homosexuals wanting special rights.”
“I heard you, Mom,” Drew said. He suddenly looked serious. “You know, unfortunate people like Leigh Simone—who promote the homosexual agenda and campaign to restrict our constitutional rights to bear arms—have no regard for American family values. We need to protect our homes, our families, and our impressionable youth. These homosexuals who want to take away our guns and prey on our children, they pose a direct threat to the American family….”
Police had to control the mob of reporters and fans gathered outside the gated community of Malibu Estates. A parade of limos, Mercedeses, and BMWs slowly passed through the guarded entry. Each one carried a film or recording star. None of those famous people gave autographs or talked to reporters. They stayed in their cars—until the guard waved them through to the private cul-de-sac. Photographers still managed to take their pictures, while reporters wrote down what they were wearing and who they were with.
It may as well have been a star-studded film premiere—instead of the site for a memorial service.
Leigh’s will requested a quick cremation and no funeral. Her producer, record mogul Morley Denton, invited a hundred of Leigh’s friends to his beach-front mansion to “celebrate the life” of the late pop diva. Dayle was on the guest list. Morley had also invited some press agents and publicists. In addition to the crowd outside the gate, unwelcome tabloid helicopters hovered over Morley’s house. Dayle’s publicist had alerted the media that Dayle was attending the memorial with her current leading man, John McDunn.
One of the busiest actors in Hollywood, John had snatched up a Best Supporting Oscar three years before. Every one of his forty-six fast-living, hard-drinking years showed on his still-handsome face. Recently divorced, John costarred with Dayle in her new movie. Their steamy love scenes together had already generated some hot prerelease publicity for the film.
In fact, John had been Dayle’s relationship number eight during the finalization of his divorce. She went into the affair knowing he had a roving eye. The romance was short-lived, but they remained friends.
John was the solution to Dayle’s problems. He had no objections to a few publicity dates with her. They looked so right together, it silenced a lot of the whispered rumors about Dayle and Leigh.
Dayle clung onto John’s arm as they stepped into the front hallway—an airy, marble atrium with a waterfall along one wall. She recognized a couple of press agents, staking out the arriving guests. They sized up John and her, then unabashedly scribbled in their notebooks.
“I really appreciate this, Johnny,” she said under her breath. “I know there are a thousand other places you’d rather be right now.”
John shrugged. “The Lakers game, in bed with you…”
Dayle nudged him. “Not anymore, honey. But thanks just the same.”
The helicopters buzzing overhead had driven scores of guests from the terrace into the house. They gathered in Morley’s huge living room, with its panoramic ocean view. Everyone still seemed in shock over Leigh’s untimely death—and the news about her “drug problem.” One of Leigh’s noncelebrity friends confided in Dayle that she refused to believe any of the stories. “And by the way, Dayle,” she said. “You should know, Leigh was so excited about meeting you. Before her Portland trip, that’s all she talked about.”
Dayle felt cheated of a friend.
She spotted Estelle Collier by the hors d’oeuvres table. In only six days, Estelle had gone from celebrity-assistant to celebrity . She knew Leigh better than anyone. Agents, publishers, and TV producers were tripping over each other for the rights to Estelle’s story. She’d already appeared on several tabloid TV news shows, painting her dead employer as a pathetic, drug-dependent lesbian with a string of nameless, faceless lovers.
How
“I heard you, Mom,” Drew said. He suddenly looked serious. “You know, unfortunate people like Leigh Simone—who promote the homosexual agenda and campaign to restrict our constitutional rights to bear arms—have no regard for American family values. We need to protect our homes, our families, and our impressionable youth. These homosexuals who want to take away our guns and prey on our children, they pose a direct threat to the American family….”
Police had to control the mob of reporters and fans gathered outside the gated community of Malibu Estates. A parade of limos, Mercedeses, and BMWs slowly passed through the guarded entry. Each one carried a film or recording star. None of those famous people gave autographs or talked to reporters. They stayed in their cars—until the guard waved them through to the private cul-de-sac. Photographers still managed to take their pictures, while reporters wrote down what they were wearing and who they were with.
It may as well have been a star-studded film premiere—instead of the site for a memorial service.
Leigh’s will requested a quick cremation and no funeral. Her producer, record mogul Morley Denton, invited a hundred of Leigh’s friends to his beach-front mansion to “celebrate the life” of the late pop diva. Dayle was on the guest list. Morley had also invited some press agents and publicists. In addition to the crowd outside the gate, unwelcome tabloid helicopters hovered over Morley’s house. Dayle’s publicist had alerted the media that Dayle was attending the memorial with her current leading man, John McDunn.
One of the busiest actors in Hollywood, John had snatched up a Best Supporting Oscar three years before. Every one of his forty-six fast-living, hard-drinking years showed on his still-handsome face. Recently divorced, John costarred with Dayle in her new movie. Their steamy love scenes together had already generated some hot prerelease publicity for the film.
In fact, John had been Dayle’s relationship number eight during the finalization of his divorce. She went into the affair knowing he had a roving eye. The romance was short-lived, but they remained friends.
John was the solution to Dayle’s problems. He had no objections to a few publicity dates with her. They looked so right together, it silenced a lot of the whispered rumors about Dayle and Leigh.
Dayle clung onto John’s arm as they stepped into the front hallway—an airy, marble atrium with a waterfall along one wall. She recognized a couple of press agents, staking out the arriving guests. They sized up John and her, then unabashedly scribbled in their notebooks.
“I really appreciate this, Johnny,” she said under her breath. “I know there are a thousand other places you’d rather be right now.”
John shrugged. “The Lakers game, in bed with you…”
Dayle nudged him. “Not anymore, honey. But thanks just the same.”
The helicopters buzzing overhead had driven scores of guests from the terrace into the house. They gathered in Morley’s huge living room, with its panoramic ocean view. Everyone still seemed in shock over Leigh’s untimely death—and the news about her “drug problem.” One of Leigh’s noncelebrity friends confided in Dayle that she refused to believe any of the stories. “And by the way, Dayle,” she said. “You should know, Leigh was so excited about meeting you. Before her Portland trip, that’s all she talked about.”
Dayle felt cheated of a friend.
She spotted Estelle Collier by the hors d’oeuvres table. In only six days, Estelle had gone from celebrity-assistant to celebrity . She knew Leigh better than anyone. Agents, publishers, and TV producers were tripping over each other for the rights to Estelle’s story. She’d already appeared on several tabloid TV news shows, painting her dead employer as a pathetic, drug-dependent lesbian with a string of nameless, faceless lovers.
How
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