Chapter 12
12
Friday, February 23rd
O n Friday morning I woke up to a splitting headache, dry mouth, and the notes of “The Imperial March” drumming incessantly by my ear. I groaned as I lifted my cell phone from where it had been lying on my pillow. I saw my mother’s name on the screen even though I had recognized her ringtone. Something had to be very wrong for her to be making the call, and I needed to double-check it was actually her.
Don’t get me wrong, Mayor Valls does call me—sometimes—when she needs to confirm my attendance to an event or instruct me about my wardrobe for another event. It’s just never her calling from her own phone anymore but her press secretary, or her first assistant, or her second assistant, or her intern, or someone else in her seemingly limitless entourage.
But she was personally calling me that day at the unseasonable time of 6:47 a.m.
“Hi,” I answered as assuredly as I could mutter.
“Hungover?” she asked. Unlike with the rest of the family, and to better integrate in American society, my mother and I had ditched our pre-US-move communication language, in this case Catalan, and now solely spoke to each other in English. And let me add, how the fuck did she know I was hungover?
“No, but you woke me up. It’s a bit early.” I tried playing it cool even if I was still lying in bed.
“Early? I’ve been up since 5 a.m.” I rolled my eyes. She would have never woken so early when we lived in Barcelona, but then we moved here and she transformed into this political animal who woke up early, never drank, never said the wrong thing, had a fake smile perpetually plastered on her face, and was always working.
“I gather you haven’t checked the news,” she said.
She had repeatedly talked to me about how disappointing it was to have a daughter who was only interested in reading the Arts & Entertainment section of any newspaper or media outlet. So I had added Travel & Fashion after that to my news regimen and she was still not happy. I suspected she wanted me to read about local, national, and international politics, but I didn’t want to undermine my undeniable talent for constantly disappointing her.
“As I’ve said, you woke me up, mother,” I told her. “I haven’t even peed yet—let alone read anything.”
“Check the Los Angeles Voice .” It sounded like an order.
“Anything in particular?” I asked as I fired up my laptop. Other people sleep with their significant others or their fur babies, but I have to do with my devices. I typed the name of one of the city’s main newspapers into the browser.
“You’ll know when you see it,” my mother said. “Go to the restroom, have a coffee, and read the article I’m calling you about. I expect you’ll report to me in five minutes and tell me what you’ll do to fix this.”
She hung up.
Don’t think I’m a terrible daughter or anything if I tell you that I didn’t follow those terms and I didn’t call her back. For one thing, I didn’t want to be yelled at—yet again. Apparently, I can be quite the dissatisfying daughter.
On the other hand, this time she may have been right in scolding me. After reading the article I knew she was referring to, I realized this wasn’t exactly like the time I’d turned up high to a campaign event and had eaten all the chocolate chip cookies of the press buffet or the occasion in which I’d worn platform sneakers, low rise jeans, and a daring Vivienne Westwood corset to a black-tie political function. In any case, I wasn’t looking forward to whatever nagging was coming my way.
But, of course, evading Aurora Valls is no easy task.
“Still haven’t had time to pee,” I answered the phone when my mother called again a mere twenty minutes later.
“I don’t care,” she said. She hated it when I made what she considered vulgar comments—and talking about physiological needs always fell in that category for Aurora Valls.
I waited patiently on the phone. If she wanted to confront me about the story on the cover of the Los Angeles Voice , she’d have to phrase what had inconvenienced her so much. But that would also fall in the category of vulgar chatter.
“Did you read the article?” she said, tentatively.
“I did,” I replied. “I saw that your strategy has been successful. Not only is the Voice not saying anything about the problems you’re facing with two of the council people at city hall, you’ve managed to distract everyone with this juicy tale of the murder of Dashing Henry.”
“If only that juicy tale stopped at mentioning David’s involvement!” my mother fumed. She didn’t even try to conceal the fact that she’d leaked my ex’s name to the newspaper.
“ Alleged involvement. But don’t tell me you were expecting they’d just publish whatever story your people fed them without reporting it themselves?” I filled my voice with as much scorn as I could affect at such an early hour and given the somewhat serious circumstances.
“I wasn’t expecting said reporting would lead to them writing about my firstborn and dragging her into a salacious story about murder! Especially considering said daughter is supposed to be broken up from a relationship with David Ramos for two years now,” she said, still eluding the sticky subject. “PR is going to reach out to you to come up with a strategy to counter this.”
“Not interested, especially when there’s nothing to counter. The article is completely fabricated when it comes to the association of David’s name with the murder of Henry. But absolutely accurate when it comes to his connection to me,” I said. Finding the right code word could be so thrilling sometimes.
“I was hoping for a different version of the events,” my mother said, not even trying to conceal the frustration in her voice.
“You got the actual facts,” I said.
I’m not exactly timid or amenable. I do whatever I want. But I try to avoid confrontation at all costs, especially with my mother. That’s why I didn’t add what really had me fuming that morning: the fact that she couldn’t care less if she’d leaked the name of an innocent man to the press. She was only concerned because I’d also been linked to that man and—by extension—her.
“Will you tell my lawyer I’ll be calling him in a bit?” I asked my mother, trying to sound conciliatory.
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” I’m still not sure whether she meant it. Sarcasm has never been her preferred or strongest suit.
When she hung up, I refreshed the website of the Voice again. The article that had caused my mother to irately wake me up was still placed atop their frontpage. I gave it a second read, holding my almost finished cup of espresso.
Investigative Reporter David Ramos Linked to the Death of LA Misconducts Actor Dashing Henry
The LAPD is working under the assumption that the former LA Gazette contributor David Ramos could be behind the death of Dashing Henry. Ramos is said to be having a relationship with Mayor Aurora Valls’s oldest daughter, the unemployed screenwriter Elena Freire Valls.
By Gloria Kingsley
It reads like the script of a bad formulaic genre show. It could be an episode of LA Misconducts but it’s actually a true crime tale.
LA Misconducts troubled actor Dashing Henry was found dead at the parking area of a Downtown Los Angeles apartment building this Thursday, February 22nd, in a suspected hit-and-run. The case is being investigated as a murder.
Henry, 62, had recently been fired from the network procedural show after 15 seasons leading the cop drama. The actor had come under scrutiny six months before when a series of articles by then LA Gazette reporter David Ramos were published. In the articles, Henry was said to have made unwanted sexual advances toward at least three members of the LA Misconducts cast and crew.
Among the people who came forward making accusations against the actor was LA Misconducts associate producer Brenda Lee, then girlfriend of LA Misconducts former series regular Amelia Sanchez. Sanchez and Lee both left LA Misconducts at the end of season thirteen and are now married.
Ramos’s articles were published more than a year after that, and once Lee no longer worked on the show. Henry maintained the accusations were false and had sued Ramos for libel. The trial was set to start next Monday. It’s not clear why the LA Misconducts team had decided to rescind Henry’s employment in the show now, but a source close to the show’s production team is citing showrunner Fred Appleton’s appetite for change with the development of a sequel set in a different city.
Scandalous Hit-and-Run
According to sources not authorized to discuss the murder investigation, law enforcement is working under the assumption that Ramos could be the one who ran over and killed Henry with his car. The body of the actor was found at Ramos’s residence building at the Eastern Columbia Lofts on Broadway Street.
Ramos was fired from the LA Gazette shortly after his contested articles against Henry were published and after the repeated denials from the actor and the LA Misconducts network. He was an occasional contributor of this newspaper. The journalist was romantically linked to Mayor Aurora Valls’s oldest daughter, Elena Freire Valls, a few years ago but they were no longer a couple, at least not openly. According to a resident of the Eastern Columbia Lofts, Ramos and Freire Valls could be involved yet again as the two of them spent Wednesday night together at Freire Valls’s apartment. She’s also a resident at the Eastern Columbia.
“They pretend like they don’t know each other but they’ve been seeing each other for a while,” said the Eastern Columbia Lofts resident with knowledge of the case who wishes to remain anonymous. He says he shares a wall with Freire Valls’s apartment unit. “I could hear them humping like rabbits on Wednesday night. They’re so loud, it was impossible to sleep.”
Freire Valls, who coincidentally was a writer for two seasons of LA Misconducts , has been mostly unemployed after leaving the show also at the end of season thirteen.
It’s still unclear whether Ramos would have acted alone or could have been aided by his jobless girlfriend while allegedly running over Henry.
“Fucking chatterbox George!” I grumbled when I finished reading. “And fucking Gloria Fucking Kingsley,” I added, referring to the reporter who’d written the article. “I never fucking liked you. Was it really necessary to include that I’m unemployed three times in the fucking article? I have an overall deal!”
I realized that something had to be intrinsically wrong with me when I was more upset about being called out for my lack of an occupation than the insinuation that I could be complicit in a murder.
Call it extreme careerism.
I was about to call David and tell him what I really thought about his former coworker Gloria Fucking Kingsley, when I saw the incoming call from Beatrice on my phone’s screen. Could my day get any worse?
I finished my coffee, breathed deeply three times, and did what all good in-between-projects writers do when their annoying agents call: answer the phone and pretend they actually like them. Fortunately, I didn’t have to say much.
“Honey,” Beatrice said when I picked up the call and even before I could mumble a simple hello or even a hi . “You’re on the news!” she said enthusiastically. As a seasoned Hollywood acrobat, she was a firm believer of the whole All news is good news mantra. “Fred is thrilled!”
“Is he?” I asked incredulously. It was one thing for my agent to pretend any headline was good publicity for me. It was another for my prospective boss to agree.
“Of course! He loved the idea of your name being linked to a murder investigation. He feels that will give your name even more cachet ,” she reasoned. You don’t want to know how she pronounced the word cachet . I just hoped I would never have to hear her say it out loud again.
But the whole thing with Beatrice and Fred loving my PR problems sounded so convolutedly Hollywood that even I thought I saw the logic in it.
“Fred has finally told me what happened with Henry and why they decided to fire him now as opposed to six months ago,” Beatrice said. The woman loved to gossip even more than talking shop.
“They finally realized he really is a sexual predator,” I said.
“They did! How did you know?” But Beatrice didn’t need or want my input. “Apparently, Dashing tried taking advantage of Archie Eisenberg’s niece. Archie’s been Fred’s producing partner in the show for a few seasons and his niece was interning on LA Misconducts this year.”
“Did something happen to her?” I asked, an anxious tone in my voice.
“To the niece?” she asked, as if my question wasn’t the most relevant, and compassionate, to make at the moment.
“Yes, of course, to the niece,” I answered, trying not to sound exasperated.
“Oh, she’s fine,” Beatrice assured, minimizing whatever had happened. “But Dashing messed with the wrong twenty-something-year-old. Archie was beside himself and he even threatened Henry. Apparently, Charlize Theron taught him hand-to-hand combat.”
“Who? Henry?” I asked. I was getting lost in Beatrice’s Hollywood tale.
“Archie, of course! Why would Charlize want to teach anything to Henry? But Archie feels awful about the whole thing. I’ve been told he regrets his past maneuvering on Henry’s behalf.” Beatrice was whispering now, implying conspiracy.
“What past maneuvering?” And how did this woman always know everything?
“I was hoping you could tell me more about it, actually,” Beatrice went on. Apparently, she didn’t know everything after all. “As it pertains to something that happened to your not-boyfriend.”
“Who? David?” I was intrigued. What could my ex and my former boss’s producing partner have in common? Archie Eisenberg wasn’t even one of the producers working on LA Misconducts when I was there. He’d joined after I left.
“Yes, the one you’re seeing ,” she said, not even trying to conceal the insinuation. “When Archie started working on LA Misconducts , he did a lot to put the show on the map again, to make it look refreshed and cool. He was the one who got Dashing Henry the gig as the face of the city of Los Angeles that backfired a little on city hall.”
“Because they unveiled the campaign the same week David published the first article uncovering Henry,” I filled in. “I still can’t see what you’re hinting at.”
“Archie knew David was working on a damaging article against Henry, and he tried shushing it,” Beatrice explained. “He didn’t want the bad publicity after all the work he’d done revitalizing the popularity of LA Misconducts .”
“Shushing it?”
“I’m told he went quite out of his way so that David’s piece wouldn’t get published. Archie wasn’t successful in the end, but I would love to have more details. If you ever find out...”
“Oh, you want me to ask David about it.”
“And indulge my gossip, yes. Information is a valuable tool in this town. Anyway, I didn’t call to gossip but to tell you that Fred wants to meet you to talk about the job.”
I felt a bit blindsided by the sudden change of conversation. “I still need to think about it.”
“Honey, you need to make a decision.” Beatrice sounded less pleased than before. “I can stall the meeting with Fred, but you need to give me an answer by tomorrow.”
I could give her an answer right then and there. But, if I said no, she’d drop me on the spot. What I could do was keep helping David report on this fucking bullshit murder and come up with a fresh-from-the-headlines treatment for her by tomorrow... or something similar.
“Why the rush?” I asked, trying to sound as professional and unbothered as possible.
“I’m going to the SAG Awards,” she said, referring to one of the many awards-season functions happening in the city from the beginning of the year and concluding with the Oscars. “Fred and Archie Eisenberg are also going to be there. They started working together only a couple of years ago, but they’ve been busy! They also produced that indie movie with Amelia Sanchez, and she’s nominated for it. I thought it was awful, but...”
I’d had it with the woman. Was she really trashing my friend’s work in front of me?
“Oops! You two are friends, right?” she asked.
“We are,” I said, trying to sound as stern as possible.
“But don’t you agree with me? I mean, she’s normally superb but this last movie of hers...” I was about to tell her how much I didn’t agree with her but, of course, she didn’t give me the opening. “Anyway, Fred is going to be there and then he’ll see me, and he’ll want to know whether you are taking the job in New York or not. It’s one thing to avoid people by phone, but in person... I can’t play hide and seek all night. I’m wearing Vera Wang!”
“Of course you can’t,” I said, and it came off a bit flippant, but can you blame me?
“Honey, I need an answer from you,” she repeated. “Either you come up with a script no one can say no to, or you take this offer.”
“And I promise you’ll have an answer,” I said.
“By tomorrow at 5 p.m.,” she replied. “I’m not taking any calls when the ceremony has started.”
It was going to be a tight deadline. But I thrived on them.