I didn’t agree with him, but I wasn’t going to argue. I also wasn’t going to let it go. My mother had warned me: As a woman in the news industry, you’re going to have to work harder, be smarter, take bigger risks to prove you’re just as good as the men.
When we got back to the Times offices, I waited until Frank went out to get a cup of coffee, then dug around in his notes until I found the number for Cory’s parents.
“Good evening, Mrs. Dempsey, this is Kat Roberts from the LA Times. I met you earlier today with Frank? As we were going through his notes, we realized we didn’t have the full name of the woman who’d been living with Cory at the time of his arrest.”
“We never met her, but her name was Meg Williams,” Cory’s mother said. “I’m not sure if Meg is short for something, or if that’s her real name at all. She took off shortly before everything broke open. In fact, if you find her, could you let us know?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Frank returned, coffee in hand, and said, “What are you going to tackle first?”
I closed my notebook. “I’m going to get started fact-checking some of the statements from your interview today.”
He nodded and settled in to write what would become a four-part series on public schools and the structure that allowed a man like Cory Dempsey to do what he did.
And that was the night I started my search for Meg Williams, the woman who had exploded Cory Dempsey’s life and then disappeared. The woman who would soon destroy mine as well.
Meg
Right away I could tell Cory was a man for whom the anticipation of sex was as exciting as the act itself. I played into that dynamic, sharing early on—and with a fair amount of self-consciousness—that I’d only been with one other person, the boyfriend I’d followed to LA, and that it had been over a year since we’d broken up.
“I hope it’s okay that I don’t have a lot of experience,” I’d said. We were on the couch, Cory’s shirt in a puddle on the floor where it had been dropped a few seconds before I’d abruptly pulled back. “I feel things for you that I’ve never felt before, but I need to go slow. This is new for me.”
“Of course,” he’d said. “I like that you don’t have a lot of experience.” He traced the outline of my jaw with his finger, trailing it down my neck. “That way I can show you the way I like to do things.”
I gave him an incredulous look, as if I couldn’t believe my good fortune. “Seriously?”
He tipped my chin up and brushed a kiss across my lips. “Seriously.”
If I hadn’t been looking for it, I would have missed the spark of hunger for a young girl, inexperienced and nervous. I knew then that the power was mine, for as long as I could manage to hang on to it.
***
By the third week of our relationship, I’d started my classes and was spending at least four nights a week at Cory’s house, a small bungalow in Venice. I inhabited all corners of my role, pretending to have problems so Cory could be the one to help me solve them: Your mistake was not reading the parking signs posted. Getting advice I didn’t need: Introduce yourself to your professor right away. They’ll grade you more favorably if they can picture your face.
On the surface, Cory was attentive and caring, but his affection was laced with control, needing to know my work and class schedule, who I spent time with on my breaks, or who I hung out with on the nights I didn’t spend with him.
I kept most of the details about my life as close to the truth as possible, though it was a tricky dance, trying to grow closer to him while at the same time keeping him from knowing that the nights we weren’t together, I was sleeping in my car parked on various streets on the Westside.