Previously...

Brett had flowers sent to Samantha Fallmont from Stormy hoping to reignite their affair.  Heather walked in on Brett and Terri having sex.  Brett warned Heather not to tell Stormy or Miranda or she'd regret it.  Kenny badgered Renee to tell him who Sierra was.  Dr. Anderson cautioned Stormy that he would have to be there for Heather when she finally came to terms with shooting Will.  Jordan kissed Alex after she appeared jealous of his relationship with Renee.  Brooke and James argued about her obsession with Michael.  Ethan got drunk at the Mardi Gras ball and checked into a room with a woman whom he called by Brooke's name.  Jordan warned Alan Christensen not to dredge up Alex's testimony at Nathan's trial.  A psychic had ominous predictions for Heather and Alex.  

Episode 54

"Tell Me That You'll Open Your Eyes"

Reporters from every network and newspaper in California were gathered at the small private airstrip in Los Angeles.  The jet had just landed and the pilot had lowered the steps out onto the tarmac.  Moments later, Debralee Scott emerged from the cabin amidst a hail of camera flashes.  She slowly made her way down the steps, a tight-lipped expression on her perfectly made up face.

“Miss Scott, Los Angeles wasn’t originally on your scheduled book tour.  What made you change your mind?” asked a reporter as she thrust a microphone into the woman’s face.  “Where have you been hiding since the trial?  Are you in contact with Nathan Blackthorne?”

“My publisher was recently bought out and the new owner added the stop to my tour,” she said and brushed her fingers through her windblown hair.  She was a very attractive woman of thirty-four with shoulder-length blond hair and dazzling blue eyes.  Dressed in a mink coat over an expensive Gucci suit, she exuded impeccable class and distinction.   “It’s just business, I assure you.  I have no intention of talking about Nathan Blackthorne.”

“Miss Scott, what do you think of the recent attempts to have child molestation charges against Nathan Blackthorne dropped?” asked another reporter who eagerly fought to the front of the crowd.

“No comment,” she said and placed a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.  She made her way to her limousine and the driver quickly opened the door for her. 

“Good morning,” said Jordan from the back seat.  He grinned mischievously and gestured to the seat across from him.

Reluctantly, Debralee got inside while the driver loaded her luggage into the trunk.   “Jordan Rydell, I might have expected to see you here.  Although I didn’t expect you to hijack my car service.  If you think you’re going to convince me to make some altruistic statement about Nathan Blackthorne, you can forget it.”

He poured them each a glass of champagne and handed one to her.  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a self assured smile.  “I’m here to talk business.”

“What kind of business?” she asked.

“Well, as your new publisher, I’d like to discuss future book deals,” he said and held up a copy of Help Isn’t a Four Letter Word.

“My new publisher?” she asked, jaw gaping open.  “What are you talking about?”

“I bought the company,” he said with a shrug.  “Rydell Productions now owns your book.”

She set her jaw and glared at him angrily.  “So what is this?  Blackmail?  I exonerate Nathan Blackthorne or you drop my book?”

Jordan laughed and shook his head.  “No, I wouldn’t dream of that.  I want you to exonerate him because it’s the right thing to do.  That is, assuming you still maintain that your sexual relationship with him was consensual.”

Debralee hesitated before replying.  “It was.”

"Then why not help your new boss out with this one tiny favor?” Jordan asked.  “If he’s not a rapist, why should he have to live the rest of his life in seclusion?”

She hesitated again and tipped the champagne flute to her lips.

“It isn’t as if I’m asking you to lie,” Jordan continued.

Debralee looked at him and slowly let out a sigh of agreement.

“When I left Los Angeles twenty-years ago, I was a young girl of fourteen,” Debralee stated at the impromptu press conference on the tarmac of the airstrip.  “During the trial, I stated that the sexual relationship between Nathan Blackthorne and I was consensual.  Today my view of those events has not changed.  Nathan Blackthorne did not coerce me into having sex with him.  The prosecutor called it statutory rape, but I call it a consenting relationship between two people.  I was a minor at the time, but I knew what I wanted.  A film career.  Nathan Blackthorne promised me that career, and I believe he would have delivered if he hadn’t been arrested.”

“Miss Scott, what about chapter four in your new book?  It talks about rape survivors.  Is this based on personal experience?” asked Alan Christensen from Image magazine.

“Absolutely,” she replied, causing Jordan to question her intentions.  But just as quickly she continued and he felt at ease again.  “I spoke to many women who are rape survivors.  Their experiences, coupled with intense research by noted psychologists, were the inspiration for that chapter.”

“What about the other witnesses at the trial?” Alan proceeded to ask.

Debralee exchanged glances with Jordan and then turned back to the crowd.  “If you’re referring to Alex Reynolds, we all know what her testimony did to her reputation.  And as I recall, the testimony was thrown out and stricken from court records.”

Jordan rubbed the sides of his head, fully aware that Alex would throw a fit when she saw the press conference on the news.

“That bitch!” Alex screamed and threw an ashtray across the room.

She lit another cigarette and began pacing the living room of her house in Malibu, her nightgown billowing behind her with every step.  She glanced back at the television and fumed with contempt.  What Jordan had done instilled violent anger inside and she quickly marched to the phone to call Kenny DeWitt.  After she reached him, she muted the television and puffed heavily on her cigarette.

“Kenny, you have to get my divorce finalized immediately,” she said.  “I can’t be married to that bastard Jordan Rydell for another day!”

“Calm down, Alex,” Kenny said from his office at Blackthorne-Reynolds.  “I suppose you’re watching the press conference.”

“Of course I’m watching the press conference,” she said and continued pacing.  “It’s on every station for God’s sake!  Now what’s the hold up on the divorce?  I can’t be married to a man that would bring this kind of humiliation to me all over again.”

“Your divorce will be final in a few days,” Kenny declared.  “I’ll send the final papers to you as soon as I get them.”

“See that you do,” Alex said and slammed down the phone.  She turned up the volume again on the television and stared in awe at the way the press hung on Debralee Scott’s every word.

“When Nathan Blackthorne skipped town before the jury could come to a decision, were you in contact with him?” Alan badgered Debralee back at the press conference. .

Debralee shook her head.  “No, my parents refused to let anyone contact me during that time,” she said.  “They were very protective.  When I heard that he jumped bail and fled to France, I was just as shocked as anyone.”  A dramatic pause while she surveyed the crowd.  “And I was relieved.”

Chatter and hushed whispers exploded and reporters continued their questioning.  “What are you saying?  That you didn’t want Nathan Blackthorne to go to jail for what he did?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she replied flatly.  “And I personally wish that the District Attorney would drop the charges against him once and for all.  I hold no grudges against Nathan Blackthorne.  I've gotten over it.  So should he."”

Blinding flashes from cameras lit up the smoggy morning air as Jordan smiled in satisfaction.  Finally they were almost there.  With Debralee’s statement, the D.A. would look like a fool for not dropping the charges against Nathan.

Miranda walked through the lobby of Hotel Terranova, her heels clicking on the terra cotta floor as she made her way to the elevators.  Complaints about Ethan had been coming in since the night before.  She knew that her cousin was going through a hard time, but now he was there, holed up in the hotel drinking every drop of liquor in the house.

When she arrived at the room, she knocked forcefully and waited for an answer.  From inside the room she could hear loud music blaring, several voices – at least one of them female, and the sound of ice clinking in glasses.  She looked at her watch and noted the time.  Ten-thirty in the morning and he was already at it.

“Ethan, open up,” she called through the door.  “It’s Miranda.  I want to talk to you.”

After a minute or so of rustling around inside the room, the door finally opened and Ethan appeared, naked except for a towel around his waist.  He was unshaven and his hair was tousled.  Miranda was practically knocked over by the stench of stale booze.

“Miranda, what are you doing here?” he asked.

She eyed him carefully, looking past him into the room where two blondes were sprawled out beneath the sheets on the bed.  Empty bottles of wine and champagne were spilled onto the floor and clothes were strewn in every direction.

“I run this place, remember?” she replied, heartsick by the obvious poor shape her cousin was in.  “Ethan, are you okay?  Daddy’s been worried about you.  He-“

“Worried about me?” he asked with a hiccup.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  He’s got Brooke and a new baby to worry about.  What the hell am I to him anyway?”

Miranda was clueless.  “What are you talking about?” she asked.  “Ethan, what’s happened to you?  This isn’t like you.”

He shrugged and rubbed his hands over his bare chest.  “How do you know?” he asked sheepishly.  “As a matter of fact, how do I even know what I’m supposed to be like?  I haven no idea who I am, Miranda.  I simply follow orders as they’re given to me.  Just ask Brooke.”

Still confused, Miranda threw her hands up in resignation and gestured into the hotel room.  “Fine.  I can see that you’re in no condition to talk.  But you’d better believe you’re going to pay for the damage in this room.”  She motioned to the women on the bed who were now making out and writhing around beneath the covers.  “That includes new sheets.”

Ethan shrugged indifferently and closed the door, eager to return to his guests. 

Heather went to Sunset Studios, desperately avoiding eye contact with Terri as she made her way into Stormy’s office.  She still couldn’t shake the disgusting feeling of walking in on Brett and their secretary on Stormy’s desk the other night.  It was clear that Brett was still up to his old tricks, and she wanted so badly to tell Miranda. 

“I didn’t know you were stopping by today,” Stormy said and got up from his desk.  “Is everything okay?  Do you have an appointment with Dr. Anderson?”

She shook her head and walked languidly over to him.  “No, I just can’t stop thinking about what that psychic said.  About my child paying for my sins.  It’s driving me crazy.”

He smiled and looked at her light-heartedly.  “People like that are dramatic by nature,” he said.  “It’s a character she’s playing.  Don’t read into any of it.  It’s all in fun anyway.”

Heather sighed and ran her fingers along a shelf of Filmmaker awards.   “I was so paranoid that I took a pregnancy test this morning.”  She saw the way he looked at her and she quickly shook her head.  “It was negative.  The only person I’ve been with is…”   She stopped herself, thinking about that night with Philip Whitacre and the other actor.  Thankfully she hadn’t gotten pregnant from that horrible night.

“Just try to relax and don’t let it upset you.”

“I thought we could hang out today,” she said hopefully.  “Maybe go to a matinee?”

Stormy smiled apologetically and gestured to a mountain of scripts and paperwork on his desk.  “I’d love to, Heather, but I’ve got a ton of work to do today.”

“Oh.”  Her tone was full of disappointment and her sad eyes sunk to the floor.  “Well maybe we could have dinner tonight.”

With that, the unsettling feeling that Stormy had been trying to ignore for the past few weeks came at him like a tidal wave.  It was clear that Heather was hoping he could be more than a comforting shoulder to cry on.  Their marriage was over and he had moved on.  Now he realized that Heather had not.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” he finally said, deciding that tonight he would tell her that they weren’t going to get back together.  He would be there to support her through her sessions with Dr. Anderson, but only as a close friend.

“You can’t tell her that,” Miranda insisted over lunch with Stormy at Hotel Terranova that afternoon. 

“Why not?”

“Because Heather is in a fragile state right now,” Miranda explained.  They were sitting on the terrace that jutted out from the restaurant overlooking the tennis courts.  “She still hasn’t come to terms with what she did to Will Thomerson.  Do you want to add the disappointment of her dreams crashing all around her on top of that?”

“I don’t want to lead her on,” Stormy declared.  “I mean, I love Heather and I always will.  But I’m not in love with her anymore.  I didn’t think she was in love with me either until recently.”

“Well what do you expect?  You’ve been with her night and day for the past few weeks.  I never thought I’d see it happen, but you’ve developed a savior complex.  What happened to the old Stormy who only thought about himself?”

Stormy rolled his eyes and playfully flicked a french fry in her direction.

James left City Hall that afternoon and went back to his office at Blackthorne-Reynolds where Alex was waiting for him, poised dramatically by the window.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a smile and removed his suit jacket.  “Do we have pipeline business to discuss?”

“I couldn’t care less about the pipeline right now,” Alex said, her eyes burning into his.  “Why in hell did you bring that woman back here?  Did you hear what she said about me at that press conference?  She all but called me a liar.”

“She did not call you a liar.”

“She might as well have,” Alex said and lit a cigarette.  “James, I do not understand why you had to go dragging all of this up again.”

“I already told you.  He is a brilliant actor and director and I want him here.”

Alex stepped forward and leveled a look of detriment in his direction.  “Even after what he did to me?  I realize we’re no longer married, but do you really have that much disregard for my feelings?”

James met her gaze.  “It’s a little hard with your story changing every five minutes at the trial,” he said ominously.  “Remind me, Alex, what was your final decision?  Were you or were you not raped by my uncle Nathan?”

Alex lunged forward and grabbed him by the arms.  “You know damn well I was!”

“So you said on the witness stand when you were called for the prosecution,” James said angrily.  “They wanted to prove that Nathan was a rapist and you conveniently labeled him as one.”

“It happened!”

“Then why did you later change your testimony?”

“Because he threatened me!” Alex cried, turning and burying her face in her hands.  “I had no choice!”

“So instead of sticking to your original story, you chose to go to jail for a month on perjury charges?” James asked.  “Tell me, Alex, if you had really been raped, why would you change your story and go to prison if you didn’t have to?”

“He said he would kill me!” Alex screamed.

“So not only is my uncle a rapist, but also a murderer?” James scoffed.  “Alex, please don’t do this.  We don’t have to dredge all of this up again.  Just accept the fact that he’s coming home and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Her hands trembling, Alex shook her head in protest and ran for the door.  “I’m sorry but I can’t,” she said, her voice filled with terror.  “That man attacked me in our own home.  He’s a rapist.  Debralee Scott lied about their relationship being consensual.  I know it!”

“You’re reaching, Alex,” James said angrily.

Shaking her head in despair, Alex opened the door and ran out into the reception area.  Madam Valda’s words kept playing over and over in her mind.  What if Miranda became a victim of Nathan’s?  Or Heather?  She’d never been more frightened in her entire life.  And now, after the premonition that Jordan would die at the hands of Nathan, she was beside herself with anxiety.  If only James could see it her way.  If only he and everyone else believed her about that night so many years ago.

Renee opened the door of her suite at Hotel Terranova and set her jaw angrily when she saw Jordan standing in the hall with a bouquet of roses.

“I know what you’re going to say but please let me speak first,” he said and walked into the suite.

“How do you know what I’m going to say, Jordan?” Renee asked and slammed the door angrily.  “If you’re talking about that press conference this morning then you’re right.  I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” Jordan replied.

“You told me that the chances of Nathan returning were slim.  Now along comes Debralee Scott with her self help crap and the media suddenly sees Nathan as a misunderstood matinee idol!”

Jordan set the flowers down on the partition between the entry and the sunken living room.  “I knew how you felt about Nathan Blackthorne because of his past, but I figured that after you heard Debralee Scott’s statement you would change your mind.”

“So I’m supposed to just believe that he isn’t a monster just because this woman says so?” Renee asked, placing her hands firmly on her hips.   “She was one of many young girls that he seduced into bed.  Your own wife claims that he raped her.”

“Alex said that she made it up out of spite because of their past together,” Jordan remarked.  “So there’s absolutely no reason to believe that he’s a danger to anyone.”

Renee folded her arms, uncertain whether to let Jordan off the hook or not.  She had grown to care about him a great deal and hated to throw it away on something that wasn’t entirely his fault.  He didn’t know the rest of the story.  He didn’t know the hell that Nathan Blackthorne had put her through.  He may not be a rapist, but she had her own reasons for not wanting him back in Hollywood.

Back at