Blood on the Hollywood Sign

Susan rested on a velvet chaise and popped Bijou, a petite little papillon puppy, on her lap. She ran her finger over Bijou's diamond encrusted Tiffany collar. This bitch really does have it all.

Nearly every possible inch of wall space was covered by gilded framed portraits of the overly-publicized actress, Trina Bennett. Susan could feel her glare in every corner of the room.  Any room left was bestowed with grand mirrors, just in case Trina grew bored of the static images of herself.

Bijou yapped at Susan. "Hush, I already walked you this hour." She crossed the plush floor of the starlet's private trailer and fished a few dog biscuits out of a silver jar. "Here, choke on them," tossing the treats on the floor.

Her cell phone began to ring. Checking the caller ID she siged as her boyfriend's name popped up for the sixth time today. Skipping formalities, she answered, "I'm still here, the same place as the last time you called."

"I'm sorry. I just missed you and wanted to say hi and tell you I love you." It was the same speech she heard from Michael everyday by the seventh phone call.

"I know sweetie, but I have work to do so I'll call you back later, okay?" She had already run out of conversation for the day.

"Alright. Is Trina behaving herself?" Michael asked, again for the hundreth time.

"I know how to handle her, don't worry about me." It was hard to be angry at someone who loved her so much, but Michael was trying her patience today.

"Call me if you need anything."

"I will, I promise. Love you, bye." She hung the phone up before he could drag the conversation out anymore. Again, she was alone with Bijou and Trina's excessive dressing room trailer.

It was not so much the fact that she had auditioned for the movie Trina was currently filming, only to be hired as a glorified dog walker. It was sitting in Trina's trailer for hours on end while they were on the set, and then being abruptly thrown out when her royal highness returned in a huff. Thank-you had never passed her lips. Susan wasn't even sure if Trina knew her name, or cared to.

Looking around the room, she was fascinated by the ridiculous ways she indulged herself. Gallons of Channel #5 littered a vanity table. Susan thought the scent was only for women who wore Depends, but Trina called it a classic. White roses burst from silver and crystal vases about the room, bottles of champagne constantly chilled and standing ready. When you commanded twenty million a film, you could get almost anything. And Trina wanted to be royalty.

Susan peeped out the window and saw no indication of Trina returning soon. She raced to the closet and flung the doors open. She felt like she was six years old again playing in her mother's closet.  She gasped over the orgy of designers that lived in the closet. Bags, coats, gowns, nearly all of them originals. And then she saw it: the Versace gown she had worn to the Oscars. Her fingers itched and she plucked it from the closet. She had to try it on.

A few minutes of grunting and squeezing and she almost fit into it.  The zipper didn't close, but who was looking? She admired herself in the mirror. "I definitely could enjoy this. I certainly wouldn't be as ungrateful as that little whore, that's for sure. What do you think, Bijou? I take over Hollywood, and hire some poor sucker to baby-sit my own little yappy sack of fur?" She jumped as the phone rang once and halted. It was a favor from a tech on the set to warn her that Trina had just left and was on her way.

"Shit, shit!" She tugged at the dress, breaking out into a sweat from the strain and the panic. She heard a seam rip in her haste. "Oh, double shit!" She returned the dress and put her clothes back on with seconds to spare.

A familiar male voice rumbled on the other side of the door. A moment later, Lawrence Henry burst in holding Trina's hand and gushing over her.

"I'm telling you love, you've got them all scared. The word is at every studio that you are going to suck up all summer money! Think this year you can go for the big two  on opening weekend?" He practically drooled over Trina like she was a stack of walking money.

"Well, if anyone can bring in two hundred million dollars in one weekend, it's me!"
She laughed and dropped her coat and bag on the floor. She seemed oblivious to Susan. Bijou sat at Susan's feet with no apparent intention of greeting Trina. The poor personal assistant followed closely, picking up the discarded articles and juggling scripts and cell phones. "Besides Larry, I just couldn't live with myself if I knew I had cost you you Tahitian holiday. You've only gone for what, the past six years? You poor thing, what would you do if you couldn't get away for two months?"

"Hmm, I think you're mocking me."

"I bet you say that to all the pretty girls." Trina iced over as her gaze caught Susan standing in the corner. "What the hell are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be walking my dog?"

"Actually, we just got back," Susan beamed her best 'I hate you, but can't let you know it' smile.

"Well, isn't there some dog shit you should be picking up?" Trina kicked off her shoes, one of them striking her assistant. "Oops, you should really try to be more careful, Melanie." She caught her reflection in a mirror and began to fidget with her hair.

"I don't just leave it lying around. I take care of that when we're out." Wow, Susan. Proud moment for you.

"Look, I'm trying to find a nice way to tell you to get the hell out of my trailer, but since you're not catching on...get the fuck out, now."

Susan grabbed her purse and gratefully left. She closed the door overhearing Larry strike up again about the projected income for the movie.

"Christ Larry! I'm sick of hearing about money. What have you heard from the academy about my nomination?"

"Well, love, you do actually have to make the movie first..."

Susan shuddered and headed toward the parking lot. Another day closer to the end of filming and reclaiming her dignity. Her head throbbed from Channel perfume, and she was nauseated by Larry's greasy voice.

As she crossed the lot, she heard her name being called. She spotted a large light set being rigged with a skinny man wearing black waving at her. She sighed and decided it was in her best interest to say hello now and spare herself the grief tomorrow when she walked Bijou.

"Hey, Travis," she mumbled. Something about the man left her uneasy, like she needed a shower after being near him. His supervisor, Kevin, was lying on the ground, face covered by a hat. "Is this a new nap, or the same one from this morning?" His only reply was a middle finger and a grunt.

"Actually, this is nap number two," Travis quipped. "He takes one on the morning shift, gets up for lunch and the sleeps off his lunch." Another finger from Kevin. "Oh, hell. Doesn't bother me, he doesn't tell me what to do and I don't tell anyone he sleeps all day. That's teamwork."

Susan rolled her eyes and decided to make her escape. "You boys have a good night!"

"Wait, let me walk you." Travis hitched his pants up and put his arm around her shoulder. Susan did her best to restrain a chill through her body. "I wanted to talk to you about what you're doing tonight?"

"Travis, I've told you dozens of times. I live with my boyfriend. Nothing is going to happen between us and it is really starting to make me uncomfortable that you don't seem to get my point." Susan shoved his arm off and lengthened her steps, considering running the rest of the way to the car.

"I just know that I'm gonna be thinking about you in that dress all night."

Susan felt her blood chill and her brain spin. She turned to face Travis. He grinned a lecherous little smile and flicked his tongue over his thin cracked lips. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, that pretty little number Trina is wearing in all those pictures. I think it was at some award thing." Kevin's eyes roamed up and down her body, and Susan thought she might puke all over him. "You fill it out better, so much more natural and full..."

Susan crossed her arms trying to conceal herself. "Again, what are you talking about?"

"I guess I should tell you that a couple of guys set up a camera with a remote feed in her dressing room a couple weeks ago." Susan felt the Earth tilt beneath her. "I just went to check in and see if it was Princess Bitch's bath time yet, and I find little Suzie naked as the day she was born. You just made my year, baby."

Susan was screaming at her body to run away, but nothing was listening.

"Wow, and that ass...if I could just get my hands on it for one night, you'll think differently about the world." Travis stepped toward her. Suddenly her paralysis ended and she bolted for her car.

She ran the entire way, nearly tackling a few extras in vampire costumes along the way. Her throat choked and she was relatively certain she was about to make the term dying from embarrassment a reality.

She locked herself in her car and began to choke out hysterical sobs. That slimy little bastard had her naked body burned permanently into his brain, and she couldn't get it back. She jerked and hit the horn as her cell phone rang. A few deep breaths and she almost sounded composed when she answered.

"Susan? It's Melanie."

"Hey, yeah. Did I forget to do something?" Her brain couldn't switch gears and comprehend why Trina's assistant was calling her.

"Listen, I just wanted to tell you that if you're still on the lot to bail out quick and turn your phone off. Trina's flipping out and thinks you went through her things."

Dear God in heaven, I'm screwed."Yeah...okay,thanks." She hung up and threw the car into reverse. Her tires screeched as terror flooded her body and she couldn't leave fast enough.

She reached the guard gate and waved at the security officer like any other day. He smiled and waved back as he raised the barricade. She passed as nonchalantly as possible, until she heard the phone ring in his booth. Assuming it was Trina, she hit the gas pedal and pretended to not see him in the review mirror furiously waving for her to stop.

Twenty minutes later she was turning the key in her front door when it was pulled open.

"Where the hell have you been?" Michael gathered her into a bear hug and drew her into the apartment. "I've been trying to call you."

"Sorry, I had to turn my phone off." Susan flopped onto the couch and covered her eyes with a pillow. She was not in the mood for one of Michael's overprotective moments.

"I just wish you would have called and told me. I've been wondering what happened to you." He took off his lecture face and relaced it with a more compassionate one. "QDB giving you a hard time?" (QDB being code for Queen Diva Bitch. It was much easier to use in conversation.)

"Of course! That woman has made my life a living hell for two months, and all I do is walk her damn dog." Michael took off her shoes and began rubbing her feet. "I didn't think I could ever hate someone so passionately, someone I hardly even know! I seriously think I should start calling tabloids and see what they'd offer for dirt on her."

"Got anything good."

"Beyond the psychotic, self obsessive behavior? Well, she does have quite the love of chocolate."

"Baby, I don't think anyone gives a crap about that."

"No, I mean loves chocolate. As in boxes at a time, and then throws it all up. I caught her once."

"You know she'd just deny it."

"It would still piss her off. How can a person be so nasty when they have everything they could ever want. She has the most beautiful clothes and jewelry, everyone kisses her ass like it's made of gold. How can you still be miserable? Oh get this, she's about to put me on trial over something in her closet being rearranged. Melanie warned me after I left, so who knows what will happen to me tomorrow. This came after she degraded me in front of an executive producer. People like that don't deserve such lives. People like us should be the ones who live so well. We work hard and try to lead decent lives. We should have her lifestyle while she cleans out toilets at a prison." She looked at Michael's sympathetic face. Now was not the time to discuss the Travis issue, if there was even going to be a time at all.

"Why don't we just kill her?" Michael's tone was calm, as if he had just asked her what was for dinner. "She has no right to treat you like this."

"What?" Susan asked, forcing a laugh.

Michael returned the laugh. "You know, so you don't have to put up with it anymore. It will save you the trouble of quitting."

"Okay, or I could suck it up through the rest of filming, networking the entire time, and then move on to bigger and better things. Besides, Trina will piss off the wrong person sooner or later."

"Right." Michael sat quietly staring off at an obscure point across the room. Suddenly feeling Susan's stare, he leaned over to kiss her. "Nobody, hurts my baby." He stood up from the couch and began collecting his keys and wallet.

Susan sat up, her heart rate rapidly increasing. "Where are you going?"

"Guys night. Remember? You were cool with it yesterday."

"Oh right," she eased back into the couch. Your paranoia is taking over.

Michael kissed her again and headed out the door. Susan spent a quiet evening alone, occasionally tempted to check her voicemail or fantasize about Travis being electrocuted while rigging the lights. She crawled into bed, exhausted and didn't see the world until the next morning.

Her day started again like any other. She rose and headed to the kitchen for coffee and a bagel slathered thick with cream cheese. She settled on the couch with her breakfast and turned on the morning news. She didn't even notice at first that she had scalded her legs as she spilled coffee on her lap; she was too stunned by the report on television.

"All the police will release at this point is she has been confirmed dead, an apparent victim of a brutal homicide." Trina's picture flashed on the screen.

"Oh my God." Susan felt her entire body begin to tremble.

"Apparently there was no one witnessed entering of leaving her dressing room. A security guard stopped to check on things when he heard a dog barking. Upon approaching the star's trailer, he realized the dog was leaving bloody paw prints on the window. That's when police were called in."

"Oh dear God!" All Susan could think about was Michael, his words.  It was too out of character. Certainly not possible.

Larry came onto the screen, misty eyed and supposedly shaken from the event. The only thing he's mourning is the loss of his bank account.

"Baby? Are you awake?" Michael called from the bedroom.

"Michael, you need to get out here!"

He walked into the living room. "What? Oh, this."

"What are you..." Susan froze, horrified at his appearance. His typically blond hair was tinted pink, a stream of red across his face which Susan could only guess was blood. "Michael?"

"What's wrong, baby?" He moved toward her and she leaped off the couch and ran to the corner of the room.

"Stay away! Don't come near me!" She scouted the room for anything she could use as a weapon.

"You don't have to be scared of me. I just took care of your problem. I love you, and I can't stand someone treating you that way. And besides, you were right. You deserved that part, you should be treated like a queen. Not some self absorbed whore that screwed herself to the top!"

Susan frantically searched for a way out. "Michael, you killed her! Don't you realize what this means?"

"Yeah, I know. I wasn't planning on hurting her. She's just so horrible. The things she said to you, about you. And then she was laughing at me...I don't know how you put up with it. I couldn't stand to listen to her for five minutes. I just had to shut her up."

Just stay calm and think of a way to leave. "Well, I hope you realize now I have to find a new job."

"Oh, I didn't think about that." Michael looked pensive, confused and Susan seized her opportunity.

"Exactly, so I need to get dressed and go down the street to pick up a newspaper." She walked around Michael keeping his gaze held until she could close and lock the bedroom door. Her clothes from the night before were lying on the floor by the bed. Hands trembling, she dressed herself and decided it was best to leave the house and call the police elsewhere.

She took a deep breath, and opened the bedroom door. Michael was still standing motionless in the middle of the livingroom. "So, why don't you go take a shower, and I'll go pick up a paper?" She headed for the door, grabbing her purse.

"What? Oh, alright." He looked at his hands, brown stains around his fingernails and in the creases of his palms. Susan slipped out the door and began running.

She didn't stop for five blocks until she was fairly certain he had not followed. She sat down at a bus stop gasping for air. This can't be happening. The pain from her scalded thighs reminded her she was not in a nightmare. She fished her phone from her purse. I wonder how long until they cut off my service since Trina paid for it? Susan was shocked at her own depraved indifference to Trina's bloody end. Okay, just call the police, and wait here until you know they have him.

A car stopped at a red light in front of her, talk radio voices carried out the open window. "So far the police claim to have no viable suspects. They are asking for help and the studio is considering a reward for any information leading to an arrest."

Susan held her phone in her hand, something inside her hesitating. Your boyfriend is a psychopath, call the police. She stared at the keypad. The screen flashed twenty-six voicemails. Jesus, she really was pissed at me.

A dark place in her soul crept to light as a new thought emerged. The studio will be looking for a replacement, right? No one else knows the script. She had spent hours reading it between dog walkings. The part she should have had. Larry would do just about anything to save his ass right now. No, this is ridiculous. Besides, you might even get a reward. Susan continued to stare at the phone, grappling with her conscience.

But, still...

She slowly began to dial.