Picture Postcards from L.A.: Beryl

After Basic Training, I was assigned to Security Training to become an M.P. I excelled in all the testing and found I had a knack for investigative work. I really loved the thrill of discovery when getting to the truth. My training for the last ten weeks has been focused on that, and if I played my cards right, I could get into CID. After that, I planned to meet the requirements for Officer Candidate School and get my commission. Once commissioned, I could get my own command in CID and make a career of it.

Once our class returned to the barracks and had been dismissed to join our individual squads, Sergeant Willis came in with the mail and had us all fall in. As he started calling names and handing out the mail, I eagerly waited, hoping I'd get something today. When he finally called "Private Fryman," I stepped forward and went up to get my mail. He handed me a postcard and said, "Looks like you have a fan, Private."

I tried not to smile as I said, "Yes, Sergeant!" and returned to the foot of my bunk. As Steph had promised me before I left, she wrote me almost every day until she started classes at UCLA. Since then, we have resorted to picture postcards to keep in touch. I looked at the postcard, noting the front was a picture of MacArthur Park backlit by the setting sun. I saw the many palm trees and how green it was before I flipped it over, knowing already who had sent it. Just like the previous postcards I had received, I nearly teared up when I read:

"I really miss you, Ray. I hope to see you over the holidays. Until then, here's a place I'm sure you'd like to visit someday. I can't wait to see you again."

It was signed 'Steph,' and I held the card to my chest as I fought to hide the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. The last thing I needed was for the other girls to see me getting emotional over getting mail, especially from another girl. Steph would be home for the holidays, and I was really looking forward to seeing her again. Homosexuality was forbidden in the military, and I'd be thrown in the stockade before being dishonorably discharged if anyone found out.

It wasn't fair that all the girls with boyfriends could talk about their relationships and all the drama that went with them, but I had to hide that I loved Steph, and she loved me. One day, I hoped our relationship would become acceptable to society at large and the military. Until then, I'd just have to grin and bear it, hiding my feelings about Steph and pretending that I was just between boyfriends at the moment...

... I woke to the delicious smells of breakfast cooking and could hear Jo rattling around in the kitchen. I stretched, the last vestiges of last night's sexual exertions working out of my muscles. I threw the covers aside and climbed out of bed, looking forward to another beautiful day.

Ever since I arrived in L.A. eleven years ago, I had fallen in love with the weather, not having to endure any more cold winters. That's not to say that winters in L.A. couldn't get cool, and even damp and windy, but it was mostly sunny and warm. The only thing I found incongruous was the deciduous trees dropping their leaves in the fall, leaving the bare branches soaking in the sun and mild temperatures through the winter, sharply contrasting against the green palm trees and evergreens before they leafed out again in the spring.

I entered the en suite bathroom and performed my toilet before throwing on a robe and heading out to the kitchen. There, I found Jo similarly attired, bustling around preparing breakfast. She turned to me, smiled, and said, "Set the table, dear, while I finish this up."

Playing along, I smiled back and said, "Yes, dear." I quickly set the table, pouring orange juice for both of us while Jo plated our food. We sat down together and dug in, needing to recharge our bodies after what had gone down last night. We made small talk while eating, expressing our dismay that Route 66 had been removed from the United States Highway System (USHS), largely replaced by I-15, I-40, I-44, and I-55 for most of its length. We were both sad to hear that since Route 66 was the first highway designated by the USHS and, ironically, the first to be removed. We both had spent time tooling along the route, constantly surprised by what we found on our road trips. It was a destination as much as a highway, running from Chicago to Santa Monica, ending just a few miles from where we were now sitting.

Once we were done eating, Jo shooed me off to get showered and packed after a quick snuggle and kiss. I went into my bedroom and, after making the bed, began packing. While packing, I heard the warble of the modem as Jo used my computer to sign into my CompuServe account to check my mail and start working on my finances. While expensive, it was worth the money to be able to access libraries and institutes that were not in the L.A. area for research.

I had hoped Jo would join me in the shower, but she must have been busy checking my accounts. By the time I was dressed and finished packing, I was ready to hit the road and get started on my case. As I exited the bedroom, Jo was just signing off the computer. She smiled at me and gave me a hug and a goodbye peck on the cheek before walking me to the garage. "Good Luck," she called out as I opened the garage door and started the engine.

I smiled and flipped her a two-finger salute before I put the car in gear and backed out of the garage. While the deep-throated rumble of the engine filled the street as I took off, I thought about how Rowan really loved working on it and probably only worked on my bike to get access to my 'vette.

I worked my way onto Rosecrans Avenue, heading east to get on the 405. Once I was on the 405 heading north, I kept an eye out for the Rosco Boulevard exit while once again fighting the traffic. It always amazed me how busy the highways were, encountering bumper-to-bumper traffic even at 2 AM. You quickly learned to drive as fast as you could when the lane in front of you was open because you'd soon be crawling along when it jammed back up. I had grown up driving sticks and loved the challenge of doing as little shifting as possible while fighting the traffic.

Finally, I saw my exit and took it, turning East on Roscoe before turning south on Sepulveda. Halfway down the block, I spied my destination and pulled into the Panorama Motel. Finding off-street parking was getting more difficult these days, but this motel had a private parking lot. That was one reason I picked this place to stay. I didn't like parking my car on the street since it always drew unwanted attention.

I went into the office to get checked in. Like most motels, there was a rack of picture postcards by the desk. I browsed through them and pulled out a couple that caught my eye before checking in. The girl behind the counter was cute and had a Valley Girl accent. When she gave me the key to my room after swiping my credit card, I smiled. "I hope you enjoy your stay," she said, smiling brightly back at me.

"I'm sure I will, Sara," I said in return, having noted her name on her nametag positioned above the swell of her breast, getting another bright smile from her. "Probably another aspiring actress," I thought as I left the office to go to my room. I had reserved the end room, so I drove my car up to it and parked. Grabbing my bag, I entered to find a nicely appointed room with a telephone and a small refrigerator. It wasn't a Hilton, but it would do.

I quickly unpacked my few toiletries and clothes before picking up the phone and calling Beryl. When she answered, I arranged to meet her at Lulu's, a nice restaurant with a bar. I had a lot of questions for her and hoped to learn something that would point me in the right direction to finding Camille. After I hung up and prepared to head out, I thought back to how this case had started...

... "Hello? My name is Beryl McDonnell. I was told that if I answered this ad for a 1966 Sting Ray, I could get help. My friend is missing, and I'm so worried that something bad has happened to her. Oh, please, call me back. I really need your help. My number is 361-2011. Thank you."

My heart nearly broke when I listened to the plaintive voice on my answering machine. Most people who called this number only called to inquire about the Sting Ray, taking my ad at face value, so those messages just got erased. However, people in the know knew that you could get my help if you called in response to my ad. This person had obviously done so, so I kept the message. I quickly noted the name and number before listening to the rest of the messages, none of which needed my help. I listened to Beryl's message again to ensure I got the name and number right before erasing the message.

I checked the phonebook and found out she was calling from Northridge. I called the number, and Beryl must have been waiting by the phone because it only rang once before it was breathlessly answered. I again heard the panic in her voice when she said, "Hello?"

"You called about the Sting Ray?"

"Oh, God, yes! Can you help me?"

"Do you know Caruso's on Balboa?"

"Uh... yes?"

"Meet me in the lounge at 2 PM."

"Oh... okay. How do I find you?"

"Just ask the bartender. He'll direct you."

I hung up and got ready to go. With the traffic I'd encounter this time of day, it would take me a bit to get there, so I headed out, dreading already having to fight that traffic. As I made my way to the 405, I began planning what I would need to do once I learned what Beryl had to tell me. I'd done missing persons before, so I started going through my mental checklist of things to do.

As I feared, once I got on the 405, it was stop-and-go traffic the entire way to the Devonshire exit. I made it to Caruso's with only ten minutes to spare and headed inside. When I entered the bar, I approached the bartender and told him to direct anyone asking about a Sting Ray to my booth. I pointed to the booth I intended to use and ordered a Dos Equis.

As soon as I got my beer, I went and sat down, keeping an eye on the entrance. It wasn't long before I spied a distraught woman enter the bar, looking around like a frightened doe. I immediately knew that was who I was meeting, but instead of motioning to her, I decided to see what she would do. I watched as she nervously walked up to the bar and began a conversation with the bartender. He immediately pointed in my direction, and the woman looked over my way.

I was immediately struck by her green eyes, which dominated her oval face, framed by her flame-red hair, making my breath catch in my throat. I sternly told myself to just pay attention to business, ignoring the heat down below. The woman hurried over to my booth and asked, "You're Stingray?" as if she had been expecting to see Jan-Michael Vincent instead of me.

"No, but I am the person you're supposed to meet," I said, smiling as I reached out to take her proffered hand.

Beryl took my hand and squeezed it before quickly sitting down across from me. She then began digging into her purse, asking, "So, what do I call you, then?"

"Ray."

"Short for 'Sting Ray?'"

"No, short for 'Rachel.'"

"Oh, okay, Ray," Beryl said with a smile that made my libido want to stand up and beg.

When she pulled her hand out of her purse, it clutched a stack of bills. I smiled and said, "So, tell me about your friend...."

... Donning my sunglasses, I got in my car. I carefully pulled out of the parking lot onto Sepulveda, heading north to Roscoe. Turning west on Roscoe, it took me another twenty minutes to see Lulu's coming up on my left. I pulled into the parking lot and found a spot near the entrance.

I entered Lulu's and got a booth in the bar that offered a little privacy. I knew it would be a bit before Beryl arrived, so I ordered a Modelo Negra and relaxed, mulling over the questions I had for her when we talked.

By the time Beryl showed up, I had prioritized the questions I wanted to ask her, and I was ready for another beer. I smiled when I spied her entering the place, trying to look inconspicuous but failing miserably. Her flame-red hair in a fluffy blowout down below her shoulders made her stand out like a fiery beacon. The huge sunglasses she wore to hide her eyes and face only captured everyone's attention as she literally slunk over to my booth once she saw me. The sight of her attempt to go unnoticed had me grinning by the time Beryl slid into the booth across from me.

She frowned at my grin and asked, "What are you grinning at?"

I tilted my head toward the rest of the room, saying, "Your attempt to draw everyone's attention to you was entirely successful."

Nearly everyone in the bar was looking our way so Beryl put up her hand to hide her face as she leaned in and hissed, "I was trying not to be noticed."

"Well, you tried too hard and drew everyone's attention to you," I answered, wondering why she was suddenly wary about anyone knowing she had hired my services. Intrigued, I asked, "So, why the attempt to be inconspicuous?"

Beryl looked nervously at me and said, "I received a call last night warning me not to do business with you."

"And how did anyone find out you had hired my services?" I asked, wondering what that was about. "I hadn't told anyone, and I'm sure our conversation yesterday wasn't bugged."

Beryl sheepishly admitted, "Well, I may have told a few of my friends about meeting you."

I began wondering if I had made a mistake taking on her problem, so I asked, "And by a few, you mean...?"

"Maybe eight or ten," Beryl quickly replied, apparently just realizing that she may have been the reason for the threatening phone call.

I heaved a dramatic sigh, pulled my notepad and pen out of my pocket, and asked her to name them. She quickly rattled off nine names. I immediately dismissed all but one of them, suddenly interested in the one person she had named: Sidney Wilcox, a local talent agent and fixer with unproven but likely connections to the L.A. underworld.

"How do you know Sidney," I asked once she finished.

"He wanted to be Camille's agent."

"He's not your agent, is he?"

"No, I'm with the Clyburn Agency."

"Then why didn't you set Camille up with them?"

"Camille isn't interested in being a model or an actress," Beryl said. Seeing my look of incredulity, she explained, "She's just a friend of mine who's been visiting for a while. Sidney contacted Camille two weeks ago and tried to convince her that she had potential. Camille still wasn't interested but told him she'd think about it, just to get him to go away. That's why I told him about how Camille had gone missing and what I was doing to find her."

Hearing that, I realized that I may already know what had happened. Trying hard to keep an anxious look off my face, I smiled and said, "Well, from now on, I'd appreciate it if you don't tell anybody about me, at least until after we find Camille."

"Okay," Beryl answered, apparently relieved that I didn't seem upset about her indiscretion.

With the revelation that Sidney may be involved with Camille's disappearance, I threw away the list of questions I had already assembled in my head and began to plan anew what I wanted to ask. To give me some more time, I asked, "Would you like something to drink?" pointing my chin at the beer bottle in front of me.

"Sure," Beryl replied. "I'd like a Corona."

"Wait here," I said as I got up to go to the bar, noting that everyone's attention had returned to whatever it was before Beryl made her entrance. I caught the bartender's eye, and when she came over, I placed my order. I watched her ass bounce and sway in the tight shorts she wore as she turned to go get my order. She quickly brought my beers to me, and I handed her a twenty and told her to keep the change. That got a bright smile from her, and I felt a little heat when she added a wink before turning to take care of another customer. I spent a moment admiring her ass again before I picked up my beers and headed back to my booth.

By the time I returned to our booth, Beryl had removed her sunglasses, and I could see her face. Her emerald green eyes popped, and the spray of freckles across her cheeks looked like sprinkles on ice cream. The heat I had felt earlier with the bartender flared up again, threatening to take my breath away. I fought to keep my thoughts off my face as I slid Beryl's Corona over to her. When she picked her beer up, we clinked the necks together before taking a pull.

When Beryl tilted her head to take a drink, I admired her neck, imagining running my lips over that white skin, finding the spots that made her moan and gasp. She may have picked up on my thoughts because she smiled and lightly blushed in response to my intense look. I looked away, not wanting to start something I'd regret later, so I decided to get to work and asked, "Whose idea was it to attend the gala?"

We had an intense discussion for the next twenty minutes, and Beryl answered all of my questions without hesitation. Once our beers were finished, and I was satisfied that I had all of the information I could get out of Beryl, I said, "Well, I think I have enough information to get started on your case, Beryl."

Beryl smiled, and I noticed that her eyes were shiny from unshed tears, which made me think that Camille might be more than just a friend to Beryl. I reached across the table, took one of Beryl's hands, and said, "Don't worry, Beryl. I'll find Camille and get her back to you. Do me a favor and try to stay out of sight for the next few days. Whoever called you may be watching you, so keep yourself safe."

"Thank you, Ray," Beryl said. She smiled again, squeezed my hands, and got up to go. I walked her out to the parking lot and to her car.

After handing her in, I said, "When you get home, please make sure you lock all the doors and windows and don't let anybody you don't know in until I tell you it's safe to do so."

Beryl gave me a nervous smile and said, "Okay, Ray. Thanks for helping me. I hope you find Camille soon."

I returned her smile, and with a confident wink, I said, "I will."

I watched her pull away and then walked over to my car. As usual, it had drawn a small crowd of admirers. I smiled at them as I got in and started up the engine, revving it a couple of times and getting a few "Nice ride" comments from the audience. I pulled away and headed to my next destination - Sidney Wilcox's office.

After stopping at a payphone chosen at random to leave a cryptic message to a contact I needed some information from, I tooled up to the little strip mall on Reseda Boulevard, where Sidney's office was located. As I exited my car, I chose the tack I would take with him. I entered the office, hearing the little bell tinkle as the door opened and closed. I quickly looked around to see what kind of security he had in his office in case I needed to pay a visit after hours.

The perky blonde at the reception desk looked up from her glamour magazine, gave me a bright smile, and asked, "How can I help you, Hun?" I noticed her eying me, probably wondering if I was another aspiring actress looking for a job.

People like Sidney were the slimiest people on earth, preying on people's hopes and aspirations to make it in Hollywood. I was sure his receptionist had once been one of them, who had been put through the wringer and spit out the other end with nothing but shattered dreams and a dismal view of humanity.

I decided to play along and, affecting a southern drawl, nervously said, "I was told that Mr. Wilcox could get me introduced to someone in the movie industry and to come see him. Is he in?"