by M. Z. Kelly
I turned into a neighborhood of large homes on big lots. “She sounds like her father.”
“When Barbara turned three, things began to change. She seemed a little lost, at first. Then she began to fix her attention on certain objects, make repetitive motions with her hands. After a few months, her speech almost entirely went away. After lots of tests and visits to doctors we were told that Barbara had autism.”
I felt something catch in my throat. “Oh Pearl. I’m so sorry.”
“Those were hard years, Kate. Can’t tell you how many doctors we saw. There were endless days with lots of despair and not a lot of hope. But Millie was determined. She got Barbara into every kind of therapy imaginable. We spent years and probably close to a million dollars on treatment and interventions.”
He smiled as I pulled to the curb. “About ten years ago Barbara graduated from college. She now specializes in treating kids with autism.”
I blinked back tears. “That’s so wonderful.”
Pearl looked over at me. His brown eyes were glassy. “Being a parent is never easy. But sometimes there’s light shining around the dark corners of the past. For Millie and me, Barbara will always be that light.”
I thought about what Pearl had said as I rang the Rose’s doorbell. Light shining around the dark corners. Maybe it was something that I needed to keep in mind when I thought about my life and relationships. I took a deep breath. The Ibuprofen I’d taken earlier and Pearl’s kind words were helping with both my headache and disposition.
After Flo introduced us to her sister, a woman who looked remarkably like her and Jezzie, we followed her and Al into a stately living room. The house was a traditional two-story with coiffured ceilings, lots of molding, and polished wood floors. It made me think about where I lived. I pushed the thought away, trying to keep Pearl’s words about light in mind.
After we took seats, I asked about Bix. Al said that he was at Westlake University for the day, practicing. Flo mentioned that he had an upcoming track meet before the discussion turned serious.
“I’m not sure why you’re meeting with us again,” Al said. He sucked in a heavy breath, his big shoulder’s sagging. “We’re just tired of everything. We’d like to go home and close the door on the world.”
“I’m sorry and I do understand,” I said, glancing at Pearl for a moment, then back to him. “But something’s turned up that we need to ask you about.”
“I don’t think I can take any more surprises,” Flo said. She seemed as sad and lost as her husband.
I removed the drug label from my purse, dreading what I had to say next. “A couple of days ago when I came by your house I found this in Jezzie’s room. We think it’s a partial label for a drug called MTP.”
Flo took the label, turning in over in her hands for a moment. She looked at her husband, maybe with a question, but nothing was stated. She handed it back to me without saying a word.
“What kind of drug are you talking about?” Al said. His voice had kicked up a notch as he scratched his wide forehead.
“It’s used by athletes to increase the production of red blood cells,” Pearl said. “It gives them a competitive advantage.”
Al Rose’s body stiffened. He gave Pearl a measured look and his voice became accusatory. “What are you trying to say?”
“Steroids,” I said, taking over, at the same time lowering my voice trying to reduce the impact of the word. “Is there any chance your daughter might have used performance enhancing drugs.”
Al stood up. I saw that his hands were shaking. “This is outrageous. I won’t listen to this nonsense.”
“We’re sorry, Mr. Rose,” Pearl said. “But we have reason to believe that an associate of Mr. Wilson’s, a man by the name of Jeremy Shulman, was seen at your daughter’s practices sessions. There’s evidence that both Shulman and Wilson were involved in using, maybe supplying steroids.”
“I’m going to call my lawyer,” Al said. “I won’t have my daughter’s reputation and legacy ruined by this trash talk.”
He stomped away. A moment later I heard a door slamming from somewhere in the interior of the house.
I turned my attention to Flo. She folded her arms as her sad eyes found us again. “I’m sorry but when it comes to Jezzie no one is more protective than Al.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, my headache blossoming again. “I understand.” An image of my father flickered into my consciousness for an instant, how his killer had taken away any chance he ever had to protect me. “What about the possibility that Jezzie used performance enhancing drugs, Flo? Competition can be intense, sometimes choices…”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s simply not possible. Jezzie wouldn’t even take an aspirin.”
“What about someone pressuring her?” Pearl asked. “Maybe a friend or a coach, telling her that the drug could help her win. Sometimes young people make choices they later regret.”
“I’m only going to say this one more time,” Flo said, unfolding her arms as her posture straightened. “My daughter did not use steroids. Period.” She glanced in the direction of where her husband had left the room. Her gaze then came back to us and her voice took on a pleading quality. “Please don’t let the press get ahold of this. Jezzie’s reputation is all we have left now. Nothing else has ever mattered.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I slipped into a lacy pink and black Nicole Miller dress, one of my few good outfits, after cursing my hair and my brother’s salon. Barry Sinclair, the owner of the establishment, had called just before the workday ended and told me that he was booked solid for a month. He said that he’d hired a new stylist, named Maya, and I took the only available appointment she had at the end of the week. In the meantime, I’d have to do what I could with the bird’s nest on my head.
I met up with Natalie and Mo in the family room before heading off to meet my mom and her boyfriend. I took a moment and explained about my dinner plans.
“Shumi?” Natalie said. “Is he some kinda fortune teller like your mum?”
“Something like that,” I said, “but I think he calls himself a spiritualist.”
“Snake oil,” Mo offered. “Betcha he read a couple of them New Age books and thinks he’s some kinda guru. Seen that type a bunch of times. Better tell your mom to watch her purse.”
“My thoughts exactly, but telling my mother anything is like…” It’s like talking to you and Natalie. “…she’s just not the type to listen.”
I gave them instructions on Bernie’s dinner and evening walk before I got my car keys. I was headed for the door when I remembered they were supposed to have talked to an actress about my father’s killer. I came back into the family room and asked what they’d learned.
“Porsha said it’s important to have good hair and makeup when you’re playing suck the sausage,” Natalie said.
“Porsha?”
“She’s the star of, Dirty Girls from Mars.”
“There ain’t no ugly porn stars on Mars,” Mo said.
“What did she say about Ryan Cooper or John Felton as he now calls himself? Is he still working for the studio?”
“He works there off and on from what Porsha knew,” Natalie said. “We’re gonna keep checkin’ back and try to track the dirty lizard down.” I was headed for the door again when Natalie added, “By the way, Dr. Ludmilla called today. She wanted the video of you dousing Mr. Johnson’s privates. Tex was able to restore it on Nana’s phone and sent it off to her.”
“What? Why does she want the video?”
Natalie giggled. “She said somethin’ about using it in her classes to show how not to pleasure a man.”
I heaved out a heavy breath. “Somebody just shoot me.”
“I’ll do you if you do me,” I heard a man say. I looked over and saw that Elvis was on the stairway. He was wearing a white t-shirt, boxers, and black socks pulled up almost to his knees.
I turned away and headed for the door, trying to suppres
s the visual. Behind me, I heard Mo say, “Somebody call Dr. Phil. We need some serious therapy in this house.”
***
Musso and Franks was located down the street from the Egyptian Theater on Hollywood Boulevard. It was almost a century old, the place where the legends of old Hollywood were said to have gathered in the worn leather booths, made deals, reviewed scripts, and signed contracts over martinis and great food. Everyone from Mary Pickford to Rudolph Valentino was said to have frequented the eatery.
Tonight, instead of Hollywood stars, I was looking for Miss. Daisy, as my mother calls herself when she’s pretending to be a psychic, and Shumi Duvall, who, according to the jacket on his book cover, claimed to be the spiritual leader of a group he called, The Peace.
I found the spiritually obsessed duo in a booth, not too far from the restaurant’s mahogany bar. Over drinks I learned that my mother and Shumi were planning something they called a Sanctuary.
“It is a process of throwing off the material trappings of the world,” Shumi told me in a middle-eastern accent that reminded me of Deepak Chopra. “To set the mind free one must first set one’s spirit free.”
The New Age guru looked about sixty with wavy silver hair that curled down over his collar. His blue eyes could be described as either intense or judgmental, depending upon your perspective. His skin was remarkably unblemished, the color of a buttery chocolate. I wasn’t sure if it was a natural tan or something that one of the trendy Hollywood salons might describe as Mystic.
“It sounds like you two are going to a nudist camp,” I said, feeling the effects of my vodka martini.
Mother’s laugh was a little too loud and nervous. “Oh Kate, you’re so silly. Maybe you should think about joining us?”
Mom was wearing a jade colored dress. She’d had her silver brown hair styled and cut shorter. She looked good for a woman with a recent facelift and a gold digger at her side.
“Yes,” Shumi said, reaching out and touching my hand. I pulled it back and he smiled. “It would give you the opportunity to rejoice and rejuvenate with us.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. I might need rejuvenating, Shumi, but I sure as hell have nothing to rejoice about, especially considering my mother’s choice in men.
A waiter came over who I recognized from when I’d eaten at the establishment previously. Working at Musso’s was said to be a career, not a job. I accepted another martini that I’d previously ordered. I was already feeling tipsy and knew I was trying to drown my sorrows after last night’s disaster with Mr. Johnson, but I didn’t care.
“I understand you are in law enforcement,” Shumi said after sipping his tonic water. “A most interesting career choice.” He cut his eyes to my mother in a look that I decided was either disapproving or controlling, or maybe both.
“I work homicide,” I said. I sipped my drink again and further resented my mother being with this charlatan. I knew it was the alcohol affecting me but I decided I wouldn’t try and hide my feelings. I locked eyes with the guru. “Some people kill, others lie and cheat, some try to swindle people with lots of smooth talk. It’s all a spectrum.” I smiled. Put that in your peace pipe, Shumi.
“It is most unfortunate.” The guru’s lips turned up and his gaze moved away from me. He glanced at my mother again. This time his disapproval was obvious. He finally looked back at me and said, “We must learn as a people to accept the actions of others.”
My eyes narrowed on him. “So you believe that we should let someone commit murder without any consequences?”
“We need acceptance, my child.” He looked at my mother again, a superior smile parting his lips, before turning back to me. “The key is to accept all things without judgment and begin a process of healing humankind. Only then will the violence that consumes our society begin to fall away.”
Was this guy for real? What a load of crap.
“So tell me about, The Peace,” I said after taking a big gulp of my martini. I spoke slowly, making an effort not to slur my words. “From what I read on your book cover…it sounds like some kind…of sect.”
Shumi scoffed. “Hardly, my child. We are simply a group of like-minded individuals dedicated to healing the planet.”
Now it was my turn to scoff. “And your idea of healing is to sell a lot of books and date older, wealthy women.”
“Kate, please,” Mother said. “Be respectful.”
“It is of no mind,” Shumi said, smiling at Mom. He looked back at me. “I believe that you and I share a common path, my child. We must honor that.”
“And the path would lead us to?”
“Happiness and spiritual awakening.”
I rolled my eyes as the waiter came over and took our orders. Mom announced that she was a newly converted vegan and joined Shumi in ordering a salad. I asked the waiter for a steak just to irritate them.
When the server was gone, Shumi went on with his nonsense and I continued drinking. “We have all known one another in different places and times,” he said. A smile parted his lips. “I believe that you, my child, are something called a Koalindi.”
“Huh?”
Shumi chuckled. “It is one who is in need of healing. You have taken on the sorrows of the world and now you must try and heal. It is something that comes from the loss of your father. You must honor that path and learn acceptance and forgiveness.”
I looked at my mother in disbelief. She had apparently shared what happened to my father with this con man. I felt the anger welling up inside me. How dare she let this faker into her life and just sit there while he suggested that I accept what happened to my father and forgive his killer.
“Together we can help you begin to heal, Kate,” Mother said, fixing her gray eyes on me. She was apparently unaware of my burgeoning anger. “Shumi and I are both here for you.”
I stared at her with contempt or maybe it was outrage that she’d allowed this idiot to know the intimate details of our lives.
I said, “This is not the time or the place…”
“If not now, when dear?” Mom said. “Shumi and I have no secrets between us.” She turned to her guru. “Kate’s also trying to come to grips with the fact that her birth mother is…she’s in a coma.”
The word coma had dripped off her lips as though she was trying to make herself sound compassionate. I studied her, thinking that maybe I was seeing my mother for what she really was for the first time.
My anger exploded like a stick of dynamite in my gut. “How could you?”
“What is it, dear?”
“How could you share the details of what happened to my father and my birthmother with…” I turned to Shumi who had that smug guru grin on his face again. “…with this charlatan.”
“What are you saying, Kate? Please…”
I tossed my napkin on the table. “And if you had done the right thing and told me about my birthmother years ago maybe…” I caught myself and held my tongue. The other patrons had stopped talking and turned in our direction.
“Go on, my child,” Shumi said. “I sense your deep pain and anger. Let us deal with it now and begin to heal. Share your feelings. Do not hold back.”
I stared at the silver headed faker, feeling nothing but contempt for the man. “First of all, I am not your child. Second, you are nothing but a patronizing little con man who is out to take my mother for whatever you can get out of her.”
“Kate, stop.” Mother had the dazed look of someone at an accident scene.
“No, you stop, Mom.” My gaze widened and I took them both in; Mom with her stunned, self-indulgent look of disapproval, Shumi with his fake, know-it-all spiritual condescension. “And third, I will not sit here and discuss the details of…of what happened to my parents in front of a quack and someone who lacks common sense.”
I stood up and grabbed my handbag. “Have a good evening, Mother.
“It is her path,” I heard Shumi spouting as I started to walk away and call a cab. “We must honor that.”
I turned and walked back over to the idiot guru. “You do need to honor something, Shumi.” My anger was now a nuclear explosion. “Stay away from the Koalindi or you will regret it.” I turned to Mom. “And if you have one iota of sense, you will kick this phony up the street, over to the curb, and down into the gutter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I drank too much and went on meltdown,” I said to Charlie at the station the next morning as he ate a muffin. Bernie was on crumb patrol, circling my partner’s desk. “My mother will probably never forgive me, but she’d shared all the intimate details about my father’s murder and what happened to my birthmother with Shumi. And then that idiot went on some crazy rant about me accepting what happened and forgiving his killer.”
“It sounds like your mom had it coming, telling all your family business to that fool.” My partner dropped a morsel on the floor and Bernie inhaled it. “Did you run a record check on him?”
“One of today’s priorities.” My lungs deflated. “Lately, everyone I run into seems to cause me nothing but stress.”
Edna must have heard me because he came out of his office and went berserk. “Somebody leaked the information about Jezzie Rose’s possible steroid use to the press. We’ve got a fucking mess on our hands.”
“What?” I said. “Do we have any idea how…” My thoughts went to Natalie and Mo as my words drifted away and he answered.
“No, but Haley Tristan just called Muriel Shafter. She told Shafter that the department purposely withheld the information. Media Relations is trying to get her to hold off on running with the story, but she’s threatening to go do a follow up to the piece she ran about Jezzie’s miscarriage and disclose whatever she knows about Jezzie’s use of steroids. Commander Nelson and The Beast are mad as hell about the leak.”
I just sat there as Edna spent another five minutes spewing. If my friends had opened their big mouths at the university and it led to Tristan finding out about Jezzie’s possible steroid use I had no one but myself to blame.