He laughed bitterly. “I have news for you, Wonder Girl. Everyone out here has talent.”
MARCH OF TENTH GRADE, SIXTH DAY OF SPRING VACATION IN LA
N,
I feel lonely and insecure when you don’t call or write. I know you don’t check your e-mail as much as most people, but you must have read mine and gotten my voice mail by now. Why no replies?
Anyway, I was sitting on the guesthouse porch, watching the party preparations--the caterer setting up tables, the bartender stocking the bar, the DJ and his sound system--when Willow came across the lawn and sat down next to me. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”
I did.
“I’m really sorry about this,” she said.
“You don’t have to be.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I agreed to let you come all the way out here and document my life, and now I’m going back on my word. It’s a really crappy thing to do. But”--she nodded toward Rex, who was chatting up the DJ--“you understand, don’t you? After everything that’s happened, we really can’t let anyone know about this.”
“Because of your contract with the studio?”
“No, it only says I have to stay clean. There’s nothing in it that says I can’t see him. But it really wouldn’t go over well with my fans. It’s a much better idea to wait until after the movie.”
I understood and promised I wouldn’t take any photos of them together or tell anyone. But you have to wonder about her judgment, N. I mean, she has to realize that getting together with Rex again could lead to something that could--potentially--destroy her career.
So, it’s about eight o’clock now and the music’s starting. Rex’s guy friends are milling around, and there are some sketchy-looking girls here I haven’t seen before. There’s a weird vibe out there tonight, N.
Miss you tons and tons. Please write back or call! xoxoxoxoOXOXOXO
MARCH OF TENTH GRADE, SEVENTH DAY OF SPRING VACATION IN LA
THE CAMERA FEELS HEAVY IN MY LAP. OR IS IT THE WEIGHT OF the shots in its memory? Shots that have the power to change people’s lives forever. Willow’s and mine, at least. From the other side of the door I hear Willow hiss, “No! Go away. Don’t even talk to me. Just leave.”
“You’re not being fair.” It’s Rex!
“I’m not being fair?” Willow’s words seethe with wrath. “Excuse me? After what you just told me?”
“But I didn’t go through with it. I told you the truth. All you have to do is get the camera back. I can’t believe how stupid I was. I’m sorry, Wills, really.”
What’s this? I wonder.
“You think all you have to do is say you’re sorry? Are you out of your mind? Thanks to you, I could be five seconds away from seeing my entire career go down the toilet. You expect me to forgive you? You must be insane.”
“No, Wills, I must be in love.”
Why is it that sometimes the truest statements also sound the lamest? I’m tempted to pinch myself just to make sure this is real and that I haven’t accidentally sleepwalked onto the set of a soap opera. But it’s real all right. Only, why’s she so furious at him?
“You’re in love? That’s why you took pictures of me without me knowing?”
Huh?
“If this is how you treat people you love,” Willow snaps sarcastically, “I’d hate to see what you do to your enemies. You are so full of crap, Rex Dobro. Just go. Get out of my life and never come back.”
I’m totally stunned. Rex took the pictures on my camera? Why?
“Look, I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But I’m not walking away. Even if you truly never want to see me again, I’m not leaving you with this mess. I caused it, and I’m going to stay until it’s straightened out.”
“Want to straighten it out? Go find that little wench. Get that camera back and strangle her.”
In the midst of my total bewilderment over what’s going on in the hall on the other side of the powder room door, it takes an extra second for the words to sink in. Strangle her? What’s the saddest, bitterest, most pathetic and humiliating thought that can pass through anyone’s mind at a moment like this? How about, But I thought we were friends.
Earth to Jamie. Wake up and smell the LA smog. You are not Willow Twine’s friend. And you were a fool to think you ever were. You’ve been used, dimwit. People in this town don’t have friends. They only have people they pretend to be friends with because they think they’ll be useful to their careers. Did you really think you were the exception?
But I still don’t understand what’s going on. Why would Rex take those pictures? Why would he ever do something so terrible? Especially if he professes—and he sounded sincere to me—that he loves her? I stare at the angels on the pink powder room walls, and a single thought slowly takes shape in my mind: I can’t wonder about that now. First I need to get out of here. Then I can figure out what’s going on, and decide what to do with the photos.
But how do I get off this property when Willow’s people are all out there looking for me? How will I get over that wall? Because I obviously can’t stroll out the front gate.
I press my ear against the door but can’t hear anything in the hallway. My BlackBerry hasn’t stopped vibrating, so I turn it off. My heart is banging. Should I really try to sneak out? Do I have a choice? I can’t hide in here forever. Better go sooner rather than later, right? Better do it now, before Sam gets here with a private security SWAT team and starts dismantling the place.
I quietly open the door and peek out. No one’s in the hall. There’s no sound of movement nearby. Is this a trap? Are they lying in wait for me? I step out. Now what?
Footsteps start coming down the stairs. No time to think. I scoot into the kitchen, bracing for Maria to start screaming, but the kitchen’s empty. I hurry out the back doors and around the pool toward the guesthouse.
And that’s when I see the bright yellow ladder next to the tall hedges which hide the wall around the property.
I’m sprinting across the lawn. The gardener must have been trimming the hedges. I’m not good at judging heights, but I’d guess the wall must be twelve feet tall.
I drag the ladder through a thin gap in the hedge and prop it against the wall. Up close, it looks really high. I climb up, but even from the top of the ladder I still have to reach and pull myself up another two feet. For an instant I straddle the wall. It feels like sitting on a tree branch way up in the air, and between the tall palms and evergreens I can see the red tile roofs of the houses dotting the green Hollywood Hills. It’s a long way down the other side of the wall, but I can’t sit here and think about it. Anyone looking out of a rear window of Willow’s house will see me.
I lower myself down the other side of the wall until I’m hanging by my fingertips, but it’s still at least six feet to the ground below. What am I doing? If I let go and fall I’ll break my leg! Terrified, I try to pull myself back up, but my hands aren’t strong enough. My fingers are slowly sliding off the top of the wall, and I lose my grip.
I hit the ground and roll like they do in the movies. But it wasn’t intentional. I only did it because I lost my balance. A moment later I’m sitting on the dirt staring at my feet. Amazingly, nothing hurts. I look back up at the wall and cannot believe I just climbed over it! When I have the time, I will have to congratulate myself on this insane act of bravery.
I get up and dust the dirt off. I’m surrounded by rubble. They’re doing a teardown on this lot—dismantling an old house to build something new. Right now it’s just a construction site—dirt, a gray concrete foundation, piles of debris, some yellow construction machinery, and big square pallets of bricks.
Oh, and one other thing. About two dozen yards away, some guy is standing on wooden scaffolding pressed against the wall. He has binoculars.
We first heard about Richard Hildebrandt from Willow Twine’s people. There’d been an incident at her place involving an unauthorized photographer, and a short time lat
er Hildebrandt showed up at the front gate saying he was there to help. Twine’s people told him to go away, and when he refused they apparently got a little rough with him.
Usually that’s enough to get rid of a stalker, but in this case it appears to have confirmed what Hildebrandt was imagining—that Miss Twine was surrounded by dangerous people who might try to harm her.
Anyway, during this incident where Miss Twine’s people got rough with Hildebrandt, he made some statements that Doris Remlee, Miss Twine’s assistant, picked up on. She went back through some old fan mail and e-mails and discovered that Hildebrandt had been writing to Miss Twine for several years. And some of what he wrote was pretty strange.
JUNE OF TENTH GRADE, NYC
DAYS WILL PASS BEFORE YOU OPEN THE FEDEX BOX AGAIN. THIS TIME you will find a scrapbook. The first photo will bring new tears to your eyes. It’s a shot of you and Avy sitting together at a school party in fourth grade. In front of you on paper plates are pink and blue cupcakes, each with a single candle.
On the next page is another photo of you and Avy, taken on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art during the fall of freshman year. You and he were partners on a project about ancient Egypt, and you’d gone to the museum to see the mummies. You’re wearing a bulky turtleneck sweater. Avy is wearing a hoodie. Your shoulders are pressed together, and you’re grinning happily. You can’t help thinking that this photo was taken less than two years ago and yet so much has changed. Back then you were just a couple of kids. You had school to attend, homework to do, parties you wished you’d been invited to, and favorite TV shows you always made sure to watch.
It wasn’t that long ago.
But it feels so long ago, it’s like ancient history.
On the next page are the shots you took of Tatiana Frazee in Cafazine. Why, you will wonder, would Avy put them in his scrapbook?
On the next page will be the New York Weekly story, the youngest paparazzo.
And on the next, the New York Press story: baby pap scoops the pros again!
That’s when you will realize this isn’t a scrapbook Avy kept about himself. It’s a scrapbook he kept . . . about you.
MARCH OF TENTH GRADE, SEVENTH DAY OF SPRING VACATION IN LA
THE GUY WITH THE BINOCULARS CLIMBS DOWN FROM THE SCAFFOLDING and starts toward me. He’s wearing cutoffs, high olive-colored military boots, and a green Army-surplus jacket that looks much too warm for a day like today. His hair is matted and disheveled, and his jaw is covered with unshaved facial hair. And there’s something wild and strange about his eyes.
“Who are you?” he demands.
“Who are you?” I ask back, knowing the best defense is often a good offense. “And what were you doing spying on Willow Twine’s property?”
Amazingly, my bluff seems to work. He’s caught off guard. “I,” he stammers, “I have to protect her.”
“From what?”
“People. You never know who. That’s the problem.”
A nervous shiver runs through me. He’s a weirdo. I’ve seen enough of them on subways and New York City sidewalks to know the signs, but this is the first time I’ve encountered the Los Angeles variety. But this might be the good news.
“I think you’re right,” I tell him. “You have to protect her. You’d better stay here and make sure no one else comes over that wall.”
His forehead creases and his eyebrows dip with consternation. “Is something wrong? Did something happen to her?”
“Not yet. But she’s in danger. We need to be careful. Listen, if anyone asks, you didn’t see me. You didn’t see or talk to anyone. Understand? Just stay here and make sure no one else comes over that wall.”
It’s all nonsense, and I feel bad for feeding into his delusions, but this is an emergency. I make a wide circle around him and walk quickly toward the tree-lined sidewalk. A few minutes later, I get to a corner. Two women with blond ponytails and skintight Lycra tights are jogging in place, waiting for the light to change. Suddenly a car screeches around the corner. It’s Sam, and he stares right at me.
TRANSCRIPT OF TESTIMONY
The State of California vs. Richard Curtis
Hildebrandt
DORIS ANNE REMLEE, being sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth testifies as follows:
My name is Doris Anne Remlee and I currently reside at 41 Fairweather Court in the city of Los Angeles. I was employed by Ms. Willow Twine as her personal assistant. In that capacity it was my responsibility to assist Ms. Twine in the conduct of her professional and personal affairs.
Q: Did this include reading and answering correspondence?
A: Yes.
Q: And was this where you first became aware of the defendant?
A: Yes.
Q: Would you tell us about that?
A: Ms. Twine received dozens of fan letters every day. Many were addressed to her record company or film studio. A few were addressed to her agent or manager. It was rare for a fan letter to be addressed to her home. Ms. Twine preferred to keep her home address a secret. I first became aware of Mr. Hildebrandt because somehow he got Ms. Twine’s home address and sent his letters directly to her there.
Q: Was that the only reason Mr. Hildebrandt’s letters attracted your attention?
A: No. They were strange.
Q: Would you explain how?
A: Based on his letters, Mr. Hildebrandt seemed to feel that Ms. Twine was in danger and that he was the only one in the world who could protect her.
Q: Is that why you kept the letters?
A: Yes, I always kept the ones that sounded strange. There were lots of them from all sorts of people—vulgar, threatening, strange, and disgusting. I filed them away just in case. When I went back through the file I found about a dozen from Mr. Hildebrandt. They weren’t particularly vulgar or disgusting. Not even that threatening. But they were definitely strange.
Q: Please tell us about the first time you saw Mr. Hildebrandt.
A: He came to the front gate of Ms. Twine’s property. It was on a day that Ms. Twine was extremely upset because of some personal issues, and it was just by coincidence that a number of us were outside near the gate.
Q: Would you tell us who was there?
A: I was. And Zach Cushman, who did odd jobs around the house for Ms Twine. And Sam Russell, who was Ms. Twine’s personal bodyguard.
Q: And what happened?
A: Mr. Hildebrandt came up to the gate wearing torn-off shorts and a green safari jacket with lots of cargo pockets. His hair was messy, and he had stubble on his jaw and chin. He said he had to speak to Ms. Twine. I told him she was away. That is our standard reply to strangers. Usually they would go away.
Q: Did Mr. Hildebrandt go away?
A: No. Mr. Hildebrandt replied that he knew that was what we were supposed to say. He kept insisting it was important that he speak to Ms. Twine. He insisted that she knew him. He said it was urgent.
Q: Did he say why it was so important?
A: Yes. He said that her life was in danger.
Q: What happened next?
A: I told him that I would give any message he had to Ms. Twine when she returned. Then he asked me if my name was Doris.
Q: How would he know that?
A: I don’t know. There had been a few stories about Ms. Twine in which my name was mentioned. He might have read one.
Q: Did he tell you why he thought her life was in danger?
A: He said Ms. Twine had to stop going around like she did, because there were people who wanted to harm her and he couldn’t always be there to protect her.
Q: Did he explain what he meant by “going around”?
A: No, but I assumed he meant going shopping and out to restaurants and normal things like that.
Q: Would you tell us what happened next?
A: I told him again that I would give his message to Ms. Twine when she returned and that it would be a good idea if he left.
Q: Did he?
A: No. He said that I didn’t understand how great the danger was and that people were climbing over the wall around Ms. Twine’s property and that for all I knew she might be in grave danger at that very moment. I told him that wasn’t possible because she wasn’t there.
Q: And what happened next?
A: He got excited and started to yell that I should stop lying and that he knew she was there and that it wouldn’t be his fault if something terrible happened to her, because he couldn’t be expected to stand guard there all the time.
Q: What happened next?
A: Sam Russell came over and told him to leave immediately. But Mr. Hildebrandt started yelling that Sam was incompetent and did a terrible job of protecting Ms. Twine and that anyone could just walk up on the street and stab her.
Q: He used those precise words?
A: Yes. He said anyone could just walk up and stab her. Sam again told him to go away, but Mr. Hildebrandt kept telling Sam what a bad job he was doing and how he, that is, Mr. Hildebrandt, would have done such a better job at protecting Ms. Twine.
Q: What happened next?
A: A car drove up. It was someone Ms. Twine wanted to see. We wanted to open the gate to let the car in, but we couldn’t with Mr. Hildebrandt there. Sam asked him to leave again, but Mr. Hildebrandt became aggressive. He asked Sam if he knew who was in the car and why they were there. Then he said that if Sam wasn’t going to search the car, he would. Well, of course, the people in the car had no idea what was going on or who Mr. Hildebrandt was. And that was when Sam went out and escorted Mr. Hildebrandt away.
Q: Can you tell us how he escorted Mr. Hildebrandt?
A: Mr. Hildebrandt refused to cooperate, so Sam had to twist his arm behind his back and walk him away.
Q: Mr. Hildebrandt has claimed that Mr. Russell assaulted him. Did you see anything that in your mind constituted an assault?
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