THE CON WOMAN

"THE CON WOMAN"

Four and a half years ago, I received a friend request on Facebook. Normally, I don't accept these from strangers. This woman shared 54 mutual friends and most of them not your traditional friend hoarder types. I accepted, and over the course of several months we would chat at night with no mention or plan to ever meet. Just passing the time & joking around.

Four or five months in, she messages me just before 10PM midweek.

MARY: Hey. I'm in your neighborhood. Want to meet for a drink?

ME: Sure. I'll meet you at The Pikey on Sunset in 15.

We both sipped Hendricks & Tonic with cucumber and chatted for a couple of hours.

MARY: Let's go to your place & play.

ME: Good idea.

So we did. No sleepover. She had her dog at home & took off at just after 2AM. Fine.

This continued periodically & by periodically I mean, she would rarely text me back but would hit me up when she had the itch. Typically three times per year. Fine. The last time I saw her it was at her place. A rustic home nestled deep in Nichols Canyon in the Hollywood Hills. A-Frame construction, a big stone fireplace, a small kidney shaped dipping pool with a waterfall. The kind of home I'd hope to one day own. During that last slumber party, I'd asked about her business, which from all outward appearances must be pretty good.

Her business, as she described it was a well organized dog walking agency. She claimed a small fleet of suburbans, many clients and many dogs. Knowing half this town's dogs eat better than I do, it seemed plausible. No red flags, but I didn't really care anyway since we weren't what I'd call dating.

5 months had gone by before I'd hear from Mary again. When I did, it was on a Monday afternoon.

MARY: (flustered) I just had a falling out with my landlord and had to move out. Can I come stay with you for a few days?

ME: I'm kind of seeing someone and it wouldn't be appropriate.

The truth was, that despite sleeping with her a handful of times, she was dodgy. She hadn't done anything overtly suspicious, but I just didn't trust her or want a multi day houseguest with a pit bull.

MARY: Scott. I am literally on the street with no money, my suitcase and my dog. I have nowhere to go!

ME: Where are you?

MARY: Chatsworth.

ME: Chatsworth? Are you doing porn?

MARY: Why does everyone keep asking me that?

I once read that 77% of the world's pornography is produced in the San Fernando Valley and half of that in the city of Chatsworth.

ME: Where exactly are you? What intersection?

MARY: De Soto & Devonshire

Typing into Google Maps.

ME: Do you see the Travelodge?

MARY: Yes but I have no money.

I wanted this off my plate and was willing to pay to minimize brain damage.

ME: I just booked you 3 nights there. On me. You don't have to pay me back. Good luck.

Drama avoided. I'd blown $300 bucks faster than that in my life.

I neither expected, nor desired to hear from Mary ever again. If you have to move out at a moments notice, I don't need to hear the rest. Chances are, you aren't what I'm looking for.

My first rule in dating is you must be less fucked up than me in every way. A low bar I know, but It's a start.

To my surprise, 4 days later I got an email PayPal notification that she had reimbursed me for the motel room. Pretty stand up.

30 minutes later, she called.

MARY: Did you get the money?

ME: Yes. Thank you. I said you didn't have to pay me back though.

MARY: I know, but I wanted to. You were there for me when no one else was. I want to do something nice for you.

As I mentioned above, I was now wary of this one...

ME: Totally unnecessary. Just take care of yourself.

MARY: No really I want to. Now that my trust fund came through, I'm all set. I have a patio suite at the Hotel Bel-Air. I'm going to be living here until I find a house to buy.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? How does a woman who couldn't swing a motel in Chatsworth a few days afford a nearly $3000 per night suite at the best hotel in Los Angeles? Seemed like bullshit.

ME: Great hotel. Great spa.

MARY: Come visit. Stay as long as you like. Eat whatever you want. Get some spa treatments. My treat.

I'm thinking this HAS to be bullshit, but I live only 15 minutes from the hotel. I could use a swim, massage and a meal. If it turns out to be B.S. it's no great time investment.

I throw a few things in a duffle & get onto Sunset Blvd and drive west to the lush wooded canyons of Bel-Air. This is my favorite part of Los Angeles. Some people like the beach. I like old growth trees. If you've seen what I look like, you'll know I prefer shade.

I head to reception and to my surprise, they're expecting me, hand me a key and walk me to the suite. She texted that she was out running errands but to enjoy the place. There was a fruit basket and a bottle of Veuve in an ice bucket.

I called the spa. They were able to take me right away. I got a two hour aromatherapy massage and a facial followed by a turkey club by the pool while reading Captick's "Death in the Long Grass". I headed back to the room for a nap only to be awoken a short while later by everyone's favorite alarm clock. A blowjob.

I stayed for 2 more days, then got bored. I missed my cat and it was all too relaxing and I couldn't get any work done. Champagne problems I know. Mary & I were square.

Another few days went by before I heard from her again.

MARY: It was so great having you! Have you spent anytime in Montecito?

ME: Yes. I love Montecito.

Montecito, if you're unfamiliar is a stunning seaside enclave on the south end of Santa Barbara. It is geographic valium. Idyllic. It is so devoid of stress that not only is there parking everywhere, they don't even have parking meters. All the restaurants are great and none of them are chains. No one ever asks you for change and unlike Malibu, they had the forethought to not build a freeway on the fucking beach. If I had ceaseless money & nothing whatsoever to do, it's about as good as you can do in Southern California.

MARY: Do you think I should buy here? My attorney said I can spend up to $10,000,000 on a home.

I'm still kind of rolling my eyes, but whatever...

ME: I think it's a great place to live.

MARY: Do you want to come house shopping with me?

ME: Nah. I can't. I have too much work to do here. Editing photos.

MARY: Have you been to Bacara resort?

ME: Yes. Many times. Golf. Weddings.

MARY: How about this? I'll get you your own suite. You can stay as long as you like & focus on your work. If you have time to see me for a breakfast or a dinner, I'll be here.

ME: You don't have to do all of this.

MARY: Scott. I have an almost unspendable amount of money & I want to do nice things for you.

I told her I'll let her know if I can make it.

My next call was to my friends who live in Montecito explaining the situation and if, for whatever reason it didn't work out could I stay with them that night so I wouldn't have to drive to Santa Barbara & back. They said of course & that I was always welcome.

So off I went. North on the Ventura Freeway. Past Montecito proper and Downtown Santa Barbara to the less desirable Goleta to the quite desirable Bacara Resort & Spa. Like the Bel-Air, it was "Welcome Mr Nathan" and I was driven in a golf car to my massive suite in the front row. Footsteps from the glittering Pacific. Increasingly more comfortable with being spoiled, I open the chocolate covered almonds and a mini bottle of Jameson's and take a walk on the beach. I text Mary that I had arrived & checked in, but hadn't heard back in a few hours. Fine. Even better.

I stayed there for a couple of weeks to the tune of god knows how much. Long enough to be almost tired of being fussed over. I didn't want another massage and had eaten almost everything on their restaurant and room service menus. I ordered a bottle of Yamazaki 18. A Japanese whisky that supposedly rivaled all but Scotland's very best. I then downloaded the SpeedWeed app and had a couple of joints delivered. Because why not? I'd had enough. I was going to head home tomorrow. I called my Montecito friends and invited them and their kids to come have a pool day. We had smoothies, swam and got crispy in the sun. At sunset, I took some Yamazaki & ice in a paper coffee cup with a plastic lid from the room and one of the conical pre roll joints from the delivery girl and we walked to the pier.

I woke up early the next morning. Around 8. I rang the front desk and asked them to wash my car and have it ready by 10:30. Plan was to be back in L.A. by lunchtime.

I was happy to be home. The next evening, my friend Charlotte from Montecito calls.

CHARLOTTE: Where are you?

ME: Back in L.A. Had enough of robe life.

CHARLOTTE: Did you hear about Mary?

ME: Hear what? I haven't spoken to her since the night before I left.

CHARLOTTE: Dude. She was just tackled by a phalanx of FBI agents at the bar at the Four Seasons Biltmore. They arrested her and took her dog away.

ME: You're full of shit. For what?

CHARLOTTE: Google this name.

I did as she instructed and sure enough, there were dozens of articles about Mary. One was a listicle of the most notorious con women in American history. This list included women dating back to the 1800's. Mary had been in & out of prison since 1994.

Holy shit. Now I'm in a full blown panic. I'm thinking about this whole trip. They know who I am. My car was at their valet. I gave a copy of my driver license on check in. I'm expecting the feds at my door any minute. I set Google alerts with her name and the arrest and wait. When the articles began to pour in, I called my lawyer and told him this whole story.

ME: Phil. Do I need to get ahead of this? Should I call the FBI agent that did the news conference?

PHIL: Scott. The FBI are not your friends. If you call the FBI on yourself, I'm going to come to your house and kick you in the balls. Don't call anyone. You didn't do anything. If they arrest you, don't say a word. If they call, we'll meet them together. And remember, every syllable you utter to law enforcement without me severely handicaps your ability to do anything. I didn't sleep well for a week.

My friend Gwen produces a national network news show on crime and I told her about it. She sent a camera crew down to Marys arraignment, then texted me a photo of her in a royal blue inmate uniform. Mary had a black eye and a split lip.

Gwen is southern lady and then texted "Looks like someone had some sass mouth at the jailhouse" (With the obligatory laughing crying emoji of course.)

I never heard from Mary, the cops or the FBI. Mary was sentenced to 6 years in prison for identity theft and a slew of other crimes. She was released early a few months ago. Thankfully, I haven't heard from her.

I now run background checks on every date. I don't care who you know.