Chapter 1 from THE FASHIONISTA MURDERS: Say hello (and goodbye) to fashionista Paisley LaForge

IT’S THREE O’CLOCK in the morning. She’s alone and almost asleep in the voluptuous bed when she hears the rustling sound and feels the gloved hand slide across her cheek and —THWAMMMMP!—clamp tight across her mouth.

A shudder shoots through her like an arrow carved from ice. Every sinew, every membrane, every cell of her imperial body freezes. 

She can’t move. She can’t talk. She can only dread what is happening to the most powerful woman in the world of fashion—the woman her jealous peers, dropping to their knees, have crowned La Fashionista.  

Some ignorant and misinformed lowlife is trying to kill her. 

It’s only been a few hours since her friends from Paris threw the awesome après-ski shindig in her honor—twenty-five Croesus-rich socialites plus the top five international retail-stock moguls, to say nothing of her swarm of magazine people—to present her the gold Aphrodite.

Then the drunken scene with Philo—her kissy-sweet paramour proceeding to make a perfect ass of himself groping the young wife and ex-model thing from Copenhagen. Can anyone blame La Fashionista for storming out—alone and in a huff?        

Returning to the Tower Suite of the elegant hotel, she slams the Aphrodite down on the bar, hurls the chinchilla halfway across the room, splashes brandy into a glass, and takes an enormous swallow. This she follows with five deep breaths before pressing the button on her iPhone.

With Die Valkure blasting, she leans in front of her laptop screen and scans the list of industry peeves and annoyances to unload at the noon staff brunch.  Eagerly, she adds a scornful word or three and highlights a sentence in red for those Neanderthals in legal.              

She tosses down the rest of the brandy and in the mirror catches a final glimpse of the matronly curve of her bust, the skin on her face pulled Botox tight around cat-like eyes and serious lips, the frosted gray curls dangling limply in hopes the Parisian stylist flying in at ten will be on time—and, of course, that gorgeous chain of Tiffany pearls triple-stranded across her throat.

Calm now in her Gucci nightgown, La Fashionista snaps off the light and sinks into the softness of the four-poster with the Louis XIV canopy. She pulls the satin sheet and coverlet up around her shoulders.  Then she turns on her side and faces the row of casement windows, the drapes closed tight against the glistening moonlit slopes of Chamonix.

The eyes flicker, adjusting to the absence of light, seeking to close. When they do, even La Fashionista’s slight smile bears the look of confident power.

And then—THAT DREADFUL GLOVE!

The glove has a sweaty, greasy odor, not the subtle fragrance of the expensive lotions and moisturizers and rare emollients privileged to kiss her body—and, not to be forgotten, those drops of Chanel lingering on her neck and wrists.

But now a second glove replaces the first. She struggles but feels her strength ebbing. The second glove is soaked with a brashly sweet wetness that inflames her nostrils and screams Give up, Lady, for once someone else is in command.

Good Christ, don’t they know La Fashionista is the one and only Paisley LaForge, the voice of Gorjuss, the magazine everybody reads first because it is the Holy Bible of fashion and the editor is God Herself?

Don’t they know she can make or break a new line with a single scathing word from her fertile, chichi vocabulary—and that La Fashionista has come all the way from New York to breathe new life into the dying crop of indolent French designers?

She hears what sounds like the squeak of metal. Or is it a hum? Whispers—yes, there must be more than one.

If only she could talk. If only they could hear her thoughts on the subject, her clever suggestions. But that glove!

You may help yourselves to the pearl thing, she wants them to hear her say—it’s an original.  Sorry for not bringing the rest of the jewels. But if you’d be willing to settle for some fantastic fakes, check the black box on the cabinet. And next to it on the bar is the Aphrodite—take it, please.         

She can arrange other things—this is France, after all. Doesn’t she have the ear of the President after that article on the man’s awesome new wife—her stunning wardrobe?  And she knows the hotel has some terrific job openings—you’ll get to wear spiffy uniforms with dangling gold braid.

La Fashionista can get you into clothes—ooh-la-la, can she ever! How fabulous you’ll look strutting up and down the Avenue des Champs d’Elysees, drawing flattering stares while everyone shouts—look, oh look at them, aren’t they natty, aren’t they sharp, don’t they know how to dress, aren’t they the frosting on the cake, the cat’s meow?

Can’t you please take that nasty glove away—show a little courtesy for La Fashionista and her ideas? I am trying my best to cooperate.

All right, whoever you are, if you want to play hardball yours truly is also known behind her back as the Iron Lady and as such can have your asses ‘renditioned’ (to use the glitzy new word) back to New York where she’s on a first name basis with the Mayor and has friends in the D.A.’s office. 

At the snap of the Iron Lady’s fingers, certain elements of the industry will be privileged to enter your cell in the wee hours to gouge out your eyes, shove a nightstick up your tight, little assholes, and remove your darling little pricks with a switchblade.

One or all of the above, fellas—your choice! Don’t mess with the Iron Lady.

The angry surge of contempt has her going now and she kicks out a leg and moves an arm as she struggles to raise her head from the pillow.

But the black glove moves swiftly from her mouth and with the other glove presses two black thumbs behind her neck while the fingers of both hands spread across her jawbones and begin the process of squeezing. Squeezing tight around her thin neck and those precious pearls. Tighter even. And then—

AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaack.

The scream is barely out of her mouth. Amid the jangle of pearls she feels the sudden, serious wrench. Much too far—Jesus guys!

She hears the ‘snap’—no, make a note that it is more like the ‘crack’ of a stalk of fresh celery breaking. But it is too late.

 Everything is morphing into the strangest color. Nothing like it in anything La

Fashionista has ever written or seen—nothing at all. Then a blank page.

And now even that is gone.

 ********

 

THE FASHIONISTA MURDERS, the third in the series of Kate Conway thrillers, is now available through Amazon Books in both soft cover and e-book.  And with the action starting with the first sentence on page one, we’ve got another terror-packed thriller to rival THE MOUNTING STORM and THE DEADLY BUDDHA.

Why Thrillers Are Fun to Write, and #1 to Read: William Thompson Ong Interview

(NOTE: This is the 2nd part of the Bob Yehling interview with William Thompson (Tom) Ong)

After he retired from a long career in the advertising industry, William Thompson Ong knew he wanted to return to his other love –writing – but didn’t know where to start. Like other writers, he wanted to draw plenty of fun and enjoyment from his daily sessions. However, he also wanted to write books that would find large audiences.

Ong did some research, and it brought him back to one of the favorite genres he read as a youth and young man: action thrillers with plenty of mystery. Bingo! He transformed into a typing thoroughbred, and burst out of the gates. In just a few years, he has written seven novels and a popular thriller series. In the second part of this exclusive interview, Ong reflects on why thrillers are so much fun to write, why they are the #1 fiction genre for readers (just ahead of the other ingredient in his books, romance), and how the stars have aligned ideally in the persona of Kate Conway, his protagonists for the novel series The Mounting Storm, The Deadly Buddha, and The Fashionista Murders, all available on Amazon.com.

WORDJOURNEYS.COM: What is it about the personalities and characteristics of investigative journalists that make them ideal protagonists for thrillers and mysteries? 

WILLIAM THOMPSON ONG: I’d like to answer with some comparisons between the detective and the newspaper guy or gal. Both appear to be dedicated to discovering breakthrough facts or evidence they can weave into a conclusive story or an indictment.  Aren’t they both in the same business, after all—fighting crime?

In Kate Conway’s case, the hurdles are set higher. The investigative reporter is in a class by herself at a newspaper or magazine journal, assigned to the really big and explosive stuff—stories and cases that go far beyond the murder story.  These are the bright, tenacious, and fearless guys and gals who won’t be home for Christmas—they’ll be spending it hiding in a basement in Teheran to escape a terrorist’s sword. These are the guys and gals whose names will appear on the stories that garner Pulitzer Prizes for their papers—(to say nothing of boosting circulation enough to keep today’s newspapers alive for another year.)  And in most cases they’ll be acting alone—not with the NYPD at their disposal.

WJ: You mentioned a disparity between typical education levels of an investigative journalist and detective, which creates major story problems in moving crime novels along because of the distrust with which one often views the other in real life. How did you get around that in your series?

TO: I made Kate’s father a gnarly ex-detective—(Paul Conway is a career dick from Brooklyn). When Kate needs help she whistles and Paul Conway appears, wise in the details of police procedure (which Kate and I choose not to be) and just dropping his name opens doors for Kate. Some may think I am cheating by supplying Kate with a crutch like this. But it allows Kate to cruise on a higher level and solve the really complicated crimes.

All of this explains why I lean away from the straight detective story in favor of the mystery-thriller. I’m still that stickler for detail.  But now I can keep a lot more balls in the air when it comes to plotting.

WJ: In The Fashionista Murders, and also The Mounting Storm, you give an expert’s touch to how you portray the high fashion industry and the high-end art world. Are these interests of yours, or just story drivers that you researched (well) and brought to life?

Like Kate Conway herself in The Fashionista Murders, I am totally turned off by fashion—which is why I attached the serial killer to the story. In The Mounting Storm, introducing Kate to Margaret Winship opened up the world of art and museums and society that heightened Kate’s search for the missing Monet she suspects belonged to her grandmother and triggered Kate’s unmasking the Nazi.

It also opened all of Kate’s subsequent novels to the swanky world of high finance and billionaires and celebrity society with its pretension and snobbery and deviousness—absolutely wonderful and trusty elements for layering your novel.  These elements are story drivers and not comfortable elements already present in my life—although at one time I seriously considered becoming an artist.

WJ: You had an interesting way of becoming a thriller writer after leaving the advertising industry:

TO: I did. My decision to write thrillers was based on some good old-fashioned seat-of-the-pants research.  I found thrillers to be the most popular genre. I also found there were more female readers than male readers, which helped lead me to inventing Kate Conway.  Discovering that romances were the second hottest genre convinced me to spread Kate’s adventures with hot and spicy romance.

WJ: Were you a big reader of mysteries, thrillers and crime fiction in your growing up years? Who were your favorite authors, and what influenced you most about their works, styles and/or voices?

TO: When I was 9, my father brought home The Five Orange Pips and lightning struck. I became a Sherlock Holmes fan forever, admiring his characters and atmosphere (who can resist The Hound of the Baskervilles for atmosphere?) as much as his sleuthing.  But as I grew older, my tastes gravitated to more intricate thrillers like The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Gorky Park, The Manchurian Candidate, and The Day of the Jackal.

By the time I reached college, writing style became important—the   grace and class of W. Somerset Maugham as well as the biting vividness of Hemingway and the magic of F. Scott Fitzgerald. (I have worn out several soft-cover editions of A Farewell to Arms and The Great Gatsby.)

WJ: Story structure and writing style definitely resonates in your books. We start off on one trail, only to be switched to another – then another –  always with entanglements of some kind involved. Is this a reflection of the way Kate keeps changing and running into surprises? Or the storycrafting style you’ve decided to run with?

TO: It’s both. The multi-layering of plot that I began in The Mounting Storm logically became a pattern for all of Kate’s novels.  In the beginning I had no thought of making the novel into a series.  It was to be a dark and brooding Citizen Kane type of story dramatizing the deviousness of Stirling Winship with Kate almost a minor figure. On the advice of an agent I cut some 90 pages and 30,000 words of background color on Stirling and turned it into a fast-paced thriller featuring Kate. But almost all the plots and subplots remained intact and we were off to the races with the Kate Conway series.

WJ: Rather than go the traditional publishing route, you’ve partner-published with Charles Redner and RiPublishing. Could you elaborate on the advantages you’ve found to the path you’re taking?

TO: The advantages? I am getting to see my books in print, I’m getting strong reviews, and I’m selling enough books to encourage me to keep going. Plus, it’s happening right now. This sure beats waiting around while an editor fiddles and fusses with changes for a year and then spends another year wondering whether the publishing house bosses will give me the final green light.

Self-publishing no longer bears a stigma. It’s attracting big name authors as well as beginners.  If you can’t afford to wait, it’s the place to be. If your books have the necessary magic, they will almost certainly rise to the top.

Partnership-publishing is even better. In Charlie Redner, I have the advantage of a fellow author who acts as my publisher and also my agent when it comes to advice.  There’s a lot of advice you’ll need, especially if you’re like me and have a mind that was built to function in the old days before the computer and the internet—back when we spent our time thinking and doing things instead of walking around pressing buttons on gadgets. (But thank Heaven the word processor replaced my typewriter!)

WJ: Final question: In each of your books, what is the one scene, situation, or character shift that surprised you most when it came flying from your mind to pen or computer screen?

TO: What a terrific question for ending this interview!

In The Mounting Storm, it’s the scene where Kate’s having dinner as the guest of Winston Winship.  She has found the guy an obnoxious bore and lets us know it. But then he says something encouraging about her idea for a new magazine—and she warms to him. When he invites Kate to the party he’s throwing in the Hamptons, which she absolutely hates…

            Kate looked at him before answering, digesting all over again his         coolness, his incredible confidence, his mastery at what he does, his   extremely good looks. And his eyes, those wonderful gray eyes with      their look of sadness.

           “Yes, I’ll come,” she said. “I love the Hamptons.

In The Deadly Buddha, in the party scene at the Hollywood movie studio, Kate has no idea the handsome dude chatting her up—and from whom she reluctantly accepts a ride back to her hotel—is the Welsh movie star she’s been ordered to interview.  He stops at the Griffith Observatory and they find themselves having a ball as they recall from memory the lines James Dean and Natalie Wood exchanged in Rebel Without a Cause. This is how the scene ends:

             Kate didn’t lean over and kiss him, although she thought about it. They were too busy laughing. They laughed all the way back to the hotel. The doorman helped her out. She turned to wave goodbye, but he was already in the circle and heading toward the Wilshire exit, his hand waving carelessly in the air.

           That was the moment Kate realized she didn’t even know his name.

In The Fashionista Murders, we go through the thought process that keeps Kate from giving in to sex, this time in the apartment-studio and in the arms of the handsome photographer covering the fashion shows with her:

Maybe the shrink her friends had dragged her to was right—instead of shutting men out of her life she should loosen up when she felt her buttons being pushed and let things happen. Maybe she needs to change—not just Cam.

          “You are not only a sex maniac but a full-fledged, card-carrying, conniving bastard,” was the way she began the terms of her surrender.  

           She took a step back, grasping both his hands in hers while shaking her mane of Irish red hair. “And now that I have made it ridiculously clear, you may do what you want with me—so long as it’s not boring, distasteful, or so devious it will land us in jail.”

 I warned you how much fun it is writing thrillers, especially when you decide to stretch the boundaries a little. Thanks again for inviting me into your sanctuary.

THE 10 BEST MOVIES ABOUT INVESTIGATIVE REPORTING

Having authored a trilogy of thrillers based on Kate Conway as an intrepid investigative reporter, I’m pointing out some of the classics that inspired me—and based on their explosive story value may inspire you. 

Citizen Kane (1941)

The brilliant expose and bio-pic of newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst. Directed by and starring  Orson Welles. Often ranked as the greatest movie of all time. Script by Welles and Herman Mankiewicz.

Foreign Correspondent (1940)

Boston reporter Huntley Haverstock witnesses espionage, assassination, and windmills that turn the wrong way in uncovering a spy ring of war-mongering Fascists on the eve of World War II. This Alfred Hitchcock gem starred Joel McCrea and featured Laraine Day, Herbert Marshall, and George Sanders.

The Story Of G.I. Joe (1945)  

Pulitzer-prize winning war correspondent Ernie Pyle (Burgess Meredith) follows a platoon of infantrymen from the battlefields of North Africa to the devastated townships of Italy, getting to know each intimately. The combat scenes are intense and realistic, but the film also shows the humdrum day-to-day duties and concerns of enlisted men with an almost documentary-like fidelity.

The Parallax View (1974)

A reporter played by Warren Beatty becomes enmeshed in a wide-ranging conspiracy in the wake of a prominent senator's assassination. With Paula Prentiss and Hume Cronyn. Director Alan J. Pakula brilliantly stirs up fears and doubts about our country's recent past. Based on the novel by Loren Singer.

All The President's Men (1976)

The movie version of the historic sleuthing by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein in establishing the missing link between the 1972 Watergate burglary and a White House staffer. Played by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman, the pair have the blessing of executive editor Ben Bradlee (Jason Robards) as they "follow the money" to bring down the Nixon Presidency that two years prior had won re-election by the widest margin in history. Faithfully adapted from the Pulitzer Prize-winning book.

The China Syndrome (1979)

Jane Fonda plays an ambitious TV reporter who discovers irregularities at a nuclear power plant. Co-star Jack Lemmon won an Oscar as a concerned plant operator. This tense and timely nail-biter is effective not only because director James Bridges gets all the fundamentals right, but because its explosive subject matter would soon hit home with a terrifying real-life incident at the Three Mile Island nuclear plant in Pennsylvania.

The Year Of Living Dangerously (1982)

It’s l965 and an Australian reporter played by Mel Gibson arrives in Indonesia to get the goods on the turbulent Sukarno regime. There he meets a British embassy attaché played by Sigourney Weaver and romantic sparks fly. Director Peter Weir heightens our awareness of impending societal disruption but actress Linda Hunt is the spell-binder in the gender-bending role of Billy, winning her a richly deserved Oscar.


The Killing Fields (1984)

New York Times reporter Sidney Schanberg, played by Sam Waterston, covers the growing unrest in Cambodia along with his assistant Dith Pran until the 1975 take-over by Khmer Rouge guerrillas. Dith Pran endures years of torture during the genocide before escaping. Director Roland Joffe crafts an authentic and intelligent portrayal of individual heroism. As Dith Pran, Haing S. Ngor, a non-professional actor, won an Oscar.

The Insider (1999)

In this true story Russell Crowe plays Dr. Jeffrey Wigand, an embittered tobacco company employee who decides to blow the whistle on mammoth employer Brown & Williamson's deceptive practices. He enlists the help of Lowell Bergman, senior producer on 60 Minutes (Al Pacino) to get the story out and in the harrowing process both men's lives are nearly destroyed. Directed with breathtaking care and innuendo by Michael Mann.

Shattered Glass (2003)

Stephen Glass (Hayden Christensen) is a rising young reporter for The New Republic, whose shocking stories about celebrity hackers and illegal hijinks at a Young Republican convention earn him the respect and admiration of his peers, not to mention kudos from managing editor Michael Kelly (Hank Azaria). But Glass's highly irregular reporting practices gradually come to light in the form of rampant plagiarism.