White Heat

By Jeffery Martin Botzenhart

Hollywood called her White Heat because that’s the hottest kind.

In 1955, screen siren, Daphne Marlowe, is known for being Hollywood’s White Heat. Her unparalleled beauty and smoldering sensual allure has cast her as a legend before her time. The jealousy and envy of women toward her has been matched by the lust and desire of men obsessed by their fantasies of possessing a silver-screen goddess.

With Los Angeles being known as the city of angels, Hollywood has become a dark beacon for devils. A string of tragic deaths has plagued recent screen idols and celebrities. What’s all the more troubling is that Daphne finds herself linked to each of these untimely deaths. Coincidence...or perhaps a killer’s obsession toward her. As the darkness hidden so well behind the movie screens begins to shadow her world, the danger she faces edges closer and closer. Fans of Hollywood love a compelling murder mystery. Could Daphne be the next victim?

READER ADVISORY: Dare to return to the glamorous days of the 1950s when blonde goddesses ruled Hollywood’s silver screens.

PUBLISHER NOTE: 1950s Noir Romantic Suspense. 37,600 words. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Oct 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005390297

Jeffery Martin Botzenhart

I was born on November 9, 1967 in Warren, Ohio and grew up in a country trailer park in Southington Ohio with my two brothers and parents.I currently live in Girard, Ohio with my wife and sons. After graduating from Chalker High School in 1986, I went on to attend Kent State University.Originally, I sought to pursue a degree in education, but changed degrees after a few years in school. After working my way through college for eight years, I graduated in 1994 with a Bachelor’s degree in International Relations.Aside from writing, I also draw and paint. My other passion is soccer. I have proudly been a coach of a soccer team for autistic and special needs players.

Book preview

WHITE HEAT

JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

Hollywood called her White Heat because that’s the hottest kind.

In 1955, screen siren, Daphne Marlowe, is known for being Hollywood’s White Heat. Her unparalleled beauty and smoldering sensual allure has cast her as a legend before her time. The jealousy and envy of women toward her has been matched by the lust and desire of men obsessed by their fantasies of possessing a silver-screen goddess.

With Los Angeles being known as the city of angels, Hollywood has become a dark beacon for devils. A string of tragic deaths has plagued recent screen idols and celebrities. What’s all the more troubling is that Daphne finds herself linked to each of these untimely deaths. Coincidence … or perhaps a killer’s obsession toward her. As the darkness hidden so well behind the movie screens begins to shadow her world, the danger she faces edges closer and closer. Fans of Hollywood love a compelling murder mystery. Could Daphne be the next victim?

READER ADVISORY: Dare to return to the glamorous days of the 1950s when blonde goddesses ruled Hollywood’s silver screens.

PUBLISHER NOTE: 1950s Noir Romance Suspense. 37,600 words. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

WHITE HEAT

JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

WHITE HEAT

Copyright © OCTOBER 2022 JEFFERY MARTIN BOTZENHART

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Marilyn Monroe, Grace Kelly, Jean Harlow, Jayne Mansfield, and the many other blonde film goddesses who ruled Hollywood.

CHAPTER ONE

And the headline will read: ‘Daphne Marlowe, Hollywood’s white heat, arrived at actress Margot Fleming’s funeral, wearing a white trench coat.’ What do you think? Norma asked.

It needs some work, Daphne responded, her voice low and uninterested.

The falling rain, pelting the warm grass, caused a light eerie mist to shroud the cemetery grounds. The pink flowers surrounding the casket lacked vibrancy in color without the sun’s beaming rays. Yesterday was a beautiful summer day, but today summer proved unrecognizable.

What did you say? Daphne asked, realizing Norma had said something else.

I said your matching white umbrella and hat complimented your white coat, she repeated.

The studio sent them to my house for me to wear. I have an image to maintain.

Out of curiosity, why are you here at Margot’s funeral? If my memory serves me correctly, you two weren’t close friends.

The studio head thought it would be good press for me to show up, Daphne confessed. Look at all those photographers standing over there, satisfying their voyeuristic urges.

They all have their lenses and eyes fixed on you, Norma confirmed after a casual glance in their direction. They don’t even care that Margot is dead.

Why would they? As her career faded these last few years, no one, including her fans, noticed her.

That’s not what I heard, Norma whispered. True, no one was coming to the theater to see her pictures, but the line of men waiting to get in her bed was pretty damn long.

I’m not surprised by that. She flirted with most men she came in contact with, earning her a reputation as an easy lay.

Do you believe the police reports, citing her death as an accidental drowning? Maybe someone else was there at her mansion. Maybe that person helped end her life. A crime of passion?"

"Norma Cranston, is that what your rabid Hollywood gossip readers are salivating for, a sensational murder mystery?

Murder sells, Norma admitted. Some readers will be interested in her death. More will be interested if foul play was involved. The darker the better.

Daphne looked toward the rain-soaked, polished black casket and the surrounding people, all dressed in dark colors under black umbrellas. The grey sky and incessant drizzle made the scene even more somber, although no tears were being shed.

I’m surprised this many people showed up. I’m not sure if any of her family came and there aren’t many here who acted with her, Norma noted. I guess she really was forgotten. Norma walked away to a more private spot and lit a cigarette. Daphne joined her but refused a cigarette when offered one.

Norma, I’ve always been curious about you. Every time we’re together I can’t help but notice your flawless skin, perfect hair and makeup, and how you dress in the latest fashions. You have that Hollywood beauty women would kill for. Why did you give up making pictures?

I didn’t give up making pictures, Norma responded, her tone laced with bitterness. Hollywood gave up on me. For years I clawed and scraped for bit parts and got a few breaks in bad pictures. When I turned forty, the studio canceled my contract. They wanted younger actresses, easy to bed, easy to manipulate.

So that’s my fate someday, Daphne commented.

I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re young. You have years ahead of you to smolder on screen.

Margot won’t have that worry.

She was talking about you to other columnists.

Norma, you know I only read what you write.

I didn’t say the other gossip columnists printed what she said.

What did she say about me?

According to my sources, she didn’t like you.

This town is built on professional jealousy. Enjoy the smiling faces but watch for the knife being held behind their back.

"She lobbied hard for someone else to get your role in Avalon."

Who?

Mallory Heyward.

Mallory! Really! She’s been in New York the last few years, appearing on Broadway.

She was spotted in Los Angeles the day before Margot died. The two were seen eating lunch at the Hollywood Polo Club, whispering and laughing, thick as thieves.

Knowing Mallory was back in town heightened the tension Daphne fought to hide. Both had a long-standing professional rivalry that wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

Tell me the truth, Norma insisted. Why are you really here? You could have told the studio no.

It’s like I said, the studio heads demanded I show up. They want as much publicity as possible. My new picture is doing well in theaters. They want to make sure I stay in the public eye.

"I saw Avalon. You’re brilliant in it. Much better than the dumb blonde roles you normally are given. The Hollywood foreign press is gushing reviews for you. Even an Academy Award nomination is a possibility. Unfortunately, your co-star, Byron Sterling, is not receiving such attention."

Byron was distracted during much of the filming. His mistress was on set at all times.

What was her name?

Brandy. When the director yelled, ‘cut’, Byron’s lips were all over her. Every day he’d show up drunk.

And here I thought you were talking about a woman. I’m surprised he got away with being drunk on set.

Now, Norma, you know as well as I do that Hollywood has always been a boys’ club. Even now in 1955, they protect their own. Women are just here for the sex. Those vile fiends in charge always get their way. Every woman becomes their prey, especially the pretty young girls arriving daily, hoping to become a star. What none of them realize is that their first role will be on their backs, fighting off the animal urges of the powerful men on top of them.

That’s a rather bleak observation of the Hollywood elite, Norma commented. Accurate, but bleak. I’m sure, though, there are some good men here.

Yes, there are, Daphne agreed. You know how to tell them from the others?

How?

The good men are the ones trying to leave town and never come back.

* * *

Miss Marlowe! What a pleasant surprise!

Hello, Peggy, Daphne greeted the housekeeper who answered the door. Is Lloyd here?

Mister Garber is relaxing out by the swimming pool. Just walk through those French doors over there and you’ll see him, the housekeeper pointed as she let Daphne enter one of Hollywood’s oldest and most grand mansions. May I bring you anything?

No, Peggy. I can’t stay long. But thank you.

Daphne took her time walking through the foyer to admire the white marble spiral staircase and its ornate iron-work railing. Hung on the opposite wall was a large portrait of legendary Hollywood actor Lloyd Garber and his late wife, actress Lauren Spenser. Both exuded regal Hollywood glamour.

As she passed through the formal sitting room featuring a large fireplace, she noticed numerous black and white photographs autographed by Lloyd’s many co-stars throughout his lengthy career. One of them was of him and her on a recent film shoot in the California desert.

When she stepped out onto the patio surrounding the swimming pool, Lloyd looked up from the book he was reading.

Blondie! he called to her, using his affectionate nickname for her. What are you doing here?

Although the day had turned warm and sunny, he had a blanket draped over his legs. He attempted to push this off and stand up from his lounge chair, but Daphne stopped him. Seeing him resting under a blanket confirmed the rumors that his health was suffering, which was her reason out of concern for visiting him.

Please, don’t get up, she urged him, which halted his effort to. She pulled a chair over next to his and kissed his cheek before sitting down. How have you been?

Tired, Lloyd admitted and grinned. "I’m feeling every bit seventy-three years old.

You don’t look a day over fifty, Daphne complimented him.

You’re a talented liar, my dear. That’s why you’re one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, he pointed out. We’re all liars here in this make-believe world that we’ve created. They shared warm smiles before he turned the conversation to a more serious discussion. Did you attend Margot Fleming’s funeral?

Yes, she answered. The studio suggested that it would make interesting press for me to be there.

Even after her tragic death, they still want to perpetuate the feud between you two, Lloyd uttered in disgust. Can’t they just let that poor girl’s spirit rest? And speaking of deaths, since we’re on this macabre subject, any more news about the death of our last co-star, Scott Farrow?

Not that I’ve heard, Daphne responded. Maybe the studio wants it that way. Every day the Hollywood Press runs stories about him. He only made four pictures, but somehow, I think his legend will live on for decades.

He almost made five, Lloyd revealed. That’s why he and I didn’t get along. In truth, I like him very much. It’s unfortunate that he didn’t understand my reasons for having him replaced in that film.

I never understood what happened between you both, Daphne said.

"Three years ago, when I was filming The Burma Road, that Second World War action picture, Scott was cast to play one of the characters in my regiment. I had read the book and knew that the character was