Poor Little Bitch Girl (53 page)

Frankie, on the other hand, found himself ignored. He wasn’t important enough for the press, they couldn’t care less about him, it was Annabelle all the way.

Frankie’s considerable ego had taken a major nose-dive.

Fanny appeared to know everyone, but she didn’t bother introducing him – another irritant. Goddamn it, she was supposed to be representing
both
of them, not just Annabelle.

After the funeral he planned on having a serious heart-to-heart with Fanny Bernstein. It was about time she treated him with the respect he deserved.

* * *

After the private service, everyone trooped out to the cemetery to watch as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

Several helicopters swirled overhead. It was a perfect California December day; no clouds in the sky, a warm but slight breeze.

Annabelle wondered if they should go back to the house with all the other mourners.

Fanny said they should.

In a strange way Annabelle was highly elated. People were being so nice to her, they were talking to her about how she resembled her mother and how lovely she was. They were asking whether she’d ever consider a career in the movies. Nobody – not one person – mentioned the damn tabloid.

The studio head handed her his card and suggested she call him. Her mother’s best friend said they must have lunch. Gemma’s most recent co-star, a handsome actor with a Johnny Depp swagger, inquired if she was single.

“Yes,” she answered quickly, hoping that Frankie wasn’t lurking anywhere nearby.

Hollywood. Beverly Hills. Los Angeles. Suddenly Annabelle felt she was finally home.

Goodbye, New York. L.A. was her future.

T
hey’d been driving up and down the mean streets for over an hour.

“We should head back to the hotel,” Bobby suggested, feeling Denver’s pain. “This wasn’t such a brilliant idea.”

“Maybe ten more minutes?” Denver said hopefully, her eyes glued to the side window, scanning the street.

“No,” Bobby said firmly. “This is a useless exercise. I’m sorry, Denver.”

She nodded, eyes still watching. “I guess you’re right,” she sighed.

“Hotel?” their driver asked, a man who couldn’t wait to get away from this area. His passengers had to be from out of state – they obviously didn’t realize how dangerous these streets could be.

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “The hotel.”

The driver put his foot down, a happy man.

Suddenly, Denver let out a cry to stop the car.

“What?” Bobby said, startled.

“For God’s sake! Stop!” Denver yelled at the driver.

The poor man didn’t know what to do. One passenger wanted to return to the hotel – now the pretty woman wanted him to stop. And even though it was daylight, stopping was not safe. He tried to explain to the woman, but she was having none of it.

“Stop this car,” she commanded. “Now!”

“What have you seen?” Bobby asked. “C’mon, what is it?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Denver stammered as the car pulled into the curb. “Back half a block, there was a person on the street . . .”

“A person on the street,” Bobby repeated blankly, shaking his head.

“No, really . . .”

“What person, Denver? Someone you know?”

“I . . . yes . . .
I think it was Carolyn!
”

“W
hat are you doing here, Senator?” Detective Lennox inquired.

Gregory stepped back out of the rain into the entrance of the community center.

Slumming. What else would I be doing here
?

“I am concerned about the welfare of the youth in this city,” Gregory said, launching into smooth politician talk. “Ramirez Ortego and I often meet to see what I can do to help. Getting these kids off the street is of major importance.”

Ramirez shot him a look.

Detective Lennox sighed. “Can we go inside? I’d appreciate it if you would come too, Senator.”

Gregory experienced a leaden feeling in his stomach. What now? Had the detective discovered Carolyn’s body, and somehow linked it to him and the Ortego family?

Stay calm
, he reminded himself.
Do not panic.

Ramirez and Detective Lennox obviously knew each other, for as the three men walked inside, Detective Lennox placed his hand on Ramirez’s shoulder in a familiar fashion.

“I came here to tell you myself, Ramirez,” he said gently. “I didn’t want you hearing it on the street.”

Ramirez’s face was a mask. “Is it Benito?” he said. “Is it my brother?”

Detective Lennox nodded. “I’m sorry, Ramirez. I’m really, really sorry.”

* * *

Carolyn did not think she could make it any further. Every street she turned onto was another desolate row of broken and empty buildings. And every person she attempted to approach turned their back on her.

She was cold and alone. Her foot was blowing up, and in spite of the freezing cold she felt feverish and dizzy. If she didn’t get help soon she would give up, find a corner and curl into a ball. No food. No water. A sharp pain in her lower abdomen.

Was she losing the baby? Was that blood she felt trickling down her leg?

She couldn’t go on. It was too much.

She leaned against the wall of a boarded-up shop and gasped for breath.

A car drove past. A decent-looking car.

Would they stop for her? Feebly she waved.

No. They wouldn’t stop. Nobody would.

She crumpled to the ground on the wet pavement and closed her eyes.

“Carolyn?”

It was the voice of an angel she was hearing.

“Oh my God, Carolyn!” the voice said. “It
is
you!”

I
n Hollywood, expecting the unexpected is an everyday occurrence. Scandals take place on a daily basis.

Phil Spector shoots a woman in the face. O.J. Simpson slashes up his wife and her male friend. Britney has a public meltdown. Lindsay Lohan runs around smashing up cars and wearing no panties. Heath Ledger overdoses. Jessica and Jennifer and Cameron break up with yet another boyfriend. Michael Jackson dies amidst much speculation.

There is always something going on. The Hollywood community is rarely shocked.

But once in a while, something happens that is so off the chart that people are actually stunned.

The Gemma Summer funeral presented such an event.

Everything went off smoothly. The ride to Forest Lawn Memorial Park. The heartfelt eulogies. The lowering of the coffin ceremony.

And then came the big finale, witnessed by everyone present.

Several police cars. A scattering of cops. And two detectives. Detective Preston – a tall African-American man. And Detective Lee, a younger Asian woman.

The two detectives approached Ralph Maestro as he walked away from the grave site, their expressions determined.

Immediately alarmed, Pip, loyal PR flack that he was, stepped in front of his important client.

“Move,” Detective Lee said in a surprisingly deep voice.

“Ralph Maestro,” Detective Preston said. “You are under arrest for your involvement in the murder of your wife, Gemma Summer Maestro. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have—”

“This is an outrage!” Felix Saunders exploded, as the detective finished reading Ralph Maestro his rights.

Ralph remained stoic, his larger-than-life movie-star face devoid of any emotion. After all, this was Hollywood and he was a star.

Nothing was going to happen to a big celebrity such as himself.

Nothing at all.

W
ow! So much happened in such a short period of time that I’m kind of dazed.

Discovering Carolyn wandering the streets was a total fluke. Amazing!

I have to thank Bobby for working behind the scenes and finding out everything he could. Guess it’s pretty useful, coming from a family who can pick up a phone and call the Chief of Police.

We rushed Carolyn to the emergency room with me holding her in my arms all the way there, and Bobby taking care of reaching the Hendersons and Detective Lennox.

A Dr Glass met us at the ER and whisked Carolyn off, while I hugged the Hendersons and tried to make sense of the whole thing.

Bobby was there for me all the way – fielding everyone’s questions, getting me coffee, watching over me. It’s kind of a strange feeling, having someone look after me. I’ve always been so independent, so sure I could handle any situation. But right now I realized that having Bobby around was pretty damn comforting.

When we picked Carolyn up and bundled her into the car, she’d looked so pathetic and wrecked, and she was quite hysterical. God knows what kind of ordeal she’d been through.