Chapter 1: Collision Course
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Collision Course - Within a second of meeting her, David Olson is head over heels over troubled young actress Melanie Renault - literally. Montana country boy and LA trust fund kid suddenly depend on each other and must overcome resentment, fear, guilt and insecurity.
David Olsen, twenty-one and a junior at the University of Southern California, was changing out of the scrubs he had been wearing all afternoon. David was a pre-med at USC besides playing on the USC Trojans' varsity basketball team, and in the waning days of his junior year he was working at the Outpatient Clinic of USC University Hospital.
David's ambition was to become a doctor and playing basketball for the Trojans had been his chance to afford studying at USC instead of Montana State University. He had hoped to be picked up for two or three seasons by an NBA team after graduation to lay the financial foundation for his continued education, but that prospect was turning sour after the Trojans had to forfeit their entire 2007/2008 season wins when a player violated National Collegiate Athletic Association regulations. There was no telling what further sanctions NCAA would impose on the team.
He finished changing and picked up his helmet and jacket. Time to leave. Outside in the parking lot, he found his motorcycle. Riding the bike was ideal for him since parking was a bitch both on campus and at the hospital. The bike, an ancient BMW, was an heirloom from his father, Donald Olsen, and it was David's most prized possession.
Donald Olsen had been a Clearwater, MT, deputy sheriff. He died of third degree burns six years previously when he tried to rescue a family from their burning car. He could get the children out, but before he was able to pull the woman from the passenger seat, the gas tank blew up. They called Donald Olsen a hero and the governor came to the burial in person, but for David and his kid sister Danielle, Dani to family and friends, the loss was traumatic. Judy Olsen, David's mother, pulled them through. A deputy sheriff herself, she kept the family intact and her kids on track.
David left the hospital compound at low speed, letting his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. It was past eleven p.m. and traffic was light on this Friday night. David took the Hollywood Freeway, following Route 101 and planning to turn south on 110 for the four miles to the campus. There was a construction site ahead, and one lane of the westbound traffic had to switch over to the eastbound side. The construction crew had built up a low divider to separate the west- and eastbound lanes. David did not mind the narrow lane with his motorcycle. He kept to the 40 mph speed limit and enjoyed the feel of the night air.
He let his mind wander a bit. The weekend was coming up and he weighed calling his girlfriend Marsha. The relationship was drawing to its inevitable end. Marsha was on the cheerleading squad and she was serious about becoming a dancer. Being associated with a varsity player and possible NBA prospect gave her the standing she craved, but David felt increasingly that this was the extent of her feelings for him. She on the other hand felt stifled by David's tight schedule. Being a varsity player and earning the grades he would need for med school left little time for the activities Marsha loved, such as visiting theaters and art exhibitions.
David acknowledged ruefully that his idea of weekend activity comprised a movie and getting laid, or the other way around. Perhaps it was time to move on. Being on the varsity team, he could easily find a lower maintenance girlfriend for his needs but Marsha would also be able to find somebody sharing her interests.
Coasting along he was completely unprepared when an oncoming small convertible suddenly swerved to the left and broke through the divider. There was not even enough time for his right hand to reach the brake lever before he collided head-on with the convertible. Fortunately, he was thrown clear over the roadster in an awkward somersault, but he crash-landed hard on his back.
"Mel! Are you ready yet? The guests will be here any minute!"
"Damn it, it's not yet a quarter to eight, Mom!" Mel - Melanie Renault to the world - yelled back.
She wasn't very eager for the party anyway. It would be her mother's friends and colleagues attending. Her mother, Lana Hartwell, was an actress always hunting for the next bit part, be it as crime victim in a cop show or as a mother with the right laundry detergent in a commercial. This party was to make it known that she still existed and was looking for work, and Melanie was the bait to make the guests attend.
Once, Lana Hartwell had been an up and coming young actress, but that was over twenty years ago. Back then she was doing bit parts and even supporting roles in big productions and alongside A-list actors and actresses. She even had star billing in two small movies. Then she met Marc Renault, the great French actor/producer and quintessential bad boy of European film. For almost a year, longer than any of his other conquests, Lana was seen at his side.
Then, inevitably, he became bored with monogamous life. He had affairs on the side – sometimes quite openly – and Lana suffered for a while before she finally boarded a flight back to Los Angeles, leaving a curt farewell note to Marc. Renault's ego did not tolerate a woman leaving him and so he embarked on a mission to win Lana back. He romanced her, he wined and dined her, and finally he got back into her pants.
That accomplished he quickly lost his renewed interest in Lana and they had another break up. Two months later Lana informed him that she was pregnant, the result of their brief, unanticipated reunion.
It did not bring them back together, but at least Marc Renault offered generous support. He had lost his only child, a son, in a traffic accident four years earlier and he was insistent that the child would bear his last name and be his likely heir. That cinched the deal for Lana who found that being out of the loop in Hollywood for almost two years had cost her any standing she'd had before. Becoming a single mom did not brighten the prospects, and so Lana Hartwell named her little daughter Melanie Jeanne Renault.
Marc and his mother Jeanne Renault, France's grand dame de la cinema, attended the baptism amidst big media interest. As a home for his daughter, Marc Renault purchased a modest 4-bedroom house west of Hollywood Hills, but within easy commuting to Universal Studios. In this house Lana settled with her daughter and began to rebuild her acting career.
It was rough going for years. She mostly performed as guest star in various TV shows, increasingly type cast as the trophy wife of a murder victim which hampered her search for more solid work. The support payments from Renault provided for their livelihood, but Lana became frustrated over her stalled career.
Meanwhile, Melanie grew into a pretty girl. She was rather small and even after the onset of puberty there was never any gawkiness about her. She became the quintessential teen in Hollywood productions, mostly playing the cute daughter of the (divorced) action hero who gets abducted by his enemies. Daddy rescued her and won Mommy back – curtain. She also played quite a few bit parts in movies and TV shows, and often the producers picked Melanie first before they cast Lana as her mother. The happy years, as Melanie remembered them.
When she was fourteen, Marc Renault died from lung cancer. Melanie had visited him a few times in summer and she remembered him with his perennial cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Melanie and Lana flew to France for the burial and Lana told each and every reporter she could find how Marc had been the one and only love of her life. It got her some renewed recognition and three guest starring roles in crime shows.
Melanie walked away from the funeral as Marc Renault's sole heir, with a cash fortune of over nine million Euros and the ownership of a world famous vineyard. With a country home in the Roussillon and a Paris tenement house close to the Champs-Élysées, her trust fund ran to almost 30 million Dollars. Her uncle Josh Hartwell managed it and the proceeds allowed Melanie and her mother a carefree existence.
Around that time, Melanie acquired a reputation as being moody and difficult. Temper tantrums alternated with phases of withdrawal, and directors began to look for other girls who were easier to handle.
Then, two years ago, Melanie stumbled upon a book, Heart of Glass, written by a former drug addict and child prostitute and detailing a youth of horrible abuse. The girl's mother was an addict too and she had prostituted her daughter to earn money for her heroin habit.
The book was quite a success and when Melanie heard that director/producer Peter Demmick had purchased the movie rights and was planning to make it into a B-movie, she became obsessed with the project. For three months, she pestered Demmick. She spent hours talking to the young woman who had written the book, she spoke to her former high school class mates, she read up on heroin and on addictions. In the end, Demmick relented and cast Melanie as the child prostitute.
Once the project shaped up, Demmick was able to win Dame Margaret Timmons for the lead role of the teacher who became involved in the girl's rescue. Timmons was an A-list actress, a one-time Oscar winner and three-time nominee. Suddenly, the movie was getting A-rating support from the studio and a doubled budget.
The four months of shooting were grueling work for Melanie. Demmick was a perfectionist who accepted nothing but her best. Had it not been for Timmons' support and advice, Melanie would have never made it. She gave everything for the role, even dieting herself down to 90 pounds to portray the anorexic child whore.
Once, when the make-up people did not make a bloody gash convincing enough for Demmick, Melanie slashed her own shoulder to produce the bleeding wound. Demmick nearly threw her from the set for this calling her a nutcase, but after viewing the dailies he changed his mind. He talked to Timmons instead and the great actress took Melanie on a three-day weekend trip to London to weaken the young woman's obsession with the role.
The year-long post-production period until the release was torture for Melanie. She stayed in character and under 90 pounds the entire time, and her emaciated looks made the gossip papers. She did not care. She wanted to see the finished movie.
Her wait ended just three weeks before. The premiere was held at the Apollo Theatre on Rodeo Drive and it was a resounding success. The critics went gaga over the performances of the two actresses, even questioning whether the supporting billing for Melanie was justified.
Finally seeing herself as the miserable girl in the story and giving a voice to her desperation and fears was healing for Melanie. For the first time in many years she felt in balance again and the raving reviews were soothing to her ego. Somewhere deep inside of her, old wounds were still festering, but the public recognition and the warm praise covered the pains. She was a star now, and her agent, Ike Brownstein, was fielding offers too numerous for her to review herself.
Of course, Lana Hartwell knew that producers might be willing to give her roles to establish a connection with Melanie, and that was what the party was all about.
Melanie sighed heavily. It was deja-vu all over again. Time and again, her mother had tried to use her daughter's success for her own advancement. Melanie's mouth became narrow as she thought about one particular incident, but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. It was too hurtful and she was in a happier place now. After looking at herself in the mirror again, she left her room and walked downstairs.
The first guests arrived shortly after. Melanie did the usual chit-chat, was admonished that she was too thin, received some invitations to upcoming parties and more significantly, developed a slight buzz. Lana always had alcohol around and she did not mind if Melanie drank a glass of Zinfandel or a wine-spritzer. They were at home after all and the guests were all from the same set of people.
Then, it was already eleven, the doorbell rang again. Melanie looked up in time to see a burly, sixtyish man enter, to be greeted friendly by Lana. Melanie felt her blood run cold. Don Brentano! Her mother had the nerve to invite Don Brentano! Melanie's hands balled into fists and she felt her eyes starting to brim. Ten steps brought her over to where Lana was still greeting her latest guest.
"You fucking bitch!" she screamed at her mother whose careful, fake smile vanished in a second. "How could you invite this ... this monster? You..."
"Mel, keep it down!" Lana hissed.
"Get him out! Now!" Melanie snarled back.
"Behave! You are still..."
"Fuck you, you whore!" Melanie stormed.
With her right hand, she grabbed her car keys. Suddenly Brentano stood in front of her.
"Hey, Baby! You can't still be mad at me?"
There was a glass of wine in Lana's hand. Melanie gripped it and threw it into Brentano's face. Then she was through the door, running almost blindly down the driveway. To make room for the guests, she had parked her small roadster some twenty yards down the street. She was still in her evening dress and high heels and she was more than a little drunk, but her only thought was to get away from the house, from her mother and from Brentano. The tires squealed as Melanie tore away from the curb.
Melanie drove almost on autopilot, just trying to get as much distance between herself and her home.
This was it! She would move out. Hell, she was a student at USC, soon to be a junior. She could apply for a dorm room. Anything to be away from home. She would have to talk to Uncle Josh, but he would make the necessary funds available. She was of age after all. Melanie knew that her uncle disapproved of his sister, and while she still had five years until her father's money was hers, Melanie could ask for the proceeds. The trust fund was paying for her education anyway.
She needed a place to stay though. One of her few friends was living near USC. Therefore, Melanie took northbound 110 and then switched to 101, all the time trying to reach her friend on the cell phone. Now she fumbled the phone and it fell to the floor. Twisting her body, she tried to retrieve it when suddenly her left front wheel bumped hard against something. The left front of the car lifted and the single headlight of an oncoming motorcycle blinded her. Then a crash, something hitting her face, followed by merciful darkness.
Patrick Owojima was tired after his twelve-hour shift. He was a fifty-three year-old Paramedic working for Southern Cross Ambulance Services, and he and his partner, Donna Mills, had just delivered a 72 year-old male suffering from chest pain to the Emergency Room at USC University Hospital. Now he was driving the unit back to headquarters to end his shift. Route 101 was empty at this time – it was after eleven – and the construction site ahead did not cause any back-ups. Some 200 yards ahead, a lone motorcycle was cruising at the same speed. Patrick yawned heartily.
"Man, I'm getting too old for this shift work," he complained.
"You're getting too old for anything," Donna teased him. She was early thirties, White and a tad chubby, but she and Patrick were good friends.
"Yeah, maybe," Patrick conceded. "At least, my ... Oh shit!"
In front of them, a car had suddenly swerved into the opposing lane and the motorcycle rider had crashed into it. Patrick saw him flying through the air for a second, but then he slammed on the brakes. In front of them, he saw the mangled front of a small convertible, and beyond it, the motorcycle slammed into the guard rails.
"Dispatch, dispatch! This is unit 7-15. We have a head-on collision on Route 101, right at the construction site. Motorcycle and small convertible. Request additional units and please call the cops," Donna was already talking into the radio.
Patrick switched on the red lights and came to a stop in front of the convertible. In the headlights they saw a woman in the driver seat, slumped over the wheel.
"You take the woman, I'll look after the biker," Patrick commanded.
They both exited the ambulance and grabbed their emergency kits. Patrick found the motorcyclist almost fifty yards behind the crash site and lying still on his back. It was a kid, perhaps 20 or slightly older. Patrick knelt at his side. The young man was already in shock.
"My back!" he wheezed. "My back!"
Patrick realized the urgency of the situation. The man had obviously landed on his back after flying for almost thirty yards. A spinal cord injury was more than likely.
"Spinal cord trauma!" Patrick snapped into his shoulder microphone. "I'm giving him 10 cc of Prednisolone. Donna, how's your patient doin'?"
"Facial trauma, nose fracture. Something must've hit her face," he heard.
"Dispatch, we have two trauma patients, one male, approximately 20, with probable spinal cord injuries; one female, ... how old?"
"Eighteen to twenty," Donna answered.
"One female, eighteen to twenty, with facial trauma. We need a second unit."
"7-15, 7-09 is en route and should be on site in a minute," the dispatcher advised them.
That was lucky. But then Patrick remembered that he had met the crew of 7-09 at the Emergency Room. They were probably returning back to base, just like Patrick and Donna.
"What have we got here?" a voice sounded. Patrick looked up at a Highway Patrol officer.
"Head-on collision. The convertible swerved into the oncoming traffic and hit the motorcycle. We saw the accident happening."
"Was the biker dude speeding?"
"Naw. He was just coasting along in front of us at maybe 40."
"Okay, we're gonna have to get your statements later. What's up with him?"
"Looks like spinal cord injury."
"Damn! He's still young."
"Yeah, well, we need to get him to the ER."
Luckily, the second unit, 7-09, appeared on the scene. The highway cops cleared some space for the ambulance to get past the wrecked car and Patrick saw his friend Lewis jump from the unit. Seconds later, the vacuum mattress was ready on the gurney and at the injured man's side. With often practiced moves, the young man was laid on the gurney. A pump was attached to evacuate the loosely stuffed mattress until it hardened enough to stabilize the patient.
A minute later, unit 7-09 was on its way back to USC Medical Center while Patrick and his partner readied the battered young woman for transport. This would mean at least 2 hours of overtime.
The landline telephone was ringing and Judy Olsen was fully awake in an instant. A call on the landline could not be good. The office would call her on her cell phone. On her bare feet she ran downstairs and to where the phone was mounted on the wall. She picked up the receiver.
"Olsen here!" she almost barked into the mouthpiece.
"Mrs. Judy Olsen?" a female voice she did not recognize sounded.
Judy had heard the tone of voice before – a police officer or a hospital person with training in calling relatives. She closed her eyes. Not David! Please, God! Not David too. With an effort she answered.
"This is she."
"I am Nurse Jennifer Andrews, of USC University Hospital. Are you the mother of David Olsen?"
"Yes, damn it! Get it out!" Judy exploded.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. Your son was brought in an hour ago after a severe motorcycle accident. Right now he is in emergency surgery for a possible spinal cord injury. He is not in critical condition, Ma'am, as far as we can tell right now, but the trauma specialists decided to operate right away. Time is critical in cases like this. Do you object to surgery, Ma'am?"
"Of course not!" Judy snapped. "Listen, I'll be in L.A. with the first flight I can get. Is there anything you need? Patient files, vaccination certificates?"
"Only if your son has an existing condition, Ma'am. Health insurance documentation would be helpful."
"He is insured through me. I'm a police officer."
"That's good. Is there anything else you need to know, Ma'am?"
"Do you know how it happened?"
"The paramedics say that a young woman swerved into his lane. They even saw the whole thing. He received emergency medication within less than five minutes of the accident happening."
Judy forced herself to think. That was a ray of hope. With spinal cord injuries, time is critical as she knew from over twenty years as a Deputy Sheriff for Clearwater County and many First Aid training courses.
"I'll be there tomorrow," she repeated. "Excuse me, I have to organize things."
"Certainly, Ma'am. Good luck to you and your son!"
The call ended and Judy looked around. There was Dani standing in the kitchen door.
"Baby, David had an accident. He's in the hospital. He'll survive, but he's badly injured. I must fly down to L.A."
Judy thought briefly. "You better come along. I can't leave you alone here."
They had no living relatives in Clearwater, and Judy's husband had died in the line of duty years ago.
"Pack some clothes and your toiletries. Think of the security at the airport when you pack! I need to make phone calls."
First in line was Sheriff Cramer. She answered sleepily and Judy quickly explained what had happened. Cramer was sympathetic and offered to have somebody drive Judy to Missoula. She also promised to arrange for compassionate leave. Thank God for an understanding boss!
An hour later, a red-eyed Leslie Cramer drove up in front of the Olsen's home. Leslie was the Sheriff's daughter and a deputy like Judy. Leslie was good people. She alighted from the reserve cruiser and hugged Judy and Dani. Tears were in her eyes; David had been a classmate of Leslie.
"Did you call Kylie or Cliff?" she asked when they parted.
"K ... why?"
"They live in L.A. They can pick you up at LAX, drive you to the hospital, you know."
"You think they would? I don't know anybody in L.A."
"Don't even ask!" Leslie huffed. "Let's call them when you have your flight information. Chop-chop!"
A minute later they were on their way with Leslie driving. She switched on the red-and-blues, not so much to warn other motorists, but to keep troopers or deputies from other jurisdictions from pulling them over. Leslie had gone to Trooper School and she had aced the driving courses. She kept the pedal to the metal, blasting along the highway at over 90 mph. while Judy used the radio to announce their presence to the various law enforcement agencies of the counties they were passing.
Never before had Judy reached Missoula in such a short time. Still, it was already light when Leslie drove up to the small terminal. An airport rent-a-cop came running to find out the reason for a cruiser driving up to the terminal. Judy showed her badge.
"Deputy Sheriff Judy Olsen. Nothing's amiss here, Officer. I have urgent business in Los Angeles, that's all."
Judy hugged Leslie once more and then ran into the terminal building with Dani at her heels. They were in time to catch the next flight to Salt Lake City, and the airline agent was able to get them a quick connection to L.A. They would arrive during mid-morning, at nine-thirty-two.
Judy pulled her cell phone then. She knew Cliff Henson from his three-year stint as deputy in the Sheriff's office. In fact, she had been his first training officer when he was a rookie. She typed in the number from the notepad where Leslie had scribbled it.
Cliff Henson was an early riser, but he was still fast asleep when his cell phone chirped.
"Jeez, whoisit?" Kylie mumbled sleepily.
"Dunno," he answered looking at the caller number. He accepted the call. "Henson?"
"Cliff? It's Judy Olsen, from Clearwater?"
"Judy! Hey! Long time and all. What's up?" Judy was a good person and he respected her.
"Listen Cliff, I'm having an emergency. David was in a traffic accident last night. He's at USC University Hospital. He was in surgery last time I heard from them. I'm standing at the airport right now waiting for the boarding to start. Danielle is with me. I know its short notice, but could you... ?"
"Of course!" Cliff answered automatically. "When's you flight arriving?"
"We're booked on Delta 1414, ETA 9:32."
"Okay. I'll be there and pick you up. USC you say? That's easy. Look, is there anything else you need?"
"Do you know of any affordable motel near the hospital?"
Cliff looked at Kylie who was sitting up and listening intently. She nodded.
"No way will you be staying at a motel. We can put you up in the guest room. No sweat, really. Kylie sends her regards by the way. You just fly in here and we'll set you up. How bad is it, Judy? Will you need legal representation?"
"I don't know yet. They say his spinal cord may be injured and they operated on him."
"Oh, shit! Listen, I'll ask my boss if he can recommend a good ambulance chaser. Those insurance companies will try to pull a fast one on you, you know that?"
"Yeah, I know. Thanks a heap, Cliff! I'll make sure to let your dad off with a warning the next time I'll catch him speeding."
"You hang in there, Judy. I'll meet you at the airport."
"Okay! Listen, have to go! They started the boarding. I'll see you in a few!"
With the call ended, Cliff looked at his wife. "Shit! You know Davy Olsen, right? He had an accident last night. Might be paralyzed."
"Oh, no!" Kylie exclaimed. "The poor guy! How?"
"Judy didn't tell, or maybe she doesn't know yet. I have to pick her up half past nine. You wanna tag along?"
Kylie nodded. "Sure. You'll need at least 40 minutes to LAX, so we should leave at half past eight at the latest. We better get up and make some breakfast."
"You know Judy?" Cliff asked rolling over to get up.
"Only a little. When Davy's father was killed, my parents and I went to the funeral." Kylie recalled.
"She was my training officer as a rookie. She's cool. Danielle, or Dani, I don't know at all. She must be a junior this fall."
"Okay, you shower first. I'll make coffee and then shower after breakfast while you clear our junk from the guest room."
"Deal," Cliff yawned and trotted off to the bathroom.
An hour later, Cliff steered his old Crown Vic on southbound La Cienega Blvd while Kylie collected the odd wrappers and tank receipts into a plastic shopping bag.
"We really need to clean this," she remarked. "This stuff is still from the San Diego gigs."
Four weeks ago, Kylie and Cliff, with a hired drummer and a bassist, had given three concerts in the San Diego area. The crowds had been nice and receptive, and the whole thing had been fun, but things had been hectic since then and they had not found the time to clean the car.
Cliff and Kylie were harmonizing better and better, a small wonder since they spent a lot of time playing together. Kylie had taken violin classes at USC Thornton School of Music to expand her repertoire and she was easily Cliff's equal now, mostly because she had more time to practice while he was busy going to classes. At Thornton they had also found their percussionist and their bass player.
"The last few weeks were a bit crazy, but the summer is here now. We may have to look for a replacement for the Crown Vic anyway. This baby is just too thirsty for our overland tours."
"I hear you. Maybe we can get a minivan with a Diesel engine and keep my Beemer on the side. I'd hate to give it up."
"Sound reasonable. They're gonna strip me of my Y chromosome for driving a mom car, but a minivan will come in handy for gigs."
West Century Blvd was coming up and Cliff switched to the right lane to make the turn. They were lucky. The short term lot had free spaces, and a few minutes later, Cliff parked his car in walking distance from the main building. It was only eight-forty, but the temperature was already in the high seventies. They had time, and when Kylie was approached by a star-struck teenager, she stopped to chat and sign an autograph.
Judy and Dani's flight was on-time, and it was only 45 minutes later that they emerged from arrivals. Both looked like hell warmed over, pale under their tans, and with red eyes. Hugs were exchanged, but then Cliff and Kylie showed the way to the car park.
Driving from the airport to USC Medical Center was a bit more involved. The traffic being as it was, it took them about an hour, and then some more to find parking, but then they showed Judy and Dani straight to the trauma unit. Once there, Judy had to show her I.D. and was told to sit in a waiting room. Fortunately, it took only fifteen minutes for a young doctor to appear who sat with them and opened a folder.
"David Olsen, age 21, was admitted at 0:18 in the emergency ward, having been in a traffic accident. X-ray confirmed fractures to the ninth and tenth thoracic vertebrae. An emergency operation removed the pressure from the swelling of the nerve tissue, and he is currently on anti-inflammatory medication. We are cautiously optimistic about his prospects."
"Is he conscious?"
"We woke him briefly to test his motor and sensory nerves, but he is now sedated to promote the healing process. If you wish to see him..."
"Of course!" Judy and Dani almost snapped. The doctor smiled.
" ... I can arrange for that. Two persons maximum." He looked at Cliff and Kylie and his eyes widened in recognition. "Are you related to Mr. Olsen?"
Cliff shook his head. "No. Deputy Olsen is a former colleague, and we picked her and her daughter up at the airport. Don't bother with us."
The doctor, after a regretful glance at Kylie, led the two women away while Kylie and Cliff settled into their chairs. Cliff pulled an iPad from his satchel and the two went through the LA Times website for news. Perhaps a half hour later, Cliff's cell phone chirped, and with a guilty glance he ran out of the ward to pick up the call.
"Shit!" he swore seeing that the call was from his boss, Joshua Hartwell. Cliff was a summer student at Warner, Hartwell & Mitchell, Attorneys at Law. They were a very successful entertainment law firm, and Hartwell was a name partner.
"Yes, Mr. Hartwell?"
"Cliff! So good to reach you. Meredith told me that you had to pick up David Olsen's family at the airport?"
'How the hell does he know Davy?' Cliff asked himself. "Yes, Sir. We picked them up and drove them to LAC/USC Med Center."
"How is the young man doing?"
Cliff almost blurted out the answer, but reconsidered. "He underwent surgery, but I was not privy to any further information."
"He's alive, isn't he? Come on, Cliff!"
"Yes, he's alive. His mother and sister are with him now. I'm sorry. That's all I know."
"Okay, sorry. Look, can you make sure that no ambulance chaser latches onto them? I'll be there in a half hour."
"Sir, Judy Olsen is a former colleague. I will not..."
"No, no, you get me wrong here. I just want to have a chance to clear up things. I'll explain, okay?"
"Okay, Sir. I'll wait for you."
Now, that was weird. Cliff returned to the waiting room and gave Kylie the short version of the phone call.
"Josh is a straight arrow, Cliff. He's also an entertainment law specialist. Even if the other driver was a ... Holy Shit! Look here!" She held the iPad for Cliff to see.
Melanie Renault in car crash!
Actress Melanie Renault of recent Heart of Glass fame had a serious car accident last night when she apparently swerved into the oncoming traffic on Route 101, colliding with a motorcycle. The rider whose name was not released pending notification of his family was severely injured while Melanie suffered facial trauma. A police spokesperson declined to comment on the rumors which insinuate that Renault was DUI, citing ongoing investigations.
"Melanie Renault's mother is Lana Hartwell, Josh's sister."
"Kylie, I can't do anything that will hurt Judy Olsen," Cliff said earnestly. "Jesus, the little spoiled bitch really screwed up."
"Yeah. I mean, if she ... Damn, Cliff! I can't throw the first stone. You know why."
Cliff nodded and cupped her hand. In those wild two years when Kylie was with Hugh Dumont, she had boozed heavily, and she had frequently driven while under the influence. Only, she had never been caught.
"I see your point. Let's just wait what Josh wants."
Edited by SpikeCO