The Sleeping Beauty Killer

32

While she was waiting for Gabrielle, Mindy Sampson sat at a table in the back corner of the Rose Bar in the Gramercy Park Hotel. There was a time not many years ago when every person here, from the hostess at the front to the A-list actress at the booth to her right, would have recognized her face. For more than two decades, her photograph had graced the top of “The Chatter,” one of the most read gossip columns in New York City. She’d take a new head shot like clockwork each year, but always wore pale makeup and dark red lipstick and kept her hair naturally jet-black. The look was iconic. Before the Kardashians and the Kanyes and the Gwyneths, Mindy Sampson had understood the value of branding oneself.

And Mindy’s brand was associated with taste making. Who wore it better? Which celebrity couples were to be cheered for, and which scorned? Was the billionaire playboy guilty, or the victim of a reckless accusation? Mindy always had the answers.

Those were the days when papers still left ink on your fingers.

Then came the day when her managing editor told her to “hold off” on her annual tradition of getting a new photograph for her column. They might be making “changes,” he warned.

Mindy was famous by then for gossip, but she still had a journalist’s instincts. She’d seen what was happening in the newsroom. Advertising dollars were down. The paper got thinner each month. So did the workforce. The long-timers, seen in the past as the backbone of the paper, were too expensive to keep on the payroll. College interns were willing to work for free, and recent graduates didn’t cost much more.

A month later, she was told “the news.” They were turning her column, the one she had built and nurtured and branded, to “staff.” No byline. No iconic photograph. She knew “staff” was shorthand for tidbits pulled from the wires.

She did not go easily. She threatened to sue for gender discrimination. For ageism. She even threw in a potential disability claim for chronic pain syndrome. The paper thought they were looking at years of litigation and a public scandal. But then she told her lawyer that she only wanted two things: six months’ severance pay and the name. They could call their watered-down column whatever they pleased, but she would be taking the “Chatter” brand with her.

They may have written her off as an over-the-hill old-timer, but it wasn’t the first time Mindy had been underestimated. She knew before they did that the new media was online. She used her severance pay to launch a website, and she became the one to hire unpaid interns. Now, instead of a salary, she earned money for ads that were sold, readers who clicked on those ads, and product placements. And instead of sifting her words through layers of editors, she could publish to the world with the click of a button.

She hit send on her phone. A new story was filed, just like that, all while she was waiting for Gabrielle Lawson. Of all the personalities Mindy had known over the years, Gabrielle was among the most dramatic. She carried herself like an old-fashioned Hollywood dame. She lived like one, too, thanks to a trust fund from a wealthy uncle who’d never had children of his own, not to mention her settlements from three divorces. She was lucid and functional, but seemed to live in a parallel reality in which her inflated sense of self played a starring role.

For example, when she had something to tell Mindy, she couldn’t just say it over the phone or by email. She liked to meet in the back corners of a bar. In her alternative universe, Mindy was Bob Woodward to Gabrielle’s Deep Throat. What news would she have today?

When Gabrielle arrived, they spent the first few minutes sipping champagne and engaging in small talk. As always, Mindy assured Gabrielle she would run a flattering photograph of her. It was an easy promise to make. Gabrielle had been a good source for her over the years, so she wanted to keep her happy.

On this particular occasion, however, the clandestine meeting was a waste of time. Gabrielle didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. When it came to Casey Carter, Mindy had never been lacking information.