EIGHTEEN
TAKE A LETTER, MARIA
JUNE 14, 1981
Frank:
As you know, I have not had much luck with men. My stepfather began raping me when I was twelve. I was too frightened to say anything and what good would it do? My mother was a pill-popping alcoholic who never wanted kids in the first place. She often told me that.
My first boyfriend was a hippie who talked about universal love and healing while beating the shit out of me at home. My second got me hooked on blow and tried to talk me into dancing at a topless joint. It took me seven years to crawl out of that hole.
When I met you, I was three years and twenty-seven days clean and sober. Not only did you get me back on blow, you tried to get me to fuck your pals. I’m not saying it was a one-way street. You got me that apartment and paid the rent. We went to some swell parties.
Then you canceled my credit card and kicked me out of my apartment because you found a newer, younger girl to fuck over. Well, I’ve got news for you, pal. I have photos of you and your friends at some of your private parties. The kind that could kick you to the curb.
So you’re going to pay me to go away, Frank. I’m only asking $50,000, chump change to a big player like you. Get it together in hundreds and put it in a gym bag or you won’t like what’s going to happen next.
Sincerely,
Maria
Kendall looked at the envelope. The return address read M. Guzman, 42355 N. Tedesco Blvd., South Los Angeles. He looked at the desk. There were hundreds of letters stuck in cubbyholes. He pulled out a handful. Most of them hadn’t even been opened. They all had hand-written addresses, and some still bore the faint scent of perfume.
Taking Maria’s letter, he went upstairs.
What did he really know about Frank Wallanda? Not much. Wallanda’s public image was that of a brilliant but benign producer/director of insightful teen comedies. Wyrick’s squeaky-clean image had rubbed off on him, but apparently Wallanda was not so squeaky clean at home. Certainly, an egomaniac. Kendall went into the library and carefully read through all the titles. There were a lot of books but nothing exclusive to Wallanda. Lesser filmmakers had been biographed.
Kendall would have to wait for Tuesday for the cable people to hook him up. In the meantime, he had no internet. He probably could have piggybacked on the Skaggs’s wireless system if they had one, but he’d need the password. It was a relief not to be checking Facebook and Twitter every five minutes. He called the Times and ordered the paper. They kept their sub office open on Sundays.
He found Movie Makers: 50 Iconic Directors From Chaplin to the Coen Brothers, and flipped through the table of contents. Wallanda had his own chapter. Kendall sat down to read.
Born in Muncie, IN in 1939, Frank Wallanda was the youngest of five children. His father Lawrence worked as a machine operator at MacIntosh Mfg., his mother Violet was a stay-at-home mom. Wallanda graduated from UC Irvine in 1961 with a degree in film studies and went to work as an intern for legendary producer Ian Sullivan.
In 1971 Wallanda landed an independent production deal with Wyrick Studios and wrote, produced, and directed The Main Drag, the first of a string of successful teen comedies that captured the zeitgeist of young America. That was also the year he married Wyrick’s only daughter Bree. Their daughter Dorothy was born that year. In 1984 Dorothy became pregnant. Wallanda offered ten thousand dollars to whoever could produce the father. Dorothy died, and the child was stillborn. Bree withdrew from public life but that same year gave birth to their second child, Elaine.
While his personal life was tragic, professionally, Wallanda could do no wrong.
He followed Drag with At the Hop, Stylin’, and Quinceañera which made him a household name. In 1980, he became Vice President in charge of production at Wyrick and midwifed a series of wholesome, all-ages entertainment including the wildly successful animated feature, Ultra Pigeon Returns. Wallanda died at his Los Feliz home in 2000 survived by his wife of 30 years, the former Bree Hardison.
Bree has been institutionalized since the mysterious disappearance of their daughter Elaine “Lannie” Wallanda, whose car was found with the engine idling at Griffith Observatory on June 5, 1994. She was eight months pregnant at the time, and there was speculation that the father was a famous Hollywood leading man. The mystery has never been solved. The Wallandas were now childless.
Wallanda led a flamboyant personal life which caused friction with Darryl Wyrick who insisted that all Wyrick executives conduct themselves in a manner above reproach. Wyrick is said to have put stock in astrology, Zoroastrianism, and Kabala. Wyrick died in 1997. Wallanda commissioned a house by notorious architect Roark Dexter Smith. Following Bree’s institutionalization, there were rumors of Wallanda’s wild parties. The coroner’s report following Wallanda’s death indicated that he had died of asphyxiation. There were rumors that he was engaged in an auto-erotic enterprise.
Well fuck. Why had no one written a full-blown bio on Wallanda? Was that Lannie’s Corvette in the garage? How much would that bring at Barrett-Jackson or Gooding? He’d always wanted a Stingray. There was enough wealth squirreled away in the basement for him to finance a complete restoration, although the car appeared to be in excellent condition.
Kendall stared blankly at the open book on his lap. There was something in there. Something that resonated with another book on the shelf. He got up and examined more titles. Conversations with Dead Movie Stars caught his eye. He pulled it down, sat in the leather chair, and turned to the index. There were three Wallanda mentions. He looked them up. Each was a footnote to an actor with whom the author, Portia DeManning, had claimed to communicate.
He turned to the author’s bio. “Ms. DeManning holds a PhD in Advanced Parapsychology from the Eheart Institute of Parapsychology and is certified by the American Institute of Mediums. She has counseled numerous actors, writers, producers, and directors over the years including Robert Altman, Burt Reynolds, Frank Wallanda . . . ”
He phoned Rawlins.