Chapter 13
“So here’s where we are. The Ladies Who Lunch are weird as a bag of hair.
” I made a check mark on my notepad. “Someone is trying to frame me for arson and it might be them.” Another check mark.
“Gerald Tubbs Junior is dead and it’s sketchy as hell” Check check.
“He had a fight with mysterious lady Anmorata Blue the night before he died.” One more check.
“And no one believes me that it’s weird as hell he was dead in that boat on his own and she’s turned into a ghost.” More checks.
Then I added as I spoke, “Also, who the hell is stalking me?” Underline, underline, underline.
Muffin, helpful as always, uttered a soft woof and stretched out on his side. Charlemagne did not deign to offer a comment.
Tony brought the chaos, though. He jumped onto the bed and, in his enthusiasm, skidded across my stack of notes and sent them flying. I bit back a frustrated scream, gently moving him to one side. “Thanks so much, furball.”
I’d been at it for an hour or so, listening to Ben get everything together to head back to Boston after all and very pointedly making enough sound so I’d hear him up two flights of stairs.
No one needed to stack file folders that loudly. No one.
As tired as I was, I was also antsy and edgy. I knew I’d pick a fight with Ben about his suggestion that he stay if I went downstairs so I put myself to work on a Plan. Yes, with a capital P.
Thursday To-Do:
Replace phone. Again.
NATE???
Email Paul Santos re pap shots AGAIN. What does he know?
Contact Mario about pics—cease and desist for sites?
Geoff Hightower—why is he the money man for Tubbs?
At least one of those things, I could do now. I pulled over my laptop and opened up my email. Bless Paul’s heart, his was right on top.
Long time no talk! And you don’t have to play coy with me—I know what you’re after. I’ve been in this game a while now and trust me, I have zero problem sharing the goss.
In short: I haven’t heard anything about a movie being shopped around in a meaningful way but I HAVE heard—and from legit sources—that Gerald Tubbs Junior has run through his trust fund and is facing an ugly lawsuit from—drum roll please—the estate of Beth Ellison.
And no, I don’t know who is repping the estate.
That’s super hush hush. My area of expertise is more stage related but when it comes to the ‘vintage’ celebs, there’s a lot of overlap in the gossip circles.
But there might be a little bird singing about Tubbs exploiting Beth Ellison’s good will even after death. .. read into that what you want!
As for Gwendolyn Terhune, oh boy. She’s a piece of work behind the scenes.
One of the grad students helping me compile research for my book actually has an entire file on her from 1982-96, none of it stellar.
But also never on set or on stage so it really didn’t get out much once you moved outside her circles.
Typical diva stuff tbh, nothing I’d call scandalous or even career-ruining.
Her generation on screen, it’d be almost expected for her to have an ‘attitude.’
Pamela Sommers, though. Very little info on her except for some super super super unofficial tea: She and Beth Ellison were partners. Allegedly.
Very allegedly.
Professional opinion? Nothing to support the rumor but it’s one that pops up now and then.
They were both single, both very close until Beth’s death, and Pamela’s very notable mental breakdown after Beth died fed that rumor.
Pops up now and then whenever some teenagers on social media want to make a list of famous queers in media and just start grabbing names without doing research.
Call me sometime—love to meet in person one of these days! Lots of questions for you, tbh, and I want your feedback for a project.
I sat back, staring at the screen without seeing it.
“Huh.” The proliferation of are they or aren’t they rumors about celebrities had probably existed since the very first cave dweller got up in front of their clan and put on a little show for them.
People loved to speculate and the more titillating they were, the more they did it.
When it came to things like sexuality and gender, the way they’d become so hypersexualized had just led to even more slavering over rumors and sometimes outright making things up, trying to spin narratives or live out a fantasy about a favorite star.
If So and So is gay, then me being gay is okay too. Or more likely maybe I’ve got a shot.
Max dealt with it all the time. He was pretty open about being queer himself but tried to keep his private life just that—private.
I was usually his plus one to events, and if not me then his agent or sometimes, more rarely, Tina, Max’s older half-sister.
Once in a great while, he had a PR date set up by agents and productions but not often.
The sheer number of people posting what amounted to fan fiction about Max’s sexuality was still mind boggling and more than a little unsettling, ranging from made up stories about his coming out to detailed deep dives about preferred relationship roles and his “type” in the bedroom.
And as bad as it was for him now, I couldn’t begin to imagine how invasive and horrible it would’ve been for someone forty years ago, or even twenty years ago, to have people whispering about who they were attracted to.
But why would that end up with them framing me for arson? With Tubbs’ death?
If that’s what was happening.
“Damien?” Ben knocked on my door with a quick, two knuckle rap. “I’m heading out in a few minutes.”
I hesitated, considered being bratty, but instead got up and opened the door. “Be safe driving back.”
He nodded, gaze searching my face. “Look, I know whatever’s going on right now is—”
“It’s okay. I mean, objectively, it sucks, but I’ve got things under control.”
“Um. No, you really don’t.” He grinned at the laugh that startled out of me. “It’ll take me less than three hours to get back here if you need me to,” he went on, “and I’m serious when I say your safety is important to me, Damien. And hey, I’m still good for the time off. Lots of banked days.”
Well, color me flustered. “Um. Thank you? And, just an FYI, your safety is important to me, too.” I nodded. “Yep. Safety is number one in my book. Look both ways, use turn signals. Don’t walk on wet floors...” Oh my god, why can’t I stop talking?
Ben pressed his lips together and gave me a firm nod, but I knew he was trying not to smile which just made my ears feel like they were about to burst into flames. “I’ll be sure to wear my high-vis vest between the car and my office.”
“Good. Good, good, good. So. I’ll be fine. Really. I’m just going to the library after my doctor appointment and replacing my phone tomorrow and that’s about it.”
Which wasn’t entirely a lie. Those were the only places I planned on going. Everything else I could do from home.
Ben hesitated another few moments. “Damien, promise me you’ll call if you decide to do something, okay? At the very least so someone knows where you are.”
“I promise,” I sighed, rolling my eyes a little. “I’ll ask Heath to drive me to see that doctor and I can walk to the library from here afterwards.” It wasn’t that far, but nothing in Lester Cove was really.
Finally, Ben either believed me or realized he had to go or he’d still be sitting in traffic at midnight. “I’ll remind Heath.”
“You know I do know how to use the landline, right?”
He was already halfway down the stairs. “Appointment’s at ten, right?”
“Ben! Seriously!”
“I’ll tell him you’ll be ready at a quarter past nine.”
#
"SIX WEEKS ISN'T SO bad," Heath said for the third or fourth time since we left the orthopedist's office.
He'd shown up at quarter past nine on the nose and brought me a large chai from Witte's and a savory cheese pastry from the little bakery that had just opened at the corner of Quahog and Buttermilk.
I'd put off tasting it till after the doctor appointment but now I wolfed it down in too few bites.
"I know. I just wish it was shorter. At least I don't need pins.
" That had been a very real concern at the ER but the swelling had been too bad to know for sure. "Just an itchy cast and having to be really awkward getting dressed and grooming for the next month and a half." The tech at the doctor’s office had removed by pretty green cast and, after all the x-rays and poking and prodding, had replaced it with an even brighter green cast that didn’t feel as heavy and didn’t go all the way to my elbow like the last one had.
Heath eyed my outfit—a pair of soft-wash joggers in hot pink and a neon violet hoodie. "Well, you're certainly eye catching."
"At least my shoes match my cast."
Heath smirked, driving us back towards Lester Cove.
Replacing my phone had been easier this time than the last since I had my damaged one with me and the guy behind the counter could see it was not coming back from the dead without an expert medium and possibly a human sacrifice.
The fact I'd also shelled out a ridiculous amount of money for insurance last time helped too, I'm sure.
Heath had been amused by the fact I took almost an hour after replacing the actual phone to find the perfect case out of the options at the store, narrowing it down to a lime green one that went with my shoes or a sparkly black one that went with everything.
"At least there's that," he murmured, turning onto the slightly busy two-lane blacktop heading towards town, away from Malm's Corner.
"Can you drop me at the library? There's something I want to check out."
Heath darted a sideways glance at me before going around a moving van. "Seriously?"