Sex and Violence in Hollywood (51 page)

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Authors: Ray Garton

Tags: #Horror

BOOK: Sex and Violence in Hollywood
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An overweight teenage girl in Arizona who had been hiding her pregnancy from family and friends for eight months gave birth in a shopping mall restroom with the assistance of her boyfriend, who was not the father of the child. They left the prematurely-born infant in the restroom’s garbage can, covered with paper towels, where it died before being discovered by a janitor minutes later. After leaving the restroom, the couple continued shopping, and in anticipation of losing weight, the girl bought some new clothes in a smaller size. They were arrested in a checkout line at Sears when the janitor, who had seen them leave the ladies’ room, pointed them out to police. Barbara Walters landed an exclusive interview with the couple on 20/20. The show won the week in ratings. The girl insisted she had been unaware of her pregnancy and surprised by, and unprepared for, the birth. She and her boyfriend had simply left the baby in the trashcan while they hurried to buy some diapers in the mall.

But only one other story matched the coverage of Adam Julian: the raid by FBI, DEA, and BATF agents of Waldo Cunningham’s compound in the Mojave Desert.

E!, the entertainment channel, found an eighteen year old boy named Marcus Lozada, who claimed he had worked at the compound until he became too old for Waldo Cunningham’s clientele. During his extensive interview, Marcus claimed to have been “rented” by Tom Hanks, Robin Williams, Harrison Ford, Eddie Murphy, Regis Philbin, Sean Connery, Tom Brokaw, and Madonna. Within twenty-four hours, it was discovered that Marcus was actually twenty-six years old, an ex-convict, and a fraud. He worked the streets as a prostitute and sometimes sold drugs, and those streets were the closest he had ever been to the Mojave Desert. He could not even identify Waldo Cunningham in a photograph. Long, impassioned apologies were quickly delivered, and lawsuits were filed by outraged celebrities. A week later, Marcus had a job as a VJ on MTV.

The FBI refused to name names, but gossip columnists and comedians speculated about the celebrities who might have been purchasing Waldo Cunningham’s wares. The story throbbed on television and the Internet and in newspapers and magazines for months. But not much came of it, just as Adam had expected.

He did not know which celebrities and politicians had done business with Waldo Cunningham, but because they were celebrities and politicians, he had expected none of them to be identified publicly or dealt with by the authorities in any significant way. Within the entertainment industry, wagons were being circled, Adam was sure. Deals were being struck by attorneys. Careers were being saved. The politicians would do whatever politicians did under such circumstances, which probably was not too different from what was done in the entertainment industry. When necessary, Hollywood could have very tight lips. Something as serious as the desert raid could make everyone fall silent, whether they knew anything about it or not. If there were any arrests, Adam was certain they would not involve familiar names. He was surprised when his prediction proved to be inaccurate.

The Palm Springs home of a heavy metal musician whose career had peaked in the early eighties was raided by FBI agents based on information found in Waldo Cunningham’s records. The musician was arrested for possession of marijuana, heroin, and child pornography.

Agents tried to arrest an actor who had shown great promise in the late seventies, but whose addiction to drugs and alcohol had led him to beat all his wives and burn all his bridges early in his career. He had made a string of awful low-budget straight-to-video action pictures, but even those had dried up by the mid-nineties, and the actor had been forced to sell his Brentwood home and move to the Valley. The news of Waldo Cunningham’s arrest apparently had been more than he could take. Agents found the actor hanging in his shower. They found marijuana, cocaine, and pornographic literature and videotapes purchased from Cunningham.

Two days after resigning unexpectedly, a California congressman’s home was raided and he was arrested. Among the illegal pornography taken from his house were videotapes of the congressman himself having sex with some of Waldo Cunningham’s boys. One of the tapes disappeared and resurfaced on the internet days later.

There were a few others. Another third-rate actor, a screenwriter, a nationally syndicated radio talk show host based in Los Angeles, where he was despised by the celebrities he mocked and ridiculed on his afternoon program. Even a minor executive at a small movie studio. Names that were just barely recognizable. No one too big or important. But they kept reporters and tongues busy.

After attacking Adam in Chinois, Melonie Sands became more famous than she ever had been as an actress. She was fined, sentenced to community service, and required to go into rehabilitation for her substance abuse. When not picking up garbage beside freeways in an orange jumpsuit, she did the talk show circuit. From show to show, she apologized to Adam and the world for her behavior. It had been brought on by alcohol and drugs, which she claimed she was addicted to because she had never dealt with her molestation as a child at the hands of her father. Beyond that, she was unable to talk about Adam or how she knew him because she was going to be a witness for the prosecution in his trial. In recounting her tribulations on Oprah, Melonie Sands made the overweight host cry, and they shared a long hug.

“If they are putting her on the stand,” Horowitz said as she and Adam watched Melonie on CNN, “then things are even better for us than I thought.”

 

 

 

FORTY-FIVE

 

During the first week
in December, Adam moved into a furnished two-bedroom apartment on the twenty-third floor of a high-rise on Wilshire Boulevard in Westwood. The first thing he unpacked was the flat-screen television. Once they had it on the wall and hooked up to the DVD player and sound system, they flopped on the sofa and he turned it on with the remote.

Boxes and suitcases still cluttered the living room, waiting to be unpacked.

“What do you think?” Alyssa asked.

“Of what?” Adam thumbed his way from channel to channel.

“Your new apartment, bright boy.”

“It’s okay, I guess. It smells funny.”

“Smells like it was painted recently.”

“Great. The fumes’ll probably kill me in my sleep.”

Frowning, Alyssa sat up straight beside him. “Are you all right?”

Adam turned to her. “Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know. You seem...different.”

He turned back to the television. “Yeah, that’s what people tell me.”

“Is it the apartment? I like it.” She smiled.

He shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s fine.”

She took a breath to say more, but slumped silently beside him instead.

Adam turned, watched as two small, vertical creases appeared between Alyssa’s eyebrows. He put an arm around her and said, “Sorry for being so weird. I just feel like I’m...floating. Believe it or not, I was getting pretty used to the hotel room. Now I’ve got to get used to this apartment. I keep thinking when this is all over, I can go home and relax. But I don’t have a home anymore.”

She nodded her head against his shoulder. “You’re not being weird. Anybody would feel that way. Your whole life has changed.”

“What happens when I get used to this place? Am I going to have to move again?”

“No, I think you’ll be here awhile. At least till the trial’s over. For now, this is home.”

Adam sighed. “It doesn’t feel like home. Sure as hell doesn’t smell like home.”

Alyssa pulled up the short black skirt she wore, swung a leg over Adam. Straddled his lap and sat facing him, grinning. “Then we’ll make it feel like home. Our home.”

“Oh, I don’t think Rona will approve of you living here.” Adam slipped his arms around her narrow waist. “I would. But I don’t know about Rona.”

“Then I won’t move in until after the trial. It’ll just feel like I live here.”

“What if I...well, I mean, what if the jury...what if they convict me?”

She touched her nose to his and whispered, “Do you really, honestly believe that any jury in the world would go up against your attorney? If I was on that jury and didn’t know you, I’d be afraid to find you guilty. Just because of her. She’s a pit bull.”

“Guess I’m just not as confident as you.”

“Let’s not even think about the trial. Let’s just think about today, okay? Let’s make this apartment our home, even if I can’t live here. We’ll start by getting a Christmas tree and some decorations.” She grinned. “And one of those logs that burns green and blue flames.”

Adam’s upper lip curled back slightly, as if he suddenly felt sick. “Christmas,” he said with disgust. “Sorry, Alyssa, but I really don’t feel like Christmas this year. It’s not even here yet and I’m already sick of it.”

“Well, I’m not going to let you sit here and worry and turn into an old man. You don’t have to go shopping if you don’t want to. I’ll take care of everything. We’ll turn this apartment into a Macy’s display window. And we’ll listen to Christmas music and roast marshmallows and Chet’s nuts and—”

Adam was surprised by his own laughter. “You really want to roast marshmallows?”

“We can do it naked if you want.” She reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, opened the zipper. Adam laughed and wriggled on the sofa as she tugged his jeans and underwear down, freed his hardening penis. Pulled the crotch of her panties aside and rubbed him between her lips. She slid him inside her suddenly and they both gasped. As she moved her hips, slowly at first, she began to sing “The Christmas Song” in a breathy voice, smiling.

Adam sat up, pushed her down on the sofa and got on top of her. He tried to sing “Here comes Santa Claus!” but only made it through the first few words. Their gasping breaths became synchronized with their pounding movements.

Christmas was forgotten.

 

* * *

 

On Wednesday night in the third week of December, Alyssa and Brett came to Adam’s apartment to watch the annual broadcast of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. All the unpacked boxes had been removed from the living room. Adam had put them in his bedroom, where he unpacked things as he needed them.

The living room was dimly lit by a torchiere lamp in one corner, and a twinkling Christmas tree in another. The entire apartment smelled of the forest. Alyssa had brought a Yule log with her and it burned with green- and blue-tinted flames in the fireplace.

Adam and Alyssa were cozy on the sofa, Brett stretched out in the recliner, as they watched the Christmas show. They were half-heartedly singing “Fame and Fortune” along with Rudolph and Herbie, the elf who wanted to be a dentist, when keys chittered in the locks on the door. Adam turned to the entryway, eyes wide.

“Who is it?” he called. He unraveled himself from Alyssa and stood.

The door opened. Horowitz’s heels clacked on the entryway’s marble-tile floor, fell silent on the living room carpet. She carried her black leather briefcase. Max and Lamont came in behind her and Lament closed the door.

“I am sorry to cut your evening short, ladies,” Horowitz said, “but you will have to go now.” She sounded no more stern than usual, but anger burned in her face and eyes, lips trembled ever so slightly when she pressed them together. She boiled just beneath her smooth, unblemished skin.

Alyssa and Brett quickly got to their feet.

“Hey, wait a second,” Adam said angry. “They just got here, we’re watching—”

Horowitz snatched the remote control from the arm of the sofa and fired it at the television. “Not anymore,” she said, handing the remote to Lamont. She put the briefcase on the coffee table, released the latches with a sharp clack, but did not open it. Instead, she turned to Alyssa and Brett, who stood next to Adam. “Have a good evening, ladies.”

Alyssa gave Adam a quick kiss on the lips. “Call me.”

Furious, Adam muttered, “Goddamnit,” as he followed them to the door. “I’ll call you when we’re done and you can come back over, okay?”

Alyssa turned to him and smiled, kissed him again. “Okay. And don’t be mad. It’s probably important.”

Adam closed and locked the door, spun around and went back to the living room. On the coffee table, the lid of the briefcase stood open. Across the room, Horowitz opened the glass doors of the cabinet that held the VCR, DVD player, and sound system. Slipped a cassette into the VCR, nodded once at Lamont.

“Goddamnit, can’t you at least call first?” He was close to shouting. “I mean, what’s so important that you have to barge in here like a—”

The flat-screen filled with the black-and-white overhead view of a liquor store. A man in a ski mask aimed a large handgun at the Korean cashier behind the counter. The camera was behind and above the front counter. Behind the robber, back to the glass doors, holding another large handgun between both hands, stood Adam Julian.

 

* * *

 

Adam thought he had seen Horowitz’s anger before—he could still hear her shouting over her desk at him during their first meeting—but he was wrong. What he had seen in her before had been nothing more than annoyance, irritation, impatience. Real anger—what he saw in her then as she stood before the frozen image of Monty lying dead on the floor of the liquor store as Adam backed out the door—fired from her eyes in white-hot beams like the tank-melting death ray from Gort, the alien robot in The Day the Earth Stood Still. Adam could feel its heat on his skin, expected to smell the harsh odor of his own hair being singed.

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