cutthroat competition for each and every role. One casting director had told her the look this year was Betty Grable and she was more of a Rita Hayworth type. Another director had told her she looked too much like Rita Hayworth and they couldn’t crowd the market. And so it went.
Despite the odds, she had made progress in her acting career. That day, she had arrived at the studio, unaware of the events that would play out in C.B. DeWarner’s office.
The doorbell pealed. Felicia decided to ignore it, but then she heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway. “Felicia, open the door. I need to talk to you. Are you okay?”
Felicia got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a comfortable, faded, old bathrobe. She opened the front door to find her neighbor Lila Lamont―real name Estelle Gerhard―standing in the doorway. Lila was a fellow aspiring actress and her only real friend in Hollywood.
-7-
Josie A. Okuly
“Murray, the resident gossip, was practically salivating when he phoned me. Said something was going on with you on account of your torn dress and messed up hair.” Lila glanced at Felicia’s bathrobe and slippers. “Did I get you out of the tub?”
“As a matter of fact, you did.”
“Murray said your dress was torn. What’s going on?”
“He sure didn’t waste any time.” Felicia lowered her voice. “I can’t talk right now. I have a horrendous headache.”
Lila frowned. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”
“Look, I’ll tell you what happened, but first I need to soak in a hot bath to clear my mind. This has been a really bad day, Lila.”
Lila nodded, understanding. “Well, you know where I live if you want to talk.”
“Thanks,” Felicia said, as Lila walked back to her apartment next door.
ÇÇÇ
O’Rourke pushed the doorbell at 116 Wilshire Boulevard, Apartment 305. The starlet lived at the venerable Pacific Breeze Hotel for Women.
The place had gone downhill since his days with the vice squad. He had been here five years ago on a peeping-tom collar and the hotel had not held up well since that time.
O’Rourke’s finger hovered over the doorbell and he was about to push it again when suddenly, the door swung open. For a moment, O’Rourke’s breath caught in his throat. While working the Hollywood beat, he had seen his share of beautiful women. But for the first time in his life, he was literally speechless. The girl wore a faded pink bathrobe. A white, terrycloth towel enveloped the top of her head. O’Rourke checked the
-8-
Pacific Breeze Hotel
outrageous impulse to free her hair from the restraint and allow it to spread across her shoulders in a glorious mass.
What was the matter with him? Concentrate on the case, he told himself. That’s the first rule of policework .
“Miss Felicia Avery?” Nolan stepped forward, giving O’Rourke a reproving look from the corner of his eye.
“Yes.” The girl pulled a lock of hair from the folds of the towel, and twirled the auburn curl around her finger.
Red. The most beautiful color of the rainbow. O’Rourke saw she was no dye-job redhead. Her hair looked as natural as...
Nolan’s voice broke into his musings. “We need to ask a few questions, ma’am. Los Angeles Police Department.” Nolan flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Nolan and this is Detective O’Rourke. C.B.
DeWarner’s secretary indicated you were at the studio auditioning for a part today. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I was.” Her voice had a lilting quality a man could listen to forever.
“She also stated you ran out of DeWarner’s office in a disheveled state after someone heard a gunshot. The secretary found her boss dead on the floor of his office.”
“I didn’t kill him.” Felicia’s eyes were shiny with sudden tears.
“We know you didn’t kill him.” Nolan lowered his voice. “Do you mind if we come inside? I don’t think you’d like your neighbors to hear this conversation.”
Felicia nodded her head.
Despite the odds, she had made progress in her acting career. That day, she had arrived at the studio, unaware of the events that would play out in C.B. DeWarner’s office.
The doorbell pealed. Felicia decided to ignore it, but then she heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway. “Felicia, open the door. I need to talk to you. Are you okay?”
Felicia got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a comfortable, faded, old bathrobe. She opened the front door to find her neighbor Lila Lamont―real name Estelle Gerhard―standing in the doorway. Lila was a fellow aspiring actress and her only real friend in Hollywood.
-7-
Josie A. Okuly
“Murray, the resident gossip, was practically salivating when he phoned me. Said something was going on with you on account of your torn dress and messed up hair.” Lila glanced at Felicia’s bathrobe and slippers. “Did I get you out of the tub?”
“As a matter of fact, you did.”
“Murray said your dress was torn. What’s going on?”
“He sure didn’t waste any time.” Felicia lowered her voice. “I can’t talk right now. I have a horrendous headache.”
Lila frowned. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”
“Look, I’ll tell you what happened, but first I need to soak in a hot bath to clear my mind. This has been a really bad day, Lila.”
Lila nodded, understanding. “Well, you know where I live if you want to talk.”
“Thanks,” Felicia said, as Lila walked back to her apartment next door.
ÇÇÇ
O’Rourke pushed the doorbell at 116 Wilshire Boulevard, Apartment 305. The starlet lived at the venerable Pacific Breeze Hotel for Women.
The place had gone downhill since his days with the vice squad. He had been here five years ago on a peeping-tom collar and the hotel had not held up well since that time.
O’Rourke’s finger hovered over the doorbell and he was about to push it again when suddenly, the door swung open. For a moment, O’Rourke’s breath caught in his throat. While working the Hollywood beat, he had seen his share of beautiful women. But for the first time in his life, he was literally speechless. The girl wore a faded pink bathrobe. A white, terrycloth towel enveloped the top of her head. O’Rourke checked the
-8-
Pacific Breeze Hotel
outrageous impulse to free her hair from the restraint and allow it to spread across her shoulders in a glorious mass.
What was the matter with him? Concentrate on the case, he told himself. That’s the first rule of policework .
“Miss Felicia Avery?” Nolan stepped forward, giving O’Rourke a reproving look from the corner of his eye.
“Yes.” The girl pulled a lock of hair from the folds of the towel, and twirled the auburn curl around her finger.
Red. The most beautiful color of the rainbow. O’Rourke saw she was no dye-job redhead. Her hair looked as natural as...
Nolan’s voice broke into his musings. “We need to ask a few questions, ma’am. Los Angeles Police Department.” Nolan flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Nolan and this is Detective O’Rourke. C.B.
DeWarner’s secretary indicated you were at the studio auditioning for a part today. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I was.” Her voice had a lilting quality a man could listen to forever.
“She also stated you ran out of DeWarner’s office in a disheveled state after someone heard a gunshot. The secretary found her boss dead on the floor of his office.”
“I didn’t kill him.” Felicia’s eyes were shiny with sudden tears.
“We know you didn’t kill him.” Nolan lowered his voice. “Do you mind if we come inside? I don’t think you’d like your neighbors to hear this conversation.”
Felicia nodded her head.
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