Chapter 3: Restitution

A week later, David was in a normal hospital bed. The hairline fractures in his vertebrae were mending and a trainer was doing first cautious exercises with him. He had some feeling in his legs, but almost no control. Fortunately, he could mostly control his bladder and his bowel movements, but he was still wearing adult diapers. It was better than having a catheter. In his situation, David had to count his blessings.

A few days ago, a suit from Melanie Renault's insurance had visited David and offered him a "generous" settlement of $60,000 to settle all claims. David had simply pressed the call button, and when a nurse showed, he asked her to remove the man.

Mr. Hartwell had been as good as his word. The first hospital bills for the emergency surgery and the intensive care treatment had already been paid out of Melanie Renault's trust fund. Dani had found out that she was loaded with almost $30 million inherited from her father, a famous French actor. At least she was owning up to her responsibility.

In a week he would be moved to a rehab facility a little outside of LA, and his mom would return to Clearwater. She would try to visit, but he would be mostly alone while trying to get back on his feet.

He worried about his standing at USC. He was on the injured list he had been told, and his academic scholarship was of course not affected, but it would be hard to pick up scholarships for med school if his grades slipped as they were apt to do while he was lying on his back doing rehab.

There was a knock on his door, surprising him a little. His mom and Dani would not come until later in the day.

"Yes?" he called, and the door opened slowly.

He recognized Melanie Renault immediately. He had seen a few of her movies, and he'd found her cute but not much of an actress. Now she wasn't even cute. Her face still had the raccoon coloring from the broken nose, and the fear in her eyes made her look miserable. David took controlled breaths to avoid blowing up. What the hell did she want?

"You know who I am, huh?" she asked timidly.

He nodded, not trusting his control.

"I guess you would've preferred for your mom to let me jump?"

He had to clear his throat. "At first, yes. She told me you were running away from a situation."

"A situation, yes," she snorted, immediately wincing with pain. "That's a nice euphemism for Mommy inviting my rapist to dinner."

David shrugged. "I don't know much, only that my mom said you were panicking over something."

"She's a great person, your mother. Do you know that?"

He actually managed a grin. "I'm kinda fond of her myself, so I'm keeping her."

"David, I know it doesn't help you one bit, but I'm terribly, terribly sorry for what I did to you. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I can't even forgive myself. I just came to offer you help. Not just the money. I've got too much of that anyway. No, what I mean is that you'll be in that rehab place out in the boonies, and your mom will have to return to work soon. I already talked to her, but she says that you have to agree. I can be your gofer. I know that you'll be a senior at USC in the fall. I can get your assignments, file your papers and help you with stuff. I can also get you snacks and stuff, and other things. All I ask is that you let me help you."

"My gofer, huh?" he temporized. "How can you get in?"

"I'll be a Junior at USC. Performing arts."

"No shit!" he grinned making her blush.

"No shit," she nodded back. "Look, just think about it. I can come back tomorrow and you can give me your answer. Is there anything you need? Anybody to give a message?"

Actually, there was somebody. Marsha. David was worried because he still hadn't heard from her, but he could not sic his mom on her.

"Marsha Levinson. She's my girlfriend. I haven't heard from her since the accident and she doesn't answer her damn cell phone. Can you tell her what happened and where I am? She's in Suite 312, in Hanson."

"David, its summer break. She may have gone home."

"I have her home address. It's in Malibu. Let me write it down."

He did and she took the scrap paper. "I'll find her and tell her where to find you."

"You do that, and I'll think about the rest."

"Thanks for not kicking me out right away," she said and immediately turned crimson. "Oh, shit! I'm sorry. I didn't think. I..."

"Hey, relax! That's the standard wisecrack I get from the physiotherapist. Just find Marsha and tell her where I am."

"I'll do it, I promise. I'll go now and leave you in peace. I'll be back tomorrow."

David was in a conflicted mood as he watched her leave. He knew a bit about her problems and normally he would have been sympathetic. However, nobody told her to drive drunk and make phone calls. The cops had found the phone on the floor of her car, and the provider had verified that it had been used at the time of the crash. Stupid brat!

Shrugging, he switched on the TV set mounted on the opposite wall. Daytime TV was mind-numbing as he had found out in the last days, but it made the time pass just a little bit faster. At last he found a channel that was running an old M.A.S.H. episode and he watched it mildly amused. At the full hour, there was a news show, but they promised another episode and so he kept watching. In the middle of the news, there was a life segment showing a hyperventilating local reporter in front of a huge Hollywood villa.

"In a stunning development, LAPD officers conducted an early morning search of producer Don Brentano's Hollywood home. At the same time, other officers searched the production offices of BTV. A police spokesperson confirmed the searches but declined to elaborate on the reasons citing ongoing investigations. Mr. Brentano could not be reached for comments, but a spokesperson for BTV expressed his confidence that the search could only exonerate Mr. Brentano of any libelous accusations."

David had heard of Brentano. Kylie McAdam had been with the man for a few months, and it had been a huge scandal in Clearwater. He was supposed to be a notorious womanizer and a regular predator on the young women who participated in his productions, mostly casting shows.

Marsha Levinson was living with her parents over the summer. Melanie had reached her mother on the phone and was told that Marsha would be home by 5 p.m. Melanie was waiting outside the Levinson's modest home sitting in the small car, a Toyota, that her uncle had organized for her use. It had a stick shift of all things and Melanie had been extremely careful driving over.

Marsha arrived shortly before 5 p.m. in an old Chevy sedan. Melanie quickly exited her ride and walked over to where the young woman was alighting from the old clunker. She was short and petite, with the muscles and sinewy legs of a dancer. Pretty too, in a fake blonde sort of way. She looked up but she obviously did not recognize Melanie with her bruised face.

"Can I help you?" she asked friendly enough.

"That depends," Melanie answered trying to give a friendly smile. "I have a message from David Olsen."

Marsha turned pale and swallowed heavily. "Yes?"

"He wanted me to give you his current address. He hasn't heard from you and he assumes that you haven't heard of his accident?"

"I heard of it all right. That bitch put him in a wheelchair! I should kill her!"

"Yeah, well, shouldn't you rather visit him if you know that he's laid up in the hospital?"

"What for?"

"He's your boyfriend?"

"Well, not anymore. He's not going to play for the Trojans again, is he? He won't get drafted next year either. Look, tell him I'm sorry, but I'm not going to switch to pre-med and nursing school to push him around in a wheelchair. I've got a life to live."

Melanie scrunched up her nose. It hurt. "You're one cold-hearted bitch, aren't you?" she asked conversationally.

"Yeah, that's me," the bottle-blonde shot back. "Listen, girlie. You can have him. Obviously you met him at the hospital. You found him, you keep him. I have a very small window of opportunity to make something of my life. I can't waste my chances on a..." She clearly wanted to say,"cripple", but she caught herself. "I need a man who can get me in touch with the right people."

"David is still going to graduate and then he'll go to med school," Melanie maintained.

"Yeah? And how will that help me? Look, I would have ended it anyway. He would've got more play time in his senior year, but he's not starter material. Jerome Carter has asked me out, and he'll be big one day."

Melanie knew the name. A junior and destined for greatness.

"Can you at least visit him once? Tell him why? He's still waiting for you to make contact. Look, David lost a lot all of a sudden. You're the only thing left to him."

"Jeez, I like him too, but we're not engaged. I told him I have plans. I spend hours every day in practice. I'm not doing that to be Missus Dr. Olsen, in Frozen Cowplop, Montana."

"Dancer, huh? Ballet or chorus line?"

"Chorus line. I do music videos too."

Melanie saw an opening. "Listen, if you could find it possible to stay with David for a few months, to help him cope, to motivate him and encourage him, I could help you with your plans."

"You? That's a laugh!"

"My uncle is Josh Hartwell. He's got the biggest entertainment law firm in Hollywood. He dines with producers, directors, stars. He can get you into the loop."

That had some impact Melanie could see. "You're not shitting me?"

"No, it's true. Plus, I know people too."

"Yeah, right!"

"You really don't know who I am, huh?"

The blonde squinted at Melanie. "Holy crap! You're..."

"Yes. Don't you think I have more clout than some junior who is years away from earning any money?"

"You're Melanie Renault!"

"I know that," Melanie answered drily. "I fucked up big time and I want to help David. Chances are he'll walk again. It's not that bad. But he needs support and motivation. You help him, you play the caring girlfriend and that'll show me that you have some serious acting talent."

The last sentence was catty, but Melanie had a good picture of Marsha by now. Stupid, selfish bitch! It was almost with relief that she saw the girl shake her head.

"I'd consider it, but I already booked a trip to Cancun with friends. Tell David it wasn't meant to be. I like him, but I have other plans. Hell, just tell him that I'm a bitch and that he's better off without me. But maybe you can bring me together with your uncle?"

Melanie shook her head. "Sorry for wasting your time. And thanks for making me feel better about myself."

She turned and walked back to her car ignoring the swear words Marsha was sending after her. What a royal bitch! Now, how to break this to David?

She drove home carefully, obeying speed limits with slavish obedience. Inevitably, other drivers honked at her and flipped her the bird, but she knew better. Anyway, she arrived at Uncle Josh's house shortly after 5 p.m. and he was waiting for her.

"Did you see the news?"

"No, I was out all afternoon. First I visited David Olsen and then I went on an errand for him. Why?"

"The police searched Brentano's house and offices. It was all over the news. A little bird tweeted in my ear that they hit pay dirt in his basement. A right little drug store and what looks to be an interesting video collection. Let's wait and see. It's quite possible that you nailed the bastard, Melanie."

A week before, Melanie had invited a team of detectives into her home. It was of significance that the deed to the house was in Melanie's name. It made the search legal. She had shown them where to look for the picture CD and for the blood and sperm covered dish towel. The dish towel in its Ziploc bag had been embedded in a thick layer of ice in the old chest freezer down in the basement, and the forensic investigators had taken the entire freezer, saying they might be able to establish the age of the deposited samples from the amount and quality of the ice around them.

Melanie had given her testimony for four hours, recalling even details that she did not know she'd remembered. For instance, she recalled an odd-shaped birthmark on Brentano's left shoulder, an identifying mark that the detectives thought might be important. She had also given up Peter Moran to the detectives. His testimony might be important if he was willing to be honest.

"They talked to Moran yesterday," Josh echoed her thoughts. "He corroborated your testimony. That's what made the judge sign the search warrants."

Melanie exhaled. This was a big break. "Isn't he afraid of Brentano?"

Uncle Josh grinned. "No. That's the kicker. He married rich two years ago. He quit acting and took a job as a spokesperson for his wife's company."

"Won't his wife be pissed?"

Josh shrugged. "He was always a major horn dog. She's got to know that she didn't marry a Jesuit."

"What's next?"

"They'll review the evidence. They will also go through his and Lana's financials. If they can find payments that started after that evening, it will be circumstantial evidence. Believe me, if there is dirt, they'll find it now."

"What about M ... Lana?"

Josh sighed. "If this goes down like I think, she'll face charges. Aiding and abetting, obstruction of justice, extortion, child neglect."

"She won't get any mom roles anymore," Melanie stated grimly.

"Not likely. If she turns witness, she may get away with a suspended sentence or an early parole."

"Oh, she'll turn witness," Melanie said bitterly. "She'd sell out anybody if it's to her advantage."

"I'm sorry, Mel. I should have been there for you."

"It wouldn't have helped. I wasn't ready then. I would have been afraid of you."

David was reclining on his hospital bed after a session with the physiotherapist. He could not deny that he had some feeling in his legs. The therapist claimed that he felt some twitching in David's leg muscles too, indication that there was some residual motor control. Perhaps there was a chance?

Another thing for which David was grateful was this morning's discovery that his penis, limp as a wet noodle for weeks, was showing signs of life. A young nurse helper had bent over David giving him a full down-blouse sneak view of her pointy, unfettered breasts. He had a suspicion that she had done it on purpose, but who cared? He might still be a man.

Now if only Marsha showed up! The Renault girl had promised to find her and to relay his whereabouts to her. He wondered what was taking her so long. After all, she had been the one to pursue him.

Now he heard steps outside in the corridor, women's street shoes. The door opened, but it was Melanie. From the look on her face he could already tell that the news was not good.

"Hey?" she offered.

"Hey. Did you find Marsha?"

A silent nod was the answer. Then she seemed to collect her courage.

"David, I spoke to her in front of her parents' house yesterday afternoon. She ... she won't come."

David did not comprehend at first. "When will she come then?"

There was anguish in the girl's eyes. "She won't come, period. She's known about you all along. She said – I'm sorry – that she's already dating another guy, a junior, one who'll make it into the NBA."

"That's quick," David managed to say.

"David, that girl's a cold-hearted bitch. She's only about herself. She doesn't deserve a man like you."

"I should be happy, right?" he said sarcastically. "I can find better girls, right? Only, I'm stuck in a bed. Forgot that?"

"No. That's my fault. But that bitch would have dumped you anyway. She told me there was an expiration date. She wouldn't waste time with second-string players. She needs a guy who can take her places. I'm quoting here."

David was a little surprised at the fire in the petite brunette. During her last visit, she had come over as shy and guilt-ridden. Now she was showing at least some spark.