamed onto the water, turning it from an oppressive gray into a deep sapphire blue just as people, as if cued by some unseen maestro, began to gather on the pier and on the beach and shopkeepers turned around their closed signs to announce the beginning of another day. Doors and windows opened to the mild breeze.

A trawler chugged past just offshore, its cabin upright in the bow with a bright light atop. It reminded Britt of a story, a Little Golden Book story from her childhood.  She couldn’t quite remember the tale. Something about a tugboat, she thought, but the fleeting memory faded into a pleasant burst of simple nostalgia.

The endorphins flowed through her body, energizing yet calming the restlessness she had felt ever since she opened her eyes that morning. She had an audition this afternoon. It was a small, but important, part in a big movie and she wanted it desperately. It was time for a break. She had paid her dues with commercials, TV walk-ons and bit parts in small plays. She had been in LA for almost two years taking whatever came her way. She had hounded her agent for this chance and Sasha had come through. Now, it was up to her.

She was ready for Hollywood. She just hoped that Hollywood was ready for her.

JOURNAL OF THE PATH

Los Angeles CA – Tuesday, 5 March 1970

I waited on the dark sand, indivisible at that hour from the blackness of the sea. I was patient, as I had been taught.  I had prepared well as was the way.  She was the third and she too would be mine.

I chose her carefully. She was lovely and she could run like the wind.

Soon, I heard her coming to me as I knew she would.  Only the barest glimmer of moonlight showed her silhouette against the sky, but I required nothing more. My heart beat loudly as she approached. My body throbbed. I lusted for her. I lusted for this moment. Finally, she was here. Finally, she was mine.

One shot. She fell. I drew my knife. I blessed her blood to the Power. The deed was done. The Path was proceeding in its Divine purpose. The way is clear. She was not the Passion, but she was the Third Prelude to the Power of the Path. She is honored.

The Power of the Path. The ancient way of the Divine. Passed down to those who would serve the Path. Passed down to ME. I was chosen and I will not fail. The way is clear. My duty has been decreed. I have been instructed by THE MASTER AND I WILL NOT FAIL.

CHAPTER 2

New York City – Friday Morning, May 8, 1970

True rage is not the fiery red of mere anger. True rage is a white-hot bolt of lightning; a blinding miasma that explodes in the mind and overpowers the senses. It strikes rarely and when least expected, but—just as suddenly—it is gone, replaced with deadly certainty as to the action that must be taken.

Signe Carlson was in such a rage. Sitting rigidly in her chair, she took several deep breaths and willed her clenched fingers to relax. After several minutes, she carefully placed the receiver back onto the phone. Her green eyes were as hard as the emeralds they resembled and her full lips were pressed tightly together into a formidable frown as she thought about the call she had just received from a friend at the LAPD. Her pen tapped sharply on the antique oak partner’s desk where she sat, oblivious to the view of Central Park, even though it was basking in the ripeness of its springtime glory. She had purchased this four bedroom apartment in Manhattan specifically for the view, but at the moment, it may as well have been a brick wall.

After taking a number of deep breaths to urge her mind to calmness, Signe could feel the return of rational thought overtake her and she quickly jotted down her priorities on the tablet poised on the desk in front of her. Picking up the phone, she punched the pager number of her corporate pilot and had just enough time to scribble a few additional thoughts before the first line of the five-line phone began ringing. Flight arrangements made, she quickly placed several more calls before she stood up, picked up her purse and her briefcase and walked briskly out the door of her apartment. Now that she was in the process of executing her plans, emotions returned so that Signe felt near to bursting. In reality, she was possessed of the most basic primal instinct, born within the first creatures from the dawn of time, of a mother to protect her young.

The doorman—resplendent in his red uniform with gold braid—had summoned her limo.  Signe acknowledged him with an automatic smile. Her mind was miles away; over 3,000 miles away to be exact and nothing could keep her from covering that distance as soon as was humanly possible.

The jet took off smoothly from JFK and Signe settled herself for the long flight to Phoenix. When they reached altitude, she pulled her briefcase from under the seat and took out the two-day-old copy of the LA Times that had been delivered by special messenger at a very early hour this morning. The headline was as stark and as fearful as she remembered: THIRD FEMALE JOGGER MURDERED ON SANTA MONICA BEACH. The photo that accompanied the article showed the pier as background and a number of police and emergency vehicles pulled up onto the sandy shore. The news story was sketchy as to facts about the current victim, but it gave a significant amount of detail on the prior deaths. Over a period of a month or so, three young women, all with dark brown hair worn in a long ponytail had been viciously murdered by a single gunshot wound to the head. Their right thumbs had been severed and, apparently, taken by the killer. The police had no suspects.

None of these joggers had been her daughter, Brittany, but one of them very well could have been.

CHAPTER 3

Woodland Hills, CA – Friday Evening, May 8, 1970

Brittany Carlson had finally made enough money from her acting career to buy a house in the hills. It was modest by Hollywood standards, but it was hers and she had worked hard for it. She had owned it for over a year and recently it had become the favorite gathering place for her crowd and they partied there fairly often.

Tonight was a very special Friday night and Britt had planned a real celebration. She had just signed a deal with Baez Productions to star in the movie that everyone was hailing as the sure thing to be the next Oscar winner for Best Picture. It was a much-coveted part, fought over by big name actresses from all over the world, but it had gone to Britt. Her friends were both excited for her and a little jealous; that was how it was in the industry.

Everyone was invited. Everyone, that is, except Rafael Baez or Rafe as he was better known. In the last few months while negotiations for the part were ongoing, Britt had fallen head over heels for the handsome Cuban producer and, although he had not made any overt moves toward her, Britt sensed that he might be interested in more than just her acting talent. With his dark eyes and dark hair, he looked more like a leading man than most of the actors he hired. But everyone knew that Rafe Baez had no time for overindulgence in either alcohol or drugs. Oh, he was known to have a few drinks now and then, but he never used. And one didn’t want Rafe Baez to know that they used either or they might not get a chance to audition for one of his productions. It was more rumor than fact, but you just couldn’t take the chance; not in this town.

Her friends Bettye and Eric had been adamantly opposed when she casually mentioned that she was going to invite Rafe to the party. They begged her not to even think about it. So far, Rafe had been all business, but she wanted to see him, to spend time with him away from the business meetings with agents and lawyers. She was finally persuaded that this wasn’t going to be the right time to introduce him to the gang. They all wanted to meet him, of course. He was a major producer and you never knew when someone with the power of Rafael Baez might take one look at an actor and—wham—off went their career into the cosmos. But not this night. This night was party time.

Britt’s living room was inexpensive elegance at its best, due to her sister Lia’s help in decorating. She and Britt had hit every yard sale and every secondhand shop within 30 miles and then, with Lia’s advice, all Britt had to do buy were a few really good pieces to pull the room together. However, when all of the windows and doors leading out to the patio were open, the view of the pool and the large garden that took up an acre around the house gave it a spacious and more casual feeling. The rest of the hilly property had been left to nature. Tonight, every one of the floor-to-ceiling glass doors were open to the cool breeze of the evening and from almost anywhere in the room you could see the pool glistening in the dual bath of tiki lights and moon. The bar had been set-up on one side of the patio and it was doing a brisk business in free drinks. Wine, the current rage, was flowing from bottles with every good label known to Napa or Sonoma. It had to be California wine, of course. Imports were out; local was in.

Everyone was laughing; having a good time. Music played softly from the stereo and the buffet tables held appetizers, chips and dips. It was nearly 10:30 pm but the party was just beginning to flow. No one did things early here, especially when there was no shooting schedule or audition the next day.

Brittany stopped to chat with Marianna, another of her special friends. Eric, who had just come in from the bar, soon joined them. He held a bottle of Chablis by the neck and topped off Britt’s glass with a flourish that almost overshot its mark.

This is great, Britt. Great, great, great, repeated Eric. Great party.

Brittany laughed. Eric would think any party was great when the booze was free. Are you really, really, really sure you’re having a good time? she asked with a smirk.

Eric slid his arm around her and pulled her closer to him, moving with a little bump and grind to the song that was playing. He held his wineglass up and away, as not to splash his expensive, new jacket. Unlike Brittany, he hadn’t ’made it’ yet and couldn’t afford to ruin what, for him, had cost a month’s pay. But he knew he looked good in it and that was all that mattered.

Hey, got a light? he asked as Jerry walked past.

What are you going to light? replied Jerry.

Oh, yeah, got a smoke, too? Eric laughed as if this was one of the funniest lines in history.

Marianna giggled and Brittany just smiled as she gently extricated herself from Eric’s grasp. Eric was a nut. He was also stoned.

Jerry reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros and a black lighter with his initials stenciled on it in gold. Shaking the pack, he smoothly produced the ends of two cigarettes through the torn out hole in the corner. Eric took one, slipped it between his lips and leaned toward the outstretched fire. As the flame hit the tobacco, Eric inhaled in a slow, sensuous movement before straightening up in that studied way of his. He choreographed nearly every action or reaction he made, practicing for hours before the wall of mirrors in his bedroom and he knew what looked good and what didn’t. Cigarette in his mouth, his eyes casually scanned the room for new arrivals. You could never tell when somebody important would just show up on the scene. And as suddenly as the thought, man, did someone show up. He couldn’t believe the face that was staring at him from the doorway; straight out of Time Magazine, Fortune and The Tonight Show. That was when his jaw dropped open and nearly hit his well-muscled chest. It was a good thing he had just removed the cigarette from his mouth or it would have landed on the carpet. This was one of the very few times in his life that he didn’t have a practiced look or, if he did, he couldn’t begin to remember what it should be.

Brittany caught his look and was amused by the unabashed amazement on his face. She wondered briefly who had walked in and then knew as a silence fell over the room that it must be somebody very famous. Just for a second, she wondered if it was Rafe. Her back was toward the door so she glanced up at the mirror over the fireplace.

No. It couldn’t be, it felt as though ice water was flooding her veins and her body went rigid with shock as she saw the images reflected back to her. Panic filled her mind and she could feel herself begin to sweat despite the chills still racing up her spine. Oh, my god. NO. Not HER. And Lia. No. No, no, no. Please, no. The internal cry wailed in her ears as she fought to keep her face from showing her desperation. Not them. Not here. Oh, god, not now.

Signe Carlson stood in the doorway of the living room. Lia, her oldest daughter, was by her side. There was not a party in the entire world that would not have welcomed Signe Carlson as a guest. Except this one, tonight, in Brittany’s home.

Wow, said Eric with the sound of the single word dragging out into polysyllables. His eyes were dazzled as he contemplated the world famous novelist and successful businesswoman extraordinaire. His voice hushed to a whisper. Whadda ya think she’s doin’ here? he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

Brittany didn’t even hear him. She felt as though someone was stabbing her in the chest and the tip of the knife was plunging directly into her heart. And, then, in one of those rare moments of absolute clarity, she saw her ‘friends’ and she saw the party as if she hovered over it in some sort of weird out-of-body experience. Worst of all, she saw herself. She saw how cheap it all looked. The women hanging out of their skimpy dresses and some of the men with shirts open to their navel. The half-empty glasses of liquor scattered everywhere, staining white rings on her beautiful oak tables. But most of all, she saw the silver trays with the razor-thin, white lines waiting to be inhaled. The emptiness of it all was transparently clear. She had an overwhelming urge to just bolt out the door and hide. She knew she couldn’t.

The actress turned around slowly, a smile of warm welcome on her face, her arms outstretched in greeting as she dragged herself toward the door. The daughter curled up inside, hating this moment, knowing what her mother and her big sister were seeing. Worse yet was that she was seeing herself for the first time as what she had become.

Mom. Lia. I didn’t know you were coming. What a surprise. Why didn’t you call? I would have picked you up at the airport. She was babbling slightly, but she couldn’t help it.

Hello, sweetheart, said her mother in that low, husky voice of hers. I’m sorry to just drop in on you like this. Of course, we didn’t know you were having guests. Her mother was looking straight at her, green eyes locked on hazel.

Brittany saw the sadness in her mother’s eyes. All at once, she knew the pain of a broken heart. It was no longer a trite phrase from a maudlin love song; the dull, thudding agony was a physical reality and it hurt as nothing had ever hurt before.

The actress spoke again. Mom, you know you’re always welcome here. She turned to her older sister and gave her a big hug. Lia. You look great. How are you?

I’m fine, Britt, Lia replied quietly. How are you?

Great. Just great. God, she sounded like Eric. Why did she sound so stupid? Where was the brilliant conversation of just moments ago? Somehow, it had dried up the minute she saw her mother’s reflection in the mirror. The only good thing was the hour. Britt had been busy playing hostess and had only had time to do a short line so far. She had a little buzz going, but she was still in control. In fact, she made sure she was always in control. Being one of the gang was one thing; overdoing it, as some did, was another.

Hey, let’s get you guys settled in. Then you can come back and meet my friends. Brittany desperately wanted her mother out of this room. Would these nitwits have the brains to get rid of the stuff while they were gone? She couldn’t trust them. Mei-li, she called, gesturing to her own housekeeper rather than to one of the help that had been hired for the evening. You remember my mother and my sister?

Mei-li nodded politely. Of course, she replied in perfect English. Welcome, Mrs. Signe, Lia. Mei-li had immigrated to America a little over five years ago. She was the best thing that had happened to Brittany since she had been able to afford to hire full time staff.

Mom, said Brittany, why don’t you and Lia go and freshen up. Your rooms are ready as always. Mei-li will get Henry to bring in your luggage and I’ll be there in just a second.

Of course, my dear, replied her mother with a strained smile. She turned and walked out the door, as if actually complying with her daughter’s implied order. Lia was right behind her.

Mei-li, hissed Brittany as soon as they were gone. Get rid of everything. Quickly. Please?

Yes, Britt, she said, understanding what Brittany wanted but not entirely sure why. Her lovely almond-shaped eyes looked at her employer with concern; her head tilted slightly sideways, giving her the look of a curious bird. Why are you upset? she asked. You usually can’t wait to see your family.

Brittany hung her head, her shoulders drooping. It’s because my family is seeing me—like this. Mei-li, I’ve really screwed up. I know you’ve told me and I know I didn’t listen, but I see it for myself now. The beautiful face with the faintly red-rimmed eyes looked up. You’re more of a friend to me than anyone in this room. You know that. Help me. she pleaded.

I’ll take care of this. She paused as she looked at her sandaled feet as if for inspiration and then back at her employer who was just as much her friend. Because it’s not here when they come back does not mean that they did not see it, she warned.

I know, said Brittany miserably. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to have my mother and my sister in a room with this stuff lying all over. Get rid of it. Flush it down the toilet or wash it down the sink or whatever, she continued, anger lacing her voice. And get rid of Eric and anybody else you think should go. In fact, get rid of everyone. She clutched Mei-li’s arm as tears welled in her eyes.

Mei-li put her hand over Brittany’s giving her a gentle squeeze of assurance. I will take care of this, Britt. Dry your eyes and go to your mother. She’s waiting.

Brittany nodded, wiping at her eyes and willing herself to stop crying. She turned to follow the path her mother and Lia had just taken. She wondered if they still wanted to see her. She wondered if they still loved her. She had never been so ashamed in her life.

CHAPTER 4

Britt stood quietly in the doorway of the bedroom. Her mother was sitting right where she knew she would be, in the wicker rocking chair in front of the now empty fireplace. Lia was perched on the edge of the window seat.

Brittany and Lia had decorated every inch of the house themselves; picked out every piece of furniture, every picture, every knick-knack. What fun it had been rummaging through out-of-the-way stores for just the right accessory. This was the green room. The one they knew would please Mom. And it had. She had brought champagne to christen the house. Jenna, her younger sister, had been there too. They had had a great time. Less than a year ago, thought Britt. She hadn’t seen too much of her family since then. Too busy, she had told herself. But she knew that, in reality, she had become too busy only when her life had become filled with the suddenness of fame and friends, and occasionally, cocaine. Time slipped by without her even noticing.

Brittany came from a family of beautiful women. Her younger sister, Jenna, was a 20-year-old bombshell with thick, dark brown hair and blue eyes rimmed with a darker blue band. Her irises had flecks of gold strewn here and there. Britt wasn’t the only one who thought Jenna’s eyes looked just like those of a wolf.

Her older sister, Lia, on the other hand, had a classically soft and feminine beauty; very different from Britt’s angular lines that photographed so well and made her the darling of the camera. Aurelia Carlson, named for Caesar’s mother, was twenty-four. She had blonde hair and blue eyes that set off a peaches and cream complexion. Everyone called her Lia.

Her mother’s dark hair was more like Jenna’s, but she had green eyes, full lips and a thin, but well proportioned, figure. Signe was an inch or two taller than Lia and several inches taller than Jenna, but she and Brittany were almost the same height at 5’8".

At 45-years-old, her mother was simply elegant. It was a look she had cultivated throughout her life and it was the best word to describe her. And yet, she was as down-to-earth as they came. So were Lia and Jenna. They were good, solid people. Nice people. She loved them with every ounce of her being and it made her all the more ashamed of herself; of what she had become. Her family had always been her lifeline and she had tossed the rope away in recent months. She wasn’t even sure that she knew how to reach out for it any longer.

Signe turned toward the door, knowing full well that her middle daughter was standing there. She could feel the presence as surely as if she could see her.

Come in, Britt, she said. Her smile hid the pain in her heart well; her face betraying none of the sadness she felt. Brittany was not the only talented actress in the family. Can you spend a few minutes before you return to your friends? I don’t think I’m quite up to a party tonight, if you don’t mind.

The dark hazel eyes that were now becoming so famous on the screen looked at her mother, locking onto her face. Why are you here, Mother? she asked simply.

Mother looked at daughter. The façade no longer mattered. It was just the three of them here now and they were Family. Signe always thought of them with a capital F; perhaps because it was hers.

We’re here, Britt, because of a phone conversation I had with Mei-li this morning.

Mei-li? Brittany was incredulous. She didn’t tell me you called. What in the world did she say? Her mind raced over the possibilities.

Her mother drew a deep breath. We haven’t talked in over a week, Britt. I called from New York this morning to see how you were doing. Signe decided not to mention that she had called just before boarding the plane due to the time difference. I’ve been there for meetings with my editor for the past few days. Signe stopped to collect her thoughts and to sternly hold back the hot prick of tears behind her eyes. Mei-li said that you were out. I asked if you were running and she said no. I called Lia and told her when to expect me. It took me awhile to cancel my meetings for the day, but as soon as that was arranged, I went out to the airport, got on the corporate jet and was flown back to Phoenix. That’s why we arrived so late. We landed at the Executive Air Terminal just long enough to pick up Lia and to re-fuel before flying straight into Burbank.

Brittany couldn’t stand the suspense. That conversation doesn’t sound like reason enough for you to leave your meetings, Mother. What else did she say?

Signe looked like a marble statue, back straight, shoulders stiff, not taking her eyes off her daughter’s face. Mei-li said ’Britt doesn’t run anymore, Mrs. Signe.’

Britt felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. Anguished eyes looked at her mother and her sister as she held out a hand, palm up, reaching out.

Her mother was out of the chair just a second before Lia jumped off the window seat. Brittany felt the warmth of her mother’s arms around her, stroking her hair and whispering in her ear. It will be all right, darling. Everything will be all right now.

Brittany began crying; great sobbing, heaving tears. Lia began to cry too and the two sisters ended up on the floor hugging each other. They cried for a long time. Their mother quietly got up, found a box of tissues and put it on the carpet between them. She watched them tenderly until they finally began to laugh. She had known they would, eventually. Her daughters were all at that age where anything and everything seemed to erupt in tears. However, once the storm was over, they always managed to end up laughing. As for herself, Signe had long ago learned to keep her emotions, especially her tears, to herself. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the events of her past life that had shaped her personality or perhaps she had just used up all the tears she once had. It didn’t really matter except at times like this when she really felt like crying, but couldn’t. Let her girls be the drama queens, she thought; it was no doubt good for them.

Britt didn’t quite know what to say to her mother, but, now that she and Lia were here, Britt knew how desperately she wanted normalcy back in her life. Still, how could anything be normal with the absurdity of what had been happening to her in the last few months? Those horrid notes that had been left on her car at the beach were driving her crazy.

Britt had picked up the phone more than once to call her mother, but she had always hung up, not wanting to burden her mother with the insanity of it all. She knew her mother would drop everything and rush to her side just like she had today. But, Britt had told herself over and over, she was an adult now. She was responsible. She should be able to handle this insidious presence without having to run to her mother for help. She was the one who had dropped out of college, had moved to LA, had insisted on her own set of rules. It was unthinkable to admit to her mother, whom she loved more than anyone that she couldn’t cope with the increasing terror that haunted her. It always lurked at the back of her mind; never going away for long. She was Brittany Carlson, daughter of one of the most successful women on the face of the planet. And she couldn’t handle it. The sense of failure was acute. She wanted her mother’s respect and now she had completely blown it. Her mother had seen her friends and the cocaine. What would she say when she heard about this other nightmare? Would she think it was Brittany’s own fault because she had chosen this lifestyle or that maybe she had encouraged it?

The young actress sat back and gave her mother a sad smile. It really isn’t as bad as it looks, Mom.

Once again, Signe sat for a moment looking at her beautiful daughter. I know that, Britt, she said with a certainty that made Brittany’s heart leap.

All at once, Brittany knew that somehow, on some deep level, her mother did know.

How do you know, Mother? she asked urgently. How do you know and why do you still believe in me? Britt’s eyes were begging her mother for the truth.

This lifestyle—I mean the kind of party going on - isn’t you, Britt, her mother replied simply with a shrug of her shoulders. It never was and it never will be. You would have recognized it on your own sooner or later.

Britt jumped up and hugged her mother tightly. You really do believe in me, don’t you?

Of course, darling. Was there ever any question? she asked.

When things settled down a bit, Signe suggested that they all try to get some sleep.  Although she hadn’t expected to interrupt this particular kind of party, she suspected that the gathering had ended as soon as Britt left the room. Regardless, she knew that her daughter wouldn’t return to it anyway. She had decided not to bring up the other phone call she had had this morning that concerned Britt. Not even Lia knew about it and if either of them found out they would be here until dawn. Perhaps, she thought, if Britt tells me the story herself, I won’t have to mention it at all. Either way, it would wait until tomorrow.

CHAPTER 5

Woodland Hills - Saturday, May 9, 1970

Good morning, sweetheart. Her mother’s voice was calm, and to Britt’s intense relief, completely normal. No one she had ever known, not the best actress in the world, could put so much information into a simple inflection of tone or into one of her patented ‘looks’ as could her own mother.

Britt had tossed and turned most of the night, reliving that one horrible moment in time when her mother’s reflection in the mirror had crystallized so much of what was wrong in her life. They had gotten past the party last night, but there was still the other problem to deal with, and while she knew she had to, Brittany wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

Morning, Mom, she replied with a brightness that she didn’t feel.

Her mother sat near the open door of the breakfast room sipping coffee loaded with sugar and smoking a Benson & Hedges Menthol cigarette. Mom had smoked the same thing for as long as Brittany could remember. The ashtray that sat near her was empty. She wondered how many cigarettes her mother had actually had since she got up, probably at around 5 or 6 o’clock. You could never tell from the ashtray since Signe dumped it out whenever there were more than two butts in it. A dirty ashtray was something her mother could never abide. One section of the LA Times was spread out in front of her, but each completed section was neatly stacked on her right. Signe Carlson was not necessarily a creature of habit, but she did have certain patterns that her daughters knew by heart.

Britt walked around the table and gave her mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Did you get any sleep? she asked. How in the world can you look so good this early?

Setting down the newspaper and her coffee cup, Signe returned her daughter’s embrace. I’m rested, Britt, she assured her. You’re being unnecessarily flattering to your old mother, she smiled, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Signe’s face held the famous smile that had graced the covers of so many magazines and turned so many Boards of Directors into jelly while she was blithely in the process of getting her way.

Signe’s eyes traveled expertly over her daughter taking in every detail, from the puffy eyes to the bitten nails. She now looked at her back, rigid with suppressed thoughts and feelings, and she braced herself for what she knew was going to be another emotional encounter. Letting out a sigh, she reached for the pitcher of orange juice. I assume you still drink this in the morning, said Signe as she poured the juice into a large glass and handed it to her. I suppose I should be glad that none of you has taken up my habit of coffee, but, quite honestly, Lia’s and Jenna’s own habits of Coke or Pepsi for breakfast seem to be nothing more than cold caffeine as opposed to warm.

Oh, Mother, replied Britt, with a nervous giggle, you don’t really like coffee. If you put any more sugar into it, it’d be syrup.

Signe chuckled. "Touché."

Britt sank into a chair near her mother and drank her juice. She nibbled on a cinnamon and raisin bagel while her mother poured another cup of coffee and absently stirred in sugar. Anything interesting in the paper? she asked.

The news is still full of that atrocity at Kent State, replied her mother sadly. Also, the trial of the New Haven Nine, Irish politics and a protest march against the war in Vietnam that is planned for today in Washington.

Sorry I asked, replied Britt, as she returned her attention to her bagel.

The breakfast room was full of that special glow that only seems to come from the rising sun in Southern California; mellow golden shafts of light, full of dancing motes, the particles of dust and sand that are so indigenous to the Southwest. Britt and Lia had done the room in oak with lots of mirrors and occasional accents of black as a counter balance to the warmth of the wood and the reflection of the light. Chairs with shiny, black frames and soft cushions in a black, white and yellow pattern surrounded the large oval-shaped table and the color was picked up again in the lacquered, black trays stacked on the oak sideboard.

The double doors that led to the patio had floor-to-ceiling windows just like the living room, but these were draped in a sheer woven fabric of sand and cream with a darker brown thread running throughout the material. Together with the kitchen and the servant’s quarters, this block of rooms was one arm of a ‘V’ opposite another identical block that held first the living room, a study and then the family and guest bedrooms.  The more formal dining room was in the bottom of the ‘V’ directly off the foyer and could be accessed from either wing. The breakfast room was on the south side of this section so that it also faced the gardens and the pool; just from a different angle than the living room. A separate patio ran across almost