Abuse, actors, behavior, celebrities, celebrity worship, Hollywood, opinion, rape, sexism, uncatagorized

Of Pedestals and Old Celebrities

bill cosby

Once again Hollywood has provided us with another example of men behaving badly. This time it’s someone we all were stunned by, except of course by those in the know. Many things set this scandal apart from the others one of which is it involves one of America’s favorite dads, who not only on screen espoused morality and family life, but off screen as well.

This is an important fact because it is embedded in our collective memory buried deep in our psyche. Even back in the good ‘ol days when I grew up with rampant racism, everyone still loved Bill Cosby from the get go. I can’t remember anyone of any color who had a bad thing to say about him back in the ’70’s or ’80’s. We all laughed at his safe, funny jokes and retelling of hilarious family situations we could connect to in our own lives.

Then he placed himself on an even higher pedestal we put him on by taking to task the young rappers of the day, chastising their choice of words and subjects in their rhymes. Many rappers called him out of touch with reality of the young black male experience, He tried to show another way, that the immorality of the words and actions of these suddenly wealthy young hip hop artists were only going to lead to a destruction of black culture and ultimately themselves.

There was wisdom in his words. Like a father lecturing his children imparting knowledge in hopes of us learning a lesson without having to experience pain of our mistakes. TV interviews cemented his opinions and his war on what he saw was ignorance and set backs of youth. Many took the high ground with him and loved him even more for it.

When his only son was killed we grieved and cried with him and rightly so. Through the pain we admired him for his strength and courage and his unfailing commitment to his wife Camille and his family. It’s no wonder we loved him.

There are two sides to every coin and even more so with celebrities, who by necessity in order to sell themselves, have to have a very public persona of either their own or a publicists making. The outward image is just as important as the product of their art. It’s a delicate recipe that is destined to eventually fail if you are hiding something and Cosby was.

The allegations against him now are decades olds, or at least the ones we know about after these brave women finally had the courage to come forth. When I say finally, I hear a loud groan from the masses who believe that a woman after 50 yrs of living with this pain of rape from a very famous and powerful man, is only after money.

Let’s get real here. Decades have gone by and they have moved forward in their lives. If this were truly about money then the time would have been back then before the statutes of limitations ran out. If this were just hurt him then the time would have been back when the idea of a black man having sex with a white woman was very frowned upon, and racial hatred was even more a norm than it is today.

It’s about the truth. One thing that hasn’t changed in decades is still blaming the victim. It’s her fault she was raped. She must have wanted it. We forget that the birth of women’s equality was just beginning. Our mothers fighting valiantly to be taken seriously as one half of the human race that too had rights. To be more than a wife, mother and a whore in bed. Where women who did work outside the home were subjected to gropey bosses. Sexual harassment wasn’t even in our vernacular and women were supposed to just put up with it and be flattered even if it made you feel uncomfortable and unsafe. He could make or break your career and because he was so powerful who would believe you anyway? So you kept silent.

The women who are coming forward against Cosby now do so at personal risk of ridicule and threats to expose the man for what he is, a hypocrite and a rapist with the hidden morals of a pervert.

Why should any women who has been abused or raped come forward and endure the long ago memory and pain talk now? Why not just leave it in the past? The simple answer is for a catharsis in their own lives. To be finally free of something that tormented them all these years while they watched their attacker continue to reap the rewards of celebrity and adoration knowing there is a monster underneath the façade. To claim their life back from someone who’s one immoral action took it away.

The pedestal is high. The fall is hard, not just for him, but for all of us who believed in him.

Standard
Actresses, Fame, Hollywood, Murder

Femme Fatale

Enjoy this short story!

The leggy blond sauntered down the long staircase one carefully measured  step at a time. Angelique Leone the iconic bombshell with the curvaceous silhouette and come hither pout that adorned many soldiers walls, was  in her third day of shooting.  She was headlining in her second motion  picture for Sandstone pictures of a four movie deal contract. The studio had pumped a ton of money into the flick and even more money into her  glamorization makeover.  Angelique Leone’s name on her birth certificate which was stashed discreetly away in her father’s safe in Texas, was Jane Lenny;  not exactly a top billing box office name. 

She arrived in Hollywood at twenty years of age with ten dollars in her  pocket and a prayer to land any kind of studio contract until a friend  in the business revealed to her the real game. It was a hard lesson and  one Jane wasn’t happy to learn. Crying alone in her small rundown  apartment after losing her virginity to a fat balding casting director  on the proverbial casting couch, she contemplated suicide. Returning  home would only garner her shame for her actions. 

The call came that evening just moments before she was ready to swallow a  handful of pills with the joyous news of a studio contract. Apparently  the casting director liked her ‘audition’ and recommended her for a  small role in a new movie. If the camera agreed with her she would be  considered for a larger role in the next one.  The meeting she had with  the movie’s director the next morning would change her life forever,  1940 was going to be her year.  The first thing he did was give her a  new name, a name that would soon be synonymous with sultry sensuality  and unbridled sex, a name that went before a team of studio execs to be  decided upon and a name she was not allowed to have a choice in  deciding. 

“Cut!”  the grumpy red faced director Ronald Sizemore yelled. “Damn it! Who’s  to dumb fuck that put this stupid plant at the bottom of the stairs? Get it out of here.” He kicked the fake potted plants over. “Everybody take five!”

Angelique threw her hands up in the air and marched down the stairs. “How many  times are we going to do this? My feet are tired!” She flipped her long  platinum blond hair from her shoulders. 

The 6’2” stoutly director glared at her. “You’ll do it as many times as I want you to. Don’t forget your place!”

Her place was becoming one of more influence thanks to her overnight  meteoric rise in celebrity and he knew it. He hated the idea that this  shy little Texan girl was learning how to wrestle control in a male  dominated industry. 

“I’m going to lie down. I’ll be in my dressing room alone.” She emphasized loudly. 

“Lay off the pills today.” He barked back. His brown eyes angrily dared her to disobey.

She turned on her heel sashaying off the set and into the early afternoon  sun. Donning her sunglasses she made her way across the studio lot and  hopped on a golf cart heading to her private oasis, the dressing room she  demanded without hesitation as her star power started to shine. It was a dangerous game of wills and she knew it. The studio machine had the  power to make or break her if she didn’t play her cards right, a heady  position for a twenty two year old who gained a lifetime of wisdom in  the eighteen months since that fateful audition.

Her dressing room was decorated in all pinks, every shade available was represented. From the deep pink special ordered carpeting to the  bubblegum lampshades. She hated pink. Angelique was simply sticking it  to the studio for what she considered rape by the fat, nasty smelling  casting director. The temporary dressing room cost about as much as a  new car to redecorate. Ironically the more she misbehaved the more her  star power grew. 

The public loved her. Young ladies longed to be her. Men self fulfilled  their sexual fantasies against the backdrop of her half naked pinups.  The attention her small role in that first movie garnered her was a  Hollywood dream.  A well placed one liner catch phrase with fantastic  lighting of her pouty full lips and she became America’s new sweetheart. It had even taken the studio execs by surprise. No one was more  surprised than the demanding narcissistic director Ronald Sizemore who  had hoped she would be another young girl in his stable of bevy beauties he could call upon for licentious scenery and behind the scenes sex. He assumed she was an innocent kitten he could use and abuse till she was  washed up. 

Angelique proved to be tougher than she looked given in part to her hard scrabble upbringing in the vast expanse of her father’s Texas ranch.  Not to mention his  liberal use of a belt for discipline. Her brothers fared worse under  his tutelage of hard farm work and beatings, both boys leaving his tyranny as soon as they came of age. She was the only one left at home when his second wife also  made an escape. Frightened to stay knowing she would be an easy target  for his drunken anger, she boarded a bus and headed to L.A. with a  promise of fame and easy fortune.

Frantic knocking on her dressing room door woke her from her slumber. Wrapping  her silk dressing gown around her she opened the door to reveal two LAPD officers. 

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am.  We need you to come with us.” The tall uniformed officer said.

“What is the meaning of this?” She demanded. 

Officer Brady responded. “Ronald Sizemore is dead. Please get dressed and come  with us or we will be forced to take you like this.” The officer looked  her up and down lecherously grinning.

She stumbled back and fell into her lounge chair. “Dead? But how?” 

“That’s what we want you to tell us.” 

The squad car pulled up in front of the station with its siren blaring,  someone had already tipped off the newspapers and fan rags as light  bulbs flashed incessantly blinding her even with her sunglasses on.   Officer Brady roughly grabbed her arm from the back of the black and  white dragging her away from the throng of cameras and reporters calling out her name. 

She was seated in a hard wooden chair in a lonely room, her silk scarf still wrapped  around her head and neck. She pulled a cigarette and holder from her  purse. “Can I please get a light?” She yelled, aware that they were  watching her from behind the two way mirror. Detective Jarden entered  with his lighter in hand. Sitting himself across from her he lit her  cigarette as she crossed her legs allowing her skirt to rise up enough  to tantalize him. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Am I under arrest?” she asked.

“No.” he replied.

“Do I need a lawyer?” 

“Depends, did you shoot him?” He licked his lips as she adjusted the hem on her knee.

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. “Up until now I didn’t even know how he died, how could have I shot him?” 

Detective  Jarden snickered pushing an ashtray her way. “You were seen having  words with Mr. Sizemore before he died and it’s been rumored you had a  beef with him. Do you own a gun Ms. Leone?”

“Of course, a single girl has to protect herself in this big bad city, but that doesn’t make me a killer.” 

“You’re right, but what about the argument? You had words with him and then  disappeared.” He lit his own cigarette and placed his fedora on the  table next to his notebook. 

“Ronald was a hard man to work for detective. He made many questionable demands and berated the staff constantly, doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. He  had enough enemies for that.” 

“But he is dead. Can you account for your whereabouts after one o’clock?” 

Angelique sighed. She knew where this was headed. She had verbally threatened to  shoot Ronald if he ever touched her again several weeks before. He  didn’t like to be told no so he had punched her in the face daring her  to complain, promising to ruin her if she didn’t comply with his  demands. The bruises took days to disappear putting the movie shoot  seriously behind schedule. The studio attributed it to the press as Ms.  Leone’s ongoing bought with the flu. 

“I was in my dressing room napping.” She advised curtly.

Sitting back in his chair unbuttoning his suit coat, Detective Jarden gave her a sly smile. “Napping? Was there anyone with you?”

She glowered in contempt. “No, I was alone the whole time.”

“Too bad, no one to corroborate your story.”  He said tapping his ash in the tray.

“You also have no proof it was me. I know my rights detective, I demand you let me leave.”  

Detective  Jarden snapped his fingers and the two officers who brought her in  appeared. “Take Ms. Leone home please.” He told them. “I’ll be in touch.” He said as she walked away.

Angelique took her constantly ringing phone off the hook, dressed herself in a  silk floral nightgown and poured herself a drink. It  had gone as planned. That jackass would never force himself on her  again. The back alley abortion he had forced her to have that nearly killed  her was listed as another bout of illness by the studio. Her son had laid in pieces on a crude table next to the coat hanger used to destroy him and  she vowed then to kill the man who did this to her.  She held the evening’s  paper in her hands reading the headline. ANGELIQUE LEONE QUESTIONED IN DIRECTORS DEATH! Even bad publicity was good publicity. 

She closed her eyes reliving her day. He had appeared in her dressing room  ready for another romp. The whole scene on the set of overturned flowers and anger at the staff to call a break was planned by him so he could  get her alone. They had done this dance before and she knew her steps  well, he had seen to that with his repeated threats and punishments. He  showed up to her dressing room fifteen minutes after her departure as to not arouse suspicion. Three knocks on the door was his signal it was  him. She opened the door holding a handkerchief as a sign to the  unseen men hovering around the corner hallway. George and John Lenny,  her older brothers, gagged and bound Ronald dragging him to a waiting  car behind her dressing room taking him back to the empty set. The  always punctual catering truck took care of any set crew that lingered  behind. The studio paid free food was always a sure fire guarantee to  draw a crowd. 

Her brothers had slipped him in the back entrance unnoticed amid the props and  various scenery’s. Unbinding their victim and removing his gag, she gave him only one command.“Run.” She said as she raised her hand pulling the  trigger.  No one would have paid attention to the shot thanks to the  noisy western they were filming in the next sound stage. Her aim was as  good as any man’s her father had made sure of that. It was after all a necessary  skill if you lived on a Texas ranch.

The bullet landed squarely in the back of Ronald’s head and exited out the  front taking half his skull with it. Her brothers stealthily slipped her back to her dressing room and in mere minutes were driving out of town  with the fired pistol.  

“Ms. Leone, Ms. Leone, how does it feel to be cleared of all murder  charges?” the hapless reporter pestered her on her way to the red carpet premiere of her new movie ‘Femme Fatale’.

She stopped and turned in her red dress designed just for her movie  premiere placing her hand on her ample hip with a big toothy smile. “Darlings, was there ever any doubt!”

Standard