Sex and Violence in Hollywood

by Ray Garton

  Horowitz and Max stared at Adam. Looked at each other. Then at Adam again.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said, “didn’t that make any sense?”

  “Yes, it made sense. If the judge will allow it.”

  “Allow it? But that’s what happened. How can he not allow it?”

  “She can do almost anything she likes. She is the judge.”

  “What do you know about her?” Adam asked.

  Horowitz said, “Judge Vera Lester is an odd duck. She has reached the age at which each trial could be her last. A registered Republican, but politically moderate. Some judges typically lean in favor of the prosecution, some in favor of the defense. But Lester is unpredictable. A wild card.”

  “And that means...what?”

  “It means we cannot rely on her to behave in any specific way during this trial.” She turned to Max and Adam was surprised to see a smirk on her face. “But I think we might be able to exploit one of her weaknesses.”

  “What weakness?” Adam asked.

  Horowitz said, “Lamont, would you please go into the kitchen and make some coffee.”

  “Coffee?” Adam asked. “Why do you need coffee?”

  “We will all need coffee.” She took off her jacket, hung it on the coat hook in the entryway. “The many hours we have spent going over our story have been hours wasted, Adam. Now we have a whole new story, and not much time left. We will be sleeping less and drinking more coffee in the coming weeks. And it would be extremely unwise of you to voice any complaints about it.”

  Adam asked hesitantly, “You’re, uh...still going to represent me?”

  Horowitz tossed her cigarette, smoked down to the filter, into the fireplace. Turned to Adam and burned his retinas with a long, silent stare. “Right now, I am so angry with you, Adam, I would love nothing more than to walk away from this case in spite of all the time and energy I have invested in it. But that would be unprofessional and could harm my reputation beyond repair. So I will see this case through, and I will win this trial for you. But when it is all over, Adam, I will do something to you that might be even worse than what the prosecution has in mind.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “What’s that?”

  “I will give you back your life.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Adam and Alyssa spent Christmas Eve having sex on every piece of furniture in the living room to the songs of Dr. Demento Presents the Greatest Christmas Novelty CD of All Time. At two in the morning, they exchanged gifts, then spent a long time simply kissing on the floor in front of the Christmas tree.

  Alyssa’s parents were visiting relatives up north in Humboldt County. “By tomorrow,” Alyssa had said, “they’ll be so stoned, they’ll probably think it’s Easter. They won’t know if Jesus is coming or going.”

  Shortly before noon on Christmas morning, they were awakened by a call from the doorman, who helped Mrs. Yu carry two cardboard boxes to Adam’s door. The boxes were warm and smelled of childhood and loss. In the kitchen, Adam and Alyssa helped Mrs. Yu remove from the boxes a twelve-pound roast turkey covered with warm aluminum foil, along with all the traditional trimmings. Their afternoon breakfast consisted of tender turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, candied yams, dressing with diced almonds and apples, and Mrs. Yu joined them. She explained that her employers were out of the country until February, and she had no one to cook for but Adam.

  Horowitz dropped by that afternoon and offered to take them all out for an early Christmas dinner at Patina. But when she smelled the aromas coming from the kitchen, she needed no convincing to eat there instead. She brought Adam a gift, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on DVD. “Because you never got to finish watching it on television,” she said.

  Adam was surprised by how much Horowitz’s gift touched him. “That was very thoughtful, Rona. I have something for you, too.”

  Surprise moved across Horowitz’s normally calm, neutral face. She gave him a disarming smile. “You do?”

  He led her over to the Christmas tree, took a small, festively wrapped cube-shaped gift from beneath it. But he hesitated before handing it to her.

  “What’s wrong?” Horowitz asked.

  “Well, it’s not, um...it’s not as thoughtful as your gift. I mean, it’s not exactly...well, actually, it’s kind of a—”

  She snatched the gift from his hand and tore off the foil wrap, opened the small cardboard box. Removed a white coffee mug from the box and frowned slightly as she looked it over. On one side of the mug was a shot of actor Alec Baldwin from the 1993 thriller. Malice, sitting at a conference table. He was speaking and looked rigid with controlled rage. On the other side of the mug were the lines Baldwin was delivering:

  “You ask if I have a God complex?

  I am God.”

  Adam took a deep breath. “It’s...kind of a smartass gift.”

  She surprised him by smiling again. “But a charming smartass gift. Thank you, Adam. I will drink from it proudly.”

  A few minutes after Horowitz began to eat. Max called on her cellphone and she told him to come over for a bite if he was hungry. He joined them half an hour later. Adam loaded a CD cartridge with Christmas jazz. Brett arrived shortly after Max, having spent the minimum required amount of time with her visiting relatives. Horowitz’s cellphone chirped again when Lamont called to check in. She invited him to come over, too, and to bring his boyfriend. They arrived fifteen minutes later with wine and a batch of Christmas sugar cookies Lamont had made. He introduced his boyfriend, a shy, blonde-haired young man named Ken.

  As dusk dimmed the light of late afternoon outside, the Christmas music blended nicely with the comfortable chatter and relaxed laughter. Adam had to remind himself that these were the people who had created so much tension in his life—his attorney, her assistant and investigator. Adam’s jailers and inquisitors since July. But they were all at ease with one another. Even Adam.

  The doorbell rang and Adam was surprised to find Mr. Brandis and Devin in the hall. He stared at them a moment, suddenly ready to choke on his emotions. He had not seen them since the funeral. They looked older now. Both hugged him and came close to tears, but kept smiling. Devin brought a tin of homemade fudge and divinity, and Adam put the candy on the coffee table.

  There was plenty of food and wine to go around. Mr. Brandis and Devin were the first to leave, but the others trickled out after them.

  “Normally, I dine out with friends at Christmas,” Horowitz said to Adam on her way out. “But this has been a delight. Thank you for asking me to stay.”

  “Um, actually, I...I didn’t ask you to stay.”

  “But you would have had I given you a chance,” she said with a quick smile. She was a little sleepy-eyed from the wine. “Whatever bad things you might have done in your life, Adam, and no matter how hard you try to convince people otherwise, you really are a nice young man. I do not expect that to be the case by the end of this trial, so I am glad I had the chance to enjoy some of it today.”

  By nine o’clock, everyone but Alyssa was gone. A holiday that Adam had hoped to avoid had been a pleasure after all. It held none of the magic or excitement of childhood, but it was not the miserable experience he had anticipated. Under the circumstances, Adam thought that was good enough.

  * * *

  After months of vilification on television and in newspapers, months of counseling that had failed to end his nightmares, lessen his aching guilt, or stop the hate mail and death threats. Officer Stanley Pembroke went out to the garage while his wife and two young daughters slept in the dark early-morning hours of December 26. He put his service revolver in his mouth, and sent a bullet through his brain.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  "Before I begin, I would like to thank you, the members of the jury, for your patience during this process, and for giving it your serious and undivided attention.” Raymond Lazar smiled warmly at the jury. “As you have seen, it can be slow and tedious, but you have been exemplary in your behavior and participation. Due to the c
elebrity of those involved, this trial has been the focus of a lot of attention in the media. For this reason, you have been sequestered. This is an added hardship that most juries do not need to undergo. You will be kept from your homes and families for the duration of this trial. This is necessary in order to retain the integrity of the trial, and once again, I would like to thank you for your understanding and patience. Now.” He turned briefly to Judge Vera Lester. “Your Honor...ladies and gentlemen of the jury...as representatives of the people of California, I and my colleagues, David Piner and Barbara Cho, will prove that Adam Julian hired Nathaniel Cunningham to kill Michael and Gwen Julian and sixteen-year-old Rain Cardell. You might ask, why would he do that? For money? Yes, that is one part of his motive. Michael Julian was a very successful screenwriter. No doubt you have seen some of his movies. In recent years, he produced as well as wrote his films. His success in the film industry made him a very wealthy man.”

  Adam watched the tall deputy district attorney walk slowly along the rail. He never looked away from the jury. The four men and eight women followed him with their eyes.

  Beside Adam at the defense table, Horowitz looked over notes written on a yellow legal pad, seemingly unaware of Lazar.

  “But there is another factor in this case besides simple greed. We will show you that, since childhood, Adam Julian has immersed himself in an imaginary and desensitizing world of horror and violence and bloodshed. He has spent his life wallowing in blood-drenched horror movies and novels, and has even written his own stories of brutality and death. You will meet people who claim Adam was filled with hatred, and that he directed that hatred at his father. And you will come to see that Adam Julian is not the innocent victim his attorney would have you believe him to be. We will prove to you that he arranged and paid for the murder of his own father, his stepmother, and her sixteen-year-old daughter, a mere child. Blown to bits on the ocean, along with three crew members who happened to be on the wrong yacht at the wrong time. All because Adam Julian hated his father and wanted him dead. Wanted his fortune all to himself. And because, after years of living in a world of imaginary wholesale slaughter, after years of fantasizing about it, Adam Julian wanted to see for himself what it was like to kill someone.”

  Peripherally, Adam saw Horowitz turn to him. He knew she was just checking to see how he was taking it. He stared at the tabletop and tried not to listen to Lazar, but it was impossible. So he tried to pretend the deputy D.A. was not talking about him, or about anything real, just telling a story. But with each mention of his name, Adam’s throat tightened. As Lazar continued, the reality of Adam’s situation began to settle over him for the first time in seven months. He had been afraid before, worried, paranoid. But Lazar’s words were like steel shackles clacking onto Adam’s wrists and ankles. The courtroom itself, brightly lit with light wood paneling, suddenly took on a hyper-reality that made Adam sick. This is happening to me, he thought.

  “Are you all right?” Horowitz whispered, leaning close to his ear.

  Adam nodded. Swallowed the lump in his throat created by his sudden nausea.

  “You look sick.”

  He nodded again.

  “Do you need to step out?”

  Adam took slow, deep breaths, then shook his head.

  Horowitz sat up in her chair, but continued to watch him.

  “—and doctors who can explain to you how this young man has become so desensitized and numbed that human life holds no value for him. When you have all the information our witnesses will provide, you will see that Adam Julian put a great deal of thought and planning into these six deaths. He went to Nathaniel Cunningham and paid him to plant explosives on Money Shot, Michael Julian’s yacht, and then...and then...he went out on the town with his friends. He celebrated, knowing that his family would soon be dismembered and scattered over the ocean by those explosives. You will see that fifty-six-year-old Michael Julian, forty-three-year-old Gwen Julian, sixteen-year-old Rain Cardell, thirty-three-year-old Jack Craney, twenty-seven-year-old Charles Riley, and forty-nine-year-old Joseph McCullers all lost their lives on the cold, emotionless, desensitized whim of Adam Julian. Now, you have been instructed—”

  “Feeling better?” Horowitz whispered.

  She was so calm, so relaxed, Adam wondered if they were in the same room together. Could she hear what that man was saying about him? What those twelve people were hearing?

  “No, but don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by throwing up.”

  “I would rather you throw up during his opening statement than mine.”

  “—that this trial is only about the murder of these six people and nothing else. Don’t let anything shift your focus from that,” Lazar said. He went to the center of the rail, put his hands on it, arms spread. “Your duty as jurors is to push aside anything that obstructs your view of the truth. The truth is what you are here to find. And we will show you that the truth is this.” Lazar pointed in Adam’s direction. “The truth is that Adam Julian is a murderer.” He added quietly, “Thank you.” His shoes clocked on the floor as he returned to the prosecution table.

  “Ms. Horowitz?” Judge Lester said. “Your opening statement?”

  Judge Vera Lester’s shoulders seemed to grow from the sides of her large head, just above her ears. Her steel-colored hair was short and wavy, and the thick glasses she wore made her eyes look twice their size. Horowitz had said she was old, but the wrinkles on her face made her look much older than Adam had expected. Her hands were large and liver-spotted, with knobby knuckles. She looked like an aged Muppet being operated by someone behind the bench.

  Horowitz glanced at Adam. One corner of her mouth turned up as she stood. She walked to the jury box unhurried, smiled at the jury. Spoke in a level, friendly voice. “I would like to echo Mr. Lazar’s appreciation of your dedication to this process. I know this is a hardship for you, and for your families. I wish there were some way we could speed up the trial, or avoid keeping you all sequestered. It is an unwieldy process at times, but it is still the best in the world. I have great faith in all of you.” She smiled again, then became serious. “Your Honor, members of the jury. During the course of this trial, I am going to reveal facts that are in direct opposition to everything you have just heard from Mr. Lazar. It is the duty of the prosecution to prove Adam Julian’s guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. As the attorney for the defense, I need only to point out the weaknesses in the prosecution’s case. But I will be doing more than that. I will prove a great deal in this case. Much more than the prosecution. I will prove to you that the six people whose lives ended tragically on that yacht were not the only victims in this situation. And I will prove that two of those people were not who they claimed to be. Gwen Julian had at least four other separate identities. Under those aliases, she is wanted in four states for killing four men, right now, as I speak to you. Each man murdered was Gwen Julian’s husband at the time of his death. And each man, like Michael Julian, was very wealthy.”

  A ripple of voices moved through the courtroom, which was filled to capacity, and quickly grew louder. Adam turned his head just enough to see Lazar and the other attorneys at the prosecution table—David Piner, a rusty-haired man in his thirties, and Barbara Cho, an attractive, twenty-something Korean woman. They were huddled together, whispering frantically. Didn’t see that coming, did you? Adam thought, trying not to smile. Suddenly, he felt a little better. But only a little.

  The voices grew so loud, Horowitz had to raise her voice to continue. Judge Lester interrupted her with a single slam of the gavel. The voices fell silent immediately.

  “Any more of that, and you can all go home and watch this on television like everybody else,” she said in her loud, cigarette-gravelled voice. She scanned the crowd, gavel poised in her right hand to strike again should anyone make a sound. She lowered her hand slowly, turned to Horowitz. “Go on, Ms. Horowitz,” she said. “The suspense is killing me.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Horowitz turned
back to the jury. “I will prove that Adam Julian not only did not plan and pay for the murder of his father, or any of the other people on that yacht, but was in fear for his own life while living under the same roof with Gwen Julian and her daughter.”

  Another stir of whispers rose in the courtroom, not as loud as the first outburst. With a glare from Judge Lester, it quieted down, but heads turned and bowed in the crowd as spectators whispered to one another.

  “I will prove also that Michael Julian was in far more danger from his wife and her daughter than from his son.” A pause as Horowitz passed her eyes slowly over the jury. “I will prove as well that the explosion that killed those six people very well could have been an accident. By the end of this trial, ladies and gentlemen, I will have proven to you that Adam Julian is innocent of the crime of murder. And even though it is not my job to do so, I will have proven it beyond the shadow of a doubt. Thank you.”

  As Horowitz returned to the table, an explosion of voices came from the crowd. The sound of everyone trying to absorb the shocking information Horowitz had seemingly plucked from thin air. It had not been discussed on any of the talk shows or reported in newspapers or on the Internet. Horowitz had dropped a bomb, and it had landed squarely on the prosecution.

  Several thunderous blows from Judge Lester’s gavel quieted the voices, but did not quite silence them. She waved the gavel at the spectators as she said, “This is the last time I will warn you! It’s a little early to be trying my patience like this. I will close this trial for the duration if it happens again. I’ve already told you I will tolerate no disruptions of any kind. If you can turn off your cellphones and beepers, you can turn off your mouths, too.”