The Face: A Novel

By James Stanley

It was a beautiful late April day in 1968. She had decided to take her baby for a stroll. She sat on the park bench, checked her watch, and looked skyward, squinting into the sun, trying to make out the dark falling object that appeared, as if someone had dropped a sack of sand from the clouds. Oh, my GodIts a person!

A person soon to be found dead in the courtyard of the 6-floor Kensington Towers and identified as 25-year old Jane Louise Ladd, a lifelong London resident and current fashion model, known as The Face, during a time that defined a generation. Travel back in time, to the era known as Swinging Britain, and learn what happened. Did Jane jump? Was it an accident? Was it foul play?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546209591

James Stanley

Rob Beman was born a twin in Westfield, Massachusetts in 1942. His pen name couples the middle names of his twin brother (James) and his own (Stanley). The twins were raised in Westfield and Rob continues to reside there to this day, married 56 years in August 2020 to his high school sweetheart, Carole. Rob and Carole have four children, three daughters and a son, and ten grandchildren, all also residing in Westfield. Rob graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree, magna cum laude, from the University of Massachusetts in Amherst in 1964. He received a Master of Business Administration degree with honors from Western New England College in 1978, attending evening classes while employed on the corporate staff of a national-based firm in Springfield, Massachusetts, ten miles east of Westfield. Rob retired after 42 years at the same firm in 2007, his years reflecting increasing responsibilities in engineering, manufacturing, finance, and supply chain management. Rob began writing fiction in 2000 while in his late fifties, a life-long promise to himself, and he has accelerated his second career, following his retirement. Behind the Scenes is his 11th novel. He is currently formulating ideas for number twelve. In addition to writing, Rob is a prolific reader, devouring close to one hundred books a year, walks two miles daily, bets the ponies on-line, religiously follows and roots for the New York Yankees, plays in fantasy MLB and NBA leagues, attends family get-togethers and the varied activities of all of his grandchildren, and frequently visits Saratoga Springs, New York, its famous thoroughbred race track in August and September, as well as its casino and race-book, many times throughout the year with his wife and partner Carole, his special gift, who never fails to make him feel like the luckiest man alive. As stated in the dedication: from the start, his best part, his second heart.

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© 2017 James Stanley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. While certain names, places, and events are real and/or based on historical fact, the tale depicted within these pages is strictly a result of the author’s imagination.

Published by AuthorHouse   09/29/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0960-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0959-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017914533

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

The Ladd Family

One

Two

Part 1:   1918 - 1951

Three

Four

Five

Part 2:   1952 - 1959

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Part 3:   1960 - 1968

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Part 4:   The Investigation

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Part 5:   The Affair

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Part 6:   Confession

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-two

Author’s Note

About the Author

Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?

Spanish painter, Pablo Picasso (1881-1973)

***

Modeling is a profession where your worth is tied up with your looks.

American Supermodel Christy Turlington (1969-present)

***

The secret to modeling is not being perfect, but to bring something new…What one needs is a face that people can identify in a second.

World renowned fashion designer Kyle Lagerfeld (1933- present)

With love to Robbie, Leanne, Rebecca, and Jenn; and their indominable devotion, spirit, and sense of family.

The Ladd Family

                        Jeffrey                              Jane

                           1932 -                              1943 - 1968

                           m. Heather 1955

                              twins:

                           Nathaniel and Niles

                                       1958 -

One

Colin Dempsey had spent his entire existence in London, until he and his two buddies joined the Royal Navy in 1939 in response to Hitler’s invasion of Poland, France, and Britain. His two buddies were gone six months later, casualties at the Battle of River Plate in the South Atlantic.

He made it back to London nearly six years later in May 1945, scarred, depressed, and with no clue of what his life would become. Look on the bright side, everyone said. At least, you’re in one piece. You’re one of the lucky ones.

Colin didn’t see it that way.

Colin spent the next four years as an education major at Kingston Regional College close to his old stomping grounds in war-torn London, only to discover following graduation and accepting a position at the same rebuilt grammar school he had attended, that he had no intention or real desire to spend the rest of his life trying to unsuccessfully impart knowledge to a bulk of students who were not the least bit interested in expanding their minds.

Over the next seven years, Colin managed to try and ultimately reject a series of unsuccessful career changes, three long-term and equally unsuccessful relationships including two failed marriages, fortunately with no children involved. In the summer of 1956, Colin Dempsey, at the age of thirty-five, was sharing a London flat with Paul Harrison, another loser who gladly would share his tale of woe and mediocrity with anyone who showed the slightest interest.

Paul, thirty-three and divorced, was presently a cab driver and spent most of his off hours trolling bars for one-night female companionship. One evening after finishing left-over pizza, drinking beer, and half-paying attention to the news on the 18-inch black and white portable telly, Paul passed Colin the classified section of The London Times, which had become a nightly routine and half-hearted regimen to convince the other, if not themselves, that they continued to search for the perfect job.

Colin saw the advertisement in the newspaper, said nary a word to his roommate, and showed up early the next morning at the fledgling office of David Palmer, his name followed by the title American Professional Photographer, printed on the glass top of the door. He sat in the waiting room and leafed through one of the several copies of Photoplay Magazine scattered on the coffee table. He saw that the name David Palmer was prominently connected to many recognizable American film stars.

While waiting, his mind traveled back to his youth and the year his parents had bought him a Rolle-flex camera and film for Christmas. His dad agreed to drive him downtown to take some photographs of images that interested him, while he sat and watched patiently, making suggestions, but letting him take photos of whatever struck his son’s fancy. After a couple of hours, Colin had taken his twenty-four photographs. They dropped the film off to be developed. Colin could hardly wait to collect the developed prints in three days.

His dad took him to pick up the film and handed the packet of photos to Colin, watching as Colin excitedly pulled them from the packet. Every single photo was black. What happened? he asked his dad.

That’ll teach you not to leave the lens cap on, his dad replied.

His dad knew all along. That was his way of teaching Colin to learn things for himself. The hard way. And it worked. At least when taking pictures. He smiled at the memory, thinking to himself, I always check. I’ve never left the lens cap on again, and I sure won’t if given the chance by this Palmer bloke.

If nothing else, at least this 8-12-month temporary job sounded somewhat interesting and definitely different than the ordinary hum drum of his existence, and was in a field he had a token of familiarity and interest in.

Colin had his interview and was hired on the spot.

Looking back on the day, he realized how little knowledge of photography he truly possessed and how little his meager hobby had influenced Palmer’s decision to offer him the position. It was his familiarity with the ins-and-outs of the surrounding London landscape and many local establishments as well as his immediate availability that got him the job. His timing just happened to be perfect as Palmer and his people were merely anxious to get the process over and move on to more critical matters.

It wasn’t until the next day, after reporting to work, that Colin learned that David Palmer was part of Marilyn Monroe’s entourage for the filming of The Prince and the Showgirl. He was naturally drawn to the possibility of meeting Sir Laurence Olivier, Britain’s preeminent actor, and Miss Monroe, Hollywood’s greatest star. His second wife had constantly dragged Colin to the theater along with her intolerable and snooty friends, and he had retained in his chamber of useless information that Olivier and his wife, Vivien Leigh, had starred in the stage version of the play written by Terrance Rattigan and called The Sleeping Prince set in London in 1911 about a young actress, Elsie Marina, who meets and ultimately captivates the prince at the Phoenix Theater in London’s West End in 1953.

He remembered reading that the newly formed Marilyn Monroe Productions bought the rights to the play and subsequently contracted with Warner Brothers to produce The Prince and the Showgirl with Rattigan also writing the screen adaption. Olivier was to reprise his role as Prince Charles and Marilyn at 30 would replace Vivien Leigh, who at 43 was considered too old for the film version of Elsie Marina. Olivier would also serve as director and producer.

While he never met Mr. Olivier at any time during his eight-month employment, Colin did spend some time in the background as Palmer photographed and conversed with Miss Monroe on several occasions. During those times, Colin became intrigued not only with professional photography, but like so many others, with the magnetism of the American actress.

Colin quickly became aware that the production and set of The Prince and the Showgirl was deviled by problems as the clashes between Olivier and Monroe, or at least their respective camps, were well documented daily in the press and by the media. He read the assertions regarding the actresses’ insecurities and lack of self-confidence, her determination to show Olivier and the world that she could act and was much more than merely a sex-symbol. Reports of her addiction to prescription drugs ran rampant.

Colin never witnessed or heard anything of the kind in his brief encounters with the infamous American star. His observation was that Marilyn, although sometimes moody, was anxious to learn and please and basically shy. The mere sight of Palmer invariably lifted her mood.

He sensed that her mind often wandered off somewhere far away before focusing on her photo shoot and returning to the fairy tale image of what she was expected to be. He marveled as Palmer was able to capture not only her extraordinary beauty but her trust and vulnerability.

Early on, Colin kept his distance only speaking when spoken to, but after a while when more comfortable, he tentatively probed Palmer with a few questions about his trade. Palmer invariably answered amiably and with more detailed information and insight than Colin could have hoped. Colin tried desperately to absorb and decipher all the intricacies’ Palmer shared, while forming a follow up question that gave some semblance of intelligence. He wondered if he could bond with a client, especially one as delicate and complex as Marilyn, in similar circumstances. The thought surfaced numerous times after his time with David Palmer was over. His mind always seemed to come back to the same acumen, applicable if taking photographs of a flower arrangement or a glamorous model, Palmer repeated: Light and shadows; shadows and light. That’s what we must master. Your photographs must constantly experiment with the contrast between light and dark, to tell a story.

He decided it was time to shit or get off the pot.

Fortunately for Colin, following his stay with Palmer, he was almost immediately hired by The London Times at a ground-level position in the mail room.

Six years later, Colin read the headline:

Marilyn Monroe Kills Self

With Barbiturate Overdose

Colin felt a deep sadness for the glamourous and shy actress he had met, specifically recalling times where on the surface at least, she seemed happy and content in front of the camera and off with David Palmer. For several days after, Colin read and re-read the follow-up articles of how Marilyn was found nude in her Hollywood home and the accounts of her publicist, housekeeper, psychiatrist, and several other visitors from the previous day.

Based on what he knew of her life in the interim time since he had been in her company, he had to admit that he was not surprised as she had dealt with a series of stressful events that even a less vulnerable person would have found difficult to handle. He was drawn to her story and couldn’t absorb enough information concerning her life. He marveled that she had somehow managed to complete three films after The Prince and the Showgirl – Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot with Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon in 1959, Let’s Make Love with Yves Montand in 1960, and The Misfits written by her husband Arthur Miller, directed by John Huston, and co-starring Clark Gable, Eli Wallach, and Montgomery Clift. She was currently working on Something’s Got to Give with Dean Martin.

Some Like It Hot was a critical and commercial success, but the two films Marilyn completed after, Let’s Make Love and The Misfits were not. Paramount Pictures declined to cast her as Holly Golightly, opting for Audrey Hepburn in the film adaption of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, despite the endorsement of its author, Truman Capote.

During the filming of The Misfits, it was reported that Marilyn spent time detoxing in a hospital. Her marriage to author Arthur Miller ended in divorce in January 1961. Reports of mental health problems including low self-esteem, anxiety, depression, and chronic insomnia abounded. She moved back to Los Angeles after six years in New York, purchased a Spanish-hacienda-style house in Brentwood, and spent a large part of the remainder of 1961 battling health issues. She underwent surgery for endometriosis, a disease in which tissue that normally grows inside the uterus grows outside it, the main symptoms being pelvic pain and infertility. Additionally, Marilyn underwent surgery to remove her gallbladder and suffered complications resulting in bloating, diarrhea, nausea, and vomiting.

More positive news was reported in 1962 as Marilyn received a special World Film Favorite Golden Globe award and was signed to begin to shoot Something’s Got To Give, a remake of the 1940 film My Favorite Wife with Cary Grant and Irene Dunne. Days before on the medical advice of physicians, recommending a postponement of the start of film production, Fox ignored the suggestion and began as scheduled in late April. As confirmed by multiple doctors, Marilyn was too ill to work for the majority of the next six weeks, but Fox studio heads tried to pressure her by publicly alleging that she was faking it.

On May 19, Marilyn took an additional break from the film to sing Happy Birthday Mr. President on stage and before a national television audience at President John F. Kennedy’s 45th birthday celebration at Madison Square Garden in New York city. Marilyn stunned her audience with a seductive rendition while performing in a skin-tight nude-colored gown.

Marilyn returned to Los Angeles for filming and celebrated her 36th birthday on set on June 1. She was then again, absent from filming for several days, which led Fox to fire her on June 7 and sue her for breach of contract, demanding $750,000 in damages blaming her alleged drug addiction and lack of professionalism for the demise of the film. 20th Century-Fox replaced Marilyn with actress Lee Remick, but co-star Dean Martin refused to make the film with anyone other than Marilyn. Fox then sued him as well and shut down production.

Marilyn moved quickly to counter the negative publicity, granting interviews to several high-profile publications, such as The New York Times and Los Angeles Times newspapers; and Vogue, Cosmopolitan, and Life magazines presenting her side of the story. Shortly after, it was reported that she and Fox began re-negotiations about resuming filming of Something’s Got to Give and making plans to star in What a Way to Go! in 1964, a biopic about Jean Harlow.

Colin continued to read and re-read all accounts of the final days of Marilyn’s life. In one article, David Palmer, still her photographer, said that he and Marilyn on the previous morning, had met to discuss taking nude photographs on the set of Something’s Got to Give for Playboy magazine. Additionally, inconsistencies in the timeline and events of Marilyn’s final hours surfaced along with conspiracy theories involving actor Peter Lawford, a member of Hollywood’s Rat Pack, brother-in-law to President Kennedy, known more for his off-screen activities than his acting prowess, President Kennedy, and his brother, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, as well as others such as the Mob, the FBI, and others.

Colin shook his head and finally crumpled the newspaper and tossed it in the kitchen waste basket. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator as the phone rang. It was Donald French.

In the six years since the filming of the Prince and the Showgirl, Colin was put in a position to pursue his interest in photography as a career rather than merely a hobby. He began to experiment with different lenses and lighting, perfecting a style, telling stories without speaking a word. While at the London Times, he was granted an interview with news photographer Donald French, who later left to set up his own photographic studio concentrating on portrait photography, and taking Colin along as his assistant.

The previous year, Donald purchased two 35mm Nikon F modular single-lens reflex cameras (SLR), with assembly’s such as viewfinders and perspective lenses, focusing screens, and special 250-exposure film that could be easily fitted and removed allowing the photographer to adapt to almost any task or setting. The Nikon F was capable of firing up to four frames per second with its powered film transport eliminating earlier manual systems to load, advance, and rewind the 35mm film. Concurrently, Donald had become intrigued with the fashion industry. He was determined to couple his photography interests and infatuation with the potential of the fashion industry to at last provide him with a stable long-term and lucrative life. Unexplainable to Colin, Donald had chosen Colin to go along for the ride. He gave Colin the second Nikon F and the two began an unbelievable journey in the world of fashion.

Two

April 30, 1968

The weather system that had brought London and most of Great Britain, rain and fog for the last few days had moved out, leaving the air crystal clear and the sky a sparkling and cloudless brilliant blue. Spring had finally settled over London in a blanket of color, yellow forsythia leaves and daffodil blooms, and red tulips and magnolias. The signs were everywhere: grass turning green, warmer weather and longer days; people without jackets; budding trees and flowers; birds singing, butterflies about; worms on the sidewalk, rain instead of snow, and windy days and nights.

Ellie Wilson was literally climbing the walls of their modest flat. Her husband John had bicycled to the law offices where he a year-and-a-half ago, after graduation, had joined the firm as a junior counselor specializing in estate planning. Ellie had met John on campus three years earlier when she was a freshman in the School of Education and he was a junior in The School of Law. The attraction accelerated rapidly and it wasn’t long after that she became pregnant. They were wed when John was in his final year. Ellie dropped out of school, putting her career on hold, opting to devote her time to John and their baby daughter Chloe.

John, although obsessed with his work, wasn’t consumed by it. He’d sworn early on that he’d put family first and had not disappointed. Ellie smiled, recalling her friends from school telling her how scrummy John was and repeating the thought at the wedding, accusing her of becoming pregnant only to keep John from them. You’re a lucky one Ducky, her bridesmaid said. He’s not only handsome, he stuck by you, and he’s got a head on his shoulders. Make sure you keep him satisfied at home or one of us will find a way to steal him away. No chance, love, Ellie fired back. Find your own. John is all mine and he feels the same way about me. I can assure you…Ducky, there will be no time or desire from either one of us for dillydallying. Our life began as solid as a rock and will remain so, make no bones about it.

The baby, now four-months old was beginning to wake up from her nap. Ellie let Chloe stir a while longer, before gathering her, changing her diaper, dressing her, bringing her to the rocker to be breast-fed, spending some playtime, and putting Chloe down for an early afternoon nap.

Ellie poured herself a glass of ice tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator and made herself a half-sandwich on rye of lightly spread mustard, roast beef, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. She glanced at the bag of potato chips on the counter, but proud of her discipline to lose the weight gain of her pregnancy and aftermath and regain her shape, she turned away from the temptation.

Ellie took a long, hot shower, pulled on underpants, fixed her face and hair, and opened her closet door. The thin black slacks actually fit, a little snug maybe, but she was able to button the waist without pulling in her stomach and taking a deep breath. She selected and ironed a long-sleeve white blouse and placed comfortable walking shoes at the exit door and a light windbreaker on the hook. She located the baby stroller and packed blankets and diapers in the underneath basket. It was a beautiful spring day and when Chloe woke, they were going out. Fresh air and the beautiful day would do her and Chloe a world of good.

It felt so good to be under the open sky, breathing fresh, unsullied air. Ellie strolled proud and erect toward the park, only about two miles from the apartment. As she walked, she relished her freedom and the sounds, sights, and smells it offered. She was genuinely happy, just her and her baby. It was nearly sixty degrees but sunny and breezy. The trees were alive with the sounds of birds excited by the early arrival of spring. She stopped to put on her wind breaker and raise the top of the stroller to protect Chloe from the sun and breeze. On the way and while in the park, Ellie caught several men checking her out, reminiscent of what was routine during her high school and college days. She smiled inwardly.

Departing the park, she looked skyward to locate the position and direction of the sun. She wheeled the stroller to a bench outside the park, underneath the shade of a large elm, and stepped on the brake. She hoisted and positioned Chloe as she prepared her daughter for her feeding. No one seemed to notice or if they did, chose to ignore them.

She stared at the school of pigeons strutting about and searching for food. A kid on his bicycle, about nine or ten, rattled by on the pavement and the pigeons scattered. She watched the boy pedal away and the flight of the pigeons with the blueness of the sky and bright sun in the background. The wind sighed through her hair and across the surrounding grass and bushes. High overhead, came the sound of an airplane. The faint sound of pop music came from a passing car.

Her attention was drawn to the small group of people across the way waiting at the bus stop, all focused on the passing traffic, straining for a glimpse of the bus arrival while alternately glancing at their watches or the clock atop the bank building. Two teenaged boys stepped off the curb into the street to get a better view. She knew when the sighting finally occurred, as the loose congregation compressed into a restless column, jostling for position, and reaching for fares. The two-tiered bus arrived and blocked her view, departed, and the bus stop was unoccupied.

Ellie adjusted herself and settled Chloe back into the stroller. She looked at her watch. She still had plenty of time before returning to the flat and preparing dinner for John. She again sat on the bench to relax and savor the day. Her feeling of peace and contentment evaporated maybe five or ten minutes later.

A young man about her age, dressed in work clothes – reasonable clean jeans and a flannel shirt worn over a long-john top, sat on the same bench. She glanced his way to record that he was clean-shaven and his hair was cut close to his scalp. Catching her eye, he nodded and in return so did she. Was he one of the men she had noticed checking her out earlier? She couldn’t be sure, but her guard was alerted to beware. She glanced his way again. His eyes were clear, wide and bright as he moved closer and leaned toward her.

Ellie smelled the sharp tang of cigarette smoke that wafted off him as he said softly, I’ve been watching you. Are you a nanny or a big sister? You look too young to be a mom.

Taken aback, "Excuse me?’ was all she could manage.

You got a boyfriend? Of course, you do… pretty thing like you…

Ellie’s pulse quickened. I’m married, she said as she showed him her wedding ring. This is my child.

Too bad, he said undeterred. I was hoping for some afternoon delight as hot as you are…You didn’t say you were happily married now did you?

I am happily married, she said. Sorry to disappoint. My husband is a cop, she lied. I expect him at any moment now.

He didn’t back off. Did he know John? Was he following her? I got money, he said. You want some? Everybody could use some extra money, right? I could set you up during the times your hubby is working the crime scene, catchin’ the bad guys.

Ellie couldn’t believe the young man’s open brashness.

You really want to spend your days’ housekeeping and taking care of your baby? he went on. You must be bored silly. I can’t really see you makin’ your sole purpose in life bein’ a devoted wife and mummy. Why not spice things up? I find most girls like to live on the edge and fantasize over the bad guys, whether they admit it or not. I have you pegged as one of those girls, the ones with deep, dark secrets, just longing to let their dark side come to the surface. Am I right, babe?

Something in his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as a hinge of fear went through her and kicked up several notches. Sorry babe, she said, being a wife and full-time mother is the only job I want.

She felt she was about to hyperventilate. Her breath stopped in her throat. For half a minute, she could do no more than force breath into her lungs. Sweat had broken out beneath her jacket. She felt a weight pressing on her shoulders.

Don’t kid yourself, the creep went on undeterred. You’re not kidding me. You’re no angel, no saint. Give in to your nature…and reap the benefits. I’ll never tell….

Her insides felt hot, ready to explode. Her mouth was dry and her heart thumped. She took a deep breath, drawing strength from some internal reserve. You’re disgusting, she said as she moved away and rose to check on Chloe, glancing his way with venom in her eyes, hopefully for the final time. What I want is for you to leave me alone, before I start screaming…

There was actually a