the world—who has the best room service, the best on-call masseuse…”
“I’ve always been a bit leery of those hotel hands-on artists,” Dayle admitted. “I figure, I’ll have this great message in my room one night, and a week later, it’ll be in the
“Folks like us, there aren’t a lot of people we can trust.” Leigh picked at the candy bar. “Not a lot of decent men who will put up with the crazy schedules we keep, the press and paparazzi, and all that excess baggage. Not a lot of friends either.”
Dayle nudged her. “If you say, ‘It’s lonely at the top,’ I’ll smack you. Besides, much as I hate to admit it, my box-office clout has been slipping lately. I’m not so close to the top anymore.”
“Then that makes the loneliness even worse, doesn’t it?”
The quiet seriousness in Leigh’s voice took Dayle by surprise. What she said hit close to home. Dayle tried to laugh and shrug it off. “My God, Leigh, how did we get so—
Leigh sat back and smiled. “It’s just part of that dream I was telling you about, Dayle. You know, the heart- to-heart talk? I know it sounds corny, but I’d like us to be friends.”
Dayle took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “It is corny, but I’d like that too.”
Living in Hollywood for the last sixteen years had made Dayle cautious. People she met always seemed to want something else from her. But all Leigh Simone wanted was her friendship.
They talked for fifteen more minutes. Leigh had snuck away from her party, and needed to rejoin her guests. She suggested meeting in the morning for a late breakfast. But Dayle had an early flight.
“Well, I’ll be back in L.A. this week,” Leigh said, standing in the doorway. “Let’s do dinner. We’ll really blow our diets, burgers and fries.”
“It’s a deal,” Dayle said, grinning. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
Leigh nodded. “Okay, but you better be careful about seeing too much of me, Dayle. Don’t forget, I have a reputation.”
They laughed and hugged. Dayle felt a twinge of concern. Indeed it might add more fuel to those career- damaging rumors if she were seen with Leigh. She told herself it didn’t matter—at least it shouldn’t have mattered.
She squeezed Leigh a little tighter, and kissed her cheek. They said good-bye once more. Smiling, Dayle watched her saunter down the hall. Then she stepped back inside her suite, and closed the door.
Someone knocked on the door less than three minutes later. Dayle was at the honor bar, ready to pour herself a brandy. “Leigh? Is that you?”
She checked the peephole. It was a young man in a waiter’s uniform. “Room service, Ms. Sutton!” he called.
Dayle opened the door. The hotel badge on his waiter’s jacket showed the name, Brian. With dark hair and dimples, he was quite a handsome young guy. He carried a large tray with a champagne bottle on ice, two flute glasses, and a basket full of fruit, crackers, salami, and cheeses.
“You’re a little late,” Dayle said.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Ms. Sutton. The champagne and the food basket are compliments of the management. It’s our way of apologizing for the delay.”
She opened the door wider. “Tell management not to sweat it. C’mon in.”
He set the tray on the desk. “May I open the champagne for you?”
“Yes, thanks.” Dayle fished a few dollars out of her purse while he popped open the bottle. She started to hand him the money.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” the young man said. Reaching inside his waiter’s jacket, he pulled out a small black book and a pen. “In fact, I’d rather get your autograph—if that’s okay. I kind of collect them.”
Dayle took the little book—opened to a blank sheet. She turned back a page:
“His suite was below this one. He was a good friend of yours, huh?”
“Only in a show business way.” She took the pen from him and scribbled in his autograph book,
“I saw you on the news tonight,” he said. “You were reading those letters about Tony. It got me thinking about him again. I delivered dinner to his room a couple of times. He—um, well, he made a pass at me.”
“Well, consider it a compliment.” Dayle handed the book back to him.
The young man blushed and glanced down at the carpet. “Y’know, I’m not gay. I—I have a girlfriend. I went to school in Texas, and all my friends—to them, queers are about as low as you can get.”
Dayle frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you were his friend. And I have to tell somebody or I’ll go nuts. Tony knew he was going to die. These people threatened to kill him.”
“Tony told you this? When?”
Brian hesitated. “After we—well, we messed around a little. I was explaining to Tony about my college buddies, and what they think of queers. Tony said that a bunch of ‘good old boys’ can take turns humping a heifer in a pasture and it’s a bonding thing, but if two of those guys are caught kissing, then they’re sick perverts. He was making fun, y’know, sarcastic?”
Dayle just nodded.
“Then he got serious, and he told me these people were calling him at home, saying they were gonna kill him and expose him as being gay. They said that the whole world would know he was a fag. And it’s just what happened.”
“What do you mean, ‘they’? Was it more than one person?”
“That’s the way it sounded.” Brian’s voice started to crack. “God, it could have been me who was murdered with him out there in that forest….”
“You haven’t talked to anyone else about this?”
He shook his head. “No, I can’t. My girlfriend, my friends—”
“Didn’t the police or FBI interview you? I’d think they would.”
“They only talked to the people who were working that night. I didn’t come in that Thursday.”
“You should be talking to the police, not me,” Dayle said.
“Couldn’t you talk to them for me?” he asked. “You could say that Tony told
“Wait a minute, honey—Brian.” Dayle touched his arm. “I wasn’t that close to Tony. Even if I was, I wouldn’t wait two weeks after his murder to come forward with news about these ‘death threats.’ It doesn’t make sense.”
The young man looked so utterly lost. He kept shaking his head.
“I want to help,” Dayle said. “But I can’t go to the police for you, Brian. That won’t work. If you want, I can have a lawyer talk with you—”
“Are you saying that I need a lawyer?” he asked warily.
“Only someone to give you legal advice when you go to the police—”
“No, I can’t go to the police. I can’t do that.” Turning away, he opened the door. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. I’m sorry—”
“Wait…wait a second. I want to help you, Brian—”
He ducked into the hallway and closed the door on her.
Jarnell Cleary had been a maid with the Imperial Hotel for five weeks, and she hated it. Scrubbing out toilets at the crack of dawn was not how she’d planned to spend her young life. But only twenty-nine more weeks of this crap, and she and her boyfriend could afford a trip to Europe together. She was thinking about Paris as she wedged opened the women’s rest room door.
At the moment, there were only two other people on the mezzanine level, both of them janitors. Backing her cart through the doorway, Jarnell realized she had her work cut out for her. The place stunk, a rank odor. Someone had left a faucet on; she could hear the water trickling. The overhead lights had gone haywire and kept flickering on and off.
