OUTRAGEOUS PART SIX: COURTESAN
FBI raids, federal court & hitting the jackpot
OMFG THIS MIGHT BE MY FAVORITE CHAPTER OF THEM ALL!
SEPTEMBER 1999
A cascade of images. Anna arrives to court. Day after day. The Los Angeles Federal Bankruptcy Court has never been more fashionable. Anna pans her smile across the sea of photographers. Every appearance is a photo shoot.
She wears elegant Chanel suits. Timeless Ralph Lauren blazers. Navy and camel. Tortoiseshell and pinstripes.
She accessorizes boldly with butterfly clips in her hair, gold rings on her fingers, and pearls around her neck. The beauty is the best – orange lipstick, red nails, pin curls.
Like all good celebrities, Anna knows dressing for court is a unique sartorial opportunity. If context shapes fashion, dressing for trial is its own beast.
Anna’s courtroom style became iconic. She followed in the footsteps of the Golden Era stars who knew image was everything, especially in front of a jury, but also walked those litigious steps long before some of our other favorite plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses.
Naomi Campbell testified at the Hague in a fully knit Alaïa ensemble during a 2010 blood diamond trial. However, she received an order of special protection that prohibited her being photographed coming or going from court.
Winona Ryder elevated her fashion plate status on the steps of the Beverly Hills courthouse during her 2002 shoplifting trial. A Washington Post reporter remarked at the time, “She may be a shoplifter, but she has impeccable taste.”
Fashion fiends were thrilled to see her in a few memorable Marc Jacobs pieces, including a black sweater tress with a school-girl skirt and pink trim. Not just because they love Marc Jacobs, but that it was among the brands she was caught stealing. After she was found guilty, she went on to star in a Marc Jacobs campaign. The L.A. Times wrote, “Court room chic pays off for Ryder.”
Lindsay Lohan’s courtroom style wasn’t consistent, but it was undoubtably impactful. The vision was mostly great but enjoyably off-kilter. A long-sleeve white mini dress paired with large, black sunglasses was unexpected for court. It felt like a dress a hot girl would wear to a club, with sunglasses that girl would add once her eyes showed how high she was.
The pious white thing makes sense, but the cuts were wacky for someone on trial. She wore another white dress with wrapped layers that was something a Kundalini yoga instructor or bohemian beach bride in Tulum would wear. There was a blue Givenchy suit. A 50’s polka dot housewife frock. Beige cashmere. Cream-colored Chanel slacks with a low-cut blouse.
But Lindsay’s defendant style made an impact beyond the paparazzi photos. Her ankle monitor inspired Karl Lagerfeld to make a line of ankle purses for Chanel. House arrest purses, really. Suddenly, guilty was glam.
Back to Anna. She came first. She’s arriving to court. Daniel’s at her side in a smart little suit. He’s almost 10 and stands awkwardly as his mom blows kisses to the camera.
With the bang of a gavel, we’re finally in the courtroom. The judge announces the case, “Marshall vs Marshall in the CA Bankruptcy Court.”
Pierce Marshall watches with pleasure as his attorney give an opening statement.
“The fact of the matter is, we have no business trying Marshall vs Marshall in CA when it’s a matter of probate in the state of Texas,” Pierce’s lawyer says. “Probate precedent reflects that estate cases having to do with Texans will be decided in Texas. This court lacks jurisdiction to decide on the matter.”
Anna listens to her own lawyer, Ron Rale, just as amorously.
“The reason we’re in a bankruptcy court in CA is that my client was the victim of fraud. Without Pierce Marshall’s tortious interference in the management of his father’s estate, my client would not have been forced to file for bankruptcy in the state of CA. We believe Pierce Marshall lied to and defrauded his father to prevent both his brother J. Howard Marshall III and Anna from getting what they deserve,” Rale says.
We cut to J. Howard Marshall III on the stand.
“My brother knew my father and I settled our grievances long before his passing, but Pierce reverted the will back to an older state while my dad was in the hospital. In an effort to exclude me, and my stepmother, from the will,” J. Howard Marshall III says.
“How would you describe the relationship between your father and Ms. Smith?” Rale asks.
“My father was clearly very attracted to Vicki. He raised Daniel like his youngest son and it was very important to him they were both taken care of, always. When he mentioned her, he wouldn’t say or Anna or Vicki, just ‘the light of my life.’”
J. Howard Marshall III and Anna lock eyes and smile. Family? No. Allies? Yes.
OUTRAGEOUS
JUNE 2000
Daniel holds a kid’s cam-corder and records Anna doing a bad British accent.
Anna babbles about tea and crumpets until she spots a man outside the window, watching them.
“Go to your room and ignore Mark if you see him, ok?” she tells Daniel, calmly. “I love you.”
Daniel pretends to go to his room but lingers in the hallway to listen. To watch over his mom.
Anna locks the front door, but this man, Mark, punches through the glass window and unlocks it.
Burly like a bodybuilder, Mark barrels into the house with a knife in his hand.
“Why do you keep showing up here?” Anna wails. “I’m your friend! I told you we’re friends!”
“I’m not letting you end this,” Mark threatens.
Kimmy, Anna’s purple-haired, live-in assistant, pulls Daniel into her room.
“What’s Mark’s problem?” Daniel asks Kimmy, genuinely curious. Kimmy hugs him as she calls 911.
The next door neighbor hears the disturbance from his backyard. This is Rene Navarro, a middle-aged Latino dad with a cast on one arm. He runs over and calmly asks Mark to leave Anna alone. Mark punches Rene to the ground and kicks the shit out of him. He breaks the cast open as Anna shrieks.
Paralyzed by fear, Anna freezes.
Back in the other room, Kimmy holds Daniel back from running out there to be with his mom.
Finally, cops arrive and arrest Mark. Anna makes eye contact with him and sobs. Despite it all, she hates seeing him handcuffs.
Over pancakes the next morning, Anna gives Daniel and Kimmy a pep-talk as they sit at the breakfast table together.
“We’re gonna be ok, aren’t we?” Anna asks Daniel. “We can shake off last night, right?”
When Daniel doesn’t answer right away, Anna dances in place until he nods in agreement. She thinks she’s undulating the bad vibes away.
“Everything’s ok, jellybean,” Anna swears as she shimmies.
Daniel fakes a smile. He knows his mom needs him to be ok.
Heartfelt emotional processing? Not in this house, honey! Push through!
JULY 2000
Anna and Daniel play Nintendo back in the living room.
They reach for Ruffles and dip in unison but hear a sturdy knock at the door.
“Kimmy’s not home to answer the door is she?” Anna asks.
Anna acts lazy but she’s also scared. She likes other people to answer the door.
Whoever is out there keeps banging. Keeps banging.
Daniel rolls himself over the couch and unlocks the door. He discovers two big men in suits on their doorstep, flashing badges.
“Is your mom home?” one asks.
Anna rises. Anna blesses herself with the sign of the cross as she chews.
“Who are you?” Anna asks.
“We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” a detective says.
“The FBI,” the other clarifies. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
“How am I supposed to know you two aren’t some super fans dressed up like the Men in Black?,” Anna worries. “Or stalkers? robbers?”
“Please let us inside, where we can speak alone,” a detective says, eyes on Daniel.
“Here’s my badge and ID number,” the other detective says, giving her his ID card. Anna hardly looks at it. Some security measure.
“How can I help you?” Anna asks.
She gestures to Daniel that it’s okay for him to leave.
Daniel hides out in the hallway, eavesdropping like usual. In case she needs him.
“Are you aware of a murder-for-hire plot against Pierce Marshall?” a detective asks.
“We have word you’ve hired a hitman to kill your stepson Pierce Marshall,” the other says.
Anna sits silent in shock. Finally, she nods her head “no.”
“Are you part of a plot to kill your stepson Pierce Marshall?” a detective asks.
“No!” Anna wails. “What are you talking about?
“You’re not aware of any attempt to murder Pierce Marshall? Past or present?” a detective asks.
“No!” Anna wails.
“Please stay calm Ms. Smith,” a detective urges.
Anna tries to take a deep breath but can’t.
“Do you have any idea of why someone would accuse you of such a crime?” one agent continues.
“People accuse me of a lot of things,” Anna says. “You really think I’m a murderer? You think I hired a hitman? Where the hell do you go to hire a hitman? I don’t even drive a car in LA.”
“Ms. Smith, please,” an agent continues. “We investigate the information we receive. You are not under arrest at this time, but you should be aware we’re looking into this.”
“What would killing Pierce do for me, huh? Explain that. My case is finally almost over. I could get my settlement any day. I might get it tomorrow. Next week. Who knows? I don’t like Pierce, but I’m not like him. I don’t want to play God like that.”
“With the court case, you can imagine why your name would come up here,” an agent says.
“Plenty of people would kill for a billion dollars. Half a billion dollars,” the other agent presses.
“Not me,” Anna says. “They couldn’t even find me guilty of defamation last year. You know why? Because I tell the truth. Pierce Marshall wants to ruin my life.”
“It’s been said you spent very little time with your husband,” a detective says.
“So this is all coming from Pierce? Are you working for him?” Anna asks. “You think it’s fair to pit Mr. Koch Oil against me? Miss May from Playboy? He’s probably paying you both off, funding a new FBI scholarship or something.”
“This is nothing like that. We’re exploring potential leads,” an agent says. “This isn’t an arrest. But we are going to have to take a look at the house, ok Ms. Smith?”
“You guys can call me Mrs. Marshall,” Anna tells them.
Anna slides down the wall and cries as the agents disappear into other rooms. Daniel scurries into his room and shuts the door. Terrified.
Anna crawls to her landline phone. She dials a number and the words fall out of her mouth: “Help me Howard. This can’t be real.”
Howard arrives at the house and consoles Anna. They watch an agent emerge with two things they consider evidence:
A 3.5 inch stainless steel knife, a .357-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver and an orange and black hat.
He puts everything into a plastic bag labeled: “Dr. Seuss.”
“Thank you for cooperating,” an agent tells her.
“We’ll let you know if we need anything else,” the other agent says.
“I’m really sorry you guys think I’m a killer,” Anna says. “I’m actually a very nice person.”
“Mrs. Marshall, who would falsify claims against you?” an agent asks.
“Pierce Marshall,” Anna says.
Stern coughs like “say it”
“My ex-boyfriend is real sad. I don't wanna be with him no more,” Anna starts. “I didn’t love him… so maybe…His name is Mark.”
An agent takes notes. Howard cranes over his shoulder and sees a log of Anna’s previous arrests, drunk driving arrests and battery offenses, complete with mugshots. Her file isn’t exactly slim.
At dusk, Anna, Daniel and Howard watch the FBI leave, just as the neighbors light fireworks.
Red. White. Blue.
“Happy almost 4th of July,” Anna tells Daniel.
“Happy 4th of July,” Daniel tells Anna.
SEPTEMBER 2000
Anna and Daniel, 10, watch Happy Days at home. The phone rings.
Anna reads the caller ID and passes it to Daniel.
“I can’t, I’m too nervous,” she squeals.
Daniel answers but shoves the phone to her ear.
“We did it!” Howard shouts on the other line. “We won!”
Anna’s mouth falls open. Hangs there.
“Anna, we got the judgment we wanted. You ready? $449,754,134! Plus another $25 million in punitive damages,” Howard says.
“Judge Bufford said Pierce denied you your expected inheritance, so you’re gonna get what he left you and then compensation for your time waiting.”
“Thank you God,” Anna says. “Thank you God.”
“Over $450 million,” Howard says.
“Did we win?” Daniel asks. “Is it over?”
Anna pulls Daniel to the ground with her for a bear hug.
“Thank you God! Thank you God! Thank you God!” she shouts. “We got our money!”
“Thank you God!,” Daniel says.
“Louder,” Anna instructs.
“Thank you God!” Daniel shouts.
Stern remains on the phone.
“Say it Howard,” Anna says.
“Thank you God,” Howard says. “What about thank you Howard?”
“Thank you Howard, tell Ron too,” Anna says.
“Fuck Ron. He won’t stop talking about how there’s still Texas to deal with,” Howard says.
“Where are we going to dinner?” Anna asks.
“Sunset Marquis,” Howard says. “I’m picking you up. Daniel and Kimmy too.”
That night, Anna, Daniel, Howard and Kimmy enjoy an opulent meal in the glamorous hotel.
Anna wakes up next to Daniel the next morning. They wear their pajamas to walk to McDonald’s then stop at a newsstand on Ventura Boulevard.
Anna stands in front of the magazine racks and sees herself everywhere. She smiles and reads:
IT’S FINALLY PAYDAY FOR THIS PLAYMATE
BANKRUPT TO HALF A BILLION: ANNA NICOLE REJOICES
ANNA NICOLE WINS $450 MILLION
Anna feels like she’s getting what she deserves again. Finally! It’s about fucking time!
OCTOBER 2000
HOUSTON
We meet Rusty Hardin in his yellow law office. Yellow everything: walls, rugs, chairs. art. Imagine Christopher Lilley as a Texan lawyer obsessed with the color butter yellow.
Hardin poses in front of a full-length mirror inside one of his legal cabinets.
He combs his yellow mop-top toupee and fiddles with his new yellow tie.
“This woman is not entitled to a dime,” he practices in the mirror. “She had a very brief relationship with a man who was pleased by her appearance. And that's all.''
He sprays his cologne then walks into its mist before he heads out the door.
We follow him into a town car. He raises a clunky mobile phone to his ear and listens.
A country song on the radio ends and the morning show host grabs his attention:
“The hottest probate trial in Texas, heck, maybe the world, or at least the USA, begins today in Downtown Houston. You’ve got former Playmate and GUESS girl Anna Nicole Smith facing off against Pierce Marshall, the heir to an oil fortune, and his lawyer, Rusty Hardin, a local legal legend with a winning street better than the Astros and Rockets combined.”
Hardin hangs up the phone without a goodbye. Big grin.
“Turn it up! Turn it up!” he instructs his driver.
“Opening statements begin today and are expected to last through December here in Texas, the state the late J.Howard Marshall made his home after running energy policy in DC for our great country during WWII. You know what they say? Don’t mess with Texas!”
Hardin rocks with excitement as he listens intently.
“But get this, Pierce Marshall’s brother, the disinherited one, J. Howard’s actual namesake, sides with his former stepmother. Sounds like an episode of Dallas, right y’all?”
Hardin enjoys every single second his case occupies the airwaves. Ecstatically. On the verge of erotically. Oh, he is getting off on this.
Until:
“But this doesn’t mean Hardin doesn’t have his work cut out for him. A California Bankruptcy Court already ruled that Anna Nicole should share equally in proceeds from the Marshall estate. Her share? A whopping $450,00,000, ladies and gentleman. Her win in CA cleared the way for her fight here.”
Hardin rolls down his window and lights a cigarette. A Nat Sherman. A yellow Nat Sherman, of course.
The radio host keeps talking:
“In CA, Pierce Marshall didn’t cooperate in pre-trial discovery, refusing to produce documents explaining his father's assets after 1990. It’s alleged that he destroyed documents related to the case, including missing depositions. Basically, the CA judge determined he did steal from Anna Nicole.
“Turn it off! Turn that shit off!” Hardin yells to the driver. “Turn that horseshit off.”
Hardin sticks his head out the window and lets the wind smack his face like a dog.
“What the fuck do they know?” Hardin asks himself.
Meanwhile, Anna arrives at court in Houston and sashays through the parking lot.
She wears a black lycra polo dress with gold hoops, matching micro-shades and a red leather briefcase.
Media swarms her with an even greater ferocity than in LA. A cacophony of Texan accents.
“Anna! Anna!” everyone seems to yell at once.
Anna smiles and poses at the top of the court steps.
Once in the courtroom, puts on her red cardigan and touches up her lipstick.
She smiles at all 16 jurors but they avoid making eye contact with her. Anna finds this impolite.
Tom Cunningham, the lead lawyer on Anna’s team, addresses the jury in his opening remarks.
“She was the light of his life,” Cunningham proclaims.
Howard K Stern and the rest of Anna’s legal team take the temperature of the room as he speaks.
“This was a loving marriage. There may be obvious differences between husband and wife, but one thing they shared is acknowledging their bond as true love. J. Howard Marshall’s employees have quoted their boss as saying he loved Anna more than any other human being on the planet. During their four-year courtship, Marshall repeatedly told Anna, ‘Once we are married, you will have half of everything I have,’” Cunningham says.
He also asserts Anna saved Marshall’s life through mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while he was choking on that chicken soup.
“When J. Howard Marshall choked on his dinner, my client saved his life. Is that what a gold digger would have done?,” Cunningham says.
Cunningham rests. Anna looks Pierce’s new attorney up and down. Hardin. There’s something about him that feels different than the typical cookie cutter conservatives on Pierce’s team. And it’s not just the yellow suit.
The minute Hardin stands up, the showman in him jumps out. He “gives ‘em an act with lots of flash in it” like Billy Flynn in Chicago.
He razzle-dazzles ‘em.
“This woman here is, in fact, a gold digger,” Hardin declares. “Perhaps one of the most successful gold diggers to ever dig gold.”
Hardin flashes his million-dollar smile.
The jury’s gaze hangs heavy on Anna.
DECEMBER 2000
LOS ANGELES
Anna models for another Playboy cover. She wears a pink dress like the one Marilyn Monroe wears in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Plays with cash and diamond jewelry as she poses.
Her figure is more zaftig than ever – big and curvy. A photographer scales a ladder to shoot her from a higher angle. To make her face look skinnier.
Marilyn G watches the shoot in between business calls.
“Her face pops,” Marilyn tells the producer. “Plain and simple. Don’t say a fucking word.”
Anna waves her over.
“How is it?” Anna asks.
“Fabulous, are you kidding? Marilyn asks. “Back like you never left.”
“What are we gonna do for the nudes? I’m worried about that,” Anna says.
Marilyn tenses.
“Oh honey, we wanted to get you on your way at a decent time. This is the only setup today,” Marilyn says.
She looks more disappointed than relieved.
“But won’t people expect...my body?” Anna asks. “It’s Playboy.”
“We’re going to print nude outtakes from your previous shoots,” Marilyn says. “You’re so beautiful, they’re hardly outtakes, but you know --”
“The leftovers,” Anna says. “From my better years.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Marilyn lies.
“I know it’s Playboy, but I just thought, I mean, I still get so many fan letters from men…” Anna continues.
“Just focus on the cover,” Marilyn says. “I mean, is this not an exact replica of Marilyn’s dress? It’s perfect.”
“But square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks don't lose their shape, diamonds are a girl's best friend,” Anna sings. Hamming it up. Overcompensating for how she really feels… She swallows her shame to play starlet.
Anna drapes her hands over her chest and poses. Diamond rings pop against her pink gloves.
An art director at Playboy mocks up a sample cover on his computer.
He zooms in on the image to keep her ample bosom above the fold. And to avoid the full-body.
“Everyone likes a bleach blonde with fat tits,” his assistant jokes as he works.
The art director giggles at the cruel joke while typing a flattering headline:
“ANNA NICOLE SMITH, $450,000,000 PLAYMATE”
Alexis, her makeup artist, touches Anna up.
“Strangers always told me that growing up, ‘You have such a pretty face.’ They think they’re being nice but they’re not. It’s like, ‘Too bad you’re so big and waste of such a pretty face.’”
“Fuck those people,” Alexis whispers.
“Wouldn’t they like that?” Anna cackles.
JANUARY 2001
HOUSTON
Anna and Stern argue in a Houston hotel room while she waxes her legs.
“But why Howard? It’s true! Even the judge in CA said it’s true, so why should I go and make things easier for him?” Anna whines.
“You won’t be making things easier for him, you’ll be making things easier for us!” Stern says.
“We have to adjust to keep our options open. If you withdraw your claim against Pierce, and your challenge to the validity of the will, we will still have those as options to litigate in the future, regardless of what happens here,” Stern explains to her. “What don’t you get?”
“You’re just worried I’m not popular in Texas. They don’t like me here, never did. The women hate me because the men want to fuck me and the men hate me because I don’t want to fuck them,” Anna says. “Stop acting like we’re going to lose. We already won half a billion. I have half a billion dollars!”
“You’ll still remain the defendant in Pierce’s declaratory judgment action,” Stern says. “The trial will continue. Pierce isn’t gonna let you off for saying he interfered with your inheritance rights. We still don’t know if we’ll see a penny.”
“If I’ll see a penny,” Anna says.
They sit in passive aggressive silence.
“Howard, I can’t listen to any more of your mumbo jumbo tonight. Sabrina the Teenage Witch is about to start,” Anna says.
“If we don’t litigate now, we maintain our chance to later if we lose the probate trial,” Stern says.
“Why are you always talking about losing?” Anna whimpers.
“I’m just trying to protect you,” Stern assures. “With a plan B, C and D. I want this to end well.”
She turns up the volume on the TV and digs into a candy bag.
The next morning, Anna waltzes into court in a long, leopard Betsey Johnson coat.
Cunningham, her lead lawyer, speaks to reporters outside the court.
“Yes, Anna has come to withdraw her suit in Texas. She’s already won her judgment in California, so why pursue her claims here?” he says.
Later that day, Pierce Marshall visits a federal district court.
Hardin addresses press outside:
“My client has filed a request for Anna’s massive California bankruptcy judgment to be reviewed. She’s put all her eggs in the California basket, and I think there’s a reason she prefers California,” Hardin says.
“Will Anna Nicole testify?” a reporter asks.
“She will take the stand in this case, absolutely,” Hardin says with a shit-eating grin.
JANUARY 29 2001
HOUSTON
Stern swings Anna’s hotel room door open in a rush.
“We have to leave Anna! You can’t be late the day you take the stand!” Stern scolds.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Anna asks.
She unfurls rollers from her hair and clips little pieces back with sparkly bobby pins.
“Howard, I already look pudgy, at least give me time to look pretty,” Anna says.
She re-lines her lips frantically. Howard loses patience.
“Come on Anna, seriously!” Stern warns. “This is important shit.”
“Listen Howard, you know how many people are gonna say I’m fat? At least they won’t be able to say I’m ugly,” Anna says.
“I think there’s more at stake here than what people say about how you look,” Howard says.
“Please,” Anna concludes. “It’s always about how I look.”
“You’re beautiful,” Howard tells her.
She storms out of the hotel room and he follows her. The door slams shut behind them.
In the lobby of the courthouse, a mousy legal assistant approaches Anna.
“You go, girl! You’re adorable and deserve it all,” the assistant whispers.
Anna blows her a kiss and struts into the courtroom, bolstered by the compliment.
“I always feel like I’m on Law and Order in here,” Anna whispers to Howard.
“This isn’t a movie set Anna,” Howard whispers. “Don’t act.”
We cut to Anna on the stand. She clutches a photo of J.Howard Marshall close to her heart.
“That's the night he died on me and I brought him back to life,” Anna says. “It was Pierce — Pierce was the one who made the order not to do anything because it wouldn't do any good! He killed my husband!”
“What is it you’re saying Pierce Marshall did now? Did he order people to let his father choke? Is that what you’re saying?” Hardin asks.
“He ordered for my husband not to be suctioned,” Anna replies.
She wags her finger and points toward Pierce.
“That is the same thing as ordering him to choke to death on his own vile,” she says.
Pierce and his wife smile at each other and silently correct her in unison, “Bile.”
“But your husband didn’t die due to any choking, he died because of a heart attack. Do you seriously swear under oath that Pierce Marshall ordered people to let his father choke to death?” Hardin probes.
“Yes,” Anna sobs.
She blows her nose into a Kleenex.
“And Pierce had an anesthesiologist kill my husband’s lover before me too,” she says.
Hardin grins with pleasure.
“Miss Marshall, have you been taking new acting lessons?” Hardin asks.
“Screw you Rusty! I haven’t taken any acting lessons because yall wont even let me out of here. I shouldn’t be here,” Anna replies.
The judge calls both lead lawyers to the bench.
“You need to explain to your client what perjury means, before this goes any further,” the judge says. “I have no problem asking the DA to investigate these claims for perjury.”
Hardin continues his interrogation. Anna slips her sweater back on, then takes it off. Anxious.
“You spent about $100,000 a week of Marshall’s money with no problem, week after week,” Hardin says. “How do you spend $100,000 a week?” Hardin asks.
"I go to premieres, like every week. I’ve got to buy gowns and they’re like, $30,000. You’ve got to buy shoes, hair and makeup. It's very expensive to be me. It's terrible the things I have to do to be me,” Anna says.
Hardin stares at the jury in shock. Wordlessly asking “Can you believe this gold-digging bitch?”
"I’m serious. I pay a lot of money to be me," Anna finishes.
As court adjourns, a CNN news team films man-on-the-street interviews at a local jazz bar.
"I say if she slept with the old coot, she deserves the money,” a blonde woman in her 40s says.
"If I were 89 and a 26-year-old guy wanted to sleep with me, I'd give him a billion dollars," a brunette in her 30s says.
JANUARY 30, 2001
LOS ANGELES
At home with Kimmy, Daniel eats Eggos, drinks coffee and watches his mom on Court TV.
“Screw you Rusty!” Anna says. Court TV replays this clip over and over.
Daniel says a little prayer as he watches.
HOUSTON
Anna squirms on the stand. She fusses with her hair clip, messes up her hair.
Hardin elbows his brother.
“Give it another hour… she’s going to self-destruct,” Hardin says.
He stares at Anna.
“What’s telling you that?” his brother asks.
“She’s a glutton. Period. Be it money, sex, alcohol, food, pills, attention,” Hardin says. “I guarantee that behavior is gonna express itself here today.”
During lunch, Anna waits in line for the bathroom then pops a Xanax in the stall.
She taps her right foot loudly to hide the sound of jostling pills.
Back on the stand that afternoon, Anna flutters her doe eyes.
“Can you tell me when Mr. Marshall promised you a settlement?” Hardin asks.
“I don’t know, I’m not good at dates,” she flirts. “I was the light of his life.”
“That’s not an acceptable answer,” Hardin says. “No sense of when these talks took place?”
“Fuck you,” Anna responds. “This is bullshit. Bull…..shittttt.”
“Will the jurors please stand and leave the courtroom?” the judge asks. “We will let you know if we’re going to invite you back today.”
Once the jurors leave, the judge addresses Anna:
“We’re all exasperated, Mrs. Marshall,” the judge says. “Beyond exasperated. Your behavior is inappropriate. Are you going to cooperate tomorrow?”
Anna nods her head “yes” but it looks like she’s nodding off to sleep.
After court, Anna naps in her hotel room. The TV blares as Howard creeps in.
He places her new Playboy cover at her side:
“ANNA NICOLE SMITH, $450,000,000 PLAYMATE”
At dinner that night, Hardin talks to his wife about the case. A waitress pops by their table.
“Excuse me, sir, but I just live for my daily dose of the Anna and Rusty Show,” the waitress says.
“Thank you!” Hardin beams. “The Anna and Rusty Show; I like the sound of that!”
JANUARY 31, 2001
Anna sits on the stand in a lavender blouse. Hardin hands her a print-out.
“Did you sign this document?” Hardin asks.
Anna looks but struggles to understand it.
“Did you sign this document?” Hardin asks again.
The jury’s eyes dart back and forth between Anna and Hardin.
“Yes or no?” Hardin asks.
Everyone waits for Anna to say something, but she fails to respond.
“You claim Mr. Marshall intended to leave you half of everything. Can you show us a document corroborating that?” Hardin asks.
Another awkward silence.
Anna’s eyes glaze over.
"Ms. Marshall, is the answer to my question that you cannot show us and direct us to a single document that shows Mr. Marshall promised you half?" Hardin presses.
"I would have to get back to you on that one, Rusty,” Anna says at half-speed.
"Okay, well that's very nice of you, Ms. Marshall, but I'm asking you right now, do you know of any?" Hardin hardens.
“I will have to get back to you, because I'm going to have to go and look at papers,” Anna replies slowly.
“When this is all over, Ms. Marshall, wouldn't you and I both prefer that neither of us get back to the other?" Hardin asks. “Don’t you want to end this?”
"Oh, gosh,” she answers. “I don’t know the dates Rusty. If I knew the dates I would tell you, so you would leave me alone.”
From Anna’s perspective on the stand, we begin to hear the questioning drone on, imperceptible in her altered state.
Once again, the bailiff leads the jury out of the courtroom so the judge can address Anna alone.
“A lot of your testimony in the last day or so has been made-up stories,” the judge says. “I am going to have to issue you a contempt of court citation unless you stop giving false testimony.”
"How am I contempting myself?" Smith asks. "I'm sorry you think I'm a liar.”
After the stand, Anna uses the bathroom in court and waffles between Xanax and Adderall.
She chooses Adderall and pops one.
At dinner with Stern and Cunningham after court, Anna ignores her food and talks too much.
“My husband always said I had more street smarts than anyone he knew," she declares. “He thought I was smart and classy! Not a dumb gold digger. Who will ever love again after all this?”
Howard looks at her, in love, but says nothing. When neither responds, Anna continues:
“You guys think it’s ok what they do to me everyday? If I really am such a manipulative bitch, why don’t I have a journal full of these dates? Why don’t I have him saying everything on video? I have nothing to lie about, so why are they trying to catch me in a lie? I’m not suspicious.”
Cunningham stares at Stern, biting his tongue.
“It’s not fair Anna, but we just need to focus,” Stern manages. “We’ve come too far to blow it.”
Meanwhile, CNN interviews older men at the Petroleum Club, an oil-man spot, about the trial.
“We’re here in the Petroleum Club, where Houston’s finest meet! I’m here because I own millions of acres of drilling rights off a certain African coast,” an old asshole boasts. “Uh-oh, I hope you’re not rolling!”
He knows he’s being filmed, just playing dumb. And loving it.
"I knew Marshall’s previous mistress, 'Lady' Diane Baker. He met her in a titty bar too, and was madly in love. When you've got that kind of money, blowing $15 million or $20 million on some nympho bimbo is nothing. His wife had Alzheimer's, and periodically she'd realize he was having an affair, but then she'd forget about it again," he explains. “Welcome to Houston.”
“Give her the millions, isn’t there enough for everyone to share?” another guy asks.
“Oh, don’t act like you share your money,” the third scolds. “I don’t trust women like that.”
FEBRUARY 2001
Fans of Hardin cheer him on as he arrives at court.
“Bulldog! Hardin the bulldog!” a couple shout his way.
Hardin sips his coffee with his signature smile, relishing the moment.
In the courtroom, Anna suffers on the stand in a green blouse. Hardin interrogates her.
“Are you contending that in December of 1994, this man, this businessman that you say was totally with it, and in control of his senses and his mind, and his business affairs, was being kept from giving you money by his son?” Hardin asks.
“Well, he told me that Pierce would only give him $100,000 for my Christmas. I know that. And he asked me what I wanted, and that’s when I said, half cash and half --” Anna explains.
Hardin interrupts her.
“Ms. Marshall, what kind of world is it when people start talking about only $100,000 for Christmas?” Hardin asks.
He whips his head and gestures to the jury like, “This woman has some nerve!”
“My husband spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on me. $100,000 was not a lot of money to me,” Anna says.
“Pardon me, $100,000 is not a lot of money to you?” Hardin interjects.
“No sir, my husband threw money at me. You don’t understand. I mean, he --” Anna stammers.
Hardin shakes his head in contempt.
At home that night, Hardin watches TV.
“Anna Nicole, born Vicki Lynn, will return to the stand on February 11th,” the host says.
“Bring it on,” Hardin tells his wife and climbs on top of her. He slips off his yellow silk boxers and fucks her on their yellow bed.
FEBRUARY 5, 2001
NEW YORK CITY
In the salon at Bergdorf Goodman, Anna gets shampooed while two bodyguards hover.
A journalist sits at Anna’s side.
“Everyone at The Times is interested in your story,” the reporter says. “It’s pretty unique.”
“Yep. Lucky me. Thanks for meeting me here. I've been so busy lately, I haven't had time to have the luxuries I need,'' says. ''All this has been really hard on me.”
The journalist just lets Anna talk.
“'I won't lie to you... I am planning a career on the silver screen,” Anna says. “I wanna star in movies, direct them and maybe even write them too. I want good scripts like those old Marilyn Monroe movies, my own studio even.”
A hair stylist approaches with long, blonde extensions in hand.
“No glue,” Anna reminds him.
The brow waxer pulls out a pair of tweezers.
“No tweezers,” Anna cautions.
“Can you take off your hoops?” the hairstylist asks.
Anna ignores the request.
“'When you're buying for yourself, Caché is where you shop,'' she says to the journalist. “No more Harry Winston. At least for now.”
The stylist massages bright purple conditioner into Anna’s hair.
''Gosh, now people are going to know I'm not a real platinum blonde,'' Anna jokes.
The journalist doesn’t laugh.
Anna positions herself under one of the salon’s overhead lights and stares out of the window.
''I didn't have much of a Christmas,” Anna says. “But now I want to make up for it.”
She poses for a photo nobody is taking.
The journalist steers her back to the real reason for the story.
“I read your favorite brands are Chanel and Versace. Do you wish you were modeling for one of them tonight?” the journalist asks. “Instead of Lane Bryant?”
''I haven't had that privilege,” Anna pouts. “I don't say that it's not fair, I just say, 'Why not me?’”
That night, Anna Nicole dominates the runway in white silk lingerie. She oozes star power.
“Anna!” the audience roars.
At the end of the show, Aretha Franklin sings “Respect.” Anna soaks up her every word.
“Ooo, your kisses, sweeter than honey! And guess what? So is my money,” Anna sings.
FEBRUARY 14, 2001
HOUSTON
Anna gyrates in her hotel room to stretch out her clothes.
“Why do you want to stretch your clothes out?” Howard asks.
“So they they fit,” Anna says.
Anna grabs the picture of J.Howard, Daniel and her from her wallet and kisses it.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” Anna tells J.Howard’s picture.
Anna leads a freeform vocal warm up for herself. “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend.”
“There may come a time / When a lass needs a lawyer / But diamonds are a girl's best friend,” Anna sings.
The words fill her with hope.
But Howard storms in and interrupts.
“You’re abusing your key privileges,” Anna says.
Unfazed, Howard wipes down his briefcase..
“This is nice leather,” Howard says. “You have to condition it.”
“How do I look?” Anna asks.
Stern examines her up and down. Pauses on her big, round bouffant hairstyle.
“The hair’s a little much,” Howard says.
“Excuse me? My husband loved my hair all big and glamorous like this,” Anna says.
Howard shrugs his shoulders. He opens up the windows and curtains.
In the light, Howard sees what Anna’s t-shirt says for the first time:
SPOILED
Anna layers a black velvet coat over the t-shirt.
“You are not wearing that!” Stern exclaims. “What the hell are you thinking?”
Anna pauses in front of the mirror.
“Oh come on, don’t be mean. I feel cute,” Anna assures Howard.
Suddenly, Anna is the one in a rush to leave. She grabs her purse and checks for her hotel key.
“Spoiled? You really want to spend all day in front of that jury with a banner on your chest that says spoiled?” Howard asks her. “No way.”
Anna flings open the hotel door, in a hurry for once in her life, but Howard holds still.
“It’s Valentine’s Day Howard, who doesn’t want to be spoiled on Valentine’s Day?” she asks. “I know J.Howard watches over me and I know he loves it.”
“No, Anna,” Howard says. “Don’t be selfish. Your lawyers put a lot into this case --”
“C’mon Howard, it’s almost a quarter past. You don’t want us to be late do you?” Anna asks.
Howard trails after her.
In the courtroom, Anna sits on the stand with her fingers in her ears while Hardin plays a clip from A Current Affair. The news segment badmouths Smith as a wife.
Anna removes her hands from her ears to sip her Happy Meal drink.
“Ms. Marshall, why did you try to make tapes of your husband discussing his money?” Hardin asks. “Why would you feel the need to try to do that?”
“Because I knew Pierce would try something one day,” Anna answers. “With the papers.”
“Isn’t it the truth that when you were trying to make these tapes, you would take off your top? You’d sit there topless and ask him to say these things, wouldn’t you?” Hardin asks.
“Oh Mr. Hardin, you’re a pervert. That is not true and I think you’re sick,” Anna responds. “I was the light of his life.”
Hardin groans. A member of the jury snickers.
An intern waves Hardin over to their bench. He hands Hardin his glasses and points to Anna.
Hardin puts on his glasses and takes a good look at her.
“What is the word on the front of your blouse?” Hardin asks.
“Spoiled,” Anna smiles.
Hardin turns his back on Anna as he stares down the jury knowingly.
“Pass the witness,” Hardin declares.
As Hardin leaves court, a photographer shouts “Screw You Rusty!”
Hardin smiles just as a photographer snaps a picture of him.
MARCH 3, 2001
HOUSTON
Rusty hovers over his chubby pre-teen son at his computer.
“Hurry it up, this will be illegal tomorrow,” Hardin warns.
His son downloads a song off Napster for him.
“No it won’t,” his son says.
“The injunction is coming any day now, and don’t you dare keep on doing this once that happens,” Hardin warns. “People are gonna be buying CDs again soon. You just watch.”
“Yeah right,” his son says. Then hands him the burnt CD.
MARCH 4, 2001
Hardin’s secretary rushes in with a pink boombox and hands it to Hardin. He slips the CD inside.
“This should do,” Hardin says.
Hardin cues up the track.
“I have something I thought might capture the spirit of the trial,” Hardin says.
“Hit it,” Hardin says, the conductor of this orchestra.
Debby Boone's song “You Light Up My Life” fills the courtroom.
Boone sings:
“So many nights I'd sit by my window
Waitin' for someone to sing me his song
So many dreams I kept deep inside me
Alone in the dark, but now you've come along
And you light up my life”
The jury erupts into uproarious laughter. Hardin smiles at each juror and they smile back, all feeling in on the joke.
“You Light Up My Life” echoes the most repeated phrase of the trial, “Light of my life.”
J.Howard’s pet name for Anna becomes one big joke to the jury.
MARCH 4, 2001
LOS ANGELES
Anna and Daniel watch coverage of the closing arguments together on Court TV.
In court, the music continues:
“You give me hope to carry on
You light up my days
And fill my nights with song.”
Anna’s jaw drops. She pops a painkiller. Daniel cracks open a Coke and takes a big swig.
MARCH 7, 2001
HOUSTON
Hardin awaits the verdict in court. Pierce and Elaine Marshall watch from their seats.
The clerk addresses the courtroom:
“After a five month trial and three day deliberation, the jury unanimously agrees the will of J.Howard Marshall is valid. J.Howard wasn’t the victim of fraud or undue influence and Pierce Marshall did not defraud his father’s estate. As stipulated, Pierce remains the sole heir.”
Hardin pumps his fist in victory.
The clerk continues:
“J. Howard III, the family’s eldest son, is found guilty of bringing a false claim into court. He owes damages totaling $33.5 million.”
J. Howard III and his wife race out of court. Pierce and Elaine look on with glee.
“It’s almost a sin to get paid to have this much fun,” Hardin whispers to Pierce.
Outside the courtroom, Hardin celebrates with the press.
“Anna Nicole is a dying candle that will burn less and less bright. She is never going to get a dime," Hardin says into a microphone.
MARCH 7, 2001
LOS ANGELES
Anna and Daniel watch two of the nine female jurors speak on cable news.
“I just think she was a gold digger who wanted his money. She didn't treat him right," a brunette named Cecilia says. “I hate women like that.”
“So she goes, ‘Well, I’ll play the part. Then I can lie and get away with it, you know, because I’m just dumb,’” a blonde named Courtney says. “She’s smarter than we think. She tried it.”
“Now, we’ll hear the first comments attorney Rusty Hardin shared after today’s big win,” an anchor announces.
“Anna Nicole is a dying candle that will burn less and less bright. She is never going to get a dime," Hardin says.
Anna grabs Daniel’s hand.
“Don’t worry baby,” she says.
Daniel excuses himself to the bathroom, locks the door and sobs.
Anna turns the TV off.
Alone on the couch, Anna finally lets all the tears she’s holding back fall.
Howard calls and she answers.
“I’m sorry, but remember we still have options,” Howard says. “This isn’t over.”
“What’s gonna happen?,” Anna bawls. “What’s gonna happen to us Howard?”
The next day, Hardin hangs up new knick-knacks in his yellow office.
He fastens a photo to the wall. A glossy print featuring all 12 jurors from the trial. The caption scrawled in Sharpie reads: “Rusty, you lit up our lives!”
We follow Hardin out of the office, into his town car and into the Houston Rockets arena.
Hardin wades through fans and spots his wife in their seats, hot dogs and popcorn in her lap.
As he makes his way over to her, Hardin begins hearing a distinguishable call over the loud stadium music and squeaky warm up sounds:
“Screw you, Rusty!”
Fans start it, but players and coaches join in too, staccato at first and then slowly in sync…
“Screw you, Rusty!”
Hardin’s eyes sparkle with delight.
The louder the stadium shouts, “SCREW YOU RUSTY,” the happier he becomes.
We end on his high spirits.
This is the conclusion of the Anna and Rusty show, at least for now.
TWO MONTHS AFTER THE DECISION IN HOUSTON, A U.S. DISTRICT JUDGE IN LA THROWS OUT ANNA’S $474 MILLION JUDGMENT FROM THE MARSHALL ESTATE.
ANNA RECEIVES NO MONEY AND MUST START LITIGATION IN CA.
ALL.
OVER.
AGAIN.
OUTRAGEOUS: THE ANNA NICOLE SMITH STORY