I’d heard about Hollywood ghosts. Every year, right before Halloween, the newspaper is full of stories about their sightings. Legend has it that some of the greats, like Cary Grant, Clark Gable, and Carol Lombard, still haunt the boulevard. The city recently uncovered secret passageways beneath the streets of some of the old hotels that once housed speakeasies. But this wasn’t a ghost. From beneath the rakishly tilted brim of his grey fedora, I could tell this was a real live gent. A silver-haired fox, with a thin mustache, probably about fifty, fifty-five years old. He was dressed in an expensive looking blue pinstripe suit with a white pocket square, and he was wearing spats. Spats. Not exactly your modern day Hollywood.
I watched as he leaned up against the craftsman’s pillar and took a long drag on a cigarette, then exhaled a thin grey stream of smoke. It circled above his head. The likeness was unmistakable. Standing on the porch, illuminated by nothing more than the neon haze of Hollywood’s lights, was Clark Gable.
He reached inside the breast pocket of his coat and took out a cellphone—the only thing he had on his person that appeared out of character—and stared at it. Then taking another long drag on his cigarette, he glanced out at the parking lot, and seeing me, tipped his hat. I smiled to myself. The man was an impersonator, and a good one. Then as if on cue, he replaced his phone in his breast pocket, stepped off the patio and headed towards the Rolls Royce. I watched as he got in and drove past me. The personalized plates on the car read, DRM MKR. Dream Maker.
I hurried to catch up with Holly and pointed back over my shoulder towards the cottage. “There was a man back there on the porch. He was smoking a cigarette and looked just like Clark Gable. You know him?”
“He’s nobody, just another impersonator.” Holly pushed past me, as though she couldn’t be bothered to say anything else. After all, this was Hollywood—didn’t I expect such things? Rushing ahead and waving her tour wand above her head like a sign girl in a fighter’s ring, Holly came to the door of our first club, Cosmo, and stopped. “Hurry up, people. You don’t want to miss this.”
I whispered to Sheri as she passed that I’d be a minute. I wanted to study the crowd on the street as they entered the club.
“Keep an eye on Cate, will you? I need to get a feel for this place.” Sheri squeezed my hand, promising she’d do just that.
Cate passed, an enthusiastic smile on her face. She was already caught up in the scene and leaned into me as she passed and said, “And who’s watching you, Mom?”
I stood at the entrance and let my eyes and ears adjust.
The noise and the lights inside were jarring. Inside the club, the interior was reminiscent of old Hollywood. It was like a step back in time, draped in a shimmering gold neon light that reflected off mirrored walls with huge chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. Secluded booths lined the dance floor, jammed with beautiful people, like something from a Vogue advertisement, where everybody looks terribly sophisticated and nonplussed. I joined Sheri at the bar and ordered a white wine spritzer. I was working and wanted to keep it light. Sheri had a Cosmopolitan. Across the room, Cate had already hooked up with a group of pub crawling yuppies. Sheri assured me Cate had recognized an old friend from school, an upper classman, and everything was all right. I caught Cate’s eye. We waved to one another. She snapped her pink wristband, winked, then took a sip from whatever was in her glass. I assumed it was a Shirley Temple and focused back on Sheri.
“So much for my chaperone.”
“You didn’t really think she was going to hang with us, did you? After all, you did say you’d be doing research.”
I glanced around the room and took a mental inventory. I probably had thirty to forty minutes left before Holly would be shuffling off to the next bar. “You’re right, I did, didn’t I?”
I nodded towards a table across the room where three young women sat with two men. They looked like they might be about ready to leave. I told Sheri I was going to talk with them and walked across the room and introduced myself. I told them I was working on a story for KCHC Radio concerning Hollywood’s Missing Girls and asked if they might like to be interviewed.
“We don’t have to use our real names, right?” One of the girls giggled then looked back down at her drink, taking a big sip through the straw of something neon green and bubbly. “’Cause I don’t want anybody to know—”
“What goes down in Hollywood, stays in Hollywood, right?” the girl next to her interrupted. They all laughed.
“Not if you don’t want to,” I said, “but if you want to give me your contact information I’ll be happy to let you know when this airs.”
That seemed to be sufficient. The three girls all partnered up, leaning against one another and into the table so that I was close enough to interview them while the boys sat opposite me. It was difficult to tell who was coupled with whom, or if perhaps they were all just friends, out for a night of clubbing.
I began by asking if they had heard about Monica Channing.
“You mean the girl who got herself kidnapped?” One of the girls asked.
“The police believe she was picked up by a sex trafficking ring operating out of Hollywood,” I said.
“Yeah, I heard that. But come on. Really?” This time it was one of the young men talking. “The cops spread those rumors to keep us from coming down here. Makes their job easier…”
“I don’t believe it either. I mean, how dumb do you have to be to think some dude on the internet’s gonna set you up with a movie contract? It’s not like we haven’t grown up around here and don’t know better.”
It was clear from their responses they weren’t worried about being kidnapped. Two of the girls had taken karate classes. One said she’d be more afraid of what she might do to any stranger than she was for her own safety. The third girl said she didn’t listen to the news, it was all bad anyway.
“You just have to be aware of your surroundings, that’s all.”
“Bad things can happen to anyone.”
“Terrible to say, but sometimes it’s just your time.”
I wrapped the interview, thanked them for their time and watched as they got up and left the table.
Moments later, I saw Holly at the bar with Sheri. She was signaling to those closest to her it was time to go. One by one, our group gathered outside and some of the women, the smart ones anyway, those familiar with the rigors of pub crawling, reached into the bags for flats and changed their shoes for the walk down the street.
I sidled up next to Holly. “I suppose I should ask you, since I’m doing research. Did you ever see Monica Channing on any of these pub crawls?”
She pulled away, the look on her face like I was accusing her of something.
“No. Why would I?” She pushed ahead as though I’d insulted her. I fell in with the crowd as we approached Sayers, our next stop.
I told Cate and Sheri I’d wait outside. The live music and crowd were so loud I thought I’d lose my hearing if I went in.
I stood and watched a parade of activity. The boulevard was clearly party central with girls trotting between clubs in short tight skirts and high heels—oblivious to any sense of danger—while good-looking young men, stylishly dressed, checked their cellphones and moved on to the next bar. There was the occasional shriek of joy as groups of people met up with one another, but nowhere was there any indication that anyone was worried that girls were disappearing, or that somewhere in their midst, a predator might be hiding, waiting to strike again.
Our last stop was Hemingway’s, and I couldn’t wait to sit down. I was thrilled to see what looked to me to be a civilized lounge with music I could get into, books, real leather-bound books that didn’t look like props, and a comfortable chair I could kick back in. I identified myself to the bouncer and told him I was a reporter and doing a story on the club scene. His name was Freddie Bleeker, and he offered me what he said was the most
comfortable seat in the house: a leather lounger, facing a wall of old-fashioned typewriters and surrounded by great books. Sheri sat down next to me in an equally comfortable lounger and ordered an Asti Spumante while thumbing through a copy of Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly two a.m. The place was clearing out. I had some good material for the show. I didn’t need anything else, not tonight. I suggested to Sheri we call it a night. Tomorrow Cate would have to head back to San Diego. I wanted her to have at least a few hours’ sleep before she left. I started to get up and look around.
“Where’s Cate?”
CHAPER 13
Sheri looked at me. I could tell she didn’t know where Cate was. I knew she had come in behind us. I’d seen her talking to a young man and figured she had gone to the bar and ordered another Shirley Temple or something equally as innocuous.
I grabbed my shoes and purse and made my way to the bar. The barkeep was starting to clean up. With a rag in one hand and the other on the bar, he asked if there was something I wanted. “Almost closing,” he said.
“No, I don’t want anything. I’m looking for my daughter. Blonde. About five-foot-six. Big smile. She’s wearing a black dress.” I realized I was describing about half of the young women in Hollywood.
“Sorry.” He shook his head and continued to wipe the bar down. “But there’s still a few people towards the back of the club; you might want to check there.”
I nodded to Sheri and headed off towards the back of the club. The place was nearly empty. A few stragglers got up from their chairs, leaning on one another for support, and passed me, ambling toward the door. From the look on their faces they’d all had too much to drink and were headed home to sleep it off.
“Cate,” I hollered, my voice echoing back at me from the end of the darkened saloon. There was no answer. I stood in the center of the room. The loveseats and small settees around me were all empty. There was no trace of my daughter. Not anywhere. My stomach started to tighten. I retraced my steps back towards the bar. “Cate. Cate! Where are you?”
“Carol?” Holly came rushing towards me, Sheri behind her, looks of concern on their faces. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find my daughter. She’s not here.” I looked over their shoulders and continued to call. “Cate!”
“What’s the matter?” Freddie Bleeker heard my scream and came running.
I noticed Holly’s eyes clicked quickly to him and back at me.
“It’s my daughter. I can’t find her.”
“Maybe she headed back to the office. A bunch of them gave me their wristbands as they left.” She held her arm up and showed me a bunch of neon green scrunchies she’d passed out earlier. “Maybe she’s with them.” Holly started to reach for my hand. I had the feeling she wanted to get me out there.
“No.” I pulled away. “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave. She’s here. I’m not leaving until I find her.”
“Did you check out back?” Freddie looked at Holly. “Maybe she went out for a smoke.”
“She doesn’t smoke.” I could feel my heart racing. My eyes scanned the room for any sign of her. There was nothing.
“Holly,” Freddie said. “Why don’t you check the ladies’ room? Maybe she’s in there. I’ll check out back.”
Sheri put her arm around me and we waited like frozen statues, afraid to move.
Moments later Freddie reappeared. With him was the young man I had seen Cate with when we came in. He’d been outside smoking and looked surprised to have been summoned inside.
“Where’s Cate?” I asked.
“I don’t know. We were having a drink at the bar and then she started talking to someone else and I left to get a smoke. Is something wrong?” He looked genuinely surprised at my concern.
“I can’t find my daughter. That’s what’s wrong. She’s not here. Not anywhere.”
“Maybe she went down the street to the Roosevelt. A bunch of us were talking about trying to get in. It’s pretty exclusive. Maybe she—”
“No. She wouldn’t leave. She’s got to be here somewhere.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out my cell. There were no messages. No text. Nothing. I pushed speed dial for Cate’s number and listened as it went to voicemail.
“Cate. It’s Mom. Where are you? Call me.”
Sheri put her hand on my shoulder. “Stay here. Let me go find out what’s keeping Holly. Maybe she’s in the ladies’ room.”
Freddie offered me a chair. I refused and paced towards the front of bar with my phone in my hand, begging it to ring. A few more stragglers passed me on their way out and looked at me like I was mad, a crazed women standing guard at the entrance to the bar. Nobody was getting in or out without my knowledge.
“Carol.” From behind me Holly called my name. “Can you come here?”
“Did you find her? Is she okay?” I ran towards her, my heart racing faster than my feet.
“She’s in the ladies’ room. You better go check.”
I pushed through the door. In the corner of the room Sheri stood with Cate in her arms. She was leaning with her head over the sink.
“What’s wrong?” I stepped forward, taking her slim body in my arms. She collapsed like a rag doll. Her head on my shoulder, her body, limp. “What’s wrong, baby? Come on, talk to me.”
Sheri put her arm around Cate’s back and with a wet towel began to wipe her face. Cate moaned. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I began patting the side of her face.
“Come on, baby. It’s Mom. Wake up. You’re going to be fine.”
Freddie walked in behind us. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”
“No. She’s not okay!” I screamed. “I think she’s been drugged.”
Holly turned to Freddie. “Call an ambulance. Now!”
CHAPTER 14
I barely slept after we got home from the emergency room. Instead I spent the night going back through my notes about the missing girls while Cate slept upstairs in her bedroom. Every couple of hours I’d tiptoe up the stairs and check on her, thankful she was home and that I had found her before something terrible happened. The doctors in the ER determined that someone had slipped something into her drink, but Cate couldn’t remember. She said she didn’t know who had ordered the drink or who put it down in front of her, only that it wasn’t non-alcoholic, and when she realized, she quickly put it down. Unfortunately, she’d ingested enough of whatever was in the drink to cause her to feel lightheaded. Knowing something wasn’t right, she made her way to the ladies’ room where she passed out. Whoever had drugged her quickly left the bar when he realized she’d fled to the bathroom.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven. My stomach was growling, and Cate would need something solid when she woke up. I wasn’t going to let her drive back to the university this morning until she had something to eat and I was certain she was on solid ground. I was about to start hunting through my cabinets for something akin to a pancake mix—comfort food—when the doorbell rang.
It was Sheri. In her hands she had a basket of pastries beneath a red and white checkered cloth.
“I knew you wouldn’t have anything in the house, so I made something.”
Without asking, she pushed past me. The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls with melted butter wafted beneath my nose as she made her way toward kitchen.
“How’s our girl? Still sleeping, I’ll bet.” She placed the basket on the counter. “Mind if I make myself a cup?”
I didn’t have time to answer before I heard a thin voice from behind me.
“Make me one, too.”
I turned to see Cate standing in the doorway. She was still dressed in her pajamas, striped long johns that hung about her slim hips like a potato sack. She toddled barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She kissed me on the cheek, then Sheri, and
took a cup from the cabinet.
“How are you this morning, Sweetie?”
“Better.” Cate sat down at the table. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t remember much of what happened, just waking up in the hospital and then—ugh.” She shook her head and reached for a roll.
“I can’t believe what happened last night. We were all right there, having fun, and yet, wow. It really made me see how easy this all this could happen, right in the middle of a crowd. In fact, I did a little more research while you were asleep last night about date rape drugs and some of the websites you mentioned the other night, like Sugar Babies.”
While Cate slept, I went online in search of suspect websites, sites that might be targeting young women. I found several that were, in my mind anyway, very suspect. The one that stuck out the most, however, was HollywoodScholarships.com.
“If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I might not believe it.” I opened my computer to the webpage and read the copy aloud.
Are you young, talented and willing to travel? Top Hollywood Agent is looking for tomorrow’s big names today. If you believe you have what it takes to be a star, let us help you make your dream come true.
The rest was pretty straightforward. It requested a picture—full body shot, bathing suit optional—a brief bio, and a list of close personal contacts. I assumed any young woman who had too many was immediately disqualified. An email was listed for a confidential reply.
“And things like this, they’re legal? The police don’t shut them down?” Sheri glanced down at my computer screen.
“From what I pulled up on the internet last night, there’s probably too many to police. Lot of weirdoes out there, and when it comes down to it, I think it’s really more of a buyer beware type of thing.”
“Makes you wonder,” Sheri said, “after what nearly happened to Cate last night, just how often this goes on.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I reached for a cinnamon roll and was about to sink my teeth into it when the phone rang.
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