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“I deny everything with TMZ, per my manager.”
“No comment is the only answer you have to anyone from this point forward,” Cole states.
“Okay,” she says simply.
“It seems a wide stretch that the police would assume your guilt because of a long-lost connection,” Cole comments.
“It’s not long lost,” she says. “We’re still friends and occasional fuck buddies. Some people are just better at being fuck friends than real friends. We were those people.”
“You don’t seem very broken up about the loss of a good friend,” I observe.
“We fucked six times,” she says. “We didn’t share life stories. We didn’t contemplate everlasting love. And it hasn’t even hit me yet. Right now, I’m scared for me. They’ve taken away my ability to grieve for him.”
It’s cold and callous, but not without believability. I don’t like Tara, but that doesn’t make her a killer, and I can’t call her a bad person for flirting with Cole. She doesn’t know he’s with me, and let’s face it, he is hot.
“Tell me about the police encounter you had,” Cole orders.
“They came to the door,” she says. “I told them I needed an attorney to talk to them. After what happened with my father, I wasn’t taking any chances by saying one single word without you.”
“Why would they come to your door?” I ask.
“David called me last night, so I was in his recent calls. He wanted to get together. He was a good fuck, but not good enough to look like shit today for the party.”
“How do you know they’re accusing you of giving him the drugs?” Cole asks.
“They didn’t,” she says.
“You told me they did on the phone,” Cole reminds her.
“They wanted to question me. I assumed.”
“Why would you assume such a thing?” I ask. “What don’t we know?”
“I was in rehab last year after my father was in the press,” she admits.
“Does your father know this?” Cole asks.
“Yes,” she says. “He’s very disappointed. Outside of him and my agent, no one else knows. They’ve kept it out of the press. If it gets out, it’ll drive the insurance costs up on my films and reduce my dollar demands.”
“But the police don’t know that, as far as you know?” Cole presses.
“They can’t know,” she says.
“But you assumed they did last night,” Cole rebuts.
“I don’t know what they can see on their own,” she replies. “Is there a database of some sort? I don’t know what the police know, but if they ask, and I lie, I’m screwed. If they ask, and I tell the truth, they hate my father. I have to assume they’ll leak the information.”
“What kind of addiction?” I ask.
“Pain pills,” she says. “I got hurt on the set of a movie, and the damn things just got the best of me. I didn’t realize I was in trouble until it was too late.”
“I need a list of every medication you’re on now,” Cole says. “They’re going to want it.” He slides a piece of paper and pencil to her.
“I’m on an antidepressant. I really don’t want that to get out. Do I have to give them this list?”
“They can subpoena it and we can fight it, right up until the toxicology report returns. We’ll win unless he OD’d on something other than an over-the-counter medication or one of his own prescriptions, and we’ll make damn sure they prove that before we turn it over. But I need to know what I’m dealing with. I need medication names and what they are used for.”
She hesitates and writes down a list of ten drugs and then slides the paper toward us. “I have MS,” she says. “My father doesn’t know. No one knows, not even my agent and managers, in this case. It’s probably the reason I got hurt on the job. It’s definitely what made me susceptible to the pills. Hollywood is brutal. If this gets out, I’m done. And again, my father doesn’t know. He can’t know. I have a lot that we disagree on, but I love him. I won’t let him take the fall for me, and while I doubt he would now, if he knew the real reason for my rehab, I think he might.”
