She Died Famous

by Kyle Rutkin

  At home, I turned the hot water on in the kitchen and let the warm water run over my hands. The water felt good. I scrubbed each dish, slowly, carefully, until the sink was empty. I dumped every last bit of alcohol out. I cleaned the entire apartment. I opened the windows; fresh air rolled in, along with the sun. By late afternoon, the place was spotless. I took my laptop to the kitchen table and poured myself coffee.

  I found a routine. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. and drove north. I stopped at a coffee shop near LAX. A croissant and a medium black drip. I took the same spot near the window. I powered up my computer. My hands moved slowly at first, but eventually, the words came. My fingers glided across the keyboard.

  After a few hours, I took a breather. I looked out the window and stared at an old billboard for Kelly’s album. Her beautiful face, blonde hair and sharp blue eyes on a black background. Light and shadows. Blurred but clear. Just like the Kelly I knew.

  One week became two. Two weeks became three. Twenty-one days sober.

  It wasn’t easy. But I had a purpose. A job to do.

  I stopped by a rundown gun shop in downtown Los Angeles.

  I drove and wrote at the coffee shop every day.

  I checked Kelly’s social media accounts every hour. She was talking to her fans again. She spoke of grit, strength and purpose. She was talking about me. Then I drove home, back to my apartment. She always posted goodnight on her feed. She was talking to me.

  I woke up each day a determined man. I turned in new pages to my publisher. The screenwriter I met at Kelly’s mansion sent me a script for the movie adaptation of Pay Me, Alice. It was good. It was darker than the book. I liked it. He kept the final scene intact.

  During this time, Kelly sent me presents. Little treats. Manila envelopes filled with pictures. Each night, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, twirling her necklace in my hands. Staring at our memories together. I listened to her music.

  I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

  The Real Kelly Trozzo

  TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019

  INSIDEJUICE: How did you feel after the VMA performance?

  TROZZO: After that, I took some time to consider my options. The backlash was incredible. I was the biggest trending topic in the world. Everyone was so shocked to see their goody-two-shoes princess kiss three girls and go down on a guy in a Styrofoam bathroom stall. The online hysteria, the headlines, the attention—my army was growing, and my troops were preparing for battle. I just needed the right solider to make it complete.

  During that time, I reread my favorite book, Pay Me, Alice. I couldn’t stop staring at the author’s photo on the jacket. And I couldn’t help but wonder if he loved the real Alice enough to make that ultimate sacrifice. Maybe I would never know what it’s like to be loved like that. Was I not good enough? Was I not beautiful enough? I’ll admit, I wondered what it would be like to have someone like that. Someone with soft green eyes and a broken past. Someone who knew what it was like to make a real sacrifice.

  The Real Alice

  New Mexico, 2015

  Sixty-eight days sober. The gun shop was another cliché. The walls were lined with dusty deer heads. An American flag. A series of torn NRA posters. The employee wore a camo hat and a week’s worth of scruff. He had a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek and a bad attitude.

  “You looking for something specific?” He eyed me suspiciously.

  I browsed the filthy glass counters.

  “That one.” Bob pointed to a handgun.

  “Can I see that one?”

  The man unlocked the case. He handed me the gun.

  “You ever shot a gun before?” he asked as he spat brown juice into a Styrofoam cup.

  I ignored him, turning the metal over in my hands. I focused on the growing pit in my stomach. My hands began to tremble. I dropped the gun back onto the counter. The man chuckled. Rolled his eyes and sneered.

  Bob’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Try again.”

  I reached for the gun. As soon as I touched it, an image appeared. Sara’s husband was looking down the barrel with fear in his eyes. He backed away. Power surged through my heart, my arms, my hands. No more trembling. I was strong. Confident. Poised. Sara was next to me, smiling.

  “Do it, Kaleb. Do it. Save me.”

  Bob’s hand fell off my back.

  “Hey, man.” The employee backed away from the counter. The smug look on his face was gone. He avoided my gaze. He’d underestimated me. I had his attention. I liked that. I held the power.

  I set the gun back on the counter, handed the man an envelope of cash.

  “$500 for the gun and bullets, $500 for you.”

  He flipped through the cash. “You’re not going to kill anyone, are you?” he asked, nervously.

  I felt Bob behind me, awaiting my answer.

  “Of course not.” I grinned. “It’s just for protection.”

  The Real Kelly Trozzo

  TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019

  INSIDEJUICE: Is that why you hired author Kaleb Reed to document your comeback?

  TROZZO: In a sense.

  INSIDEJUICE: What was it about his book that engrossed you so much?

  TROZZO: Have you ever read a story that lingers far after the final page? I’m not entirely sure why I’m so obsessed with Pay Me, Alice. Maybe because the protagonist is so damaged, so relatable, but what he does at the end, it just makes sense. That’s what real love is. And then it dawned on me…I’ve been thinking about fairy tales all wrong. Happily ever after isn’t about convincing a knight to rescue you from a tower. That’s too easy. No. It’s about real sacrifice. It’s what my mom and no man could ever do for me. Without sacrifice, their love and affection were just empty words.

  Lizzy: I’m sorry, but look at it from my perspective. Did you read her posts? Or the stuff from the KTroop fan club? Kelly turned her fans against me. She was the reason my show got canceled. She was the reason Barry turned his back on me. She said she was looking out for me, but she wasn’t. She was punishing her best friend.

  Jez: Kelly taught her followers that short-term pain equates to long-term glory. Not everyone has that type of vision. Some people are just concerned with ratings, record sales, and double taps—scared little sheep. The KTroops needed to teach Lizzy a lesson. Sadly, she was a very slow learner.

  The Blog of Kaleb Reed

  (Continued)

  Twenty-four days sober. I wrote five pages in the morning. I left the coffee shop by 10:00, drove through Los Angeles, then back on the freeway. Home by 1:00. I watched television until the sun went down. Ordered takeout. The food had just arrived when I heard the notification and a new text message appeared on the screen. Music to my ears.

  The thrill of my mission.

  I stared at the phone resting on the table.

  A nervous ache trailed by eagerness.

  It was time. My leader had called.

  Her message: Go read the obituaries.

  Our second morning in New York. We were lying in the hotel bed, sheets wrapped around us. She stared at me suspiciously.

  “Okay. There’s just one more problem I had with your book.”

  “Kelly,” I moaned.

  “I didn’t like the reasoning behind Alice’s infatuation with the obituaries. There has to be more to it.”

  “There’s not,” I said, yawning. “It’s early. Go back to bed.”

  She rolled her eyes and sat up.

  “Okay, okay.” I wanted to please her. “It’s about attachment to the physical world, and the obituaries put everything into perspective. How fleeting the human experience is. Death is coming for us all. Now will you stay in bed?”

  “You’re really going to give me that shitty book club answer?” She got out of bed. “Is that all you think of me?”

  “Fine, fine.” I conceded. “There was one scene that got scrapped.” I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  I had her attention. She wasn’t leaving. “Anyway, in the sc
ene, Alice was reading the paper and she closed her eyes and envisioned how she would die. From his hand, repeated blows to her face. She saw her name in black ink, what the few lines would say. That’s when she knew. Like really knew. There was only one ending with her husband. Always. One day her husband was going to kill her.”

  Kelly looked dissatisfied. I grabbed her hand.

  “More than that, she read the obituaries to prepare. So when AJ put his message in the paper, he was giving her a lifeline. You can choose me. You can escape this fate. You have a choice, Alice. Choose me. Choose life. Choose love.”

  I drove to the nearby gas station, dropped in the quarters, opened up the newspaper case. Grabbed a paper, flipped through the pages. Advertisements fluttered out onto the cement. I scanned the obituaries, looking for the full-page ad. There was nothing.

  What was I looking for?

  And then I saw it.

  A black and white picture, front and center. Her favorite painting. Perseus holding a shield, the head of Medusa carved into the metal. Angels were placing a crown upon his head. Andromeda was naked, tied to the rock. At the bottom of the painting was the mouth and claws of a monster, rising, ready to devour the chained beauty. There was an address inside the monster’s mouth. I ripped the clipping from the newspaper and got into the car. A rush of adrenaline coursing through my body. I was prepared for the ending she created. I was ready to see her. I opened the glove box to make sure.

  The gun was still there.

  The Real Kelly Trozzo

  TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019

  INSIDEJUICE: What did you want Kaleb to capture through this process?

  TROZZO: I wanted to produce something they will never forget. Something that will be passed down through generations. Not just some performance that steals headlines for a week. Not some boring biography or tell-all bullshit. I want to go down in infamy, preserved like the great myths of old.

  Lizzy: I was so angry when I got to New York. Kelly should have apologized. My show was canceled, my career was in shambles. But no…Why should she care about her best friend? She was so wrapped up in her little book project. You know what she told me? That it was for the best. That by the end of all this, I would be immortalized. That we would finally be free. Are you kidding me? Pardon my language, but she had lost her fucking mind! Then she confessed the whole crazy idea. Recreate her favorite story? Conspiring to kill? I laughed at her. How could she think that would cheer me up? That was the reason we got into a fight. I was mad at her. But she was obsessed. That book poisoned my best friend’s mind!

  The Real Alice

  New Mexico, 2015

  Seventy-three days sober. It was hard for me to look at Sara, sitting across from me at the diner. She was stunning, with her faded crewneck sweatshirt and messy bun. She ordered a coffee, one creamer, and sourdough toast with a side of avocado. She was reading the paper, the obituaries. I read current events. It was our routine, and I clung to it like it was the last drug I would ever take.

  “What do we have today?” I asked.

  “Alice Beth Daniels, a beloved mother of six, grandmother of twelve. Apparently, she handled all the family responsibilities when her husband, Allen Jeffrey Daniels, nicknamed AJ, was in the military. She died in surgery.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Wait—” Sara’s face was animated. “Listen to this. The kids used to recall their father making silly bets with their mom, and if he won, he would grab her by the shoulders, kiss her cheek and yell, ‘Pay me, Alice!’ And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Those were the last words their mother spoke before she died.”

  Sara took a deep breath and folded the paper before her emotions got the best of her. She grabbed the avocado to spread across her toast.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said playfully. “What would you write if you were doing my obituary?”

  If she had only known how often I thought about that. Every time she left me. I imagined it would be the last time I would see her. No one would call. She would miss our daily breakfast. And I would wonder. But I wouldn’t know for certain, until I read her name in the paper or saw it on the news. And I would write her obituary because her husband wouldn’t, and I knew how much it meant to her. I would say that Sara had beauty that could make a man drive seven hundred miles without thinking. She could get a drug addict to stop using. She could make you seem worthwhile, stronger than you actually were. That when she loved you back, it was like feeling the sun on your face after spending years in a cold and lonely prison.

  “I’ll never have to write yours,” I said, sipping my coffee casually.

  “Well, if you did.”

  “But I would gladly write your husband’s,” I offered.

  “What?”

  “He deserved it. That’s what I would write.”

  She looked at me strangely. “Kaleb.”

  “I’m leaving, Sara.”

  She scoffed. “Where?”

  “Home. Somewhere else.”

  She grabbed the butter knife and avoided my gaze. This was the part where she should fight. She should say no, and of course, I’d listen. Because I was looking for any reason to stay. I would remain with her in this town until the end of days. Even if she was married. I would take what I could get. It was better than the life waiting for me back home. I would continue to be whatever she wanted me to be. I looked down at the newspaper.

  No.

  Not this time.

  Those are the thoughts of a weak man. I wouldn’t listen to them. Not anymore. I needed to be someone else. I needed to be what she needed. Not what she wanted. She was trapped. She had to find what Alice Daniels had, or her obituary would never have a happy ending. I could save her.

  “Promise me something,” she said, her gaze moving back up to mine. “If something were to happen to me, will you write it? Will you write my obituary?”

  She was trying to make me hurt. Like I needed this to be any harder. Yet I was glad she did. It was a test. I would be stronger. Better. For once in my life, I would stand tall. I reached for her hand. “Of course I’ll write it.”

  Then I pulled my hand away. “I’ll miss you, Sara,” I said warmly. Then my tone turned cold. “But I have to leave.” We locked eyes, and I saw the color drain from her face. She had never seen this person. But it was who I needed to be. Who I needed to become. To protect the woman I loved.

  I got up from the booth.

  I had rehearsed this. It had to be fast. It had to be clean. I couldn’t turn back. She looked at the bill. I always took care of the bill. It was expected. All the lunches, all the coffees, all the breakfasts at this lonely diner. It wasn’t just a gesture—it was a statement. She figured I would always be there. I would always be waiting in the wings to comfort her. To say it was going to be okay. To coddle her, hold her, uplift her. But not this time.

  “I think you can pay this one.”

  The bell on the front door chimed for the last time. Bob was perched outside, a pencil to his crossword.

  “How did she take it?”

  “She took it well.”

  “Good. You’re doing the right thing.”

  “You sure?”

  “Trust me. She’ll thank you someday.”

  I reached into my jacket pocket. The gun was still there.

  The Real Kelly Trozzo

  TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019

  INSIDEJUICE: It seems like you have more to say about your decision to hire Kaleb Reed.

  TROZZO: I do. I want to tell people how I found his book. It’s significant.

  INSIDEJUICE: Please.

  TROZZO: It was three days after my suicide attempt. I was sitting on a park bench, in this beautiful state of bliss. And I was staring off into the horizon with bandages around my arm. On the bench next to me, a lovely girl was reading a book. I was drawn to the cover; the artsy way “Pay Me, Alice” was written inside a skull and crossbones. I don’t know why, but something
inside me told me to talk to her. So I did.

  I asked her if the book was any good and she nodded, giving me a confident “Yes.” I asked her what the story was about. She was extremely passionate about the plot, talking with her arms and smiling as she described it. There was something about her, something alluring. She had these warm brown eyes and beautiful dark blonde hair.

  She finished explaining the storyline, and then she asked about me. She told me she was a big fan, and she wanted to know what I was working on. I was polite, but I was much more fascinated by the book. I asked her what about the novel she liked so much. She explained that it was a heartbreaking love story, but it was still happy in a way, and that there was hope even though there was death. I could tell she was holding back, so I said, “There must be something else.”

  She admitted that she recognized herself in the love interest and that she was quite fond of the narrator. And as I stared at her beautiful smile, for a brief second, I was envious. There was this peculiar happiness and love radiating from this woman. She looked content and joyful, and that made me jealous. I wanted her life.