Sex and Violence in Hollywood

by Ray Garton

  Since the first day in court, sex had been hit or miss. Adam could not get the trial out of his head, either replaying the day’s events in his mind, or worrying about what might happen tomorrow. As usual, Alyssa sensed this without having to be told. On those nights, she told him to lie back and let her do everything. Sometimes they simply held one another and kissed.

  What they did with their time was incidental to Adam. The important thing was being together, and out of the courtroom. Without Horowitz breathing down his neck, without any objections or sidebars or long, mind-numbing testimonies by experts who appeared to be bored by their own field of endeavor.

  “I wish I could come to the courtroom,” Alyssa said one night as they cuddled naked beneath a blanket on the floor. They sat up against a stack of pillows. “Watching it on television just makes me miss you more.”

  “Sitting in the courtroom would just make you hate me,” Adam replied. “It’s like sitting in church all day. But instead of talking about Jesus, they talk about me.”

  The flat-screen television was tuned to a late-night rerun of The Jerry Springer Show. The theme was women telling their husbands and boyfriends they had been working secretly as prostitutes. So far, two women had introduced their boyfriends to their pimps, resulting in fistfights that made the feverish studio audience erupt.

  “Think about it,” Alyssa said with a sly smile. “I could sit right behind you and write you dirty notes while everybody else paid attention to the trial.”

  Adam chuckled and said quietly, “That would be nice.”

  “I could even whisper dirty things into your ear.”

  “Even nicer,” he said with a laugh. “But you can’t sit in on the trial because Rona’s going to call you to the stand.”

  “Shit,” Alyssa grumbled. “I don’t get it. I mean, I’m watching it on TV. What’s the difference?”

  “I don’t know,” Adam said with a shrug. “How are your parents?”

  “Still alive. Goddamnit. They’ve cut back on the pot, though. Mom even cleaned up the house and got rid of all the joints and paraphernalia. I don’t think I’ve seen them toking up for over a month. They probably do it in their bedroom.”

  “That’s better than you’re dad’s dick in your eye.”

  She laughed. “No, they still let it all hang out.”

  Adam wondered what Horowitz had said to Sunny and Mitch that had worked so well.

  “Turns out they’re just as obnoxious straight as they are when they’re high,” she said. “Maybe even worse. Dad’s been really quiet and brooding, and Mom always acts like she’s starting her period. I used to think things would be better if they’d stop smoking pot all the time. But I still hate their fucking guts.”

  “Oh, well, the trial will be over sooner or later. Then I can kill them, too.” He laughed at his joke. But his laughter was smothered by Alyssa’s open mouth over his. She drew his tongue into her mouth, sucked on it.

  She closed her hand around his erection and squeezed hard. “Tell me how you’ll do it,” she whispered against his lips.

  “What?”

  She squeezed a little harder. “How you’ll kill them, tell me.”

  “Oh. Um...well, I could poison their pot.”

  Alyssa giggled as she straddled Adam’s thigh and began to grind herself against him. She slowly eased her fist up and down his erection. “C’mon, no jokes.”

  Adam took a moment to respond. Does she talk about this every time she gets horny, he wondered, or does she get horny every time she talks about this? How serious is she about it, anyway? He wondered if he should ask her. Alyssa was wet against his thigh and already making small sounds of delight in her throat. The motion of her hand did not make Adam feel very talkative. He would ask her later.

  Adam never answered Alyssa’s question, and they did not see the rest of Springer.

  FIFTY

  Melonie Sands was not the only person to testify that Adam had threatened his dad’s life. Adam remembered seeing Luci Therridge at the house a couple times. She had been Michael’s second date after Adam’s mom died. She’d been much too young for Michael, nineteen or twenty at the time. Luci was a lowly script girl who had never worked with Michael Julian before, otherwise Adam was sure she never would have dated him. Lowly perhaps, but drop-dead gorgeous, with an intellect stereotypical of her looks and blonde hair. Adam had overheard a conversation between her and his dad at the house. Michael had made a reference to Birth of a Nation, and Luci had asked, “Is that a Spielberg movie?”

  On the stand, Luci told of an afternoon she had spent at Michael Julian’s house before going out with him that evening. Michael had gotten into an argument with Adam. There had been a lot of shouting, enough to make Luci want to leave. At one point, she said, Adam had shouted at Michael, “How would you like it if I got rid of you? Huh? Just made you disappear? How would you like that?”

  Adam remembered the exchange well. He had, indeed, said that, or something very close to it. But she was taking it out of context. He and his dad had been talking about some student protesters in China who had been in the news. They had simply disappeared. Michael had been of the opinion that they deserved whatever they got. “If you live in China, you don’t protest anything. You protest if you live in America. If you protest in China, you’re an idiot, because they don’t allow any protesting, they don’t even allow messages in the fucking fortune cookies in China. Now, if they’re so Goddamned dumb that they don’t know that, then they should disappear. They’re useless.” Adam had spoken words similar to those quoted by Luci Therridge at some point during the brief but heated debate, but with an entirely different meaning. The shouting Luci Therridge claimed had frightened her so was commonplace in the Julian household. At home, Michael Julian had shouted most of the time, and more often than not, people shouted back at him, including Adam. The only one who had not was Mrs. Yu.

  Adam wanted to shoot to his feet the way Raymond Lazar did about a thousand times a day and shout, “Objection, Your Honor, the witness is dumber than a box of rocks!” But Horowitz had warned him about reacting to anything during the trial.

  “There will be times,” she’d said, “when you want to rush the witness stand and give the person sitting there a sound beating about the face and neck with the heel of your shoe. Needless to say, that would be unwise. Remember, you will have your chance to say everything you think should be said. Uninterrupted. Just sit at the table calmly. You can react with a quiet sigh of disgust now and then. A roll of the eyes. But do not overdo it. That can become irritating very fast and the jury will notice. Think subtlety.”

  Thinking subtlety, Adam silently rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “What was the gist of this alleged dispute, Miss Therridge?” Horowitz asked, standing beside the lectern.

  Luci’s eyebrows rose slowly. “Huh?”

  “You said Adam Julian had an argument with his father. What was it about?”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, what else was said?”

  “It had something to do with traveling.”

  “Traveling? What makes you say that, Miss Therridge?”

  “Well, I’m guessing. They said something about China, so I figured it had something to do with traveling.”

  “Let’s backtrack a little,” Horowitz said thoughtfully. “You say you were sitting at the dining room table with Michael Julian?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were chatting about movies?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Adam walked in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then they had an argument.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “They started yelling at each other. I hate it when people yell. So I told myself if they didn’t stop in the next minute, I’d leave. I’d call a cab, or something.” She leaned forward slightly. “I just told all this to that other guy, weren’t you listening?”

  Horo
witz ignored the question. “Can you remember anything that was said?”

  Luci Therridge sighed impatiently, irritated that she had to repeat herself. “Adam said, ‘How would you like it if I got rid of you? Huh? Just made you disappear? How would you like that?’ That part got my attention.”

  “But you remember nothing else they said?”

  “Well, that was, like, a while ago, you know? I probably heard what they were saying then, but it wasn’t important, so I didn’t think anything of it. But that one line, about making Michael disappear? That part really stuck with me.”

  “Was there anyone else in the room?”

  “Um...the housekeeper, I think. Or maid, or whatever.”

  “Was she involved in the argument in any way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Luci shrugged again. “I don’t remember.”

  Horowitz nodded. “You don’t remember.”

  Luci squinted. “Why are you doing that?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Repeating what I say. Why are you doing that?”

  “I am sorry, Miss Therridge. I guess I was thinking out loud. I am trying to understand how it is that you remember, word for word, a few sentences spoken by Adam Julian during an argument—you even remember what you were talking about with Michael Julian—and yet you cannot remember anything else that was said, what the argument was about, or who else was in the room, if anyone.”

  “I said the maid or whatever was there,” Luci snapped.

  “You said you thought she was there. You were not definite.”

  “Okay, then, I’m, like, pretty sure she was there.”

  “Pretty sure? That is not very definite, either. Were you distracted? Did you have something on your mind?”

  “I don’t know, Jesus, it was, what? Years ago.”

  “Which makes it even more surprising that you remember those three specific lines word for word.”

  “Are you, like, saying I’m lying, or something?” Luci’s face turned pink as she became more upset.

  She ignored the question. “Are you positive that Adam said those exact words?”

  Luci nodded emphatically. “Yes, those exact words. Because it scared me. I didn’t know him, okay? I mean, for all I knew, he was like this crazy person, and I didn’t know what he was going to do next. And they were shouting, and that always scares me. If it wasn’t for the shouting and what he said, I probably wouldn’t remember anything about it at all.”

  “But you do not remember anything else that was said, or what they were arguing about?”

  Luci hesitated. Sighed. “No, I don’t.”

  “And you are not sure if the maid, or anyone else, was in the room?”

  Another sigh. “No.”

  “You do understand what it means to be under oath, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You approached the District Attorney’s office with your story, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I thought they should know.”

  “Did you know that this trial was going to be covered extensively by the press?”

  “Well, yeah. It’s, like, a huge story.”

  “So you knew that, by involving yourself in this case, you would most likely garner the attention of reporters and be on television, is that right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it true that recently you have tried to launch an acting career?”

  Luci’s eyes widened slightly. She looked embarrassed. “Well, I’ve been trying, yeah. Is...is there something wrong with that?”

  “There is nothing wrong with wanting to be an actress, Miss Therridge. Unless you planned to use your involvement in this case as a means to get publicity and further your aspirations as—”

  “Objection!” Lazar shouted.

  Judge Lester said, “Sustained.”

  Horowitz took a moment to look over her notes, then said, “No further questions.”

  * * *

  On the stand in the uniform of the Los Angeles County Jail, Waldo Cunningham looked exactly like what he was: a dealer of drugs and illegal arms, a manufacturer of child pornography. The best casting agent in town could not have done a better job. Casting agents most likely would avoid Waldo Cunningham for the role because he was too perfect, a living stereotype. Everything about him was crooked. His dentures, his dirty glasses, even his toupee.

  It was the day the press had been waiting for. Before leaving his apartment that morning, Adam had turned on the television to see them salivating like the hungry scavengers they were.

  “Today, Assistant District Attorney Raymond Lazar plans to call to the stand Waldo Cunningham,” a female reporter said breathlessly while standing before the Los Angeles Courthouse. “Known as the child pornographer to the stars, Cunningham is the man who told the police that Adam Julian hired Cunningham’s son, Nathaniel, to kill his father, popular Hollywood screenwriter Michael Julian. All eyes will be on the courtroom today as Waldo Cunningham takes the stand.”

  As she went on, Adam had smiled. Amused by the fact that the heavily made-up blonde reporter bounced back and forth between stories, unable to keep straight which one she was reporting—the story of Adam’s trial, or the story of Waldo Cunningham’s famous clientele. It was a reporter’s wet dream.

  Before Lazar called Cunningham to the stand, he had questioned Special Agent Gregory Leary, the FBI agent who had arrested Cunningham. Leary established for the jury why Cunningham had been arrested, what he had been doing out there in the desert. He recited a list of material that had been found in and around Cunningham’s house, with particular emphasis on the bountiful supply of the explosive C-4. Horowitz asked only a few questions of the agent, emphasizing the drugs, guns, and child pornography with which Cunningham had made his living.

  As he waited for Lazar to begin questioning him, Cunningham stared at Adam. His lips squirmed into a half-smile as his small eyes found Adam’s. I may be in jail, Mr. C.’s eyes said. But they wanna kill you.

  “How did you meet Adam Julian, Mr. Cunningham?” Lazar asked.

  “He came to my house in the desert. With his fat friend.”

  “What brought them all the way out to the Mojave desert?”

  “Came to see my son.”

  “Who is your son, Mr. Cunningham?”

  “Diz. Well, Nathaniel. Everybody calls him Diz. For Dizzy. On accounta he’s got a little problem that makes him kinda dizzy alla time.”

  “Had you ever seen Adam Julian before that day?”

  “Never. Didn’t know who the hell he was. I was working, he and his fat friend come in like they own the place.”

  “How long were they there?”

  “I don’t know. They were in the house talking with Diz for a while. Then they went outside. I don’t know when they left.”

  “Did you know why he came to see your son?”

  “Yeah, Diz told me.” He smirked at Adam. “He wanted Diz to blow up his dad’s yacht.”

  “Your son told you that?”

  “Yep. Said that Adam kid, there—” He nodded toward Adam. “—wanted him to rig his dad’s yacht so it’d blow up.”

  “Why would Adam Julian ask your son to do that?”

  “Because that’s what my son does,” Cunningham said in a tone that suggested Lazar was an idiot for asking.

  “Your son sells explosives?”

  “No, he uses them to blow things up.”

  Lazar nodded. “So Adam Julian paid him to do this?”

  “Yeah, he paid him. I don’t know anybody does that kinda thing for free.”

  “The explosives found in a building on your property—they belonged to your son?”

  “Yeah, mostly. He worked at home, just like me. Kept the explosives in a shed with special air conditioning outside. I used to do that kinda work, but retired for computer work. Less stress. Better for my pump.”

  �
��What kind of explosives did he keep there?”

  “Oh, different kinds. A lotta C-4.”

  “A lot of C-4,” Lazar said, looking significantly at the jury.

  Lazar introduced the security camera videotape of Adam and Carter at Cunningham’s house. The courtroom was silent as the tape played.

  Adam thought he looked fifteen or twenty pounds heavier. He remembered his dad saying that video could put as much as twenty pounds on the most devoted anorexic. He looked like a different person. The video had been recorded before Horowitz had started dressing him. Instead of an expensive Armani suit, he wore shorts and a T-shirt. Not so long ago, that was standard dress for him. Now he thought he looked like a bum.

  Horowitz approached the lectern. “Mr. Cunningham, did you talk to Adam Julian while he was at your house?” she asked.

  “Yeah, a little bit.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Hell, dunno. Hollywood. The bidness.”

  “What business would that be?”

  “The movie bidness. He said his dad was a screenwriter.”

  “Did Adam Julian tell you he wanted to kill his father?”

  “No, he didn’t tell me. He told—”

  “While he was in your presence, did he do or say anything that led you to believe he wanted to kill his father?”

  Cunningham thought about it, shook his head. “No.”

  “So this information came from your son only, is that right?”

  “Yep. He told me.”

  “Why did he tell you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Was there a reason for him to tell you? Were the two of you having a conversation about blowing up yachts and killing people?”

  Cunningham chuckled through a sneer. “That’s funny. No, we weren’t having a conversation about blowing up yachts and killing people.”

  “Then what were you talking about?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “The fact that you are on the witness stand means that I ask the questions, Mr. Cunningham. What were you talking about?”

  “I dunno. I don’t remember.”