In Cold Blonde (33 page)

“We have to talk.”

After a raucous forty-five minutes of answering questions about finding
the lottery ticket and the Lady in Red investigation, Ryan climbed off the
stage and made a beeline for Syd.  As the reporters now lobbed their
questions at the dazed tow truck driver, Ryan grabbed Syd by the arm and
steered her to a quiet corner of the hotel lobby.

“About last night,” Ryan said.

“You fucked that greedy bitch.”

Syd said it matter of fact.  No accusation in her tone, no indignation,
no anger even.  That surprised Ryan, he’d expected a scene of some
sort.  But, of course, Syd knew him better than he knew himself.  She
probably figured it out last night.  Probably the instant she saw him.

“Yes, I fucked that greedy bitch.  We can talk later about why. 
I’m not sure what it says about me, or about us, but I want you to know that
it’s over, finally, completely, irrevocably.” 

“I fucked over seven hundred men.”

“What?”

“And I killed two of them.”

Syd had decided if Ryan was going to level, so would she.  In fact,
she decided she’d never lie to Ryan again.  “My stepfather abused me from
the time I was fourteen years old.  When I was seventeen, I killed
him.  I ran away from home and came to Hollywood, fell in love with a pimp
who got me hooked on heroin and put me out on the street.  Two years later
I overdosed, was saved by a paramedic named Eric who helped me kick and get off
the street.  Eric was killed by my pimp, and I killed the pimp in self
defense.  Eric’s sister took me under her wing, helped me get through
school and into the police academy.  But when I was a hooker, I kept count
for a while, how many men I’d slept with; I gave up at six hundred and
seventy-one but didn’t get off the street until four months later.  So
seven hundred, give or take.  And you fucked that greedy bitch, so the way
I figure it, we’re even.”

Ryan laughed.  “I always sensed there was more to Syd Curtis, but I
had no idea…”  Then he took Syd in his arms and hugged her.

Anne watched them from the ballroom doorway.  The freckled face
redhead looked ecstatic.  Well, at least Anne knew she could destroy Syd’s
career whenever she wanted. 

Then Anne realized Syd wasn’t her enemy.  Syd had done nothing
wrong.  Syd hadn’t stolen Ryan; Anne had lost him by lying.  Anne
knew that if she’d been honest with Ryan from the beginning, things might well
have turned out differently.  If she’d been honest with Ryan, it could
very well be her in Ryan’s arms now.

So, Syd Curtis, Anne decided, you are getting a pass, for now.

“Excuse me,” Lieutenant Hanrahan said, brushing past Anne as he charged into
the hallway.  He spotted Ryan and Syd as they broke their embrace. 
“Cut that shit out,” he said joining them.  “Or I’ll have to break up my
best team.”

“You mean, you know?” Ryan asked.

“Please. 
Everyone
knows.  The way you two look at each
other is downright combustible.  So, play it cool in public and the LAPD’s
most famous homicide detectives can remain partners. 

“Now, I just got a call from our pal, Alex Cortez, in Newport
Beach.  Nick Wood is dead.  He put a bullet through his brain.”

Ryan was shocked.  “Grief?” wondered Ryan.

Hanrahan shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

I do, thought Syd.  And soon so would the whole world. 

Not grief but justice.

Nick Wood was dead.  Rest in peace, Alice.  Rest in peace.

Alice Waterman’s funeral was a media free-for-all.  Video crews from
around the world descended on Good Shepherd Cemetery in Huntington Beach.  In
a show of respect to the deceased, the FAA banned all air traffic over the
cemetery to prevent the inevitable onslaught of helicopters from disrupting the
ceremony.

The funeral was held a week after Alice’s death; but more importantly, just
one day later, the LAPD released two videos: Alice’s gang rape and Alice’s courageous
escape from Blake’s handcuffs, their ensuing battle and Alice eventually killing
him.  But it was a third video that got the most attention, the Lady in
Red’s manifesto.

Syd found the cell phone video Friday morning when they finished
cataloging the crime scene evidence and Syd thought to check Alice’s cell phone
files.  Syd was worried the D.A. would try to suppress the video so she
sent it to a friend and it debuted on YouTube that night. 

In a slightly distorted close-up the Lady in Red looks
directly into the lens. 

“My name is Alice Waterman.  I was a rape
victim.  If I had been smarter, it never would have happened.  If I
had been braver I would have gone to the police.  But I was weak and did
nothing.  The men who attacked me flourished while I suffered every day
for years. 

“Well, I got smart, got brave and did something.  I
killed the men who raped me and mutilated their precious cocks. 

“Men everywhere are going to hear what I’ve done. 

“Men everywhere will know it can happen to them. 

“If I could do it, you can do it.

“Be brave, be smart, fight back.”

  Simply put, those three videos transformed the Lady in Red from
serial killer to folk hero.  While the talking heads on FOX News, CNN and
MSNBC debated Alice’s cold-blooded vengeance, every woman who watched Alice
shoot Blake between the eyes was filled with grim satisfaction.  Alice’s
wish for inspiration and empowerment was realized.

And the lives of many people on the case were changed forever.  The
Watermans were deluged with offers for books and movies but were proceeding cautiously;
they were determined to honor Alice’s memory. 

Liz was interviewed by Bill O’Reilly and her blunt, irreverent
personality made her an instant hit.  She became a sought after TV commentator
whenever a new murder case captured the nation’s imagination.

Lieutenant Hanrahan was bumped to Captain and offered a desk
downtown.  But Hanrahan liked Hollywood Homicide so he said thanks, but no
thanks.  However, his dental checkup was a disaster.  The sugar from sucking
so many Tootsie Roll Pops had ravaged his teeth.  He had to have six
cavities filled, gave up the candy and went back to sucking Marlboros.  

Tony Ramirez was working harder than ever.  Besides his job at SID,
he spent every evening working on the launch of the first Mirabelle’s Meatballs
restaurant – because the first thing Ryan did when he got his three point
four million dollars from the California Lottery was to write Tony a check for
two hundred thousand dollars to get his franchise dream started.

Ryan and Syd refused all requests for interviews.  Ryan didn’t want
to discuss having to kill the now beloved Lady in Red.  And Syd’s quest
for fame now seemed childish.  A homicide cop’s business is other people’s
tragedies, and to seek celebrity at their expense was just plain sleazy. 
Besides, with fame comes examination and Syd wasn’t particularly interested in
people digging into her past.  Some things are best left secret.   

Thousands of people filled the cemetery as Father O’Malley read his eulogy
over Alice’s open grave.  Syd stood off to the side with Ryan.  Her eyes
traversed the faces; the friends, the family and the strangers who were so touched
by Alice’s story they felt they had to be there to pay their respects. 
Syd finally settled on Betty Waterman.  The woman whose heart ached the
most. 

Tears ran down Betty’s face.  The depth of Betty’s grief touched
Syd.  And Syd couldn’t help compare Betty to her own mom.  Did she
cry when she realized Syd had run away?  Did she ever cry now?  Was she
even alive?

Suddenly Syd felt an overpowering desire to know. 

As Alice’s body was lowered into the earth, Syd whispered to Ryan that
she’d be right back and she walked to a private spot on a tree-lined hill
facing the Pacific.

Syd took out her cell phone, closed her eyes trying to remember her old
phone number and dialed.    

It rang.

Eleven years is a long time; odds were if her mother was still alive,
she’d probably have moved.

It rang again.

And what would she say to her?  Hi, mom, it’s me.  How you
doing?

It rang again.

And if she gets a machine, should she leave a message or call back?

It rang again.

Okay, Syd thought.  Nobody’s home and no machine.  Sorry, Mom,
you missed your chance.  She reached to hit End when the phone was
answered.

“Hello.”  

Her mother’s voice; even after all these years Syd recognized it
instantly.

“Hello?” Amanda Stevens repeated.

Her mother’s voice triggered a fearful little girl inside Syd, ashamed
and terrified.

“Hello?  Is anyone there?”

Syd’s heart pounded, tears flowed.  But somehow she fought back the
temptation to hang up.  “Mom,” she said finally.  “It’s me. 
Syd.”

There was stunned silence then, “Oh, my God, Syd.  Where are you,
baby?  How are you?”

And Syd told her.

THE END

BUT
WAIT!

Before
you go, we’ve included an excerpt from another novel by James L. Conway –
a wild and wicked thriller full of humor, unforgettable characters and nonstop
action
– Sexy Babe…

The
worst day of my life began with an orgasm.

His,
not mine.  So what else is new?  

His name
was Jason Settles, an actor who had that bad-boy thing going on.  Jason
had long sun-bleached hair, brown bedroom eyes, a perpetual three-day beard and
these incredibly perfect white teeth, well, caps really, but this was Hollywood
and everyone had caps, or wanted them.   

Jason
was usually typecast as Sexy and Dangerous, and his girlfriend, Grace Taylor,
that’s me, was usually cast as the cute, perky, blonde, blue-eyed Girl Next
Door.  Which, I guess I looked but rarely felt
like.    

 Jason
lived on Wonderland Drive just off Laurel Canyon in this little blue bungalow
with a hot tub in back.  It seemed like every house in Laurel Canyon had a
hot tub, some kind of weird remnant of the 70s, I think.  It was in that
hot tub that Jason and I had first made love.  And the answer is no, I
didn’t get off that night either.  To be perfectly frank, I generally need
a little mechanical help, if you know what I mean.  It kind of freaks guys
out, though, when you ask them to use a vibrator on you.  Makes them feel
inadequate or something.  So I usually just fake it and take care of
myself later. 

Okay,
that’s probably too much information.  Anyway, after Jason’s wham bam
thank you Grace, he climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom.  “You
want the shower first?” he asked.

“No,” I
said.  “I need to get home and change.  I’ve got an audition at
ten.”  Then I bolted up in bed.  Shit!  My agent was supposed to
fax the scene to me here at Jason’s house.  I leapt out of bed and raced
to Jason’s fax machine.  Thank God, the scene was there.  

It was
three pages.  Not bad, I thought, walking back to the bathroom. 
Usually, the more pages the better the scene.  Then I read the character
name: Sexy Babe.

“Oh,
no,” I muttered as I joined Jason.

“What
is it?” he asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“My
character.  It's Sexy Babe.”

“The
role’s not even big enough for a character name?”

I
scanned the material, just two lines in a three-page scene.  This was
bad.  I was supposed to be reading for guest star roles, leads in pilots,
break-out parts in edgy independent movies, not two lines as a nameless bimbo
on
NCIS
.  “I may not have worked in a while,” I said, insecurity
filling every pore of my being.  “But I'm not doing another bit
part.” 

 “Hey,”
Jason said, “look at the bright side; at least it’s not Sexy Babe #2.”

The
bright side, of course.  I’m good at looking at the bright side.  In
fact, I’ve got a deep well of eternal optimism.  I just have to remind
myself to tap it. 

“No,
Jason,” I said.  “The bright side is realizing that this must be some kind
of mistake.  Someone must’ve sent me the wrong sides.  I’ll just call
Lucas when the agency opens and straighten it all out.” 

I
stepped on Jason’s medical scale, reached to adjust the weights, and then
stopped.  “Who weighs 94 pounds?”

“Who,
what?”

“Weighs
94 pounds.  The scale is set at 94 pounds, it’s usually set at either
185ish, your weight, or 105ish, my weight.  Hey, I know,” I said, trying
to be funny.  “You’re probably banging the model next door.  She
looks like she weighs 94 pounds.”

“Really,”
Jason said, as he stepped back into the bedroom and started getting
dressed.  “I hadn’t noticed.”

Okay,
about a hundred things wrong with that answer.  First, no man could
not
notice how skinny Melody was.  She was five-foot-ten, all legs, tits and ass. 
Second, she traipsed around the backyard in a band-aid sized bikini doing weird
Tai Chi exercises every morning.  Third, Jason may be gorgeous, but he’s
not a very good actor, so he could’ve definitely used a take two on the “Really,
I hadn’t noticed,” delivery.  And now that I thought about it, he looked guilty
as hell.

Then it
hit me.  “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

“Don’t
be ridiculous.”

Whoa,
that reading was even worse than “Really, I hadn’t noticed.”  Now I was sure. 
“Jason, stop lying to me.  Why don’t you just man up and admit you’re
sleeping with her.”

This
was where he was supposed to sweep me up in his arms, tell me how stupid I was
being, how much he loved me, and then shut me up with a passionate kiss. 
Instead, he looked at me and said, “All right, I’m sleeping with Melody.”

His
words seemed to hang in the air in front of me.  I’d asked for the
admission, hoping he wasn’t sleeping with her.  But actually hearing him
say the words hurt more than I could have imagined.   I didn’t know
what to say, what to do next.

“In
fact,” Jason said, filling the awkward silence.  “I think I may be in love
with her.”

Any
confusion I felt was suddenly washed away.  “Wait,” I said.  “You
think you’re in love with another woman yet you screwed me ten minutes ago?”

“I was
trying to find the right time to tell you.”

“Yeah,
tough decision.  Do I dump Grace before I fuck her or wait until I’m
done.”

“See, I
knew you would turn this around on me.”

“What?”

“That
you’d find a way to blame me.”

“I do
blame you.  Hello!  You’re fucking another woman!”

“Because…”
He trailed off like the rest of his sentence was obvious.

I tried
to think of what would come next and drew a blank.  “Because, what?”

“Think
about it,” he said, staring hard at me.  “It’s all your fault.”

“My
fault?”

“I’m
not the one with intimacy issues.”

“So
you’re saying that if I didn’t have intimacy issues, you wouldn’t have cheated
on me?”

“There
you’ve said it.  And I forgive you.”

“You
forgive
me
?”

“What
we had was great, Grace.  Awesome, even.  But it’s time we moved
on.”  He grabbed his keys off the counter.  “I’m going to the gym. 
It might be best for everyone if you were gone when I get back.”  He
walked out the door.

Okay, Jason
was a jerk.  I knew that.  But for the last six months he was
my
gorgeous jerk. 

And I
always knew Jason was just an in-between guy – the guy after my last less-than-perfect
boyfriend and before the long-dreamed-about Mr. Right.  But still… 
Ouch.

Oh, and
the worst thing – I weighed 109.

I burst
out Jason’s front door fifteen minutes later.  My arms were filled with the
detritus of our six months together.  A box filled with make-up, tampons,
toothbrush – you know, that stuff.  I balanced a pile of clothes on
top of the box and tried to talk into the cell phone wedged into my
shoulder.  “Sexy Babe?  Come on Lucas, it’s got to be some kind of
mistake.”

Lucas
Abrams was my agent.  We hooked up when I first got to town –- yes
we slept together and no, I didn’t.  Actually it was more a fling than a
thing; he came to a showcase where I performed a scene from
Carnal
Knowledge. 
He’d just been promoted to an agent at Pinnacle Artists
after making the “mail room to assistant” odyssey.  He liked my work, and
signed me.  We went out that night to celebrate, had too many Cosmos, and
ended up back at his place.  We both admitted it was a mistake in the
morning, agreed our working together was more important than our sleeping
together, and we’ve been platonic ever since.

“Actually,”
he said. “The fax was a mistake.”

“I knew
it.” I reached my seven-year old red Miata convertible, dumped my crap in the
back seat, and took proper hold of the phone.  “I mean, you promised me no
more bit parts.  So when I saw --”

“Not
that kind of mistake,” Lucas interrupted.  “More like the ‘you’re not a
client anymore so we’re not sending you out on auditions’ kind of mistake.”

“What?”

“Times
are tough, Grace.  Too many actresses, too few parts.  So the
partners have decided to trim the client list.”

“If
this is a joke, it is so not funny.”

“No
joke.  Look, I fought for you, I did.  But the partners just looked
at the bottom line.  Each year you’ve booked less and less work.”

“But
we’ve been so close!  I almost landed that Cameron Crowe comedy six months
ago.  And you said I was the second choice for the CBS pilot.”

“I was
being nice, Grace.  You were a bust in both auditions.”

“What?”

“You’ve
got tons of talent, don’t get me wrong.  But you’re just not the same
actress I met five years ago.  It’s like the passion’s been sucked out of
you.”

“Do you
have any idea how hard it is to learn two or three parts a day, drive all over
town auditioning –- seeing the same actresses trying out for the same
roles –- and almost never getting hired?”

“I
do.  But you used to be excited to have all those auditions.  Now you
dread them.  Does that tell you anything?”

“It’s
hard not to get discouraged, Lucas.  But I’ll do better, I promise. 
Give me another chance; I’ll be the new improved Grace Taylor, you’ll see.”

“I’m
sorry, it’s out of my hands.  Stop by anytime to pick up your head-shots
and demo reel.”

“Lucas,
no, please…”

“Prove
us wrong, kiddo.  Go out there and become a star.”  He hung up.

I
promised myself I wouldn’t cry on the drive home.  I made it twenty
feet.  Tears of anger, frustration and humiliation poured down my
face.  I was crying so hard traffic was a blur so I turned on the
windshield wipers.  They scraped uselessly against the bone-dry glass and
when I realized how stupid I was, I started laughing. 

Then my
old optimism came roaring back.  Hey, it’ll all work out, I told
myself.  I had tons of actress friends who would be happy to introduce me
to their agent.  And guys hit on me all the time.  So fuck Jason
Settles.  Grace Taylor was available again and Hollywood was full of hot
guys. 

It was
about a fifteen-minute drive from Jason’s house to my apartment in
Westwood.  Or should I say, apartment about to go condo. 

Would
you pay $560,000 for a 400 square-foot, one bedroom apartment in a
thirty-year-old building?  Me neither.  Never mind the fact I had no
money and lousy credit.   The apartment was shabby, the walls were
paper-thin, the refrigerator rattled, the toilet ran, and the shower stall
smelled like rotten cheese. 

My
lease was up and, since I wouldn’t buy the shithole, they were kicking me
out.  I had twelve days to vacate the premises.  To be honest, I
hadn’t even started looking.  I was kind of hoping Jason would ask me to
move in with him. 

Idiot!!

I heard
the phone ring inside the apartment.  I was holding the box in one arm and
the armload of clothes in the other, but I managed to dig my keys out of my
purse and let myself in.  I dumped my stuff on the chair and dove for the
phone like a lifeline.  “Be someone I know and love.”

“Will I
do?”  I recognized the voice instantly.  Madison Stone, one of my
best friends.  We met at an audition for the TV show,
House
, both
reading for a newlywed who’s got a brain tumor and only Dr. House’s quirky
brilliance can save her.  If I was the Girl Next Door, Madison was usually
cast as the Drop Dead Gorgeous.  Madison had incredible red hair, a killer
body and this oozing kind of sexuality that usually left guys tripping all over
themselves.  And, if she’d been a better actress, she could have been a
star.  But to be honest, and she was the first to admit it, Madison was a
little stiff.  She always seemed to be “acting,” was never able to
disappear into the role.  But she worked it.  She was in two
different acting classes, and a cold reading workshop.  Madison did book a
lot of print work and enough commercials to keep her in a nice apartment, let
her shop at Barney’s, and treat us to hundred-dollar lunches at the Ivy.

“Oh,
thank God, Madison.  You won’t believe the day I’m having.  Jason
dumped me and my agent fired me.”

“Oh,
sweetie, I’m so sorry.  I never liked Jason, though.  None of us
did.  But your agent is a different…” Madison tailed off.  A beat
later her voice was louder, angry.  “What the hell are you doing
here?”  She was talking to someone else in her apartment.

“Madison,
who’s there?  Are you all right?”

“Get
away from me.”  She sounded scared now.  Near panic.

“Madison!”

She
screamed.  Then I heard what sounded like a punch, followed by another
scream, shattering glass, the thud of the phone hitting the floor, and then the
line went dead.

Oh
shit.  I quickly called her back, but it just rang.   And
rang.  Not good.

Madison
only lived a couple of blocks away, so I thought about running over there and
rescuing her, then got real.  I’m an actress, not the Bionic Woman.  I
called 911.  It was busy.  Ten-fifteen on a Thursday morning and 911
is busy!  I called again.  Busy.  Goddamn L.A.  I grabbed
my purse and bolted out the door.