Stone Angel

By Charles Buday

Paige Stevens, an A-list actress, was on a publicity tour promoting her most recent movie. Although hailed by critics, the controversial story raised the ire of many who held a deep hatred of the movie's content. The morning after a contentious debate with a late-night television host, she received an email that changed her life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885052214

Book preview

Stone Angel

CHARLES BUDAY

Copyright © 2022 Charles Buday

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2022

ISBN 979-8-88505-220-7 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88505-221-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

This one is for you, Janie. I know that without your encouragement, these pages would have never made it to print.

Tell me, Father, I have tried to live a good life, to be a good man but now, as I hold this child in my arms, and before I go on ahead, Father, I need to know. In the end, do we get what we deserve?

CONTENTS

Prologue: In the Beginning

Chapter 1: It’s Great to Have You Back, Paige

Chapter 2: And You Would Be the Sister, I Suppose

Chapter 3: It’s Not Who Oscar Is

Chapter 4: Don’t You Mean Bodyguards?

Chapter 5: It Was the Helmet

Chapter 6: Don’t Ever Do That Again

Chapter 7: This Is So Embarrassing

Chapter 8: You Are Kidding, Right?

Chapter 9: Move to Your Left!

Chapter 10: You People Make Me Sick

Chapter 11: Hey, Freddy, Have You Got a Gun?

Chapter 12: Double, Double Chocolate Chunk

Chapter 13: It’s Kind of Like a Little Peace Offering

Chapter 14: Once Again Folks, Paige Stevens

Chapter 15: Are We Bad People?

Chapter 16: Santa Barbara

Chapter 17: Let Me Think about This

Chapter 18: You Might Not Like the Lasagna

Chapter 19: Merry Christmas

Chapter 20: I Named Him Mr. Rabbit

Chapter 21: You’re the Guest of Honor

Chapter 22: Actually, It Was a Jackknife

Chapter 23: It Was Cassius

Chapter 24: The Movie

Chapter 25: Get Out, You’re Fired

Chapter 26: Konnichiwa

Chapter 27: You’re Going to Apologize

Chapter 28: I Work for Paige

Chapter 29: Come On, Come to Bed

Chapter 30: Drink the Water

Chapter 31: May I Have This Dance?

Chapter 32: Something Isn’t Right

Chapter 33: Would You Like a Cigarette?

Chapter 34: Holly

Chapter 35: It’s a Thing of Beauty

Chapter 36: Studley Do-Right

Chapter 37: Scene No. 43

Chapter 38: Friday

Chapter 39: The Previous Evening

Chapter 40: Why the Tears?

Chapter 41: Craziest Thing I’ve Seen

Chapter 42: Because I Love You!

Chapter 43: I’m in LA

Chapter 44: I’m Beginning to Lose Hope

Chapter 45: I Don’t Know Where to Start

Chapter 46: So… You’re a Magician Too?

Chapter 47: The Princess of Pain

Chapter 48: Without Cal, There Would Be No Nicholas

Chapter 49: How Could You Not Tell Me?

Chapter 50: Don’t Come to This House

Chapter 51: Please, Russell, Don’t

Chapter 52: I Know It Was You

Chapter 53: How Many Arms Do You Have?

Chapter 54: "This Is Your Home"

Chapter 55: Can I Get Something for Your Mother?

Chapter 56: Forty Years of Coffee in the Morning

Chapter 57: Cookies?

Chapter 58: You Have Money?

Chapter 59: We’re Getting the Band Back Together

Chapter 60: Tell Me They’re Not Serious

Chapter 61: Look at Your Shoes!

Chapter 62: What?

Chapter 63: I Must Be Confused

Chapter 64: Was It Lentil or Pea?

Chapter 65: Salute

Chapter 66: Is It Christmas Yet?

Chapter 67: Tell Paige We Got It

Epilogue: And in the End

PROLOGUE

In the Beginning

2003

The black-and-white Los Angeles Police Department cruiser drove slowly uphill on a narrow road in All Angels Cemetery. Officer Maurice Bennett was responding to a call of a man lying on the ground near a grave. He thought how ironic it would be to find a corpse above the ground in a graveyard. Near the top of the hill, he encountered a woman holding the hand of a small boy.

Yes, ma’am, how can I help you this morning? he asked.

The woman pointed across the hood of his car toward a rose-colored monument of an angel nearly one hundred feet from the road.

Over there, Officer. My son wondered off and saw him first. There’s a man lying on the grass. I don’t know if he is sick, drunk, or even alive for that matter.

From where he was standing, Officer Bennett could only see the monument.

Did you attempt to communicate with the man?

Oh goodness, no, she replied. I was afraid to get too close. Then followed by saying, Heavens, maybe I should have. Maybe he needs an ambulance.

The large heavily muscled officer assured her she did the right thing by calling the police. He then took the woman’s name and informed her she could leave.

The officer approached the man who appeared to be in his midtwenties, dressed in jeans, and a white T-shirt. When he was approximately ten feet away, the man on the ground began to sit up.

Sir! Please do not stand up. Do you understand, sir? Do you speak English, sir?

The man on the ground spoke next.

What? What is it you want? he asked. Should I lie on my stomach? Should I sit? Do you want me to stand on my head? Just tell me what the hell you want.

There’s no reason for you to be belligerent, sir. For your safety and mine, do not make any quick moves. You can sit if you wish. Just don’t stand up until I can understand what it is you are doing here.

To the man on the ground, being belligerent seemed to be just what this situation called for.

What I’m doing here? Really? This is a fucking cemetery. Dead people are here. I’m visiting a dead person. His anger rising now, he continued, So now you know. So now you can get out of here and leave me alone. I’m sure there’s a doughnut somewhere in this town that’s calling your name.

The officer thought for a moment. He had been trained in interpersonal communications. His primary goal was to de-escalate the tone of the conversation.

Look, man, I get that you’re pissed. Now I want you to try to see things from my perspective. A woman called and reported you lying here. She thought that you might be either sick or dead. I’m only checking to see if you’re okay.

There was a brief pause as both men sized each other up.

Officer Bennett continued, Do you have any identification, sir?

Grudgingly, the man on the ground handed the policeman a laminated green-and-white card that read United States Army. The inactive box was checked. It identified the man as Calvin Hayes.

When did you muster out, Soldier? the officer asked.

Realizing the officer wasn’t trying to give him a hard time, Calvin Hayes took a deep breath, then answered.

Three days ago. I got into town last night and came here. That’s it. That’s my whole story, man.

Maurice Bennett read the engraving on the monument. The name was Elizabeth Corinne Hayes. With just the name and dates, it told the sad story of a three-year-old girl who had left this earth long before her time.

I take it this is your daughter. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Hayes. Then added, It is a beautiful monument, sir.

Speaking softly, Yeah, I’ll be paying it off for the rest of my life, but it made me feel like someone was watching over her while I was deployed. I ordered it when I was home on bereavement leave.

During the next half hour, the two men, both combat veterans, spoke of war, children, and death. The burly police officer was nearly moved to tears as he learned of the circumstances surrounding the death of the little girl.

Finally, he offered, Look, here’s my card. If I can help you in anyway, just call me. Anytime, for any reason.

Calvin Hayes accepted the card, read it, then put it in his back pocket.

Yeah, thanks was all he could say.

As Officer Bennett began to leave, he stopped and turned back, asking, Where are you staying?

I’m not sure yet.

Look, the cemetery closes at 8:00 pm. Don’t get caught here after that, or you’ll most likely get run in.

He stood there, hoping Cal Hayes would ask for his help, but Cal didn’t respond.

Yeah, well, I’ll figure something out.

Two minutes later, the black-and-white cruiser crested the hill and disappeared from sight.

Calvin Hayes laid back down on the grass and extended his arm over the little girl’s grave.

CHAPTER 1

It’s Great to Have You Back, Paige

2010

"You should try this crab salad. It’s positively delish."

Mitzi leaned forward, poking her fork into the mound of cold, blue claw crabmeat sitting in a nest of romaine lettuce. It was part of a complimentary spread, along with cheeses, fruits, and veggies, laid out on a serving table in the green room of the Los Angeles cable news outlet LAC-TV. Her sister, Paige Stevens, looked up at her and smiled weakly.

Ugh, just the smell of that is making me ill. My stomach has been churning since we got here.

Trying to calm her, Mitzi reminded Paige she had done a hundred of these late-night TV interviews before, and this one wouldn’t be any different.

How can you say that? Paige asked. This isn’t a run-of-the-mill movie promotion tour anymore. It’s turned into an ongoing nightmare. I’m almost at the point of admitting that Russell was right all along.

Mitzi stood up and walked to the side of Paige’s chair. She leaned forward and rubbed the woman’s neck while assuring her that everything was going to work out. Only two years separated the sisters. One, a beautiful actress with a perfect figure and long flowing brown hair. The other an inch shorter, trim, attractive in her own right with a dark-brown pixie-cut hairstyle.

There was a knock on the door, and a voice alerted Paige it was time to move to the set.

Two minutes, Ms. Stevens.

The nervous woman stood up and straightened her dress.

How do I look? she asked her sister.

Mitzi gave her a big smile and a thumbs-up.

Like a fucking movie star.

As they approached the set staging area, a sound technician checked Paige’s microphone one last time. She could hear the late-night host, Les Agnew, alert his home audience of his next guest.

Right after this station break, we will be back with one of Hollywood’s most celebrated actresses—a genuine star of stage, screen, and television—Paige Stevens. Don’t go away.

The set lights dimmed as she took her seat next to the host of the most watched entertainment news interview show on TV. She had appeared on the show several times in the past, always to promote a recently released movie or television show she was starring in. She knew Les Agnew to be a fair and gracious host but also knew he would be taking her to task that night. Paige was reluctant to accept his invitation, but her sister, and publicist, Mitzi, reminded her that you have to take the good with the bad in the entertainment business. Even though Paige was about to sit in the hot seat, it was still great publicity for her latest film that had just opened nationwide

Before the red light on the camera came back on, Les leaned toward Paige, shook her hand, and complimented her dress. He also said, Don’t take any of this personally, okay? You know I respect you and most of your work, but you already know where I stand on this movie, right?

At that moment, Paige, who had been nervous backstage, remembered why she made the movie in the first place.

Hey, Les, no problem. You ask the questions, and I promise you I won’t dodge a single one.

The lights came back up. The red light flashed three times before it remained on, and Paige could see a woman behind the camera crew raise her hand.

We’re back, Los Angeles, and sitting next to me is one of my favorite actresses, Paige Stevens. Then turning to her, he said, It’s great to have you back, Paige.

Glad to be here, Les. Thanks for inviting me.

"So I see you’re keeping pretty busy. I think you’ve made three movies since you were here last, and now you are in—what, the sixth season of the FOX sitcom Sisters. Have I got that right?"

You do. It has been quite a busy year.

You’re a mom too, I believe?

Yes, I am, Les. I’d give my daughter a wave right now, but she goes to sleep pretty early.

And you and your husband started your own production company in the last year. Is that right?

"Yes, we have. The company is called aptly Let’s Make a Movie.

My goodness, how in the world can you find the time or, more importantly the energy, to run a company, be a working actress, and a mom?

With lots of help, Les. I couldn’t do it without my family and dedicated staff.

Paige was getting impatient. She knew what was coming and wanted to get it over with. Finally, it arrived.

So tell me, if you will, Paige—Les Agnew’s voice deepened—how do you look into the sweet face of your child each day knowing that you just made several million dollars by making a movie that glorified murdering babies.

Paige expected the question to be harsh considering Les Agnew was a conservative Christian, but she wasn’t prepared for it to be that personal.

Funny thing, Les, she began, "just a few moments ago, when our microphones were turned off, you said I shouldn’t take anything you said personally. At the time, I didn’t think I would, but I wasn’t expecting you to crawl right into the gutter by bringing my child into this conversation. So being that you want to play it like that, let me answer. I made the movie Sorrow for all the terrified women in this country who are threatened, harassed, shamed, and even murdered by religious zealots like yourself—people like you who hold a bible in one hand and the hand of another man’s wife in the other."

Her interviewer’s mouth dropped open. Clearly stunned by his guest’s response, he could barely contain his rising anger.

Wait a second, Ms. Stevens, be careful. There are millions of people watching this show. That would be millions of potential witnesses that could be called in a defamation proceeding.

For a person who rarely lost her temper, Paige was on fire. She proceeded to mock him.

Oh, Les, don’t take what I say so personally. But, hey, this is your little playpen, and if your rules allow punching beneath the belt, I can name a few names. What do you say, Les? Do you want to continue in this spirit?

Mitzi thought she might pee in her pants. She had given Paige the information regarding the host’s adulterous affairs but never thought she would use it. Realizing that Paige had just committed late-night-talk-show suicide and also, most likely, galvanized the Christian right to come after her, Mitzi still couldn’t be more proud of her sister.

But Paige wasn’t finished. By the way, Les, did you even bother to see the movie?

I wouldn’t watch such filth was his answer.

Then maybe you aren’t aware that this movie was based on a true story. That Christine Mauro was a pro-life Christian who attended church every Sunday. That her husband abandoned her when she gave birth to a child diagnosed with Down syndrome. That she struggled to care for her child by working at night while her arthritic mother babysat for her. Maybe you didn’t know that she became pregnant by an HIV-positive man who raped her, a man from her church. So tell me, Les, after she struggled to decide what to do next and prayed for forgiveness as she sat in the waiting room of the women’s health center in Chino…to get a constitutionally legal abortion…tell me, Les, did she deserve to be murdered by a pro-life Nazi with a machine gun as she left the building? Huh, Les?

Paige didn’t see the red light go out while she was still talking. Les Agnew’s face was contorted with rage.

You are going to be sorry. You fucked with the wrong person. You will never be invited to promote another project on television again. I will see to it.

You know what? Paige asked, I don’t care. Having to talk to parasites like yourself has always left me nauseous. But if you thought that you could even mention my daughter in the same sentence with murdering babies, pal, you’re the one who crossed the line.

A sound tech reached to help Paige remove her microphone and transmitter, but she held up her hand to him as she ripped it off and threw it on the desk. Mitzi walked up to her with an ear-to-ear smile, then turned to the angry host.

Hey, Les, maybe I’ll snap a few pictures of you when you’re leaving divorce court, you scumbag.

As the elevator doors opened in the lobby, three of the building’s uniformed security officers stood waiting. Mitzi recognized one of them.

Jose, what’s it look like out there? Are there a lot of cameras?

The young man laughed as he told her there weren’t any until a few minutes ago.

Now, he said, there’s a small army of vultures waiting out there. I suppose for Ms. Stevens.

Mitzi joked with him, Which Ms. Stevens?

Jose laughed but then asked if they would like him to have their car drive down into the garage to pick them up.

Paige turned to her sister.

Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea.

No, Mitzi said to her, that would be a terrible idea. It would look like you’re running away from what you just told half of Los Angeles. Screw the paparazzi. I’ll handle them. Just walk slowly and don’t look angry. I want you to look hurt and confused. Don’t stop to pose, just keep walking to the car.

As they walked through the front doors, the night was ignited by a barrage of flashes. Men with cameras swirled around them.

Hey, Mitzi yelled out to the circling mob, take your snaps but be smart. Give us three feet or else you better be wearing a cup.

Most of the cameramen knew Mitzi, and they knew she didn’t exaggerate. They backed up and continued taking pictures as they walked to the limousine that Dynamic Entertainment, the company that had bought the rights to distribute Sorrow, had provided. Along the way, there was constant shouting and asking of questions, which most of them already knew the answers.

What got you so angry, Paige?

Hey, Paige, tell us the names of Les Agnew’s girlfriends.

Come on, Paige—please we’re on your side. Give us something.

Paige stopped before she got into the car and whispered something into Mitzi’s ear. Her sister nodded as if she agreed with what she heard as Paige turned back toward the cameramen.

Hey, guys, I appreciate your support. I really do. But any comment that I may choose to make regarding the disgusting question I was asked by this vulgar man on live TV tonight will be released in a statement tomorrow.

She waved to them and ducked her head as she got into the limo.

Mitzi smiled at her.

Girl, you are my hero.

Just then Mitzi’s phone rang. She answered it, and within ten seconds, her smile disappeared as she began to berate the caller.

"Listen to me, stupid. I have no idea how the fuck you got your job with Dynamic, but instead of screaming like a hysterical child, you might want to consider the free publicity jolt Paige just handed you, assholes. A million dollars or a hundred interviews couldn’t produce the buzz that was just created for Sorrow. By this time tomorrow, anyone who didn’t have any interest in this picture will be lining up to buy tickets. So you’re welcome, you moron." She ended the call and tossed the phone into her bag.

Reaching for a bottle of champagne from the ice well, Mitzi turned to Paige. Smiling, she said, We’re taking this home.

*****

In the morning, after a restless night, Paige was exhausted having had less than two hours sleep. At one point, she got out of bed and checked on her daughter, Lilah. The little girl slept peacefully, clutching one of her stuffed animals. Paige walked down the hall to the study, turned on the lights, and woke up her computer. Clicking on to Entertainment.web, the premier website for everything Hollywood, she blinked when she saw her name in the banner headline: Paige Stevens Dukes It Out with Les Agnew on LAC-TV.

The first sentence read, The usually low-key, nonconfrontational actress scored a first round knockout against her tactless opponent.

Suddenly Paige felt her stomach begin to tighten. This was not what she wanted to see.

Now that it was 7:30 am, she could at least take some comfort in knowing it was Saturday. All she would have to do is be selective as to who she talked with on the phone until Mitzi and she came up with a plan for any possible damage control.

Good morning, Tiger, Mitzi teased as Paige walked into the kitchen. The coffee is pretty fresh.

Paige poured herself a cup and sat down. She looked across the kitchen table at her sister with worry in her eyes.

Come on, Mitzi encouraged her, this is going to be a good thing. You have to see that there is no downside to this. Just about everyone in the entertainment industry despises that runt. You will be the new poster child for pro-choice and the darling of the Hollywood liberal elite. She then added, Even those imbeciles at Dynamic will be chanting your name once they see the spike in ticket sales because of last night. Then finished with Have I ever steered you wrong?

Yeah, you have.

What? When was that?

Paige smiled. In high school. You told me that Ted Moss was a lousy kisser.

Mitzi frowned. He was, and how would you know any different?

Because he kissed me at the senior prom, and that boy knew how to kiss.

Mitzi shrugged her shoulders. Well, he didn’t do anything for me, although that’s probably because I didn’t know I was gay yet.

They both laughed. Then Wait a second—Mitzi looked confused—you went to the senior prom with Russell, didn’t you?

Paige gave her a coy smile.

Well, it was kind of an impulsive moment. Russell had gone outside with some friends to smoke a joint, and I bumped into Ted as I came out of the bathroom. It was innocent, or at least, it started that way. He just said he had always liked me and wished me well in college. He leaned forward, and I was expecting a hug and maybe a peck on the cheek, but he pulled me close and really planted one on me. I think I was still blushing when Russell came back in.

Oh great—Mitzi was laughing—my sweet little sister was actually the slut of St. Anthony’s.

CHAPTER 2

And You Would Be the Sister, I Suppose

By 10:00 am, Mitzi and Paige had crafted a statement that would be released in the afternoon. Basically it said that it has never been Paige Stevens’s nature to be disrespectful to anyone no matter what the circumstances, but a repulsively worded question, on a previous night’s talk show, was taken by Paige as a direct attack on her professional reputation and a cowardly slap at her family. It went on to say that she felt she owed no one an apology but would graciously listen to any offered.

Although she would have been within her rights to throw a spotlight on Les Agnew, she chose to not name names. Mitzi told her it gave her sole possession of the moral high ground, and the tabloids would do that for her anyway.

By noon, Paige was beginning to overcome her apprehension regarding the negative blowback. Mitzi had left to deliver the exclusive statement at the offices of the Hollywood Review. She then drove to her girlfriend, Sarah’s, apartment in Silver Lake.

With her daughter, Lilah, watching her favorite television show, Paige sat at her computer again and opened her email folder. Thirty-five messages waited to be opened. She deleted everything that looked like an advertisement and began to open the rest. Most were congratulatory emails for her last night’s showdown. Her agent, Melvin Gerber, teased that he should begin to look for more Terminator-type roles for her. The next email’s title read Bravo. Paige didn’t recognize the return address but thought it must be from an acquaintance. She couldn’t have been more wrong. It read as follows:

Bravo, you piece of shit. We paid little attention to you until last night, but now you have zoomed to the top of our list of godless scum that needs to be eradicated. Get ready to star in the sequel to your most recent film. In it, you and your fucking brat will take a bullet to the face.

See you soon,

Soldiers of God

*****

Mitzi and her girlfriend, Sarah, had stopped for salads at the Wilshire Café in West Hollywood. As Paige Stevens’s publicist, Mitzi always carried two cell phones. One was a personal phone; the other was what she referred to as the Paige Stevens’s hotline for all communications regarding her actress sister. As their plates were being served, Mitzi’s personal phone buzzed. It was Paige.

Hey, what’s up? she asked

Sarah saw Mitzi’s smile disappear.

What the fuck are you talking about? Read it to me.

She looked up at her lover while shaking her head.

Look, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Make sure the doors are locked, then call the police. She added, Hey, don’t forget to close the drapes and stay away from the windows. I’m coming.

I’m sorry, babe, she said to Sarah. We have to go. Crazy shit is happening.

Mitzi tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and ran to her car. Sarah could barely keep up.

Mitzi was two years older than her sister. When they were little girls, they could not have been more dissimilar. Paige was a demure dreamer who sang to her dolls and would sit next to her father for hours while he read her stories of princesses. Mitzi was outgoing and preferred sports. She made friends easily and was an excellent student. In her senior year at St. Anthony’s high school, she was a cocaptain of the basketball team and president of the photography club. But above all, she was Paige’s protector. No one dared mess with her little sister, or they would suffer the wrath of Mitzi. She was strong, athletic, and fearless.

They were separated for two years after Mitzi graduated and left home to attend the Chicago Institute of Photographic Arts. When she completed her studies, Mitzi began to work for an architectural magazine in San Francisco, not far from her home in Pacifica. Before long, she realized her work was uninspiring and considered other options. Paige had been awarded a scholarship at Loyola Marymount in Los Angeles, where she studied theater arts. After a long telephone conversation with her sister, Mitzi decided to leave home and strike out in Los Angeles as a freelance photographer. Within four years, she had established herself as one of the more gifted photographers in town. For five years, Mitzi and Paige shared an apartment in North Hollywood, or NoHo, as it’s referred to by the locals.

Mitzi was a much sought-after photographer for her unique eye. Her North Hollywood studio was half of the third floor of a former warehouse, which was now used by artists and craftspeople. One entire wall had various pieces of furniture stacked against it. These were chairs, love seats, and tables she found in alleys and at Goodwill, most of which she had refinished herself. Some of the most famous celebrities in Hollywood would be shocked if they knew that their family portraits had been taken of them while sitting on chairs that had been retrieved from a garbage dumpster. She was also a credentialed photographer who attended most awards shows, charity benefits, and movie openings.

Mitzi, who seemed to be inexhaustible, was hired by Paige to be her full-time publicist, assistant, and advisor, as her acting career blossomed. Mitzi was also the only photographer to have taken all of Paige’s glamor photos and headshots.

She was tough and never took abuse from anyone. Although both were now adults, nothing had changed regarding Mitzi’s instincts to protect her sister and was sometimes referred to as Paige Stevens’s Mafia of one. It wouldn’t be wise to make a negative comment about Paige Stevens within earshot of Mitzi. The woman was known to transition from charming to violent in an instant. As evidence of that, more than once she had crushed a pair of balls or punched someone in the throat when she thought she was being physically mistreated while standing in a crowded press line, often referred to as the pit, the area set aside for photographers, along the red carpet at Hollywood events.

As for her tastes, Mitzi liked her coffee black, her women tall, and her whiskey Irish. Jameson’s, thank you, not that Protestant shit. Although a lesbian, she was raised in a Catholic family who loved her without reservation. Because of that, she maintained the tradition practiced by her parents.

Mitzi had given up her apartment three years before. Paige had bought a three-million-dollar home in the exclusive Brentwood Estates. The two-level home had six bedrooms, one of which became Mitzi’s. Since she had met Sarah French, Mitzi divided her nights between Brentwood and Sarah’s Silver Lake apartment. Her no-contract agreement with Paige paid her 5 percent of the thriving actress’s gross income. Between her own successful business and working for Paige, Mitzi had become a wealthy woman. Except for a red Mercedes convertible and her passion for beautiful clothes, Mitzi pursued a rather modest lifestyle by Hollywood standards. She wasn’t interested in nightclubs, preferring quiet nights of wine and popcorn, with the people she loved. Until this moment, except for her dislike of Paige’s husband, Russell, she had described her life as perfect.

When Mitzi arrived at home, she noticed a police car parked in the horseshoe-shaped driveway. Upon entering the house, she encountered Paige talking on her cell phone as a police officer sat at the dining room table with a notepad in front of him. He looked up at Mitzi and smiled.

And you would be the sister, I suppose.

Mitzi didn’t have an inherent dislike of police but was usually suspicious of their motives when asking questions.

Is that a question or a statement? she asked, her tone clearly expressing a subdued anger.

Sarah excused herself as she walked to the family room. There, she sat next to Lilah and watched SpongeBob on the television with the little girl.

Paige had been polite to the officer, even offering to pour him a cup of coffee. He realized immediately that Mitzi was clearly the yin to Paige’s yang.

I’m sorry, he apologized, let’s start again. Are you Ms. Stevens’s sister? He paused for a moment to look at his notes, then continued, Ms. Steven’s sister, Mitzi?

Yeah, she answered. What’s going on here? Is my sister in danger?

It’s too soon to tell. The message could just be a prank. My primary concern for the moment is how whoever sent the email got your sister’s email address.

Just then Paige walked over to Mitzi and handed her the phone.

It’s Russell. Talk to him. He says he’s too busy to fly back right now.

Mitzi shrugged her shoulders.

He’s not going to listen to me.

Paige smiled at her. He asked to talk to you, and besides, I can’t keep this officer waiting.

Mitzi held the phone to her ear. Vocalizing her contempt for the man, all she said to him was What?

You took the word right out of my mouth was the man’s angry response. What the fuck is going on down there? Is there a real problem, or is she just overreacting as usual?

The woman cringed.

Gee, I just got here, but I’m not sure how you can overreact to a threat of someone shooting your daughter in the face, let alone your wife.

It was her turn to ask a question. When will you be back?

Hard to say. I have to fly to New York tonight to work out some kinks in the script of that NBC pilot I’ve been working on.

Mitzi was shocked.

Are you kidding me? Your fucking script means more to you than your family? Listen, you and I hate each other, that’s a fact. Here’s another fact. You might be fooling Paige but not me. I know you’re fucking around. No writer in his right mind spends this much time away from his family. This is the computer age, you asshole. You can do most of this work sitting on the toilet with a laptop. Get the hell home until we figure out who’s terrorizing your wife and child.

Of all she had just said, the only word he agreed with was hate. He did, in fact, hate Mitzi.

I’m willing to bet that this is all your fault. That you put her up to that stupid rant on TV last night. Those weren’t her words. They could only have come from a bitch like you, concocting another publicity stunt.

Russell’s phone went silent as Mitzi ended the call.

Paige had walked the officer to the front door. As Mitzi approached, she could hear him say, Right now, I think you should limit your visibility. Personally, I’ve never heard of the Soldiers of God, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a bunch of wackos that call themselves that. He continued, When I go back to the division, I’ll file a report and have the duty sergeant make a blotter entry. That essentially means the threat will go on the record. A detective will call you, and maybe he can determine if there is any real concerns here.

She thanked him as he left, then turned to her sister. You know, I heard you tell Russell you hated him.

For a moment, Mitzi wondered what else she might have heard.

I thought you knew, she said with a weak smile on her face. Come on, sis, I know you want to keep believing that things will get better with you and him, but to me, he just seems to care less about you and Lilah as each day goes by.

Trying to defend her husband to the person she trusted the most, Paige said, You know, I appreciate your honesty, don’t you? It’s that I just can’t bring myself to even think about giving up. You just don’t throw ten years of your life away.

Mitzi shook her head.

It’s him that’s throwing it away, Paige. She then went to the window and pulled back the curtains. In a dramatic tone, she asked her sister, Look out there. Tell me, do you see him coming? Is he rushing here to protect his family?

Paige closed the curtains and put her arm around her sister’s waist.

Let’s not get crazy, okay? It’s probably just a stupid prank. She nudged Mitzi toward the kitchen. Did you and Sarah eat? Without waiting for an answer, she said, Come, we’ll make sandwiches, and everything will be better.

CHAPTER 3

It’s Not Who Oscar Is

Mel Stiller’s ears perked up as he poured creamer into his Styrofoam cup. Directly behind him was the checkout counter at a Gas and Go in West Hollywood. He couldn’t help but hear the conversation between two large Hispanic customers paying for their twelve pack of Colt 45 and two packs of cigarettes.

"That’s right, ese, I’m saying that fucked-up actress, Langdon, is hanging with my cousin and his homies right across the street from me, yo."

The man was obviously referring to a young starlet named Lorraine Langdon, an attractive teenage actress who catapulted to fame and fortune after starring in three movies shortly after her arrival in Hollywood from a small middle American town. Unfortunately, her success was short-lived after a succession of arrests and drug overdoses. Now she was nothing more than prey for the paparazzi. They followed her everywhere hoping to document her next calamity.

Mel couldn’t believe his good fortune. Snapping photos of celebrities is what he did for a living, and a picture of Lorraine Langdon coming out of a Mexican gang banger’s house would be worth a small fortune. At first, Mel thought he might try to follow them but checked out of that plan when he realized there was no guarantee they would be going back to the neighborhood the taller man referred to.

Screw it, he thought, I’ll just ask. What harm could that do?

He followed them out of the store and approached the two as they were climbing into an old white utility van.

Excuse me, he asked, holding out his hand to the driver. My name is Mel, and I wasn’t intentionally listening to your conversation, but I think I heard you say something about Lorraine Langdon. I’m a photographer, and a picture of her could be worth something, if you know what I mean.

The man looked at his hand and smiled; his mouth filled with gold teeth.

"Sorry, ese, I don’t do handshakes. It’s unsanitary, he said. So what I’m thinking, you’re one of those stalker guys with a camera, right? Like, get the picture and fuck anyone that don’t like it, right, homes? And what you figure is, if you get a snap of a movie star hanging with a couple of brown dudes, in some low-rent hood, you could get rich overnight. Stop me if I’m wrong, white boy."

Mel was slightly taken aback, but he was known as pushy, even fearless, and wasn’t going to miss this apparent opportunity.

Look, I’m not asking you to tell me for nothing. There’s something in it for you and your friend, if you tell me where this house is. I’ll just park in the street and wait until she comes out. I promise, you have my word.

Little did the strangers know that Mel’s word was as valuable as used toilet paper. In fact, among the other paparazzi in Los Angeles, he was known as the snake.

So, white boy, show me the money.

Mel reached into his wallet, pulled out $20 bill and held it out to them.

Oh, man, a whole $20. You see that, homes? he said, as he turned to his partner. "Oh, I don’t know if I could take all of that, ese. I might lose my mind and buy two happy meals and a shake or something."

More than the sarcasm, Mel began to sense danger with the edge in the large man’s voice.

How about this? he asked as he produced another $20 bill.

The man climbed into the van and closed his door.

Forget it, homes. Maybe I’ll take the pictures myself.

Desperate now, Mel gave the man the contents of his wallet, $138. He then opened the wallet for them to see it was empty and begged them to let him follow.

Grudgingly, they took his money and began to pull away. Mel had to sprint to his Jeep Cherokee and race to catch up with them. The van turned south and began to weave toward the mean streets of South Central Los Angeles. After making a right turn, the van stopped. Mel wondered what the holdup was, realizing this was a street lined with old, abandoned buildings. Suddenly his Jeep’s interior was illuminated by the headlights of another van that drove up behind him. His blood ran cold. The now-frightened man realized he had been set up, and he was right but not in the sense that he thought.

The occupants of the white van in front emerged. The passenger opened the sliding