| Gillian Aftermath |
| To Know You Loved Me (Gillian's POV) My darling Ken, If you're reading this, then the worst has happened. All of those wonderful red balloons have popped, and I am gone. What do I say to you? How can I explain how my life went so wrong? I know how much you are hurting right now. I felt the same way when I thought I was going to lose you. Please try to find the strength to read this letter before you tear it up. I couldn't find the right words when I was alive, let me try to find them now. I wish I could say that my story was a unique one. You must have heard it a thousand times before. I was working in a bar in Cleveland when I met Al. I had graduated college and was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. There weren't many choices where I came from. Everyone always told me how beautiful I was, that I should be in the movies. But Cleveland was a lifetime away from Hollywood. When Al came into that crowded little bar, and told me he could make me a star, I thought my prayers had been answered. I know that you see Al as some slimy crook, but to me he looked like a savior. He was going to take me away from that seedy bar, and make me somebody. He got me into the movies all right, but they weren't the kind you'd take your kids to. By the time I realized what he really was, it was too late. I'm not going to make any excuses. I know that I could have gotten out after that first film. I wasn't some kid from the wrong side of the tracks. But, I made more money from that one film than I did the whole time I was working at the tavern. Al took care of me. He bought me everything. I had nice cars, designer clothes, and expensive jewelry. What more could a woman want? I really had myself fooled. I promised myself that I would get out someday. I just knew that someone would see one of my films and decide that I could be in the real movies. I kept telling myself that this was just a means to an end, but it never ended. When Al told me that he had a special "friend" that wanted to meet me, I thought it was an agent. I thought I was really going to make it big. Dumb, huh? How could a woman my age, a famous porn star, be so na�ve? When I found out what he really wanted, I thought I'd die. He was this big honcho that Al was trying to impress, and Al thought I was the perfect way to impress him. I should have known what was happening when this guy told me that he had seen all of my movies, and asked me for my autograph. None of my films had been nominated for an Oscar. No self-respecting agent would even glance at my movies. If that wasn't a reality check, the two hundred dollars he left sitting on my nightstand was. That's when I knew I had done it. I had crossed the line. I was a prostitute. You could use all of the nice words you wanted, like call girl, escort, or courtesan. It all amounted to the same thing: I was a hooker. Al was right. He owned me, him and his mother. It's funny. I never thought of Olga as a mother. She was just another witch with blue hair. She was the driving force behind Al. Freud would have had a field day with them. Al had an Oedipus complex the size of Texas. Anything "mum" wanted, she got. She never thought much of me. I was just another one of Al's toys. She knew I wasn't a threat to her. His heart belonged to mommy, along with everything else. Olga wanted her son to have it all, and if I had to turn tricks for the rest of my life to get it for him, so be it. To her, I wasn't any more important than the red carpet and cherry oak desk in his office. When Al was offered a slice of Bay City, Olga knew it was their big chance. She just snapped her fingers, and here we were, in sunny California. It didn't matter much to me. It's hard to see the sights when you're lying on your back. So we came here, and the unthinkable happened. I met you. I know I should have run away from you the minute I found out you were a cop, but I couldn't. It wasn't because you were so good looking, even though you are. It wasn't because you were intelligent, even though you are. I've been to bed with many good looking, intelligent men. It was the way you looked at me. You didn't see a hooker. You saw me, the way I was before. You made me feel like I could go back to that time. I hadn't felt that way in years. And then we made love. I hadn't done that in a long time, either. I was used to simply shutting my mind off and laying there. You made a part of me that I thought was dead come alive again. You made me believe in happily ever after, and I'll always love you for that I knew the first balloon had popped when Starsky knocked on my door today. When I realized that he knew about me, I wanted to crawl under the couch and hide. I could see how much the whole mess was hurting him, but it wasn't because he cared about me. He loves you, even more than I do. I didn't think that was possible. Only someone as special as you can have two people love you so much. Starsky helped me to see things as they really are, and I know what I have to do. I'm finally getting out of this life. This apartment, my car, and all of my money mean nothing without you. As soon as I finish this letter, I'm going to Al's office and tell him that he doesn't own me any more. I'm finally free, and it's all because of you. You gave me the courage to walk away. But, my darling Ken, if you're reading this, then something went terribly wrong. All I can do is hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Maybe that isn't possible now, but someday, I hope you can. And the next time you see red balloons, whether you're at a party, or watching a parade, I hope you'll think of me. Always remember the time we had together, and how much I loved you. Love always, Your Gillian |
| Where Love Ends (Hutch's POV) Dear Gillian, It feels strange to be writing you this letter. We buried you almost a month ago, but this was Starsky's idea. He said I needed to get this out of my system. Maybe he was tired of hearing me rant and rave. I know he never gets tired of holding me, but I am tired of crying, and I don't think there are any more tears left. The nightmares were starting to go away a little, and then I found the letter you wrote to me. It was hidden under your pillow. Were you going to give it to me, or did you change your mind at the last minute? It doesn't matter. I found it, and the pain came crashing back to me. When I finished reading your letter, all I could think of was why didn't you tell me? Did you think I would stop caring about you if I knew the truth? Did you think I couldn't stop being a cop long enough to try to understand? I didn't think anything could hurt worse than losing you, but I was wrong. I thought you trusted me. Was I wrong about that, too? If there is no trust, there can be no relationship. All the time we were together, you kept this secret from me. How could you do that? God knows, I'm not perfect. I've never pretended to be. We all have skeletons in our closet. I have some dandies, believe me. Starsky could tell you, or he would have if he'd had the chance. There is so much that we could have talked about, or should have talked about. That's all gone now. If you had told me, I could have helped you. We were going to get Grossman anyway. With scum like him, it's only a matter of time. I would have taken you away, to somewhere safe, and come back for him, and his sleazy mother. He'd already killed once. He didn't have to kill you, too. Your life was too high a price to pay. I'm trying to understand what you said in your letter. You said you weren't making any excuses for what you did, and I respect you for that. Maybe you didn't feel like you were worth more than what he gave you. I can't accept that money and fame were that important to you. By the time you realized what was gong on; maybe you felt there was no way out. I've felt like I was caught in a whirlwind, too. I know what it's like to lose control of your own life, and to have decisions taken away from you. That should have changed when you met me. I would have helped you take control again, and get away from Grossman. You could have walked away then, if you'd only told me. You asked me to forgive you. What should I forgive you for? Am I supposed to forgive you for dying, or for keeping this from me? I thought I loved you. I never got the chance to find out for sure. It takes time to find out what your feelings are. Maybe some day I will forgive you, but one thing is certain. Whenever I see a red balloon, I'll remember the nights we spent together, and the way loving you made me feel. I'll remember your eyes sparkling in the moonlight, and your smile brightening my life. I'll remember how a beautiful woman with a beautiful name touched my heart for a short time. I'll never forget you, Gillian Ingram. Oh, by the way, I was wrong about those tears. I just found some more. |