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Susan DiMarco clipped the article from the tabloid and affixed it under the plastic page in her photo album. Michael Williams, with his arm around Amy Davis, irritated her. Poor Michael, being suspected of Amy’s death. And Amy’s name was everywhere, in print and on the tongues of Hollywood partygoers. If Michael had killed Susan while they were dating, would the fame she craved like a d**g addiction have increased?
Depicting Dana Wood as an innocent victim of a cheating husband made Susan grimace. Dana was never home, always flying here and there to make a movie, leaving Michael all alone. Now there were rumors of divorce, and Susan expected Michael to turn to her. He hadn’t. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.
And where did that leave her? Alone, accepting minor roles that gave her
