by J. P. Bowie
“Any objections to any of those?” she demanded.
They both skimmed through the seemingly banal, routine list. “Not that I can see,” Jeff said. He cast his killer smile at the two women. “Maybe you can spice it up a little so we don’t bore everyone to death.”
Olivia’s raucous laugh rang out again. “Oh, I like you. We’ll do just fine.
Okay guys. Relax till we need you. The makeup guys will have an easy day of it with you two. Ha ha!” With that she swept out, Brenda in her wake.
“Wow,” Jeff murmured. “That’s a ball-buster if ever I met one.”
“She’s a one off, that’s for sure,” Peter agreed. “Well, let’s finish off these sandwiches. I’m famished.”
They watched the start of the show on the monitor in the green room and marveled at the stunning difference between Olivia, the daytime show host, and the real woman. Now she was everyone’s best friend, chatting with the audience, cracking jokes, patting old ladies on the shoulder and rubbing noses with small kids.
After about ten minutes of this fluff, she began to tell the story of a young artist who had been viciously attacked and left for dead in an alleyway in Los Angeles. With a start, Peter realized she was talking about him. Both he and Jeff sat forward in their seats as Olivia, her face set in an expression of deep concern and sincerity, detailed the extent of his injuries and trauma.
“He was in a coma for three years ladies and gentlemen…. three years.
Three years, when his talent as an artist went to waste, when his friends and loved ones lived in despair that he would ever recover. Three years of desola-tion for his poor mother—who, incidentally, is here today folks. Can you imagine how it was for her when he finally did recover and she had to tell him that his friend, his dearest friend, Phillip, had been killed in that attack? Where are you Eve? Stand up, and let this audience see for themselves the beautiful, brave and determined woman you are!”
Amid wild applause, Peter watched as his mother, suffused in embarrassment, stood and acknowledged the cheers. Olivia then left the stage and J.P. Bowie
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walked slowly up the aisle, her arms spread wide before her, ready to embrace Peter’s brave mother.
“Oh lord,” Peter groaned. “This is even worse than I thought.”
“Are you kidding?” Jeff exclaimed. “Eve will be the talk of Laguna, after this airs.”
The door to the green room suddenly burst open and a young man beckoned them. “We’re ready for you guys,” he told them. “Follow me, please.”
“Can I change my mind now?” Peter whispered.
“No…” Jeff whispered back, giving him a push. “Just grin and bear it.”
They stood on the side of the stage as Olivia continued her dialogue. “As happens in the best of tales, this one has a happy ending—and here to finish the story is the artist, Peter Brandon, and his partner, the private investigator who helped bring the murderers to justice, Jeff Stevens!”
“You’re on,” the young man said behind them, and they walked out into the blinding lights and the sound of applause. Olivia stood in a statuesque pose, arms spread wide to receive her guests. Graciously, she accepted their perfunctory kiss on the cheek, then gestured toward the dais where stood three reproduction antique chairs.
“So,” Olivia said with a smile as they sat down. “How are you both today?”
“Just fine,” Jeff said, returning her smile. Peter could not help noticing that most of the women in the audience seemed entranced by Jeff ’s appearance—and he couldn’t blame them. Jeff ’s strong features and sensual mouth gave him a movie star quality that Peter was sure was being captured by the TV
cameras. Olivia fluttered her eyelashes at him coquettishly then smiled at them both.
“You guys look great.” She turned to her audience. “Don’t they look terrific, folks?” A roar of approval followed her question and she beamed with satisfaction. “There now…So tell me Peter, what was your first thought when you woke up after three years?”
“My first thought?” Peter had been asked this question countless times, and couldn’t for the life of him remember a first thought. “Actually, I think I was more surprised than anything to find out where I was—in a hospital bed. Then of course, when my mother told me what had happened to Phillip, I was stunned and he became all I could think of…”
Olivia looked at him with quiet compassion. “It must have been so dreadful for you,” she murmured. “And you remembered nothing of the attack?”
“Right.” Peter looked at Jeff and smiled. “It took this man to wake me up to the reality that I was deeply in denial over the whole thing.”
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Olivia turned to Jeff. “You were hired to investigate Phillip’s murder, right Jeff?”
“Well, I originally went down to Laguna to talk to Peter to see if he could remember anything at all about the attack.” The camera zoomed in for a close up as Jeff related his part of the story. “I found out he hadn’t even read the newspaper accounts of the attack—something I frankly found amazing, and I told him so. He got very defensive and threw me out of his house.”
“Oh my God…” Olivia hooted and the audience gave forth with ripples of good-natured laughter. “Peter…what were you thinking?” she admonished him.
“Well, he was pressing too hard, and like I said I was still in denial.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, he came back a few minutes later,” Peter said, with a grin. “My mother was there and kind of smoothed things over. I let him talk me into revisiting the scene of the crime…”
“Wow,” Olivia interjected. “That must have been tough.”
“Yes, it was.” Jeff picked up the story. “But it did have the results I had hoped for. I also think it strengthened Peter’s psychic link with Phillip. He had a vision, there in the alley where they were attacked, and he more or less had a mental image of one of the perpetrators.”
“Incredible,” Olivia whispered. The audience was quiet as they listened with rapt attention. “Later, you drew this man, isn’t that right, Peter?”
Peter nodded. “Yes, and Jeff recognized him as an ex-cop he’d had a run in with when they were both on the force.” He went on to tell the rest of the story, but as always left out the part of Senator Bowman’s involvement. He and Jeff had both decided that they should spare Bowman’s family the additional pain of scandal, after the Senator’s death, in a freak road accident.
After the commercial break, Olivia steered the conversation to the case involving Emily and Anthony Hastings and the abuse they had suffered at the hands of their father. Jeff took that opportunity to mention the good work that was being done by many volunteer associations to house and care for abused and abandoned children. To the delight of the studio audience and amid loud applause, Olivia immediately pledged a large amount of money to that cause.
“And then in New York,” Olivia prompted, “you solved yet another case while you were on what you thought would be a Christmas break.”
“Yes,” Peter replied. “We’d gone to visit our friends, Andrew and David, and in the middle of everything, an acquaintance of Andrew’s was murdered and poor Andrew was, for a time, the prime suspect.”
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“And again,” Jeff said, “it was Peter’s psychic ability that helped us unravel the mystery. Without him alerting us to the fact that Andrew and the real murderers were about to face off in a hotel room, Andrew and my business partner, Nick Fallon, might have been dead meat.”
Olivia nodded, wide-eyed. “Tell us more about those psychic abilities, Peter.”
“Well, I used to downplay it as an abilit y really. It could be so erratic and vague, but during the time that madman Paul Lefevre had my mother and friends in his clutches, it all sort of came to fruition. I truly felt linked to Phillip—like he was right beside me, helping Jeff and myself find my mother by guiding us to the p
lace where she and our friends were being held hostage.”
“Amazing…” Olivia paused and gazed out at her audience for a moment, her eyes filled with seeming wonder. Then, she continued in a subdued tone.
“And this link with Phillip…is it still there?
“I believe so.” Peter smiled at her. “But, it’s not like he’s hanging around over our heads all the time,” he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little.
“He just shows up when we’re in trouble.”
“Like a guardian angel,” Olivia murmured.
“Something like that,” Peter told her, feeling a tad uncomfortable and hoping she’d change the subject. To his relief, because time was running short, Olivia turned to the topic of Peter’s artwork, notably his portraiture. She had several photographs of Peter’s work that had been on exhibition throughout the country.
“This is an amazing talent Peter,” she gushed, to more applause from the audience. “Now, I want to ask you if you will do me the great favor of painting my portrait?”
“I would be honored,” Peter answered sincerely, never for a moment realizing he would come to regret this decision.
The rest of the interview went by quickly. Both men were impressed with Olivia’s skillful questioning and the fact that she seemed to hang on every word they had to say. At the end, the audience rose it its feet and applauded, while Olivia stood, holding both Peter and Jeff ’s hands.
“Great show guys,” she told them later. “The follow up, after you’ve painted me, should be just as good.” She greeted Eve with warmth, and ordered Brenda to “crack a bottle of bubbly” to celebrate. Amid a welter of bonhomie and con-gratulations, they were escorted back to the limo and driven home to Laguna.
“So, what did you think?” Peter asked Eve as they settled into the leather luxury of the limousine’s thickly padded seats.
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“You were both wonderful up there,” she replied. “Some of the ladies near me were in tears when you talked about hearing Phillip’s voice at his grave-side. I think this will be one of her best shows ever.”
“Not that you’re at all biased,” Jeff chuckled.
“Of course I am,” Eve said, with a laugh. “But, Olivia seemed very pleased with it too.”
“That she did,” Jeff agreed. He looked at Peter. “Were you surprised when she asked you to paint her portrait?”
“Kind of. I thought she’d be way too busy for all that.”
“The producers were probably thinking it was a way to keep the audience’s interest,” Jeff suggested. “Future ratings, that kind of thing.”
Peter nodded. “Right. Still, it was good of her to want to be bothered, I think.”
It was the last time Peter would ever link the word ‘good’ with Olivia Winters. A few days after the taping, he spent an entire day fielding phone calls from her production office. Apparently, Olivia had decided the next show would be taped in Laguna, from Peter and Jeff ’s home. There, she felt, the viewers would get the atmosphere of where Peter lived and the studio in which he had created the ‘masterpieces’ that had been shown nationally. Also, Peter and Jeff would be filmed giving Olivia a guided tour of Laguna Beach. Her production crew had also contacted Laguna’s tourist office, and they were very quick to call Peter to encourage him in this endeavor—“Such good publicity for the town’s tourist industry, don’t you agree?”
Then there were the sessions to arrange for Olivia’s portrait sitting. No, she could not possibly come to his studio, he was told—her schedule just would not allow it. He must come to her home on the days specified. Much against his better judgment, Peter agreed, inconvenient for him as it was.
Peter’s fame, as an artist, had spread even before his association with Olivia.
When he had recovered from his coma, the attending publicity had thrown him, with some reluctance, into the public eye. Adding to the pressure was the fact that he had recently opened his own gallery in Laguna, and had set aside a section of it for a class to encourage ‘promising young local artists’—a venture that had fast become extremely time consuming—though greatly rewarding.
He had been aided in this, by the arrival of Nick and Eric. Nick Fallon, the detective they had met in New York, and who had helped them clear Andrew’s name, had accepted Jeff ’s offer to become his business partner. Eric, unable to find a job right away had jumped at the chance to manage Peter’s gallery. Peter J.P. Bowie
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had been impressed by Eric’s quick learning curve, and felt very comfortable about leaving him in sole charge during the time he’d become involved with Olivia’s show.
A major concern for Peter, working outside his studio, had been the lighting, but on seeing the huge windows that lined one wall of Olivia’s spacious living room, he had deemed it adequate. He had quite enjoyed their first session.
Olivia had seemed pleased to see him, apologizing for her busy schedule and saying she hoped he was not too inconvenienced by the arrangement. Molli-fied, Peter had worked well as the cameramen and technicians Olivia had brought in to record the first sitting, hovered around and over his shoulder.
Peter had explained to her that he really only needed the one sitting, as his photographic memory would take care of the rest, but Olivia had insisted on more, ‘for the sake of continuity’.
“We have to show the portrait being created from the first few strokes to the finished product,” she’d told him. “That’s all part of the presentation.” Peter could sense in her tone that the lady was very used to getting her own way—in all things. Something he would become more and more aware of, as time went by.
Orange County Times
Report by Mark Forrest
Laguna Beach will be agog this Tuesday when famed day talk show host Olivia Winters brings her production crew to town to film a segment for her new show featuring local artist Peter Brandon. Miss Winters will be seen out and about in Laguna before filming at the home Peter Brandon shares with Jeff Stevens, a private investigator…
On the day of the filming in Laguna, Olivia arrived with her entourage and took the town by storm. The town’s dignitaries came out in force to greet her and everywhere they went, crowds gathered to gape at the famous daytime TV
star. Over and over, Peter and Jeff had to suffer endless retakes of a simple stroll along the cliff tops where Olivia had to be seen, gazing down with rapture at J.P. Bowie
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the famous coastline, the subject of so many artists’ work. It was there that they got a first glimpse of Olivia’s almost as famous temper.
After some of the more eager onlookers had spoiled yet another take, she gave vent with a string of expletives that would raise the hair on the back of a sailor’s neck. Peter had stared at her aghast, while Jeff smiled and winked at him.
“Hey, that should spice the show up a bit, don’t you think?”
Olivia had glared at him, then with a quick shifting of gears, she’d changed the glare to a winning smile. “Oh you,” she simpered. “The boys will cut that…”
“Too bad,” Jeff had said dryly, causing Olivia to frown and bite her lip. She had spent the rest of the day being more careful around him, causing Peter to remark afterward, when they were alone, that he thought Olivia had become a little wary of him.
“She probably thinks I have some influence over you, which of course, I don’t,”
“Yes, you do.”
“I do?”
“Don’t get cute with me.”
“You know you like me cute.”
“True.”
“So, if I told you I thought Olivia was a first-class bitch, you wouldn’t argue with me?”
“She is, isn’t she? I’m beginning to wish this was all over.”
“It will be soon babe,” Jeff had assured him, massaging the back of his neck.
“You’re all tense. Are you OK?”
“Yeah, fine—but I’ll give you all night to stop what you’re
doing.”
It was dark when Peter pulled into the driveway of his house, annoyed that Jeff ’s car was already there. “Damn,” he muttered. He had wanted to get there first, so he could have had time to prepare the surprise dinner he was giving Jeff for his birthday. He’d wanted to have the table set, candles lit—and himself, standing there, showered and shiny, ready to wrap himself in his lover’s arms.
Oh well, he thought sourly, slamming the car door. The best laid plans…
“Hi,” he called as he entered the kitchen. “I’m home.”
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“Hi, home. Does that make me Watson?”
“Ouch,” Peter laughed. “Your jokes get cornier all the time.” He hugged his man tightly. “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to have everything ready. Happy Birthday…” Jeff silenced him with a kiss.
When they came up for air, Peter said, “I thought we’d have dinner at home, just the two of us…”
“Sounds great,” Jeff murmured, not letting him go.
“I need to shower first though. I’m all sticky from the car. Then we’ll have some champagne.” He started to pull away, but Jeff held him fast. “Unhand me villain,” Peter said weakly. “I really need to shower…”
“Okay,” Jeff said, with a quick grin. “I’ll bring the champagne up to the bedroom. See you there.”
“I’ll be quick.” Peter flew up the stairs throwing off his clothes and dropping them in a heap on the bathroom floor. Stepping into the shower, he soaped himself vigorously, then stood letting the hot water beat down on him for a minute or two. He smiled as he heard the shower door open behind him and felt strong arms enfold him.
“I couldn’t wait for my birthday gift,” Jeff whispered huskily in his ear.
“It’s right here,” Peter said, leaning back against Jeff ’s powerful body.
“Happy Birthday again.”