In Her Genes

———

Peter Argonis

© 2015/2024 by the author

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Preface

1. Collision Course

2. A Dark Secret

3. Restitution

4. Site Visit

5. Caught With His Pants Down

6. A Few Small Steps

7. Momma Bear

8. Danielle

9. Clearwater

10. Meeting the Locals

11. Jeanne

12. Oscar Night

13. Resentment

14. Sneaky Sister

15. The Final Step

16. Asen!

17. Chateau Renault

18. Resident Celebrity

19. An offer he cannot refuse

20. Premiere Night

21. Hindsight

22. Holidays

Preface

The original story as posted on SOL was edited by SpikeCO. I have revised it in a number of points, to remove inconsistencies, bad grammar and typos. I added a paragraph, too, to make it a stand-alone story for readers who do not know my other work.

Little did I know in 2015, when it was first posted, that the figure of Don Brentano, the villain of this story, would find his match in the real-life scoundrels who were exposed a few years later. When I wrote the story, I felt the Brentano character was a bit overdone. Now, of course, we all know better, even though none of the real-life villains has met with a fatal end.

1. Collision Course

David Olsen, twenty-one and a junior at the University of Southern California, was changing out of the scrubs he had been wearing all afternoon. David was a pre-med student at USC besides playing on the USC Trojans' varsity basketball team, and in the waning days of his junior year he was working as a volunteer in the Outpatient Clinic of USC University Hospital.

David's ambition was to become a surgeon, and playing basketball for the Trojans had been his chance to afford studying at USC instead of Montana State University. He had hoped to be picked up for two or three seasons by an NBA team after graduation to lay the financial foundation for his continued education, but that prospect was turning sour after the Trojans had to forfeit their entire 2007/2008 season wins when a player violated National Collegiate Athletic Association regulations. There was no telling what further sanctions the NCAA would impose on the team.

He finished changing and picked up his helmet and jacket. Time to leave. Outside in the parking lot, he found his motorcycle. Riding the bike was ideal for him since parking was a bitch both on campus and at the hospital. The bike, an ancient BMW, was an heirloom from his father, Donald Olsen, and it was David's most prized possession. 

Donald Olsen had been a Clearwater, MT, deputy sheriff. He died of third degree burns six years previously when he tried to rescue a family from their burning car. He could get the children out, but before he was able to pull the woman from the passenger seat, the gas tank blew up. They called Donald Olsen a hero and the governor came to the burial in person, but for David and his kid sister Danielle, Dani to family and friends, the loss was traumatic. Judy Olsen, David's mother, pulled them through. A deputy sheriff herself, she kept the family intact and her kids on track.

David left the hospital compound at low speed, letting his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. It was past eleven p.m. and traffic was light on this Friday night. David took the Hollywood Freeway, following Route 101 and planning to turn south on 110 for the four miles to the campus. There was a construction site ahead, and one lane of the westbound traffic had to switch over to the eastbound side. The construction crew had built up a low divider to separate the west- and eastbound lanes. David did not mind the narrow lane with his motorcycle. He kept to the 40 mph speed limit and enjoyed the feel of the night air.

He let his mind wander a bit. The weekend was coming up and he weighed calling his girlfriend Marsha. The relationship was drawing to its inevitable end. Marsha was on the cheerleading squad and she was serious about becoming a dancer. Being associated with a varsity player and possible NBA prospect gave her the standing she craved, but David felt increasingly that this was the extent of her feelings for him. She on the other hand felt stifled by David's tight schedule. Being a varsity player and earning the grades he would need for med school left little time for the activities Marsha loved, such as visiting theaters and art exhibitions. 

David acknowledged ruefully that his idea of weekend activity comprised a movie and getting laid, or the other way around. Perhaps it was time to move on. Being on the varsity team, he could easily find a lower maintenance girlfriend for his needs, and Marsha should also be able to find somebody sharing her interests.

Coasting along, he was completely unprepared when an oncoming small convertible suddenly swerved to the left and broke through the divider. There was not even enough time for his right hand to reach the brake lever before he collided head-on with the convertible. Fortunately, he was thrown clear over the roadster in an awkward somersault, but he crash-landed hard on his back. 

———

"Mel! Are you ready yet? The guests will be here any minute!"

"Damn it, it's not yet a quarter to eight, Mom!" Mel — Melanie Renault to the world — yelled back.

She wasn't very eager for the party anyway. It would be her mother's friends and colleagues attending. Her mother, Lana Hartwell, was an actress always hunting for the next bit part, be it as crime victim in a cop show or as a mother with the right laundry detergent in a commercial. This party was to make it known that she still existed and was looking for work, and Melanie was the bait to lure the guests.

Once, Lana Hartwell had been an up and coming young actress, but that was twenty years ago. Back then, she was doing bit parts and even supporting roles in big productions and alongside A-list actors and actresses. She even had star billing in two small movies. Then she met Marc Renault, the great French actor/producer and quintessential bad boy of European film. For almost a year, longer than any of his other conquests, Lana was seen at his side. 

Then, inevitably, he became bored with monogamous life. He had affairs on the side — sometimes quite openly — and Lana suffered for a while before she finally boarded a flight back to Los Angeles, leaving a curt farewell note to Marc. Renault's ego did not tolerate a woman leaving him and so he embarked on a mission to win Lana back. He romanced her, he wined and dined her, and finally he got back into her pants.

That accomplished he quickly lost his renewed interest in Lana and they had another break up. Two months later Lana informed him that she was pregnant, the result of their brief, unanticipated reunion. 

It did not bring them back together, but at least Marc Renault offered generous support. He had lost his only child, a son, in a traffic accident four years earlier and he was insistent that the child would bear his last name and be his likely heir. That cinched the deal for Lana who found that being out of the loop in Hollywood for almost two years had cost her any standing she'd had before. Becoming a single mom did not brighten the prospects, and so Lana Hartwell named her little daughter Melanie Jeanne Renault.

Marc and his mother Jeanne Renault, France's grand dame de la cinema, attended the baptism amidst big media interest. As a home for his daughter, Marc Renault purchased a modest 4-bedroom house west of Hollywood Hills, but within easy commuting to Universal Studios. In this house, Lana settled with her daughter and began to rebuild her acting career.

It was rough going for years. She guest starred in various TV shows, increasingly type cast as the trophy wife of a murder victim which hampered her search for more solid work. The support payments from Renault provided for their livelihood, but Lana became frustrated over her stalled career.

Meanwhile, Melanie grew into a pretty girl. She was rather small and even after the onset of puberty there was never any gawkiness about her. She was increasingly cast as teen daughter in Hollywood productions, mostly playing the cute daughter of the divorced action hero who gets abducted by his enemies. Daddy rescued her and won Mommy back — curtain. She also played quite a few bit parts in movies and TV shows, and often the producers picked Melanie first before they cast Lana as her mother. The happy years, as Melanie remembered them.

When she was fourteen, Marc Renault died from lung cancer. Melanie had visited him a few times during the summers and she mostly remembered him with his perennial cigarette in the corner of his mouth, his trademark and likely cause of death. Melanie and Lana flew to France for his burial, and Lana told each and every reporter she could find how Marc had been the one and only love of her life. It got her some renewed recognition and a recurring guest starring role in a crime show. 

Melanie walked away from the funeral as Marc Renault's sole heir, with a cash fortune of over nine million Euros and the ownership of a world famous vineyard. With a country home in the Roussillon and a Paris tenement house close to the Champs-Élysées, her trust fund ran to almost 30 million Dollars. Her uncle Josh Hartwell, a successful lawyer, managed it and the proceeds allowed Melanie and her mother a carefree existence.

Around that time, Melanie acquired a reputation as being moody and difficult. Temper tantrums alternated with phases of withdrawal, and directors began to look for other girls who were easier to handle. 

Then, two years ago, Melanie stumbled upon a book, Heart of Glass, written by a former drug addict and child prostitute, detailing a youth of horrible abuse. The girl's mother had been addict too and she had prostituted her daughter to earn money for her heroin habit. 

The book was quite a success, and when Melanie heard that director/producer Peter Demmick had purchased the movie rights and was planning to make it into a B-movie, she became obsessed with the project. For three months, she pestered Demmick. She spent hours talking to the young woman who had written the book, she spoke to her former high school class mates, she read up on heroin and on addictions. In the end, Demmick relented and cast Melanie as the child prostitute.

Once the project shaped up, Demmick was able to win Dame Margaret Timmons for the lead role of the teacher who became involved in the girl's rescue. Timmons was an A-list actress, a one-time Oscar winner and three-time nominee. Suddenly, the movie was getting A-rating support from the studio and a sizeable budget increase. 

The four months of shooting were grueling work for Melanie. Demmick was a perfectionist who accepted nothing but her best efforts. Had it not been for Timmons's support and advice, Melanie would have never made it. She gave everything for the role, even dieting herself down to 90 pounds to portray the anorexic child whore. 

In a crucial scene, when the make-up people did not make a bloody gash convincing enough for Demmick, Melanie slashed her own shoulder to produce the bleeding wound. Demmick threw her from the set for this calling her a nutcase, but after viewing the dailies he changed his mind. He talked to Timmons instead, and the great actress took Melanie on a three-day weekend trip to London to weaken the young woman's obsession with the role.

The year-long post-production period until the release was torture for Melanie. She stayed in character and under 90 pounds the entire time, and her emaciated looks made the gossip papers. She did not care. She wanted to see the finished movie. 

Her wait ended just three weeks before. The premiere was held at the Apollo Theatre on Rodeo Drive and it was a resounding success. The critics went gaga over the performances of the two actresses, even questioning whether the supporting billing for Melanie was justified. 

Finally seeing herself as the miserable girl in the story and giving a voice to her desperation and fears was healing for Melanie. For the first time in many years she felt in balance again and the raving reviews were soothing to her ego. Somewhere deep inside, old wounds were still festering, but the public recognition and the warm praise covered the pains. She was a star now, and her agent, Ike Brownstein, was fielding offers too numerous for her to review herself.

Of course, Lana Hartwell knew that producers might be willing to give her roles to establish a connection with Melanie, and that was what the party was all about. 

Melanie sighed heavily. It was deja-vu all over again. Time and again, her mother had tried to use her daughter's success for her own advancement. Melanie's mouth became narrow as she thought about one particular incident, but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. It was too hurtful and she was in a happier place now. After looking at herself in the mirror again, she left her room and walked downstairs.

The first guests arrived shortly after. Melanie did the usual chit-chat, was admonished that she was too thin, received some invitations to upcoming parties and more significantly, developed a slight buzz. Lana always had alcohol around and she did not mind if Melanie drank a glass of Zinfandel or a wine-spritzer. They were at home after all and the guests were all from the same set of people.

Then, it was already eleven, the doorbell rang again. Melanie looked up in time to see a burly, sixtyish man enter, to be greeted friendly by Lana. Melanie felt her blood run cold. Don Brentano! Her mother had the nerve to invite Don Brentano! Melanie's hands balled into fists and she felt her eyes starting to brim. Ten steps brought her over to where Lana was still greeting her latest guest.

"You fucking bitch!" she screamed at her mother whose careful, fake smile vanished in a second. "How could you invite this… this monster? You…"

"Mel, keep it down!" Lana hissed.

"Get him out! Now!" Melanie snarled back.

"Behave! You are still…"

"Fuck you, you whore!" Melanie stormed. 

With her right hand, she grabbed her car keys. Suddenly Brentano stood in front of her.

"Hey, Baby! You can't still be mad at me?"

There was a glass of wine in Lana's hand. Melanie gripped it and threw it into Brentano's face. Then she was through the door, running almost blindly down the driveway. To make room for the guests, she had parked her small roadster some twenty yards down the street. She was still in her evening dress and high heels and she was more than a little drunk, but her only thought was to get away from the house, from her mother and from Brentano. The tires squealed as Melanie tore away from the curb.

Melanie drove almost on autopilot, just trying to get as much distance between herself and her home. 

This was it! She would move out. Hell, she was a student at USC, soon to be a junior. She could apply for a dorm room. Anything to be away from home. She would have to talk to Uncle Josh, but he would make the necessary funds available. She was of age after all. Melanie knew that her uncle disapproved of how his sister raised her, and while she still had five years until her father's money would be fully hers, Melanie could ask for the proceeds. The trust fund was paying for her education anyway.

She needed a place to stay though. One of her few friends was living near USC. Therefore, Melanie took northbound 110 and then switched to 101, all the time trying to reach her friend on the cell phone. Now she fumbled the phone and it fell to the floor. Twisting her body, she tried to retrieve it when suddenly her left front wheel bumped hard against something. The left front of the car lifted and the single headlight of an oncoming motorcycle blinded her. Then a crash, something hitting her face, followed by merciful darkness.

———

Patrick Owojima was tired after his twelve-hour shift. He was a fifty-three year-old paramedic working for Southern Cross Ambulance Services, and he and his partner, Donna Mills, had just delivered a 72 year-old male suffering from chest pain to the Emergency Room at USC University Hospital. Now he was driving the unit back to headquarters to end his shift. Route 101 was empty at this time — it was after eleven — and the construction site ahead did not cause any back-ups. Some 100 yards in front of them, a lone motorcycle was cruising at the same speed. Patrick yawned heartily.

"Man, I'm getting too old for this shift work," he complained. 

"You're getting too old for anything," Donna teased him. She was early thirties, White and a tad chubby, but she and Patrick were good friends.

"Yeah, maybe," Patrick conceded. "At least, my… Oh shit!"

In front of them, a car had suddenly swerved into the opposing lane and the motorcycle rider had crashed into it. Patrick saw him flying through the air for a second, but then he slammed on the brakes. In front of them, he saw the mangled front of a small convertible, and beyond it, the motorcycle slammed into the guard rails.

"Dispatch, dispatch! This is unit 7-15. We have a head-on collision on Route 101, right at the construction site. Motorcycle and small convertible. Request additional units and please call the cops," Donna was already talking into the radio.

Patrick switched on the red lights and came to a stop in front of the convertible. In the headlights they saw a woman in the driver seat, slumped over the wheel.

"You take the woman, I'll look after the biker," Patrick commanded. 

They both exited the ambulance and grabbed their emergency kits. Patrick found the motorcyclist almost fifty yards behind the crash site and lying still on his back. It was a kid, perhaps 20 or slightly older. Patrick knelt at his side. The young man was already in shock.

"My back!" he wheezed. "My back!"

Patrick realized the urgency of the situation. The man had obviously landed on his back after flying for almost thirty yards. A spinal cord injury was more than likely.

"Spinal cord trauma!" Patrick snapped into his shoulder microphone. "I'm giving him 10 cc of Prednisolone. Donna, how's your patient doin'?"

"Facial trauma, nose fracture. Something must've hit her face," he heard. 

"Dispatch, we have two trauma patients, one male, approximately 20, with probable spinal cord injuries; one female,… how old?"

"Eighteen to twenty," Donna answered.

"One female, eighteen to twenty, with facial trauma. We need a second unit."

"7-15, 7-09 is en route and should be on site in a minute," the dispatcher advised them.

That was lucky. But then Patrick remembered that he had met the crew of 7-09 at the Emergency Room. They were probably returning back to base, just like Patrick and Donna.

"What have we got here?" a voice sounded. Patrick looked up at a Highway Patrol officer.

"Head-on collision. The convertible swerved into the oncoming traffic and hit the motorcycle. We saw the accident happening."

"Was the biker dude speeding?"

"Naw. He was just coasting along in front of us at maybe 40."

"Okay, we're gonna have to get your statements later. What's up with him?"

"Looks like spinal cord injury."

"Damn! He's still young."

"Yeah, well, we need to get him to the ER."

Luckily, the second unit, 7-09, appeared on the scene. The highway cops cleared some space for the ambulance to get past the wrecked car and Patrick saw his friend Lewis jump from the unit. Seconds later, the vacuum mattress was ready on the gurney and at the injured man's side. With often practiced moves, the young man was laid on the gurney. A pump was attached to evacuate the loosely stuffed mattress until it hardened enough to stabilize the patient.

A minute later, unit 7-09 was on its way back to USC Medical Center while Patrick and his partner readied the battered young woman for transport. Damn it all! This would mean at least 2 hours of overtime.

———

The landline telephone was ringing and Judy Olsen was fully awake in an instant. A call on the landline could not be good. The office would call her on her cell phone. On her bare feet she ran downstairs and to where the phone was mounted on the wall. She picked up the receiver.

"Olsen here!" she almost barked into the mouthpiece.

"Mrs. Judy Olsen?" a female voice she did not recognize sounded. 

Judy had heard the tone of voice before — a police officer or a hospital person with training in calling relatives. She closed her eyes. Not David! Please, God! Not David too. With an effort she answered.

"This is she."

"I am Nurse Jennifer Andrews, of USC University Hospital. Are you the mother of David Olsen?"

"Yes, damn it! Get it out!" Judy exploded.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. Your son was brought in an hour ago after a severe motorcycle accident. Right now he is in emergency surgery for a possible spinal cord injury. He is not in critical condition, Ma'am, as far as we can tell right now, but the trauma specialists decided to operate right away. Time is critical in cases like this. Do you object to surgery, Ma'am?"

"Of course not!" Judy snapped. "Listen, I'll be in L.A. with the first flight I can get. Is there anything you need? Patient files, vaccination certificates?"

"Only if your son has an existing condition, Ma'am. Health insurance documentation would be helpful."

"He is insured through me. I'm a police officer."

"That's good. Is there anything else you need to know, Ma'am?"

"Do you know how it happened?"

"The paramedics say that a young woman swerved into his lane. They even saw the whole thing. He received emergency medication within less than five minutes of the accident happening."

Judy forced herself to think. That was a ray of hope. With spinal cord injuries, time is critical as she knew from over twenty years as a Deputy Sheriff for Clearwater County and many First Aid training courses.

"I'll be there tomorrow," she repeated. "Excuse me, I have to organize things."

"Certainly, Ma'am. Good luck to you and your son!"

The call ended and Judy looked around. There was Dani standing in the kitchen door.

"Baby, David had an accident. He's in the hospital. He'll survive, but he's badly injured. I must fly down to L.A."

"Me too?"

Judy thought briefly. "You better come along. I can't leave you alone here."

They had no living relatives in Clearwater, and Judy's husband had died in the line of duty years ago. 

"Pack some clothes and your toiletries. Think of the security at the airport when you pack! I need to make phone calls."

First in line was Sheriff Cramer. She answered sleepily and Judy quickly explained what had happened. Cramer was sympathetic and offered to have somebody drive Judy to Missoula. She also promised to arrange for compassionate leave. Thank God for an understanding boss!

An hour later, a red-eyed Leslie Cramer drove up in front of the Olsen's home. Leslie was the Sheriff's daughter and a deputy like Judy. Leslie was good people. She alighted from the reserve cruiser and hugged Judy and Dani. Tears were in her eyes; David had been Leslie's classmate.

"Did you call Kylie or Cliff?" she asked when they parted.

"K… why?"

"They live in L.A. They can pick you up at LAX, drive you to the hospital, you know."

"You think they would? I don't know anybody in L.A."

"Don't even ask!" Leslie huffed. "Let's call them when you have your flight information. Chop-chop!"

A minute later they were on their way with Leslie driving. She switched on the red-and-blues, not so much to warn other motorists, but to keep troopers or deputies from other jurisdictions from pulling them over. Leslie had gone to Trooper School and she had aced the driving courses. She kept the pedal to the metal, blasting along the highway at over 90 mph. while Judy used the radio to announce their presence to the various law enforcement agencies of the counties they were passing.

Never before had Judy reached Missoula in such a short time. Still, it was already light when Leslie drove up to the small terminal. An airport rent-a-cop came running to find out the reason for a cruiser driving up to the terminal. Judy showed her badge.

"Deputy Sheriff Judy Olsen. Nothing's amiss here, Officer. I have urgent business in Los Angeles, that's all."

Judy hugged Leslie once more and then ran into the terminal building with Dani at her heels. They were in time to catch the next flight to Salt Lake City, and the airline agent was able to get them a quick connection to L.A. They would arrive during mid-morning, at nine-thirty-two. 

Judy pulled her cell phone then. She knew Cliff Henson from his three-year stint as a deputy in the Sheriff's office. In fact, she had been his first training officer when he was a rookie. She typed in the number from the notepad where Leslie had scribbled it.

———

Cliff Henson was an early riser, but he was still fast asleep when his cell phone chirped.

"Jeez, whoisit?" Kylie mumbled sleepily.

"Dunno," he answered looking at the caller number. He accepted the call. "Henson?"

"Cliff? It's Judy Olsen, from Clearwater?"

"Judy! Hey! Long time and all. What's up?" Judy was a good person and he respected her.

"Listen Cliff, I'm having an emergency. David was in a traffic accident last night. He's at USC University Hospital. He was in surgery last time I heard from them. I'm standing at the airport right now waiting for the boarding to start. Danielle is with me. I know its short notice, but could you…?"

"Of course!" Cliff answered automatically. "When's you flight arriving?"

"We're booked on Delta 1414, ETA 9:32."

"Okay. I'll be there and pick you up. USC you say? That's easy. Look, is there anything else you need?"

"Do you know of any affordable motel near the hospital?"

Cliff looked at Kylie who was sitting up and listening intently. She nodded.

"No way will you be staying at a motel. We can put you up in the guest room. No sweat, really. Kylie sends her regards by the way. You just fly in here and we'll set you up. How bad is it, Judy? Will you need legal representation?"

"I don't know yet. They say his spinal cord may be injured and they operated on him."

"Oh, shit! Listen, I'll ask my boss if he can recommend a good ambulance chaser. Those insurance companies will try to pull a fast one on you, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know. Thanks a heap, Cliff! I'll make sure to let your dad off with a warning the next time I'll catch him speeding."

"You hang in there, Judy. I'll meet you at the airport."

"Okay! Listen, have to go! They started the boarding. I'll see you in a few!"

With the call ended, Cliff looked at his wife. "Shit! You know Davy Olsen, right? He had an accident last night. Might be paralyzed."

"Oh, no!" Kylie exclaimed. "The poor guy! How?"

"Judy didn't tell, or maybe she doesn't know yet. I have to pick her up at half past nine. You wanna tag along?"

Kylie nodded. "Sure. You'll need at least 40 minutes to LAX, so we should leave at half past eight at the latest. We better get up and make some breakfast."

"You know Judy?" Cliff asked rolling over to get up.

"Only a little. When Davy's father was killed, my parents and I went to the funeral." Kylie recalled.

"She was my training officer as a rookie. She's cool. Danielle, or Dani, I don't know at all. She must be a junior this fall."

"Okay, you shower first. I'll make coffee and then shower after breakfast while you clear our junk from the guest room."

"Deal," Cliff yawned and trotted off to the bathroom.

Cliff and his wife Kylie were natives of Clearwater, Montana. They had been highschool sweethearts, but the relationship had fallen apart in their freshman year, when Kylie won a music talent show and began a music career in L.A.. Her promising career stalled when she developed an alcohol problem. Meanwhile, Cliff finished college as a bitter loner, and once graduated with a criminal law degree, he joined his hometown's sherriff's department as a rookie deputy. Their paths crossed again, when Cliff arrested Kylie's then-boyfriend on DUI and reckless driving charges, and she saved his life months later, when he suffered a life-threatening gunshot wound during a hostage standoff. From there on out, they rediscovered their feelings and married, settling in L.A., with Cliff attending law school, and playing gigs together on the club circuit.¹

An hour later, Cliff steered his old Ford Crown Victoria on southbound La Cienega Blvd while Kylie collected the odd wrappers and tank receipts into a plastic shopping bag.

"We really need to clean this," she remarked. "This stuff is still from the San Diego gigs."

Four weeks ago, Kylie and Cliff, with a hired drummer and a bassist, had given three concerts in the San Diego area. The crowds had been nice and receptive, and the whole thing had been fun, but things had been hectic since then and they had not found the time to clean out the car. 

Cliff and Kylie were harmonizing better and better, a small wonder since they spent a lot of time playing together. Kylie had taken violin classes at USC Thornton School of Music to expand her repertoire and she was easily Cliff's equal now, mostly because she had more time to practice while he was busy going to classes. At Thornton they had also found their percussionist and their bass player.

"The last few weeks were a bit crazy, but the summer is here now. We may have to look for a replacement for the Crown Vic anyway. This baby is just too thirsty for our overland tours."

"I hear you. Maybe we can get a minivan with a Diesel engine and keep my Beemer on the side. I'd hate to give it up."

Cliff nodded.

"Sounds reasonable. They're gonna strip me of my Y chromosome for driving a mom car, but a minivan will come in useful for gigs."

West Century Blvd was coming up and Cliff switched to the right lane to make the turn. They were lucky. The short term lot had free spaces, and a few minutes later, Cliff parked his car in walking distance from the main building. It was only eight-forty, but the temperature was already in the high seventies. They had time, and when Kylie was approached by a star-struck teenager, she stopped to chat and sign an autograph.

Judy and Dani's flight was on-time, and it was only 45 minutes later that they emerged from arrivals. Both looked like hell warmed over, pale under their tans, and with red eyes. Hugs were exchanged, but then Cliff and Kylie showed the way to the car park. 

Driving from the airport to USC Medical Center was a bit more involved. The traffic being as it was, it took them about an hour, and then some more to find parking, but then they showed Judy and Dani straight to the trauma unit. Once there, Judy had to show her I.D. and was told to sit in a waiting room. Fortunately, it took only fifteen minutes for a young doctor to appear, who sat with them and opened a folder.

"David Olsen, age 21, was admitted at 0:18 in the emergency ward, having been in a traffic accident. X-ray confirmed fractures to the ninth and tenth thoracic vertebrae. An emergency operation removed the pressure from the swelling of the nerve tissue, and he is currently on anti-inflammatory medication. We are cautiously optimistic about his prospects."

"Is he conscious?"

"We woke him briefly to test his motor and sensory nerves, but he is now sedated to promote the healing process. If you wish to see him…"

"Of course!" Judy and Dani almost snapped. The doctor smiled.

"… I can arrange for that. Two persons maximum." He looked at Cliff and Kylie and his eyes widened in recognition. "Are you related to Mr. Olsen?"

Cliff shook his head. "No. Deputy Olsen is a former colleague, and we picked her and her daughter up at the airport. Don't bother with us."

The doctor, after a regretful glance at Kylie, led the two women away while Kylie and Cliff settled into their chairs. Cliff pulled an iPad from his satchel and the two went through the LA Times website for news. Perhaps a half hour later, Cliff's cell phone chirped, and with a guilty glance he ran out of the ward to pick up the call. 

"Shit!" he swore seeing that the call was from his boss, Joshua Hartwell. Cliff was a summer intern at Warner, Hartwell & Mitchell, Attorneys at Law. They were a very successful entertainment law firm, and Hartwell was a name partner. They also represented Kylie, which had helped him to get one of the coveted internships.

"Yes, Mr. Hartwell?"

"Cliff! So good to reach you. Meredith told me that you had to pick up David Olsen's family at the airport?"

'How the hell does he know Davy?' Cliff asked himself. "Yes, Sir. We picked them up and drove them to LAC/USC Med Center."

"How is the young man doing?"

Cliff almost blurted out the answer, but reconsidered. "He underwent surgery, but I was not privy to any further information."

"He's alive, isn't he? Come on, Cliff!"

"Yes, he's alive. His mother and sister are with him now. I'm sorry. That's all I know."

"Okay, sorry. Look, can you make sure that no ambulance chaser latches onto them? I'll be there in a half hour."

"Sir, Judy Olsen is a former colleague and she was my training officer. I will not…"

"No, no, you get me wrong here. I just want to have a chance to clear up things. I'll explain, okay?"

"Okay, Sir. I'll wait for you."

Now, that was weird. Cliff returned to the waiting room and gave Kylie the short version of the phone call.

"Josh is a straight arrow, Cliff. He's also an entertainment law specialist. Even if the other driver was a… Holy Shit! Look here!" She held the iPad for Cliff to see.

Melanie Renault in car crash! 

Actress Melanie Renault, of recent Heart of Glass fame, had a serious car accident last night when she apparently swerved into the oncoming traffic on Route 101, and collided with a motorcycle. The rider, whose name was not released pending notification of his family, was severely injured while Melanie suffered facial trauma. A police spokesperson declined to comment on the rumors which insinuate that Renault was DUI, citing ongoing investigations.

"Melanie Renault's mother is Lana Hartwell, Josh's sister."

"Kylie, I can't do anything that will hurt Judy or her family," Cliff said earnestly. "Jesus, that spoiled princess really screwed up."

"Yeah. I mean, if she… Damn, Cliff! I can't throw the first stone. You know why."

Cliff nodded and cupped her hand. In those wild two years when Kylie was with Hugh Dumont, she had boozed heavily, and she had frequently driven while under the influence. Only, she had never been caught.

"I see your point. Let's just wait what Josh wants."

2. A Dark Secret

As it happened, Josh Hartwell arrived just as Judy and Dani returned to the waiting room. Cliff made the introductions, explaining that Hartwell was his boss during the summer, and that he wanted a word with Judy. Judy Olsen had dealt with more than one lawyer in her life, and she squinted at the man with her head tilted.

"How can I help you, Mr. Hartwell?"

Josh Hartwell was a good looking man. He was tall, he was trim, and he could have given some A-list actors a run for their money in the looks department. Strangely, he did not turn on his considerable charm and rather looked at Judy Olsen with an embarrassed look on his face.

"I'll come to the point, Mrs. Olsen. The driver with whom your son collided last night is my niece, my sister's daughter."

"Melanie Renault, the actress," Kylie supplied.

"Yes, Melanie. Strangely, she asked to contact me when she woke from the anesthesia, asking me to act for her. Now, I was at the police precinct this morning and the preliminary police report does not look good for my niece. This being said, we must of course wait for the investigation to run its course. I was informed that a final report would not be coming before next week. By the way, this is Sgt. Donelly's card. He is in charge of the investigations."

Judy accepted the card and stowed it away. "And you want us to hold still until the final report comes out?"

"Yes. In return I can promise you no preemptive action from our side. I am not versed in traffic law, but my niece signed a power of attorney for me, so I'll call the shots for whoever takes her case. I'll do more. I'll identify two colleagues from good firms. You can pick one, and my niece will take the other, but not before we know the basic facts."

Judy nodded judiciously. "That sounds like a straight deal."

"Thank you. There is another thing. My… my sister gave a statement to the press this morning, blaming your son for the accident and calling him names. I assure you that Melanie is not behind this and that she would not want this. I ask you to not hold my sister's words against my niece."

He backed off a step when he saw the intense fury in Judy Olsen's eyes. She controlled herself though.

"Thanks for the warning. I'll try not to hold it against you. That doesn't mean your sister will get away with anything."

"We are not close," Josh answered. "I do not condone her public rants either. It's Melanie I'm worried over. She used to be a good kid, but in the last years… I don't know." He stood straight. "Can you tell me how your son is doing in there?"

"He is sedated heavily and they operated on his spine. They say that they can pick up nerve signals downstream of the injury."

Josh exhaled. "That sounds promising, doesn't it?"

Judy shrugged. "The doctors will not commit. We have to wait."

"Are there other injuries?"

"A concussion and some road burn. Haematomas on both thighs where he slammed against the handlebar."

"Oh, dear!" Hartwell sighed. "Ma'am, do you have a place to stay for the next days?"

"They can stay with us, Josh," Kylie interceded. "You know we live nearby."

"Oh, right. That's kind of you, Kylie."

"Yes, it is," Judy asserted. "Is there anything else, Mr. Hartwell?"

"No, Ma'am. Thank you for your time and the best of luck!"

"That we can use," Judy answered seriously.

"Cliff, why don't you help out Mrs. Olsen for the next days? Let's call it hands-on experience in damage control. It's something you will often need in our line of work."

"I'll do that, Sir," Cliff answered. When Josh had left he turned to Judy. "What's next? The police?"

"That would be best. Does Danielle have to go with us, or could we unload her at your place. She hasn't got a wink of sleep since 1 a.m."

"Sure. Let Cliff drop us off and I'll tuck her in," Kylie smiled, not eager herself to visit a police station.

———

Sgt. Donelly was a wiry fellow of advanced age who walked with a slight limp. He greeted Judy and Cliff cordially, even more so when he learned that both had a law enforcement background. He gave them the facts as he knew them, so far mostly based on the testimony of the two paramedics and of a truck driver who had been behind the small convertible. 

"Unless your son was DUI, no blame attaches to him. Of the girl, I'm not so sure. Between us, she was wearing a party dress, so we're running alcohol and tox tests. Of your son too, just so we cover the bases. Little chance of that though. We found out that he had just ended a shift working at LAC/USC. There was no time for him to get a beer. The girl has no priors, but she's known for being a bit of a spoiled brat. Well, it's going to be some time before she can show her face on camera again."

"Facial trauma?" Cliff inquired. 

"She must've been hit by the young man as he was thrown over her. His boot or something. Bad case of the raccoon face, and her nose needed fixing. Some cuts too. Be expensive to fix."

Judy shrugged. "That's not helping my son. Can I get a copy of the testimonies?"

"Sure thing, Deputy. The lab work will come back in three or four days. This isn't the highest priority as you will appreciate, and I'd rather have it done right than quick."

He prepared Xerox copies of the witness statements and printed the photographic evidence for Judy before showing them out. H ehad more and more important cases to work on.

———

It was two days later and Melanie Renault was coming off the painkillers and regaining consciousness. Slowly the events of two nights before resurfaced in her mind. 

She had no recollection of the accident to which the nurses and the young resident referred, but she remembered the party, she remembered Don Brentano. The recollection made her wince. She'd thought that she had left him behind, buried deep in her mind, but she only had to see him to relive the horrible night six years before. 

After another party at their house, Brentano had stayed behind and was given their only guest room. Lana wanted to cultivate him because he was a successful producer and Lana needed jobs. Melanie was fourteen at the time. She had not seen much of the party and she had gone to her bedroom early. 

When she woke up, her pajama top was already bunched up under her arms with her tiny breasts exposed and a rough hand was yanking the bottoms down over her legs. A heavy hand covered her mouth and then thick fingers began to press into her untried opening. That was when she uttered her first of many muffled screams.

When he was finally finished, he fell asleep on top of her hurting body almost smothering her with his weight. Trembling with fear she freed herself and limped across the small hallway to her mother's bedroom, wincing and whimpering with fright and pain. She had her second shock then, seeing her mother on all fours with another party guest humping her from behind. Melanie threw up violently and the retching tore Lana Hartwell from her coupling.

"Good God, Mel, can't you knock, you stupid brat?" she hissed, but it was her partner, a fellow actor named Peter Moran, who made the connection first.

"Jesus, girl! What happened to you?"

That was when Lana saw the blood running down Melanie's legs. She was strangely cool. 

"Did that old lecher Don do that?" she asked matter-of-factly.

Melanie whimpered and nodded.

"That bastard! Oh, I'm gonna make him pay for that!" Lana promised.

Melanie expected her mother to call the police, to shoot Brentano, to stab him, anything. Yet, what Lana had meant with pay was in the strictest sense of the word. She told her bed partner to leave, saying that he would not want to get involved in this, and he happily escaped into the night. Then Lana produced a digital camera and took pictures of the naked, bloodied and shivering Melanie, of the snoring Brentano in Melanie's bed, of the torn and bloody pajama bottoms. She also wiped Melanie's hurting genitals clean with a fresh dish towel which she folded and put into a Ziploc bag.

"He's going to pay, Baby!" she promised her daughter.

And Brentano paid. Once he woke up, Lana confronted him with the evidence she had collected and gave him an ultimatum. Four weeks later, Lana was cast as a co-star in a new soap, at an inflated salary and with veto rights on the scripts. Money was no issue either and Melanie was sent to an expensive private school in the fall. When Melanie asked her mother why she had not called the police, she was told not to be stupid. They were set up nicely now and she would have lost her virginity soon enough anyway. 

For a year or more, Lana pampered her daughter with everything Brentano's money could buy, with one exception — counseling was not among the things Lana thought necessary for her daughter. That was why she had never really coped with the events, why she became unglued upon seeing the man at their house. That, and her mother's repeat betrayal.

She'd had enough presence of mind to ask for Uncle Josh to be called when she woke briefly after her emergency treatment, and she had begged him to keep Lana away, something he promised. So far, the promise held. She would be released from the hospital and find her own place to live. Maybe she could relocate somewhere out of state, perhaps to the East Coast. In fact, anything as long as she was far away from Lana and from Brentano. With this thought she drifted off again.

When she woke up next, Uncle Josh was sitting in her room watching her. She tried to smile but it hurt too much.

"Hey, Mel! You were out of it for quite some time."

"What happened, Uncle Josh?" she whispered.

"You had an accident, Mel," he said gently. "On Route 110. Can you remember anything?"

With an effort, she shook her head. "No. I remember the party. I remember D-Don Bren… tano sh-showing up, and I b-bolted. Then nothing."

"Mel, you had an 0.07% blood alcohol level. The report isn't official yet, but somebody owed me a favor. When the report gets out, you will be charged. Do you realize that?"

A sick feeling spread from her stomach and she swallowed. "Ch-charged?"

"DUI and reckless endangerment at the least. The young man you hit was dead sober and riding along within the speed limit. There is no way out I'm afraid. Mel, this isn't going away."

"Young man? How?"

"You hit a motorcyclist head-on when you swerved into the oncoming traffic. He's badly injured. I spoke to his mother already and he may be in the wheelchair for the rest of his life. There is some hope he'll recover, but we have to wait.

"I'll have to retain a specialist colleague for you and we'll try to go for a plea. Is there anything mitigating that you can tell me? Were you threatened? What's with Lana?"

Melanie hardly heard her uncle by now. Her thoughts were revolving around the fact that she had ruined an innocent man's life. Was this nightmare of a life ever ending? 

———

Josh left a little while later finding his niece unresponsive. He reasoned that she was still suffering from shock and would need more time to recover. On the way out, he stopped by the room where David Olsen had been transferred from the ICU. He was still in an induced coma to let his cracked vertebra heal, and he was still hooked up to a shitload of monitors while his mother and sister sat in the room talking in low voices. Josh knocked and was beckoned in.

"Hi. I was visiting my niece and I thought I'd drop by to hear if there is any news on David?"

Judy Olsen shrugged. "Nothing changed since yesterday. They'll try to wake him tomorrow. Then we may know more."

"Is there anything I can do for you? Any needs?"

Judy shrugged and looked at him. "Right now, we're okay. Cliff and Kylie have been great."

"They're good people and immensely talented. Look, I'll leave you alone for now, but if there's anything you need, I'm only a phone call away. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you. How is your niece?"

"I broke the news to her of what happened. It was a shock for her. She does not remember the accident or the minutes before. She's not quite responsive right now."

Judy fixated him with her eyes. "You said she is a good kid. Yet, when you believe the newspapers, she's a spoiled princess. Care to reconcile?"

"Things went to her head a little bit. The media attention, the pressure, the fan culture. I still remember her as the kid I took to ball games. I can't see her as a spoiled bitch."

"Fair enough. She's your kin and I shouldn't have asked."

"I, hr-hm, received some advance warning. Alcohol and tox screens came back. Your son was as clean as a whistle."

"Thanks. Nothing new to me though," Judy answered. "Your niece?"

Josh sighed but decided to be honest. "She's got some explaining to do once the report becomes official. She clocked in at 0.07% BAL. Not legally drunk, but clearly intoxicated. And she's twenty. I don't even know how we can reach a plea. There's nothing we can offer to the DA."

"A slam-dunk with lots of publicity. Careers can be built on this," Judy commented cynically. "Well, all that won't help David getting back on his feet."

"About that, I contacted Mel's insurance to bring them up to speed. They have already involved their legal crew. You may want to seek representation if your son is to see a penny."

"The usual games?" Judy asked.

"You can expect hardball. Treatment costs are bound to be very high, not even counting compensation. So they'll fight for every penny."

"I better put a mortgage on my house, huh?"

"Listen, I'll run it by Melanie once she's responsive and clear. She has a rather large fortune in trust from her father, and I'm the trustee. She could front you the money for the treatment costs. That will take the pressure from you to settle for pennies. I can also find a competent representation for you. Once the insurance guys face a strong headwind, their offers will improve."

"That sounds helpful, but I cannot make decisions for David. He's of age."

"Of course. I only want you to know what to expect."

"Again, thanks," Judy smiled.

"Never mind. I'll be on my way then," Josh said hastily. There was something about Judy Olsen's eyes that made him uneasy.

———

"Oh shit!" Melanie exclaimed. 

She was staring at her mirror image. An hour before, a nurse had removed the catheter, and Melanie was allowed to get up. Now the nurse was giving her a sponge bath in the little bathroom, and Melanie saw her face for the first time, or what was left free by the bandages.  The pain in her broken nose was waning, but she could see the deep violet of the bruises under the white gauze that covered most of her face.

"That's going to fade in a few days," the nurse said sympathetically. "You want me to wash your hair?"

"It's probably a wasted effort the way I look, but yes, thank you," Melanie mumbled.

The nurse had her sit with her back towards the basin and made her lean back. She was good and did not even get a drop of water of the bandages as she shampooed and rinsed Melanie's shoulder-length brunette hair.

"Do you know how the… Damn, I don't even know his name! The young man I hit, how is he doing?"

"His name is David Olsen. He woke from the induced coma yesterday morning and they are testing him. That's all I know. His mother and sister are with him all the time."

"Who is he? What does he do?"

The nurse sighed. "We know him quite well here. He was working down in the ICU before the accident. He's a pre-med at USC, but he's also a second-string player on the Trojans's varsity basketball team."

"Oh, shit! Now I remember the name! I saw him twice last fall when I saw the Trojans. Davy Olsen! Oh, fuck!"

She remembered the blonde small forward getting playing time during the third and fourth quarters. He was about 6'5", he'd moved well, and he had a pretty good hook shot. 

"They moved him from the ICU. He's only a few doors down the hall," the nurse continued absentmindedly while combing out the worst tangles in Melanie's hair. 

Once finished, Melanie put on a real pajama, left for her by Uncle Josh. He had also got her a light blue terrycloth robe along with some basic toiletries. Once the nurse left her, Melanie sat on her bed in her robe. Knowing the person she'd hit made things even worse for her, and the brief high she'd felt over getting clean again quickly evaporated. There was a young man who might never walk again and it was her fault. 

She could only imagine what the press would say once the full story became public. She was labeled as a spoiled brat anyway, and now she would be slammed even worse. The scandal sheets would have a field day for sure. Uncle Josh had to resent her as well. For years, she had not spoken to him, had not visited him. Only when things turned to shit, she did remember him. Oh, he was helping, but it had to be with a great deal of reluctance.

She switched on the TV to distract herself and watched a news show. Another road side bombing in Afghanistan had killed two Marines. A ring of pedophiles was busted in Spain, with over 50 arrests and more coming. A major computer manufacturer was laying off eleven hundred workers. What a shitty place this world was!

Then they cut to local news and a picture of Lana Hartwell, her mother, was showing. The anchor woman gave a smirk.

"More controversy over Lana Hartwell. The actress and mother of Melanie Renault had blasted the victim of Melanie's crash as a "reckless, low-life biker person" and accused the young man of hurting her daughter. She had also labeled the victim's family as "Montana white trash". Now, as more facts emerge, she has come under fire both from the law enforcement community and from several civil rights groups. WNBC's Germaine Hendricks was at a press conference where the victim's mother spoke up."

The program cut to a tape. Melanie saw a good looking woman of forty with a solemn look on her face. She spoke in a calm, cultivated voice.

"Good morning. My name is Judy Olsen, and I am David Olsen's mother. David was hurt in an accident last Friday when a car swerved into his lane and hit him head-on. Two witnesses estimate his speed as below 40 mph, well within the speed limit. He was riding an almost 40 year-old motorcycle, a memento from his father who perished in the line of duty while serving with the Clearwater County Sheriff's Department. He is in no way a 'biker person', but an honor student and the recipient of a dual athletic and academic scholarship at the University of Southern California undergraduate school. He was on his way home from working a late shift as a volunteer at USC Medical Center when he was hit by Miss Renault's car.

"We're not 'white trash' either. I am a law enforcement officer like my late husband and a twenty-year veteran of the Sheriff's Department. We live in the house my husband and I built; it's paid for and in good repair. We would just as soon have never heard of Miss Hartwell or her daughter. All we expect is for Miss Renault's insurance to meet their obligations.

"I will not assign blame for the accident to anybody for as long as the facts are still unclear. However, I will not let a two-bit soap actress besmirch my son's character and conduct. Hearing Miss Hartwell's drunk rant almost makes me feel sorry for the daughter she raised."

The program cut back to the anchor. "Ouch! That is one angry lady, and if I were Lana Hartwell, I'd avoid any trips to Montana. We also have received a copy of an as yet unofficial report stating that Melanie Renault was indeed under the influence at the time of the crash. Somebody should quickly issue an apology!

"Speaking of delinquent starlets, Lindsay…"

Melanie hit the power button slumping down on the bed. Lana had gone off half-cocked on television and had heaped insult on injury for the Olsens. A wave of despair washed over Melanie. Mrs. Olsen's closing words echoed in her head. The woman had no idea how close she'd hit to the truth. Melanie's misery had a name. With a real mother, Brentano would have never got away with the rape. With a real mother, Melanie would have never come into this situation. Yet, here she was, stuck with the mother from hell. Was it worth this? Was is really worth the effort to keep going? For what? To become Lana 2.0 at one point?

No! She could end it now. No trial, no scandal sheet feeding frenzy over her, no jail, no more acting. She nodded to herself almost with satisfaction as the solution became clear to her. Only one more thing to do.

———

Judy Olsen was sitting alone with David. She had sent Dani off for an afternoon with Kylie Henson. What a turnaround Kylie had made that Judy would entrust her daughter to her. Yet, the last days living with the Hensons she had seen the real Kylie, and there was no denying that she was a true daughter of her parents. It was also clear that she and Cliff were still crazy in love. Judy smiled sadly. She too had once known love like that, but for the last six years she'd had to focus on being a single working mom. 

Spending a lot time outdoors as a deputy in a rural community, she still fit into the same size uniform as when she was a rookie, perhaps with the blouse filled out a little bit more. She had a good face she knew, but it was weather beaten, and there were lines around her eyes and on her forehead. Well, she was forty-two, what could she expect? At least she was healthy and fit, and that might help her find a compatible man once Dani would leave the nest too. 

There was a knock on the door and Judy looked up. A young woman with a bruised and gauze-covered face peeked in. Judy stood up and smiled.

"Hi. Are you lost? Can I help you?"

"A-are you M-Mrs. Ol-Olsen?" the bruised girl stammered.

Judy nodded. "Yes. Do I know you?"

A sad shake of her head was the girl's response. "Some people would, but that's okay. I came to apologize if that's possible."

A great big light bulb went off in Judy's head and her eyes hardened.

"What on God's green earth were you thinking driving drunk like that?"

"I… I can't remember. I remember… Who cares. Anyway, I wanted to say how sorry I am. I fucked up David's life and there's no way to make things undone. I… I'm so sorry."

With that, the girl left, shuffling a little and with slumped shoulders.

Okay, she was supposed to be an actress, but Judy had heard all the excuses and half-assed apologies in the book over the last twenty years as a deputy. This looked and sounded different. Very different. Like somebody… 

An ugly memory hit Judy and a second later she burst through the door and into the hallway. The girl was nowhere to be seen but to the left there was the bank of elevators, and one of them was moving upwards. Judy made the connection without thinking. Five seconds later she was racing up the stairwell like her tail was on fire and her pants were catching. She was in good shape, but for the last two stories she had to take single steps, and she was panting hard when she burst through the metal door and onto the flat roof. 

There, just twenty yards ahead was the girl, shuffling towards the rail that secured the roof. Judy would never catch her in time and frustration welled up. 

"Freeze!" she bellowed helplessly and against each and every rule in the book. 

It worked! The girl froze, her shoulders hunched. Judy approached her slowly, now deliberately berating her to keep her frozen.

"What do you think you're doing? Is that it? Just jumping and leaving us with your mess? God damn it! Are you such a coward?"

Now she was close and a second later she had the girl in a secure hold. It was not necessary. Once Judy held her, she just sank down on the tarred roof crying helplessly. This was no acting Judy knew instinctively. This was heart-broken misery. Carefully, Judy knelt at the girl's side. She was petite to begin with, but her body language made her look tiny and childlike. Without thinking Judy pulled the sobbing girl close.

The waterworks did not abate for five or ten minutes, but then she'd cried herself dry.

"I'm s-sorry," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm so s-sorry!"

"Talk!" Judy demanded.

"Huh?"

"You say you're sorry. You want forgiveness. So explain yourself. What made you do such a harebrained thing? Your blood alcohol was not high enough to explain things. Spill!"

She hunched her shoulders again as if expecting a beating. "I… I was running. I had to get away. He was there and he shouldn't. Mom had promised me I'd never have to see him again. This was my party and then he showed up."

Her voice became steadier with each sentence and she looked at Judy with her reddened eyes.

"Who? Who shouldn't have been there?"

"D-Don Brentano."

"Who is he?" Judy asked nonplussed.

"He…" the girl took a deep breath to quench the next sob and steadied herself. She stared into Judy's eyes. "He raped me. When I was fourteen. He came up to my room while I was sleeping, and when I woke up he was on top of me and he stuck his fingers into me and then he… he took me. And I ran to Mom's bedroom for help, and she was fucking another man while I was being raped. And all she did was blackmail Brentano for money and for roles. And now she invited him to our house for a party, for my party! I had to get away. I had to!"

Judy was stunned. "You didn't plan to drive that night?"

"No. I don't drink m-much. But this was my night, my party. Everybody was nice to me and I felt so good, but then he came and I had to get away!"

"Have you ever told anybody of the rape?"

A miserable shake of the head was answer enough.

"What does that man do for a living?"

"He's a big p-producer, soaps, reality sh-shows, and c-casting shows, like Superstar!."

"That guy," Judy growled, remembering the scandal when Kylie Henson, then Kylie McAdam, had won the contest and had been seen exiting Brentano's limo without panties. 

"He does a lot of th-things, and M-Mom gets m-most of her roles through him."

Judy squinted at the girl. "I said this morning that I almost feel sorry for you for having this… this woman for your mother. I have to correct myself. Forget the 'almost'! Is there any evidence for what you told me?"

She could see the girl's eyes widen. "Yes! Yes! Mom took pictures of us, and she… she wiped his… spunk off me and put the cloth in a freezer, so she could blackmail Brentano. It's in the old chest freezer in the basement. I also know where she hid the CD with the pictures."

"Does your uncle know of this?"

The girl shook her head miserably. "I was afraid to tell him. He'll hate me."

"Somehow I find this hard to believe. Come now. Let's go back down. They'll be looking for us by now and I have to look after David."

The girl nodded mutely and allowed Judy to pull her up. The bandages on her face were soaked through and needed changing. Judy guided the girl one flight down and into the elevator. Once on the third floor again, they were faced by a frantic Josh Hartwell. 

"Where have you been? What…" he faced Judy, "What did you do to her?"

"Kept her from jumping off the roof," Judy answered meeting his gaze. "Then I held her while she was bawling her eyes out before I had to be her confessor. Let me get her to the nurse's office to have those bandages changed."

After a brief explanation to the nurses, leaving out the girl's intent to jump, Judy checked on David and found him awake.

"Hey, Mom. You were gone."

"Had to catch up with somebody," Judy deadpanned. "Listen, David. I need to talk to that lawyer for a few minutes. I'll be back then. Love you!"

"Love you, Mom," David whispered back.

Back outside, she found Josh. He looked at her sheepishly.

"She really tried to…?"

Judy nodded. "She was heading for the railing and she wasn't there for the vista. I almost screwed up. I yelled at her. Somehow it still worked. She stopped and when I reached her, she just crumpled. That's why I need a dry blouse now. Listen, there's a story behind all this. I'd prefer it if your niece told it to you herself, but if she doesn't, I'm duty-bound to report it to the first police detective I can get a hold of."

"Did she commit a…"

"No! Talk to her. She's afraid you'll hate her when you learn of this. Make sure she knows that you'll stand by her. It took her a lot to talk about it. Now go find her! Shoo!"

With a dubious look at her, Hartwell turned and went to find his niece. Judy returned to David's room and he looked at her.

"We may have to pick another person to blame for this mess, David."

"Huh?"

"I just heard a story, and if it's true… Well, it may still be a cock-and-bull story, but if it's true, that girl needs a real mother."

"Mom, what girl?"

"Melanie. Melanie Renault."

"That…"

"Hold it! David, she screwed up. She should have never driven a car in her state, but she was in a panic. Real panic, as in worst nightmare. David, I just stopped her from jumping off the roof!"

"Why bother?" he shot back angrily.

"Because we'd have to deal with her bitch of a mother to get the money for your medical bills and your rehab. We'd have to sue Renault's estate if she dies. That takes years, and you need treatment now."

"Still, if she…"

"I know, David. Part of me wants to slap her silly, but part of me wants to help her and protect her."

"Momma Bear, huh?" David even grinned.

"Something like that. You know how child abuse affects me, right?"

David nodded. He had been seventeen when Judy had been suspended from duty after a suspect accused her of unwarranted violence. He had a point with no fewer than fifteen bones broken and his testicles smashed. The man, a traveling sales rep, had picked up a local girl and tried to rape her when Judy found his car hidden close to the highway. 

Her collapsible baton was completely bent out of shape afterwards. She could argue her way out of it since the man had tried to reach for a concealed .22 automatic in his waistband, and she claimed that shooting him would have been the only alternative but dangerous for the girl. 

"That's what happened to her?"

"When she was fourteen. Friday night, she found herself face-to-face with him at a party and she bolted in panic."

"Shit! She didn't call the cops on him?"

"It's even worse, David. Look, I can't tell you more. Just allow for the possibility that she may not be directly from Evil Bitch Central."

They left it at that, also because a striper brought David's lunch. Judy saw his grimace.

"I'll get you something from the cafeteria. Be back in fifteen," she promised.

The lines were tolerable and she was back as promised with food for both of them. Steak subs and a helping of fries it was, and David managed half his sub and a few fries. They were barely finished when a badly shaken Josh knocked and entered. Seeing David awake almost made him leave again, but Judy was already making the introduction.

"David, this is Mr. Hartwell, Melanie Renault's uncle. He has been calling on you almost from day one. He is not on her legal team, okay?"

"Hi, Mr. Hartwell," David said nicely.

"Hi, David. It's good to see you awake and with an appetite. I… Uh… I wanted to thank you, Mrs. Olsen. We both owe you big time."

"She told you?"

"Every little gory detail," Hartwell said shakily. "About that, an LAPD detective will be here shortly, and she'll want a few words with you to establish how you got her to talk. Is that a problem?"

"I'm still a peace officer, Mr. Hartwell. It's my job."

"Thank you. I better call in the re-enforcements. There's a reason why I picked entertainment law; I'm lousy at criminal law. Umh, there is a chance that this affair will influence plea negotiations with regard to the accident. Can you live with that?"

Judy looked at her son. "He means that if the girl fingers a sex criminal, she will get a more lenient sentence for the DUI and the accident."

"She goes Scot-free?" David almost snarled.

"No. No way the DA would allow that since the cases are not directly connected. It may have the effect that a sentence will be suspended and she will be put on probation plus community service. Actually, that way she would do more penance than she would do going to jail for a week. You know how it is. First timers are released from the county jail so fast their orange jumpsuits don't even need laundry. It's a joke."

"He's right, David," Judy sighed. "This isn't Clearwater County. When our judge gives you five weeks, you serve five weeks. Here they have overcrowding and have to release cases like Melanie after a few token days. It'll only give her more publicity."

"What does it matter what I think?" David asked bitterly. "She's got her Get-out-of-prison card ready, and she'll use it."

Hartwell was uncomfortable. "It's the way the system works. If it's any consolation, Melanie feels horrible. I also raised the matter of a loan for medical bills and rehab. She authorized the payment of all treatment and rehab costs. That means you'll have all the time in the world to get what's yours from the insurance. Then you'll just pay back what she laid out and keep the rest. If the costs exceed the insurance payments, Melanie will eat the difference."

"Yippie! Can I maybe get a fully pimped wheelchair? Like with a stereo and chrome wheels?"

"David, stop that!" Judy cut in. "Mr. Hartwell is not at fault. He's trying to help. And you won't need a damned wheelchair either. The tests went well yesterday. You'll walk again. It'll take an effort, yes, but you'll walk again!"

"Why are you taking their side, Mom?" he asked angrily. 

"I don't. I take your side. I want you to recover. How does it help you if the girl spends a week in the county slammer? Huh? Let's focus on your treatment. This time next year I want to see you on the courts again!"

That was overly optimistic, but Judy would not even consider the opposite. David fell silent, and Judy mouthed a "sorry" to Hartwell who shrugged.

"I'll stay in touch," he promised and left in a hurry.

"Mom!" David began, but she would have none of it.

"David, stop it right there. I don't want you to turn into a bitter cripple before you even had the first rehab session. Focus on the bright side!"

"The bright side?" David asked incredulously.

She looked at her son with brimming eyes. "Don't you have a single f… freaking clue? When I got that phone call? The last time I got a landline call after midnight, I had to bury your father! You're alive, David!" She wiped her eyes. "I thought I'd lose you too. I thought I'd arrive here and some doctor would give me his I'm-so-sorry spiel. Can you imagine how it felt to be on that fucking plane without knowing how you were?"

She was crying openly now and David's eyes were getting watery too.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I… I guess I didn't see your side."

"David, you and Danielle are all I have left."

He nodded fighting the tears. 

"Damn, I wish I could hug you now," Judy sobbed. She couldn't. David was kept immobile, to protect his damaged vertebrae.

"I wish you could hug me, Mom," he answered hoarsely. 

She bent over him and kissed his forehead. "You're gonna be fine again. Just don't give up!"

3. Restitution

A week later, David was in a normal hospital bed. The hairline fractures in his vertebrae were mending and a trainer was doing first cautious exercises with him. He had some feeling in his legs, but almost no control. Fortunately, he could mostly control his bladder and his bowel movements, but he was still wearing adult diapers. It was better than having a catheter. In his situation, David had to count his blessings.

A few days ago, a suit from Melanie Renault's insurance had visited David and offered him a 'generous' payment of $60,000 to settle all claims. David had simply pressed the call button, and when a nurse showed, he asked her to remove the man. 

Mr. Hartwell had been as good as his word. The first hospital bills for the emergency surgery and the intensive care treatment had already been paid out of Melanie Renault's trust fund. Dani had found out that she was loaded with almost $30 million inherited from her father, a famous French actor. At least she was owning up to her responsibility.

In a week he would be moved to a rehab facility a little outside of LA, and his mom would return to Clearwater. She would try to visit, but he would be mostly alone while trying to get back on his feet. 

He worried about his standing at USC. He was on the injured list he had been told, and his academic scholarship was of course not affected, but it would be hard to pick up scholarships for med school if his grades slipped as they were apt to do while he was lying on his back doing rehab. 

There was a knock on his door, surprising him a little. His mom and Dani would not come until later in the day.

"Yes?" he called, and the door opened slowly.

He recognized Melanie Renault immediately. He had seen a few of her movies, and he'd found her cute but not much of an actress. Now she wasn't even cute. Her face still had the raccoon coloring from the broken nose, and the fear in her eyes made her look miserable. David took controlled breaths to avoid blowing up. What the hell did she want?

"You know who I am, huh?" she asked timidly.

He nodded, not trusting his control.

"I guess you would've preferred for your mom to let me jump?"

He had to clear his throat. "At first, yes. She told me you were running away from a situation."

"A situation, yes," she snorted, immediately wincing with pain. "That's a nice euphemism for Mommy inviting my rapist to dinner."

David shrugged. "I don't know much, only that my mom said you were panicking over something."

"She's a great person, your mother. Do you know that?"

He actually managed a grin. "I'm kinda fond of her myself, so I'm keeping her."

"David, I know it doesn't help you one bit, but I'm terribly, terribly sorry for what I did to you. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I can't even forgive myself. I just came to offer you help. Not just the money. I've got too much of that anyway. No, what I mean is that you'll be in that rehab place out in the boonies, and your mom will have to return to work soon. I already talked to her, but she says that you have to agree. I can be your gofer. I know that you'll be a senior at USC in the fall. I can get your assignments, file your papers and help you with stuff. I can also get you snacks and stuff, and other things. All I ask is that you let me help you."

"My gofer, huh?" he temporized. "How can you get in?"

"I'll be a Junior at USC. Performing arts."

"No shit!" he grinned making her blush. 

"No shit," she nodded back. "Look, just think about it. I can come back tomorrow and you can give me your answer. Is there anything you need? Anybody to give a message?"

Actually, there was somebody. Marsha. David was worried because he still hadn't heard from her, but he could not sic his mom on her.

"Marsha Levinson. She's my girlfriend. I haven't heard from her since the accident and she doesn't answer her damn cell phone. Can you tell her what happened and where I am? She's in Suite 312, in Hanson."

"David, it's summer break. She may have gone home."

"I have her home address. It's in Malibu. Let me write it down."

He did and she took the scrap paper. "I'll find her and tell her where to find you."

"You do that, and I'll think about the rest."

"Thanks for not kicking me out right away," she said and immediately turned crimson. "Oh, shit! I'm sorry. I didn't think. I…"

"Hey, relax! That's the standard wisecrack I get from the physiotherapist. Just find Marsha and tell her where I am."

"I'll do it, I promise. I'll go now and leave you in peace. I'll be back tomorrow."

David was in a conflicted mood as he watched her leave. He knew a bit about her problems and normally he would have been sympathetic. However, nobody told her to drive drunk and make phone calls. The cops had found the phone on the floor of her car, and the provider had verified that it had been used at the time of the crash. Stupid brat!

Shrugging, he switched on the TV set mounted on the opposite wall. Daytime TV was mind-numbing as he had found out in the last days, but it made the time pass just a little bit faster. At last he found a channel that was running an old M.A.S.H. episode and he watched it mildly amused. At the full hour, there was a news show, but they promised another episode and so he kept watching. In the middle of the news, there was a live segment showing a hyperventilating local reporter in front of a huge Hollywood villa.

"In a stunning development, LAPD officers conducted an early morning search of producer Don Brentano's Hollywood home. At the same time, other officers searched the production offices of BTV. A police spokesperson confirmed the searches but declined to elaborate on the reasons citing ongoing investigations. Mr. Brentano could not be reached for comments, but a spokesperson for BTV expressed his confidence that the search could only exonerate Mr. Brentano of any libelous accusations."

David had heard of Brentano. Kylie McAdam had been with the man for a few months, and it had been a huge scandal in Clearwater. He was supposed to be a notorious womanizer and a regular predator on the young women who participated in his productions, mostly casting shows. 

———

Marsha Levinson was living with her parents over the summer. Melanie had reached her mother on the phone and was told that Marsha would be home by 5 p.m. Melanie was waiting outside the Levinson's modest home sitting in the small car, a Toyota, that her uncle had organized for her use. It had a stick shift of all things and Melanie had been extremely careful driving over. 

Marsha arrived shortly before 5 p.m. in an old Chevy sedan. Melanie quickly exited her ride and walked over to where the young woman was alighting from the old clunker. She was short and petite, with the muscles and sinewy legs of a dancer. Pretty too, in a fake blonde sort of way. She looked up but she obviously did not recognize Melanie with her bruised face.

"Can I help you?" she asked friendly enough.

"That depends," Melanie answered trying to give a friendly smile. "I have a message from David Olsen."

Marsha turned pale and swallowed heavily. "Yes?"

"He wanted me to give you his current address. He hasn't heard from you and he assumes that you haven't heard of his accident?"

"I heard of it all right. That fuckin' bitch put him in a wheelchair! I should kill her!"

"Yeah, well, shouldn't you rather visit him if you know that he's laid up in the hospital?"

"What for?"

"He's your boyfriend?"

"Well, not anymore. He's not going to play for the Trojans again, is he? He won't get drafted next year either. Look, tell him I'm sorry, but I'm not going to switch to pre-med and nursing school to push him around in a wheelchair. I've got a life to live."

Melanie scrunched up her nose. It hurt. "You're just a cold-hearted bitch, aren't you?" she asked conversationally.

"Yeah, that's me," the bottle-blonde shot back. "Listen, girlie. You can have him. Obviously you met him at the hospital. You found him, you keep him. I have a very small window of opportunity to make something of my life. I can't waste my chances on a…" She clearly wanted to say, 'cripple', but she caught herself. "I need a man who can get me in touch with the right people."

"David is still going to graduate and then he'll go to med school," Melanie maintained.

"Yeah? And how will that help me? Look, I would have ended it anyway. He would've got more play time in his senior year, but he's not starter material. Jerome Carter has asked me out, and he'll be big one day."

Melanie knew the name. A junior and destined for greatness. 

"Can you at least visit him once? Tell him why? He's still waiting for you to make contact. Look, David lost a lot all of a sudden. You're the only thing left to him."

"Jeez, I like him too, but we're not engaged. I told him I have plans. I spend hours every day in practice. I'm not doing that to be Missus Dr. Olsen, up in Frozen Cowplop, Montana."

"Dancer, huh? Ballet or chorus line?"

"Chorus line. I do music videos too."

Melanie saw an opening. "Listen, if you could find it possible to stay with David for a few months, to help him cope, to motivate him and encourage him, I could help you with your plans."

"You? That's a laugh!"

"My uncle is Josh Hartwell. He's a name partner in one of the biggest entertainment law firms in Hollywood. He dines with the big shots in the business. He can get you into the loop."

That had some impact Melanie could see. "You're not shitting me?"

"No, it's true. Plus, I know some important people too."

"Yeah, right!"

"You really don't know who I am, huh?"

The blonde squinted at Melanie. "Holy crap! You're…"

"Yes. Don't you think I have more clout than some junior who is still two years away from earning any money, if at all? Look at Davy! All it takes is an accident, and — poof! — goes the career."

"You're Melanie Renault!"

"I know that," Melanie answered drily. "I fucked up big time and I want to help David. Chances are he'll walk again. It's not that bad, but he needs support and motivation. You help him there, you play the caring girlfriend and that'll show me that you have some serious acting talent. I'll get you in the loop then, promise!"

The last sentence was catty, but Melanie had a good picture of Marsha by now. Stupid, selfish bitch! It was almost with relief that she saw the girl shake her head.

"I'd consider it, but I already booked a trip to Cancun with friends. Tell David it wasn't meant to be. I like him, but I have other plans. Hell, just tell him that I'm a bitch and that he's better off without me. But maybe you can still bring me together with your uncle?"

Melanie shook her head. "Sorry for wasting your time. And thanks for making me feel better about myself."

She turned and walked back to her car ignoring the swear words Marsha was sending after her. What a royal bitch! Now, how to break this to David?

She drove home carefully, obeying speed limits with slavish obedience. Inevitably, other drivers honked at her and flipped her the bird, but she knew better. Anyway, she arrived at Uncle Josh's house shortly after 5 p.m. and he was waiting for her.

"Did you see the news?"

"No, I was out all afternoon. First I visited David Olsen and then I had to find his airhead girlfriend for him. Why?"

"The police searched Brentano's house and offices. It was all over the news. A little bird tweeted into my ear that they hit pay dirt in his basement. A regular little drug store and what looks to be an interesting video collection. Let's wait and see. It's quite possible that you nailed the bastard, Melanie."

That was a preview of In Her Genes. To read the rest purchase the book.

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