The Case of the Stained Stilettos

by Smith, Melissa J. L

  “And why should you care? Afraid you’ll lose your meal ticket?” hisses Dana.

  Blaine slams his fist on the bar. “No, I’m afraid of losing my wife.”

  “I wish I could believe you,” Dana says as she breaks into tears again.

  He briefly softens, wanting to wipe away her tears, but he is hurting too much, and turns cold. “Dana, you’re the one with the wild imagination. Must you drink so much?”

  He picks up a box of tissues and tosses it onto the divan next to her and they land on the floor. Dana’s face changes from hurt to angry.

  “At least my bad habits don’t leave me disappointed. I can’t say the same about you,” she screams. “You frequently leave me disappointed!”

  With an exaggerated flair, she waves the bottle of pills and performs what has become her infamous “tranquilizer ritual.” She lines up six pills in pairs along the bar, an exquisite Moser crystal martini glass positioned between each pair.

  Picking up a glass with one hand and two pills with the other, she pops the pills and chases them with the martini.

  Dana repeats this process two more times, singing her own “Tranquilizer Ritual Theme Song.”

  “Two pills now, two pills later. Two in an hour, and I’ll feel better! But why wait an hour? Take ’em now, and don’t you fret-ter.”

  Dana polishes off her martinis and gulps down the pills that she selected from the six on the bar.

  Blaine frowns, and says, “Aren’t you embarrassed to have given this lurid ritual its own theme song?”

  She retorts, “Aren’t you embarrassed to be sniffing around girls young enough to be your children? I understand you’ve got a chance with Beth, but Susana probably thinks she’s too rich for the likes of you! And definitely too young.”

  “You know, if you’re going to believe I’m sleeping around, maybe I should start. If I’m going to get blamed for something anyway, I might as well be doing it,” he snaps.

  Dana grabs one of the expensive martini glasses and hurls it at Blaine and it misses him by about a foot, crashing against the fireplace. Before Blaine can speak, she throws a second glass, and a third. Despite their cost, they shatter … just like the cheaper type.

  Dana grabs the pill bottle and shrieks at Blaine. As she waves and screams, two dozen tranquilizers fly out of the bottle and scatter across the bar.

  Blaine grabs the pill bottle and scoops the two dozen spilled capsules on the bar back into the bottle. Dana spreads her fingers wide to cover her two remaining “ritual pills” with her hand to keep Blaine away. He gives up, snaps the cap back on the pill bottle and hands her the third “ritual” martini, quite content at that moment for her to put herself and him out of their misery.

  He walks to the bar, opens a bottled water and hands it to Dana. Instead of drinking it, she absentmindedly waters a plant sitting next to the divan. Blaine frowns at her hopelessly. “I’m not interested in Beth or Susana or anyone else. I don’t know where you get these delusions.”

  Dana stumbles back to the bar to make another martini. “Delusions? Mark says that Beth just lives for your attention ... a woman whose entire acting repertoire consists of flashing silicone implants in an attempt to hook a rich husband.”

  Blaine turns his back, “Well, that wouldn’t be me, would it? As you point out frequently, Mark and I only inherit at your death.”

  Dana waves the bottle full of tranquilizers and her martini shaker, her voice dripping with acid. “Don’t worry, Blaine dahhling. My liver and kidneys are racing in a dead heat as to which will go first. You and my son won’t have long to wait before it’s all yours to split. Then you can have my money and your harem of twenty-year-old girlfriends.”

  Blaine, exhausted by the verbal fencing match, views his wife spiraling out of control and tries to stop it. “Dana, will you ever believe that I don’t stay with you for the money?”

  “Not when Mark comes home with disgusting tales of your kissing scenes in the classroom. How’s your tongue, my dear? Did it get a workout this morning?”

  Annoyed to learn that his stepson has been reporting back to Dana, Blaine erupts, “Why is Mark taking my class, anyway? He’s too experienced for that class.”

  Dana’s maternal instinct rallies, piercing her alcoholic haze. She walks to poster for The Philadelphia Story and points to the name of her late husband, Daniel Lathem. “He must be a better actor than those amateurs you try to teach. After all, Mark inherited the acting genius of his real father, Daniel Lathem.”

  Seething, Blaine rips the martini glass from Dana’s hand and dumps its contents into a plant. He waves at his own name on the poster. “See, dahhling, acting genius isn’t limited to the Lathem royal family. And, I might add, I got excellent reviews as Macaulay Connor. Critics said that my performance gave Jimmy Stewart a run for his money.”

  Dana stoops and squints at the poster, pretending to look for Blaine’s name. “I see it now! There’s your name! Fourth billing ... That’s like being the third daughter to the ninth heir in line to the throne.”

  Dana lets out a throaty laugh and hurls a martini glass across the room, knocking open the blinds that are blocking the paparazzi’s camera lenses and putting the library in full view of intruding eyes.

  Chapter 15

  At Luce and Wilde, Mercy answers her phone before she heads out the door. She excuses herself as she reaches for her cell. “That’s Mom’s ring,” she says, stepping away to take the call. “Let me make sure she doesn’t need me for anything important.”

  Ethan nods and glances at Joseph’s credenza, which is filled with family photos.

  A framed photo of Ethan and Ann’s wedding has a place of prominence, as does a wedding photo of Mercy’s parents, Francesca and Stephen Wilde. Ethan smiles at the warm memories of his wife, Ann, a Tony-winning actress with whom he had fallen madly in love at first sight.

  Pangs of loneliness grip him as he remembers Ann laughing with Francesca on one of her last days before cancer took his wife so many years ago. The two women had laughed until they had cried, recounting their early days in Hollywood and how they practiced together with another friend, actress Penelope Hunt, to lose their New York, Kentucky and Wisconsin accents.

  As he stares at the photo, Ethan silently notes that Ches does not look remarkably different than she does now.

  Back when Ethan Luce and Stephen Wilde were starting their Beverly Hills law practice together, an army of studio publicists, costumers and hair and makeup artists were molding “Frances Smith” from a small-town Kentucky girl into the glamorous “Francesca Wilde,” a stunning, vivacious bon vivant with serious talent.

  The studio experts changed everything about Frances Smith, from her hair color to her behavior. They gave her speech lessons, etiquette lessons, singing lessons, acting lessons and dance lessons. They taught her the right subjects for cocktail parties, how to walk, talk, laugh lightly and how to comport herself like a proper Hollywood star. All of these lessons were drilled into her until they became part of her very being.

  When they were finished, “Frances” had morphed into “Francesca” … the caterpillar had transformed into the beautiful, classical star that she remains. Her handlers were deciding on what new last name they should give their rising star when Stephen Wilde made the choice for them. He proposed to Francesca, married her, and her new last name became “Wilde.”

  Standing up for them on their special day were Stephen’s law partner, Ethan Luce, and his lovely wife, Ann, Daniel Lathem, Dana Montgomery and James and Rena Crayton. A photo of that day is prominently displayed on Joseph’s credenza.

  Joseph follows his father’s gaze to photos taken at Mercy’s and Lucienne’s baptisms. The studio had jumped at the chance to choreograph the baptisms, including hair, makeup and wardrobe. Going with the “bigger is better” style, Francesca’s publicist suggested that the girls have three sets of godparents, James and Rena Crayton, Daniel Lathem and Dana Montgomery and Ethan and Ann Luce. Francesca grudg
ingly agreed to the publicity, noting that “at least everyone will look great” in the photos.

  Look great, they did. Joseph’s mom, Ann, never looked more beautiful as she held her and Stephen’s namesake in the photo. To honor her godparents, Stephen and Ches decided to combine “Luce” and “Ann” and name the baby “Lucianne.” The studio intervened, insisting on “Lucienne” because it sounded “more European” and “less Kentucky.” Still a young starlet, Ches acquiesced. Toddlers Mercy and Joseph flank their parents in the photo.

  Often pushed to run for governor, Ethan always declines, citing the fact that Sacramento is too far away from his family to be appealing. Having lost his precious Ann to cancer so early in their marriage, Ethan is loath to put four hundred miles between himself and his extended family.

  Next to the baptism photos is a photo of four happy couples. Sandwiched between the Luces, Wildes and Craytons is a gorgeous couple cutting into a wedding cake. The newly married couple is Dana Montgomery and Daniel Lathem.

  Mercy finishes her phone call and walks back to Ethan and Joseph. “That was Mom calling to say that she and Sis just finished lunch and are out shopping. Mom’s having a great time, but Luci … not so much,” Mercy laughs. She adds, “I have to run to get cat food and pick up the dry cleaning. Then I need to go over to The Vinery. I thought I’d talk to Jonny about having our anniversary party there, honey. What do you think?”

  “That would be great if we still can get it. I love that it’s one of the few estates in ‘old Hollywood’ that they haven’t replaced with a square glass building. It should be large enough to accommodate us without guests having to mingle outside if it’s still this cold!”

  Mercy grabs her coat and says, “I guess I’d better get to The Vinery before it gets any later.”

  “You want me to go with you?” Joseph worries.

  “No, stay here and finish with Ethan. I shouldn’t be very long. I already called Jon and he’ll be there till midnight … again. And I need to call Lucienne and see how she’s coping with the thought of wearing a cocktail dress.”

  Ethan shakes his head. “Jonny should have bought something smaller. Having their house and their restaurant on the same old estate makes it too tempting to work twenty-four/seven.”

  Mercy nods and says, “I’m surprised Jann got pregnant again. Four kids in six years is exhausting enough, and then to expand the restaurant again … She says she hardly sees him.”

  Joseph gives her a devilish aside, “Well, he saw her five months ago.”

  “Joseph Luce! Shame on you!” Mercy giggles.

  He kisses her on the forehead. “Just sayin’. Anyway, be careful, sweetheart. That neighborhood could use a few more streetlights. Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

  Mercy grabs her purse, laughing. “Did you forget to whom you are speaking?” jokes the holder of a fifth-degree black belt.

  “No, dear. I never forget that you can deck a guy without breaking a nail. Just concerned about your stilettos. That’s one of my favorite pairs.”

  Mercy looks down at her shoes. “They are nice, aren’t they? I promise to try to keep this pair un-scuffed,” she giggles. “Remember, I have dry cleaning to pick up on my way there, so give me a little time before you start to worry.”

  “Hey, if there’s room in the car after you pick up the dry cleaning, could you bring scallops? I’ll probably be starving by then,” says Joseph.

  “Sure. Ethan, what about you?” she asks.

  Ethan shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’ve got a business dinner.”

  Blowing them a kiss, Mercy exits the law firm. Joseph whistles at her as he watches her leave, saying to his dad, “And everything there is great, too,” admiring his wife.

  Chapter 16

  It is late Friday afternoon, and Joseph and Ethan are deep in discussion at the Luce and Wilde offices. Joseph perches forward on his leather couch, picks up his latté, and listens to Ethan explain the case that he is bringing to him.

  “It’s not your usual case,” Ethan says, “but I hope you’ll consider taking it on. It’s for a friend.”

  “Sounds intriguing. Who’s your friend?”

  Ethan gets up and walks over to the credenza and picks up a framed photo of a group of college basketball players. Ethan is in the photo, and standing next to him in it is James Crayton, current Chief of the Los Angeles Police Department, and James’s brother.

  “It’s your ‘Uncle James’s’ niece. James’s brother Carmelo’s daughter, Carmella,” explains Ethan.

  Joseph looks confused. “Uncle James commands the entire LAPD. He has nobody to help his own niece? And does that make her my cousin?” he asks, laughing, knowing the answer.

  “Well, since your Uncle James isn’t really your uncle, just my best friend since college, she’s not your cousin, so there’s no conflict of interest.”

  “So, not a blood relation. That’s good. I haven’t seen Carmella in years. What transgression has my “non-cousin” committed that’s not high enough profile for an LAPD rookie cop to check out?” asks Joseph.

  “She’s a blogger,” says Ethan.

  Joseph chuckles, “A blogger? Whom did she insult? A pastry chef? An arborist? The road department for not filling a pothole?”

  “Very funny, and not exactly. I’m afraid that Carmella has stumbled onto the bad side of Brian Radabaugh.”

  A look of concern crosses Joseph’s face. “Brian Radabaugh? The Brian Radabaugh of Radabaugh Industries, Radabaugh Pharmaceuticals and Radabaugh Studios? What on earth could a blogger do or say that his billion-dollar image machine couldn’t combat? Is he making dangerous drugs or something?”

  “It’s not Radabaugh Industries, per se. It’s one of their divisions, Paulo’s Parties.”

  “Ah, the hoity-toity division that does hoity-toity parties only for the rich and famous … no ‘regular’ people allowed?” Joseph muses. “Is Paulo doing Dana’s party?”

  “No, thank goodness,” Ethan says. “I can’t stand that man. What a miserable human being. I don’t know why Radabaugh hasn’t cut him loose. I mean, who does he think he is? ‘Paulo.’ No last name. Like Cher or Prince or Sting. But without the talent.”

  Joseph says, “I don’t know much about him, other than the fact that he spun Glam Ma’am Cosmetics from the Radabaugh Pharmaceuticals division of Radabaugh Industries. Somehow, he conned Radabaugh into setting up the Paulo Parties division to fill the swag bags full of Glam Ma’am and Radabaugh products.”

  He continues, “It’s not that the party and cosmetics divisions are an issue. It’s Paulo himself. He belittles his employees in front of party guests and clients. He’s a screamer and manipulator. Very unlike Brian Radabaugh. It’s an odd association, at best.”

  Ethan chuckles. “I almost wish Dana had hired him for her party. Can you imagine what would happen to Paulo if Dana grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and taught him a lesson about being cruel to those who can’t defend themselves?”

  “Dana does have a way of putting people who offend her in their places.”

  Ethan replies, “Let’s try to stay off that list, shall we?”

  “Agreed. Can’t say that I want to be on the bad side of Brian Radabaugh or Paulo, either. So how are we going to help Carmella? What exactly did she do?”

  “She’s a writer for Been There, Scene That. It’s one of those throwaway newspapers that they have at restaurant doors and it has a website with a decent LA following. Because it’s a legit publication, her press pass gets her into a lot of events.”

  “Not replacing the Los Angeles Times, I assume.”

  “Uh, no. But she has access to awards shows and celebrity parties. She began to notice that a lot of the hoity-toity party decorations were the same ones you could buy at local retail stores.”

  “Ahhhh, this is starting to make sense,” Joseph says. “Let me guess. She played a little one-woman game of The Price is Right and exposed him for the gouging jerk he is? How much of a m
arkup are we talking about?”

  “Up to six hundred percent. In some cases, more. You get the picture. And when Carmella started mentioning where her readers could get that same ‘look’ for their parties at a fraction of the price, her popularity grew. The column got syndicated and took on a life of its own,” explains Ethan.

  “Oh, wait a minute … I do know this column. I just never noticed the byline. It’s called ‘Party Me Hearties,’ right?” asks Joseph. “Mercy and Francesca love it. I’m not sure what makes them happier … knowing that anyone can throw a fabulous party on a reasonable budget, or that Paulo gets the wind knocked out of his sails a bit.”

  “And how are you with that idea?” Ethan asks.

  “Couldn’t agree more. He has it coming,” Joseph says without hesitation.

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I was hoping you would. Carmella should be here in just a few minutes to talk to you about it.”

  Chapter 17

  While Joseph and Ethan wait for Carmella, Detective Frank Lawshé has made the trek from the West Hollywood Sheriff’s Station to Chief James Crayton’s office downtown at the LAPD. As usual, the traffic is horrible, so he arrives cranky and frustrated. There are no freeways connecting the two, except for the snail’s pace creep down La Brea or La Cienega to the 10, making surface streets the least objectionable option, and a very slow one.

  West Hollywood sits nestled between Hollywood and Beverly Hills, so it is unusual that the enclave is not under the LAPD purview, but protected instead by the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department, along with the outer, unincorporated areas of Los Angeles County.

  The reason that West Hollywood does not fall under the LAPD generally depends upon who is making the explanation. The most colorful tale is that the once-unincorporated area was a haven for the likes of gangsters Bugsy Siegel and Mickey Cohen, who liked the idea that nightlife and gambling could flourish so close to the Beverly Hills money but unhampered by those pesky Los Angeles city ordinances, and that the mob took full advantage of the loophole. The Los Angeles Sherriff’s Department was less strict at the time, and since there were no laws on the books, no laws could be broken. As such, West Hollywood grew into the nightlife center that it remains today. Just a five-minute drive from Beverly Hills City Hall, West Hollywood remains a haven for rock stars and raucousness up and down its main thoroughfare, the Sunset Strip.