A PORTRAIT OF OLIVIA

by J. P. Bowie

  Jeff was silent, not really knowing what he could say at that moment. Not so Lopez who had overheard Peter’s comment. “You mean you saw the dead guy in there?” She wheezed out a laugh. “How was he? Does he want to make a statement?”

  Jeff looked at McKenna, his lips set in a tight line. “Tell your partner there’s nothing to snicker at here. If Peter says he saw Luke Taylor, he saw him—end of story.”

  “Okay…” McKenna said and threw a warning glance at Lopez. “But that’s it, right? It doesn’t give us anything to go on.”

  “Just that fragrance I could smell,” Peter said. “But I don’t get the connection.”

  “Well,” McKenna shrugged his broad shoulders slightly. “It was worth a shot. Thanks for trying, guys.”

  “Yeah, thanks a lot,” Lopez said snidely under her breath, walking toward their car.

  “Hey, Detective…” Jeff called after her. She turned and gave him a raised eyebrow. “Next time you walk into a sealed apartment on a very warm day and the temperature drops to near freezing in there, let me know the reason for that, will you? I’d be interested in your theory.”

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  Lopez frowned, started to say something, then thought better of it and climbed into the car. McKenna grinned and patted Jeff on the shoulder. “What is it with you and my partners?” He paused, and looked at Peter. “Let me know if anything else comes to you, won’t you?”

  “Of course. Sorry I couldn’t put on a better show for your friend.”

  McKenna grimaced, then turned and walked to the car.

  As they stood quietly watching the detectives’ car pull away from the apartment complex, Peter sighed. “That didn’t go very well, did it?”

  “Let’s leave the car here and take a stroll on the pier for a while,” Jeff suggested. “You still look a bit pale. You sure you feel OK?”

  “I’ll be fine…The fresh air is helping already.”

  They walked in silence for a while, each one caught up in his own thoughts.

  Peter was disappointed that there had not been a greater connection between him and Luke’s spirit. He felt that Luke had been trying to tell him something, but whatever it was, he had failed to grasp it. Jeff, on the other hand, worried that Peter’s forays into these intense moments of psychic connection might be detrimental to his health. He knew they were always stressful experiences, and now he found himself wishing that he had not volunteered Peter for this one.

  He glanced at his friend as they neared the pier.

  “You don’t have to do that again, if you’d rather not,” he said, squeezing his arm gently. “I don’t like to see you so drained by it.”

  Peter smiled at him. “Thanks for caring. I just wish it had turned out better.

  There was something there…but I just couldn’t lock onto it. He was trying to tell me something…”

  “Don’t sweat it…I know you want the killer found, but McKenna has the case and I know he won’t give up easily.”

  They leaned against the pier rail and looked out at the surfers skillfully riding their boards across the choppy waves. Peter sighed. “That should be him out there—Luke, I mean—having the time of his life. Instead, he’s been reduced to a jarful of ashes. All that health and vitality snuffed out because someone wanted him out of the way. God, it makes me so angry—this needless waste of a life…”

  Jeff pulled him close. “Take it easy, babe,” he whispered. “Whoever did this will make a mistake—they nearly always do—and then the police will move in…”

  Sadly, Peter nodded. “It just won’t bring him back though, will it? Luke, and all the others who are wandering out there lost and alone, until they’re given rest.”

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  Peter was still in a subdued mood when they returned home. Jeff had called Nick and told him he wouldn’t be coming back to the office, but if he needed him he could reach him at home. He fixed Peter and himself a drink and they settled down in the den to watch the evening news.

  “I’ll fix us something to eat in a minute,” Peter said listlessly.

  “Relax,” Jeff murmured. “You need to just take it easy. I’ll fix us something later…Oh no,” he fell silent as an image of Olivia appeared on the screen. He picked up the remote and turned up the sound just in time to hear the reporter announce that Olivia’s show would air the controversial interview with

  “…Patricia Hastings—the woman who committed suicide after appearing as a guest on Miss Winters’ show. The interview is scheduled to air ‘live’ this Thurs-day. Mrs. Hastings was buried today in a private ceremony attended only by family members. She is survived by a sister, a son and two daughters.”

  Peter turned to look at Jeff, an appalled expression on his face. “Is Olivia totally crazy?” he exclaimed. “Doesn’t she know what this will do to Anthony?”

  “Peter…” Jeff was grim as he turned off the television. “She doesn’t give a damn about anyone but herself and the ratings for her show. Anthony’s feelings or welfare is a very low priority on her list.”

  “Damn her!” Peter jumped to his feet. “This could put Anthony over the edge. He’s just buried his mother—and now he has to put up with all this crap?

  The media will have a field day with all of this…This will be a nightmare for him and Emily—for all of them.”

  “There is one thing they can do,” Jeff said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Have Johnny file a lawsuit claiming severe emotional trauma if the show airs. He’d have to work fast though. The show is set for the day after tomorrow…”

  “Why don’t you call him? Maybe they hasn’t seen the news yet. I think they were all going back to Emily’s after the funeral. Johnny and Gloria might still be there.”

  “Will do.” Jeff pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Emily and Jerry’s number. “Hi,” he said when Jerry answered. “Hope I haven’t called at a bad time.”

  “That’s OK, Jeff. We were expecting your call—we just watched the news and, well…you saw it?”

  “Uh-huh. How’re they taking it?”

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  “Anthony went ballistic, of course. He wants to sue. Johnny’s talking to him, right now.”

  “Good. Maybe he could get a judge to slap an injunction on the network pending a hearing.”

  “I think that’s what he’s got in mind. Jeez Jeff, can you believe the Winters woman could be this crass?”

  “Yes, I can Jerry. She isn’t interested in anyone or anything except what she feels is right for her. The more controversial the show, the bigger the ratings—the more money she makes, and that’s all she cares about, believe me.

  Well listen, I won’t keep you. Tell everybody Peter and I said ‘hi’. We’ll call you later.” He put his phone away and looked at Peter. “Looks like Johnny’s got it under control, for the moment anyway. But like I said—he’s going to have to work fast in order to stop the show from airing.”

  Olivia and Brad stepped out of her studio limo and walked through the lobby heading for the elevator to her penthouse. She groaned as she saw Winifred waiting at the elevator door.

  “For Pete’s sake,” she muttered. “I swear that old has-been is stalking me.

  Every time I turn around, there she is.”

  “Actually,” Brad said with a grin, “I think it’s me she stalking. I think she’s kinda sweet. I bet she was a real looker when she was young.”

  Olivia threw him a look of disdain. “You must be kidding.”

  “Well, hi Handsome…” Winifred was all smiles as she gazed up at Brad.

  “You know, we gotta stop meeting like this,” she added with a wink. “Some people might not like it.”

  Brad chuckled. “Well, we’ll just have to ignore the gossip, won’t we?” He stepped back to let Winifred onto the elevator and landed on Olivia’s right foot.

  “Ow, for Chrissakes!” Olivia yelled, hopping a
bout. “You nearly broke my toes, you clumsy ass.”

  “Sorry,” Brad mumbled, taking her arm.

  Olivia shrugged him off and barged into the elevator. “Look at that, you ruined my shoe,” she whined. “You know what these cost?”

  “Oh now,” Winifred said, trying hard not to laugh. “It’s just a shoe. Don’t make him feel bad…”

  “Was someone talking to you?” Olivia snarled.

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  “Boy, you and Blondie really do make quite a pair,” Winifred said, “Rude and ruder.”

  Brad sniggered and Olivia glared at him. The elevator door opened at Winifred’s floor. As she stepped out, she put her finger on the ‘door open’ button and turned to look at Olivia. “You know, lady…one day you are going to fall flat on your face—and there’s not going to be a single soul who will want to pick you up.” She smiled up at Brad as she removed her finger from the button.

  “Toodle-oo, Handsome. Don’t forget my offer.”

  Olivia slammed the palm of her hand against the door. “That does it…I’m moving outta this place! There’s way too much riff-raff in this building. I should have known better when I saw there wasn’t a private elevator to my penthouse. That old broad is just the last straw!”

  “Calm down, Olivia,” Brad said. “She was just razzin’ you. And, let’s face it, you were not very nice to her.”

  “Why the fuck should I be nice to her? She’s a nobody.” She tapped her foot impatiently waiting for the elevator door to open, then she limped across the marble floors to the penthouse door and flung it open. “Joyce! Get me an icepack—some clod just broke my toe. Brenda! Where are you?” She threw herself down onto a couch, removed her shoe and rubbed her throbbing toe. Brad shook his head as he walked to the bar and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

  “Brenda!” Olivia yelled again.

  “I’m here…” Brenda appeared in the office doorway. She looked grim.

  “What now?” Olivia asked impatiently, taking the icepack from Joyce then waving her away.

  “Some attorney representing the Hastings family is trying to cancel tomorrow’s show.”

  “Huh, let ’em try. You got our lawyers on it?”

  “Of course, but there’s a chance they may get the show delayed.”

  “What?” Olivia sprang to her feet, her painful foot forgotten. “No way. That show does not get delayed. Not with all the publicity it’s been getting the last few days. Timing is everything, you know that. Call the lawyers now and tell

  ’em to get this…this…whatever it’s called, dismissed. Now!” She collapsed back onto the couch and held the icepack to her head. “Oh my God—this is exhausting…” She looked across the room to where Brad stood at the bar watching her. “Make yourself useful, Handsome—and fix me drink!”

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  Johnny Pederson stepped out of the judge’s chambers and sighed as he gazed at the young man seated on a bench in the hall. Their eyes met, and Johnny shook his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down beside Anthony. “The judge wouldn’t give us an injunction against the show. Too late, he said. The network’s lawyers have been all over him. He did clear the way for a lawsuit though, if you want to continue to sue, after the fact.”

  Anthony’s eyes were filled with misery as he shook his head. “She’s going to be seen by millions of people. Millions of people are going to hear her say all these terrible things about her family, about my friends, about Justin—and we can’t do anything to stop it…It’s just so unfair. This will be my mother’s memorial. This is how people will remember her.” He buried his face in his hands and gave in to the tears he could no longer fight back.

  Johnny looked at him with compassion and found he had no words to ease his grief. Anthony was a remarkable young man, he thought. Despite everything; the horrendous childhood and adolescence he had endured at the hands of an abusive father, seeing Patricia morph from a weak and uncaring mother to a sort of avenging crusader for what she deemed a righteous cause. And now, having to watch the very fabric of his family’s lives being torn apart by a sensation-seeking harridan—despite all that, he loved his mother enough to care about how she was remembered.

  “The important thing is how you will remember her, Anthony,” he said, gently touching his arm.

  Anthony raised his head and gazed at Johnny. “I’ll try to remember the times I felt she was proud I was her son. I know that before…all this…there were times when she truly was. I only wish that I could have saved her from all this torment…”

  “Anthony, don’t blame yourself for any of this. Your mother was…well, she was hard to get through to. She lived in that cocoon of self-denial for so long, that I’m afraid her delusions became her reality. I know one thing…” He took Anthony’s hand in his. “When Gloria and I have a son, I want him to grow up to be just like you.”

  “Thanks Johnny,” Anthony whispered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

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  “Come on…” Johnny picked up his briefcase. “I’ll drive you back to Emily’s. Is Paula staying on for a few days?”

  “No, she’s flying back today,” Anthony replied with a sigh. “She can’t wait to get out of here. I don’t think she’s said two words to Emily or me the whole time she’s been here. It’s almost like she blames us for everything that’s happened. Like Mom, she’s been in denial for years.”

  “Were you planning on watching the show this afternoon?”

  “I don’t know if I could stand it,” Anthony replied. “There’s some kind of horrible fascination attached to it—like watching a train wreck or a plane crash, only on a much more personal level. Watching my mother being goaded into some kind of moral outrage in front of all those people…I don’t know…”

  “I would advise against it,” Johnny said. “You don’t need this trauma on top of everything else.”

  Anthony nodded. “Maybe later…when all the furor has died down…”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Johnny murmured as they stepped out into the sunlit street outside the justice halls. He did not say that he felt it would be some time before the matter was resolved, and he knew it would be very hard for Anthony to avoid seeing or hearing some of the discussion that was sure to follow Olivia’s show. He worried about the effect all the coverage might have on Anthony’s already fragile psyche. He could only hope that the love and support he knew Anthony could count on from his friends and family, would be enough to soften the blow.

  c h a p t e r 1 7

  s

  At three o’clock that afternoon, Peter put up the ‘Closed for Lunch’ sign on his gallery door and walked to the back room where Eric was unwrapping the sandwiches he and Andrew had ordered from the deli next door.

  Eric switched on the portable TV in the corner and the three friends sat down to watch the Olivia Winters Hour.

  “Is Eve watching?” Andrew asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Peter chuckled. “She wouldn’t miss this one. She did say she’s never going to watch the show again after today—but we’ll see how that goes.”

  “Nick said he and Jeff and Monica will be watching it at the office,” Eric said, chewing his sandwich. “Are we all ghouls or what?”

  “Ssh…” Andrew pointed at the screen. “Here she comes!”

  Olivia’s face filled the screen.

  “Oops,” Eric muttered. “Someone hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately…”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Olivia said, her voice low and husky. “This is a sad occasion for me personally. The lady I interviewed for today’s show is, as most of you may be aware, no longer with us. Her untimely passing was the result of suicide—and my heartfelt condolences go out to her family in their time of sorrow…”

  “Oh my God,” Peter groaned. “What a phony…”

  “During my interview
with Patricia Hastings,” Olivia continued, “she made it quite clear that she disapproved of the content of some of my shows, and also of several guests I had interviewed in the past. She was critical of what she felt was my lack of moral values in having gay men and women as my guests, and

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  felt betrayed by my interviewing her own son and daughter—survivors of child abuse at the hands of her husband. Listen to what she had to say about that situation during our interview…”

  Peter gasped at the close up image of Patricia Hastings on the screen. Her lips were pursed with distaste and her eyes were narrow slits of contempt as she glared at Olivia.

  “My God,” Andrew whispered. “That’s Anthony’s mother?”

  The video replay started and Patricia’s cold brittle voice filled the room.

  “Charles was a loving and doting father—he loved his daughters, but in the purest way…”

  The three friends sat open-mouthed listening to Patricia’s dismissive version of what was going on in their home. How both Emily and Paula had lied about their father’s abuse. How they had tried to involve their brother in their lies, and how they were rude and inattentive at school—always tired, listless…

  “Of course they were tired, you stupid woman,” Eric roared. “They were being kept up at night by your bastard husband.”

  The tape stopped and once again Olivia, poised, regal and slightly sad, faced the camera. “Mrs. Hastings saw fit to pointedly ignore these signs that are so often indicative of child abuse, and offered her daughters no help. I should point out, however, that her son Anthony tried to excuse his mother’s behavior due to the fact she was herself threatened with retribution by her husband should she interfere.” Olivia paused and smiled sadly. “It seems though that this young man’s love for his mother was not enough to spare him her wrath—listen to this…”

  Again, Patricia’s ranting echoed through the room. “…all that is vile and unnatural in human nature…they are the cause of my son’s fall from grace…and that wretch he lives with…and you, with your liberal views…you and your ilk…bring damnation down on your head…!”