It always smelt of smoke and cheap cologne. Pasty dim light hid sleazy lurks and drops of sweat. The community’s most elite legal minds, rowdy military personnel, and overzealous frat brothers carried on prevailing conversations. All gathered to witness an intimate and personal view of the female form. Matching clone-like waitresses swapped out drinks. But by the time ten o’clock came around, conversations stopped, men wiped their foreheads, jaws dropped, and employees glared.
Kendall was by far the most beautiful girl they had. She was as good, maybe even better looking than some of those girls in the magazines. And her show was spectacular. It wasn’t your normal everyday bra and panties dance. It was always one of a kind, and it always left the audience begging for more. She was absolutely the best.
Every night she’d leave that place, always right after the show, always escorted by security, always quickly, and always eager to get home. She’d swing by her neighbor’s, who were generous enough to watch her young son, James. And James was always excited to see his mom. He unfortunately suffered from a learning impairment since birth. This always concerned and perplexed Kendall, as she was very responsible throughout her pregnancy.
And every night was the same. She’d put James to bed, tuck him in, whisper that she loved him, he could do anything, and she would always be there for him. Afterward she’d go and sit down in the shower, sometimes upwards of an hour. No matter how things were going or what happened at work, it was the only time of the day she allowed for herself. She would always dream of a better life for her and James. And she clung onto that thought with every breath she took until she’d eventually have to force herself to dream that dream again.
This was how it was for over two years.
Night after night after she’d taken care of her son, she’d wind up huddled in the shower, locked away with nothing but her thoughts and the warmth of the running water. And after awhile, cleansing the stench of that place had grown to be enough. Between dealing with the clientele, gross management, ownership, the job itself, and every night looking back how she got there, she was done. The paycheck was no longer worth it, the toll had taken enough, and she was ready for her and her son to start fresh again, no matter what.
She discussed with James what she wanted, and that spring began planning. By the time summer rolled around, new horizons were in view and on the way. Nevertheless she was still depleted and worn out from the job… That’s when everything was about to change.
Ten o’clock. Thursday night. Routine. The song ended. The audience stood and cheered. Kendall grabbed her outfit, covered herself, and walked off. The audience kept cheering. They always did. That night somebody different was in the audience. He sat in back and was quiet. And underneath the hollering of the raucous, frothing, belligerent crowd, he finished his drink, put a $1,000 bill beside the empty glass, and made his way to the back.
He exited, and like a chorus, was followed by a large man in a suit and glasses. They waited in the parking lot behind the club. And no more than ten minutes later, security escorted Kendall out the back as usual. The guard opened the door as she was securing her keys in her purse, and she didn’t notice anything at first. The moment she looked up, she had a feeling there would be no going back. My God. This was it.
Mr. Schilling? And then I don’t know how she said it, but she did… “Mr. Schilling?”
Stood there was every bit of man you could possibly imagine. Tall, gorgeous, and overwhelming, wrapped up in a suit Kendall would have to do a hundred dances for. Taylor Schilling was the hottest most popular and distinguished producers going in Hollywood at the time. Also known in large part for his philanthropy, Schilling was someone Kendall was well aware of and admired dearly. He responded generously and Kendall breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re Kendall, aren’t you?… I’ve heard a lot about you and watched a few of your shows, and honestly I think you have natural talents and gifts you’re clearly wasting here. The show you put on tonight… I mean it’s Thursday… do you have anything planned for your show on Saturday?”
He expected she would. Kendall, struggling to find the words, described the plan for Saturday’s show. He told her to look forward for things to come, gave her his card, and said we’ll be in touch. When they drove off Kendall was so stunned, the security guard had to place her in her car delicately like she was a duckling going back to her mother. Kendall drove home in a haze, and in disbelief.
She picked up James, and that night as she tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, she stopped and looked at him. Her boy was her world. He’d been the foundation of her existence, and the rock that held her together and kept her going since his birth. She held his cheek and wished to tell him things, possibly everything, was about to get better, but she couldn’t find the heart to do so.
She went in the shower, and as the water washed over her, the feeling slowly left her the way a child stops believing in the heroes and magic of their youth. Every cell, membrane, and feeling you have is invested; then one day, one second later, you wake up and realize: There’s no way. It’s not real.
The next morning Kendall woke up like any other morning. Life went on, and her bizarre encounter that night fell distant as a mere exotic flirtation with something that could not be possible.
It wasn’t until a couple months later when she arrived at work where there was a message waiting for her to call a certain number. When she called, Mr. Schilling’s assistant answered and invited her to meet some of the people he worked with.
Kendall broke down in tears and nearly fell to the floor after the conversation. She packed for James and herself for the weekend, for what was to become the trip of a lifetime for the two of them.
Everything was set up by Schilling, and when they saw each other again he hugged Kendall like she was family. They immediately embraced James when they saw him and promised he’d be in good hands as well. It only took less than a month after that, and Kendall, headline and star of Cici’s Platinum Gentleman’s Club, was on the way to becoming Candice Willingthol, the next top grossing international box office superstar.
Papers were signed, positions were filled, cheeks were kissed, and roles were on the way. A couple Thursdays later, James and her were in a trailer, on a Hollywood set, with the name “Candice Willingthol” on it, having lunch from the most prestigious catering services in the world. However comfort and luxury that comes that easily, no matter who or what before, is woven with the devil’s thread. And America’s favorite new up and coming star learned soon enough she was expected to pay an extremely large price.
Schilling who had been arranging and conducting everything from afar called Candice unexpectedly one afternoon and told her he wanted her to meet an old friend and partner who would be “helping her with the transition.” She questioned who he was but he assured her it was necessary, and he was the guy she needed to meet.
Candice went to his house to meet him, an old fashioned mansion tucked away in Beverly Hills you had to drive up what seemed like a mile long driveway to reach. When he opened the door he introduced himself as Bill Cummings, the man behind some of the greatest movies ever made. Candice had always been a natural artist, and grew up loving movies, and that remark excited her and what she was hoping for her new career.
Candice declined the drink she was offered, but Bill insisted business had to be done over a drink or two, and it was time to start getting serious. She took the drink, and he led her downstairs to a hallway lined with plaques and honorees from major motion pictures that Candice marveled at as she walked past down to the end where they stopped at a single black door.
“This is the room where all your dreams come true,” he declared opening the door to an absolutely pristine, state of the art, covered head to toe in old Hollywood glory home movie theatre.
It took Candice’s breath away. Soon he put on clips from old and current films with some of the great lead female actors, and began comparing with favor Candice’s recent performances to theirs. He complimented her diction, pace, delivery, went on how he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen when she was on, said no one was like this just getting going, and repeatedly mentioned how beautiful she was.
It was close to an hour into the movies when it happened. He reached over and grabbed her thigh. Candice looked down and a second later he began sliding his hand back toward the crotch of her pants.
As his hand creeped, and creeped, and creeped, closer, inch by inch up towards her, he simultaneously leaned in to kiss her on the mouth. Candice was inundated with memories from the club, and filled with disgust. She was horrified, and immediately stood and asked to leave.
Bill apologized for his “mistake” and continued to make remarks about her looks. He soon obliged and brought her back upstairs where he proceeded to excuse himself based upon “how beautiful she truly was, and that he couldn’t help himself.” Candice, just hoping to get out of there as quickly as possible, smiled and nodded until she was finally released out the front door.
When she got home, James was with the nanny that had been provided for her through Schilling. She told him it was time for bed and took him upstairs unusually early. She kissed him goodnight and gave him one of his many new toys to sleep with. She washed herself off and laid in bed with her eyes wide open until the morning.
When she got out of bed she made breakfast and sent James to his new school. Shortly after, she called Schilling: NOTHING COMES THIS EASY. NOTHING COMES THIS EASY. NOTHING COMES THIS EASY… It played like a slide show on each side of her head over and over. Schilling answered the phone himself, and seemed rather excited to hear from her. And after the typical greetings and small talk he brought up the meeting with Bill. Candice explained. Schilling was receptive initially, but when she requested not to work with him, he explained that was impossible. “It’s too late to go back now. Everything is in motion…” he went on. Then he explained how they were going to make her a movie star, and everyone was already invested. That Bill was the final piece, and how he knew where she came from, and how he could handle and take care of that. Also kept alluding that it was too late to turn back, and they didn’t want to see “all of this” go to waste.
Candice listened and understood what he was saying but was not willing to make any commitments. Until he brought James up, and proceeded to make promise after promise. Including ensuring the best education and environments available. She accepted her circumstances and promised it was for James, and reluctantly agreed over the phone to meet with Bill again later that night.
Eventually, she did.
Hours later she arrived. The gate opened, and she began driving up the driveway. The whole time she was screaming to herself to turn back, and she was convinced to do so. But she never did.
“The gates already closed. It’s too late,” she rationalized. She continued to argue with herself, but unconsciously parked the car and walked up to the door. Before she could ground herself at all, Bill was already opening the door and welcoming her in. Cheerful and already holding a drink, he immediately handed her one that was already made up, and shut the door behind them.
Candice never looked up. She grabbed the drink and took a sip. Before she could even pull the drink away from her face, Cummings attacked her like he was a fly swatter and she was the fly. After that an arrangement was consummated that Candice was obligated to fulfill on a regular basis that lasted six years. She drove home that night, went straight up stairs, into the shower, and to bed. The nanny would put James to bed from then on.
In those six years Candice won an Oscar, was nominated two more times, and became America’s most beloved and top grossing actress. And behind every deal, every hug, handshake, and every move Candice made, Schilling was there, collecting his percentage, and guiding the way. Bill Cummings did absolutely nothing, and was never seen by anybody, except Candice.
James, was thirteen by then, and thriving in a specialized school. Candice was a star making millions of dollars with every project she did, always giving back through various humanitarian works and foundations, and they were living in a beautiful home and owned several more. From the outside looking in, everything was perfect, and her story was that of a beautiful young woman from a small beach town who got a very lucky opportunity one day, and triumphed. The few that were sober enough to remember and able to put together who she used to be sometimes tried to release stories through the press, and there was always some whispers and gossip, but they were shut down and nothing ever surfaced.
As far as fame and stardom, Candice was brilliant. Every movie she was in, she was the draw. People loved her. She avoided scandal, kept her personal life secure, and hurdled all the twists and turns of Hollywood at the time with skill and grace. She truly was America’s sweetheart… to the rest of the world. To herself, she was empty. She didn’t know herself. She had no identity. She was disgraced and demoralized. She ran on a wheel that had to keep moving forward, or she’d lose everything. The one other solace she had in her life other than James and the money was the work that she did, but that was completely tarnished. She knew there wasn’t any credibility in it, and it felt basically meaningless to her. But probably worse than anything, was living under constant threat.
Maybe she had more strength and resilience the first thousand times, but that night after waking up soaked in a cold sweat and unable to breathe, she once again decided she had had enough. There was no way she could continue living like this. And like all the last ‘lasts’ in her life, this one was abrupt and would carry with it life-altering consequences.
A couple days later while giving an interview about an upcoming film she responded to a question by referring to a time from when she was an exotic dancer. And when the interviewer asked again, she reiterated and confirmed what she just said. The interviewer then instantly stood and replied, “Okay, well then, I think we’re done here,” and left. At that moment, Candice knew it was all over. And she was fine with it. She had never felt more relieved of anything in her life.
Her film was the least successful in her career, and suddenly, the phones stopped ringing off the hooks. Roles stopped pouring in, the well dried up, and tabloids crushed. It was the first time in her life she was genuinely happy about James’s condition. It was unavoidable though, and only a matter of time before he would find out where his mom came from and that the story everyone, including him, believed was a lie.
The judgment from the press paralyzed her, and after a short while she started becoming more and more reclusive. She locked herself in her home and couldn’t leave without getting hated and ridiculed for who she was or picked apart for being a spoiled phony who didn’t deserve anything she had. Her life became the dumping ground for America’s wrath and vitriol.
But locked in her house with her secret out in the world, and her career falling apart, she was safe and no longer had to serve to the beck and call of Mr. Schilling, or Bill Cummings.
What did further complicate things immensely for Candice was James beginning to act out on a daily basis. He found out everything from kids at school who started picking on him. And when he’d come home, they’d fight for the rest of the night. Neither Candice, or their long time nanny, or anyone they brought in was able to reach him or get him to stay calm. And gradually his aggression began escalating out of control.
Candice didn’t know what to do or how to help. She was unable to healthily manage herself at the time, and what energy she had went toward helping James to no prevail, and with increasingly defeating results. But nothing would prepare her or brace her for what would happen next.
For a town that had the most amount of stars on the ground at any particular time, it didn’t offer much when you wanted to look up at night, at least not compared to up north where Candice was originally from. Life was becoming unbearable for her. For the past several weeks, James was completely out of control. Their beautiful house was being destroyed day by day, along with Candice. But for the last couple days and nights, James would come home, they’d fight, they’d yell, things would break, the nanny locked herself in her room, but for whatever reason, those couple nights the sky was full of stars. One after another, billions of them, as far as you could see. And by day’s end, James would be calm. Candice and him would go outside and beneath the lit up night sky, they’d lay there in silence with each other. No one could get to them, no one had anything to say, they just laid there, in peace.
After a couple nights like that Candice started to gain a sense of hope again. She actually slept those nights, and she slept in that morning. She opened her eyes and managed to smile slightly as she thought to herself it was time to find a way to reclaim her life again. When she rolled over, their nanny was sitting next to the door sobbing into a handful of wet tissues.
…The official diagnosis had something to do with a blood clot in the brain. It was explained to Candice that was the reason for James’s behavior in recent weeks. Aside from everything else going on, he had immense pressure building in the brain that gave him severe migraines. The funeral they had was small and quiet. And Schilling arranged everything for Candice, who had fallen apart entirely.
After the ceremony Schilling approached Candice, who was completely distraught the whole time, to make her career right again. Candice removed her glasses, wiped her eyes, and with her index finger leading the way like a burning arrow in Schilling’s face, snapped and said she would never work with him again… She would never work in LA again… And she would never see Bill Cummings ever, again.
It was always one of Candice’s dreams to move to Hollywood to pursue acting. She never had much of a stable home life, but was always picked for leads and always stood out in school plays and local talent shows. Plus she was absolutely beautiful. She would never suspect seeing all these dreams of hers come true would at the same time lead her to a place and point lower and more frightening than her worst nightmares ever came close to.
She was destroyed… broken… trapped. There was nowhere, at least in America, where she felt she could get away and try to find a new life. She still had plenty of money, and maybe not by Hollywood’s measure, but she still had her youth. She would never be able to fill the void left by James’s death, but if she found a town somewhere, anywhere, where no one cared, she thought that would be her only hope to try and at least find some resemblance of peace. A couple weeks later the tabloids and headlines exploded with relentless fury and ignorance, in an entirely new and vicious way.
Covered on front pages of everywhere was the story of a neglectful Hollywood starlet who allowed her secret handicapped son to tragically pass away. Keeping James unknown and out of sight from the press was entirely under the advice of Mr. Schilling. (He) Said people would ask too many questions, and Candice agreed. She never wanted the world knowing about James, or for him to have to deal with any of that. Now, not only did they know, but they blamed her for his untimely death. The story stated the signs were clear that something physical was wrong, and that any reasonable adult would have gotten him the help he needed much sooner, and delved further into the already engulfed peril that was Candice’s life.
It was over then. What little hope she had for any peace or simplicity morphed to utter rage. And now, truly, the only place she had was huddled and locked in the shower. And the only reel that played in her head was how it all happened, and who was behind it. That story could have only come from one source…
She made up her mind. There was no going back.
The next morning she called Schilling. He played naive to the story, and Candice promised him she didn’t mind. She said she wanted any kind of work and that was the only way to start putting everything behind her. Expressed how that was her dream when she was little and that was all she wanted to do for the rest of her life. She didn’t have to lie. She remembered how she first felt about Schilling, and pitched it to him like that. Schilling listened and began to explain that “there was just nothing they could do without Bill_”
She cut him off and didn’t give him a chance to finish, “I don’t care. I just want to work. I’ll do whatever I have to.”
Schilling agreed and said he’d see what he could work out. Told her no promises, but a few phone calls later, a meeting with Cummings was set.
Candice remembered that night she kissed James goodnight and tucked him in for the last time. She remembered the excuses she made when she wanted to again. And she remembered all those years that followed after that. Besides a husband, which wasn’t a top priority for her, and perhaps a daughter, she had everything she ever wanted for herself. Now the only thing she had was a lot of money and wealth she had come to despise. Her life felt more meaningless to her than she could comprehend, and all that was left in place of what once was truly beautiful and one of a kind was loss, and six years of memories that led to that point. She continued to think about it when she arrived at Bill’s that night. And she planned to never have to think about it again.
She rang the bell and Bill welcomed her in with a big smile and open arms. No drink was offered. She smiled and pretended to be happy to see him. Bill was practically gleeful and very happy to see her. He led the way and she followed to the main living room, where she was surprised to see Schilling was already seated and waiting on the couch.
“Take her purse,” he instructed as he smiled and sipped the drink he had. Bill grabbed her purse and she pulled back, but Bill eventually overpowered her.
“Ah… Ah… Ah… What do we have here?” He mocked as he pulled out a gun Candice stashed away.
“At least it seems we’re all on the same page,” Schilling remarked inviting her to come sit next to him. Candice stared dead in his eyes, walked over and sat down beside him. Schilling smirked and asked if she knew what this was. She continued looking, and dared them to do it. Bill and Schilling both laughed. Bill finally sat down across the table, and Schilling stood to make himself another drink.
“That’s what I always liked about you…” he said condescendingly picking up one of the crystal decanters. He mocked her passion, and made the comment how it might’ve clouded her judgement in the final weeks before her son’s death, while he finished pouring and sipped his drink.
“We’ll get to that later…” he said calmly while ignoring her demands to know what he meant. “We want to show you something first…”
Bill slid a photo album that was on the table toward Candice, and she stopped. “This is the book that reveals the truth to your entire life.”
She looked at his repugnant face and his reprehensible eyes, and reluctantly picked up the album. She opened it and the first page was a picture of her holding the Oscar that she won and giving her speech. She began flipping a few pages and they were full of pictures from her career, from early on to more recent. After around a dozen, she began seeing page after page from when she was a dancer. It became clear Schilling had seen and heard about more than just a handful of her shows like he said. They had her picked out for awhile.
Bill began reminiscing about when Schilling first got his start. “You were a lot like that…” he remembered, “young, capable, ambitious, on a path to nowhere…”
Schilling blushed at the bar, “I remember… wish I could continue to pay you back like this.”
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out…” They both laughed. Bill went on to explain who Schilling was before he started working in Hollywood, and what Candice’s ultimate role was to them. Candice’s career, and the life they created for her, was Schilling’s way of paying Bill back for the life and opportunity he afforded him.
Candice reached toward the end of the album and began flipping through pages covered with the people she worked with and helped her rise in her career, all of them side by side with Schilling and Bill in far different settings than she’d ever seen before. Most of them were pictures of parties that were thrown at Bill’s house. She continued flipping the pages that revealed the secret plot to her career. There was only a couple more pages left when she turned to a picture of their nanny, who lived with them, sandwiched between Bill and Schilling. As she turned to the final page, she saw the glare of Schilling coming from behind about to hit her over the head with a wooden bat.
In one fluid motion she moved to the side, the bat missed and bounced off the couch, she reached down, took off her shoe, and struck him in the side of the head with her heel. Schilling stumbled back behind the couch, and both Candice and Bill got up to confront each other. Bill: armed with the gun he took from Candice’s purse, and Candice: with her shoe. Bill laughed. “Sweetheart, what are you going to do?”
An invitation Candice welcomed greatly. She took a step forward and punched him square in the nose. The punch knocked him back, and the gun fell out of his hand onto the floor. Bill was shocked. He grabbed his nose, and it took a second before it dawned that she just punched him in the face. Schilling was on his way sneaking up from behind, but when Bill looked down and saw Candice’s eyes, everything around went blank. He charged, and Candice grabbed a trophy that had a pointed figurine on top of it, and with his momentum propelling toward her, held it out and stuck him in the gut with it.
All the noise and frantic gasps stopped. Schilling froze. Bill looked at Candice in horror and disbelief, remembered the many times they were together, and started gagging on his own blood. Candice plunged the shiny gold plated piece of plastic into his entrails and tossed him to the ground. As his body fell to the floor, she felt the weight of all those years lift off of her shoulders.
Candice’s mind, and spirit, fell captive to the moment, and Schilling quickly jumped over the couch and picked up the gun. Candice was still holding the trophy, and did not want to die.
And as Schilling began lifting his arm to aim at her, she struck him in the hand and knocked the gun out. Then, with more power than she ever felt, and more might than she ever had, she planted the base end of that trophy right between his eyes, dropping him on his ass and knocking him out.
She ran out the door, flew to her car, got in, locked the doors, raced down the driveway, got out, pushed the gate open, rushed back into her car, locked the doors again, and floored it down the street. The car was packed and ready, and she was going to drive as far as she could, and for as long as she could without stopping for anything. She got halfway down the block, and headlights flipped on and began speeding down the driveway toward her.
It was Schilling. She made the first turn. Then another. Then (she) started heading north out of the city. Schilling was on her trail and picking up ground. There were two more turns until she was on the road she wanted. A left, and a right. Schilling was still getting closer. There was a small straightaway, and then a long winding road up the hill and out of town. She’d never make it to the town if she stayed on the road. But off the path, around some of those turns were side routes she knew about that would lead her out of town just as well. And if she could make it to one of them with enough distance from Schilling, she could take one of those routes and lose him.
She made it past the straightaway and began up the bend. It was too long though. Her car, packed as it was, couldn’t hold up to the car Schilling was driving. And he made up about half the distance. When she started around the second turn he had caught up. Candice didn’t know what to do. She saw her life flash before her. “GET AWAY FROM ME!!”
Schilling made his move and pulled alongside her. She looked over to her left and saw his face. He didn’t see her. She remembered a time before they ever met when she read about Schilling donating the majority of the profits from one of his films to New York City public schools. What a bunch of bullshit…
His eyes were locked on the side of her car, and his hands were turning the wheel, veering the vehicle in Candice’s direction. Candice thought of James, and let go. His car crashed into the side of hers, and she went flying off the side, tumbling down, and piling into a tree.
Candice had broken ribs, her leg was bent to the side, she had cuts and gashes everywhere, and severe internal bleeding. She could barely breathe, but she was breathing. Schilling parked his car on the side and hiked down to her. When he reached the door he couldn’t open it because it so jammed from the wreck. It took him about a minute or two before he could finally pry it open. Candice was sitting there the whole time bleeding to death, and just praying he’d stop.
“Oh Jesus, look at you, he sighed after finally popping the door open, “this is horrible, Kendall. You know the mess there’s going to be to clean up? Never mind… Oh Kendall. Kendall… Kendall… Kendall… Everything was fine. You and James had the golden ticket. You had it all… We gave you everything… And you threw it out_”
Candice tried to speak, but she couldn’t. Blood swelled out of her nose and spit out of her mouth as she choked trying to breathe.
Schilling wiped the hair away from her forehead and stared into her face. “Calm down baby. No more talking now. But just_ I wanted to tell you what was on the final page in the album. It was James’s school portrait. He was our linchpin… the final piece we could use to have total control over you. That picture was a picture of the life he was headed for before you decided to open your mouth. (laughs) He didn’t die from some natural brain clot… Your wonderfully helpful and beloved nanny poisoned him. Who did you think she was? Did you really think we wouldn’t cover ourselves in every way, at all times? Kendall… sorry things worked out this way. You were on your way to becoming one of the greats… Goodbye my dear.”
He finished and plugged Candice’s nose until she was dead. He shook the blood off his hand a bit and began marching toward the top. He took a few steps when he saw the red lights of a flashing police car pull up next to his.
The officer got out of his car and saw the wreck and Mr. Schilling walking up. “Mr. Schilling?” He asked concernedly.
The officer of course knew Taylor, and Taylor was familiar with who he was as well. Taylor explained to him he and Candice were driving north for the night when she started speeding erratically and lost control on the turn and went flying off. The officer seemed shaken. “Poor thing,” he said. When he pointed to the dent on the side of Schilling’s car, Schilling just shook him off.
“What a sad story,” the cop relented, “well, at least she made it I guess, and we got to see her in her prime. I’ll take care of this for you Mr. Schilling. An ambulance is on its way. Please, go and enjoy the rest of your night.”
Schilling left and went straight back to Bill’s to clean up. On the way over he pulled a picture out of his wallet of an even younger girl than Kendall was who he was following and had his eye on. When he got back, he put everything in place, and made it look like Bill shot himself with a shotgun. After he finished, he went down to the theatre room and watched an old movie. When the movie was over, he went back upstairs, started to weep, and made the report.
Front pages the next morning read:
Former Dancer Who Made Big In Hollywood Crashes Car In Enraged Hysteria
The stories went on to state that she’d been speeding recklessly, and that close ones, which were Schilling and most of those she saw in the album, had grown increasingly concerned since her son’s passing.
A few pages later, on page six, a little column in the corner wrote about an old Hollywood producer and conglomerate from yesteryear who committed suicide quietly in his beautiful old fashioned Beverly Hills home.
Ten o’clock. Routine. Friday night.
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