Heartbreak Hotel: Snake-Eyes
Shelby Austin series Part II
“Make sure the elevator is locked dude, this one has serious shock-value,” the Detective reminded his assistant, “there are 800 people down at Clive’s party that would fall out if they heard about this!”
“And check everyone’s smart phones as they leave, by the way; I don’t want anyone in here selling us out to TMZ.” LA paparazzi would give their first-born children for salacious pictures of the great Shelby Austin sprawled out naked in her bathroom, dead.
“There’s not much to photograph here Mike, no note, or blood, far as I can tell,” said the Detective.
“She looks fine to me, no blunt force trauma or signs of foul-play.” He was talking through the scenario in his mind as much as lecturing his assistant Michael Donnelly. The Detective was a Beverly Hills Cop, but he knew the signs of nefarious acts as sure as any LAPD Detective from Sunset, or Van Nuys.
The pill bottles were ominous, he thought, and there was booze all around the expansive suite on the fourth floor of the Beverly Hilton, the host hotel of the largest pre-Grammy® party in Los Angeles
The starlet hit her prime just as police officer Michael Donnelly was born in 1985, he had very little knowledge of the sheer wattage provided by Shelby Austin, the preeminent icon of 80s and 90s pop music.
“She dreamed of para, para, para-dise,” he hummed as he inventoried the room; Michael pondered how sad it was that another Hollywood pillar had broken and crumbled; his point of reference musically, the Coldplay song, “Paradise ,” was about a similar young woman whose expectations were out of reach and so she flew away from her dreams.
“This Xanax® bottle needs to be tagged and tested by the ME,” the Detective pointed as he directed Michael his assistant, “remember the socialite who swallowed a bunch of these and chased them down with half a bottle of Skye last month?”
“That sh*t is smooth, Detective,” Donnelly replied enthusiastically,” other than the burn, it tastes like water; it’s carbon-filtered five times, I wish the LA water system was that good!”
Taking Xanax® and booze is like doubling down on the central nervous system, depressing the brain to the point where sometimes breathing stops. Combining alcohol with Alprazolam is never safe. The drinker never knows how much would prove fatal if mixed with the anti-anxiety drug. The alcohol takes away judgment, making one feel good but not thinking normally; tragically, 40 and 50 year olds are more likely to die from an accidental drug overdose than adolescents.
“Didn’t Mrs. Austin-Green sell like millions of records? Michael asked.
“Ms. Austin is divorced from that asshole, Michael, besides, she is known as “Shelby Shelby
“Remind me to check out her financial records and insurance, make sure no one was heavily “invested” in her passing.” The Detective added cynically, “street cred is that she is hurting big time, hadn’t had a good payday in a decade. Gerri Green nicked her good in the split.” He followed the tabloids like some cops read Sports Illustrated.
“If it ain’t suicide and murder looks improbable, do you think she died by accident? Michael asked the Detective.
“Time stands still on that junk Michael, it’s like people who believe that the most expensive thing has to be the best you can buy,” he said ruefully, “just one more pill and I will feel alright, one more drink will wash away the pain.”
As a ship off course a few degrees will ultimately go miles from its destination, Shelby Austin spent a decade drifting from her innocent roots and girlish fame. She was now a hardened Hollywood warrior, in and out of rehab, lost in a fog of forgotten fame. Probably sensing fear, regret, and nostalgia as she anticipated performing at the Grammy® awards tonight, she suffered heightened anxiety (Xanax®), and clouded judgment (alcohol), self-medicating en route to the stage.
The Detective declared out loud, “She was way past the point of no return, been there for years. Might be the dice came up snake-eyes this time?” Michael Donnelly was gazing upon the doorway to the suite’s massive bathroom, not hearing, but there was a light shining out of the darkness.
Fiction posted 02/15/2012
©Mark H. Pillsbury
No comments:
Post a Comment