How I unveiled a con artist by cyber stalking (and you should, too).

I am a cyber stalker and I have no shame in declaring this.

But I should differentiate, lest you get the wrong impression.  There are two types of cyber stalkers: the crazy type (A) and the practical type (B).  The crazy type is pretty obvious - you've heard about them.  Heck, you've probably been them.  They are literally cyber STALKING a target, most likely an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend or the person their ex is now currently dating.  I am currently not type A.  Then there's type B.  Type B is your average gen x/y computer cruiser who does little mini "background checks" via google, facebook, twitter, etc. before getting into anything serious with potential friends/lovers.  They are doing what most employers do before hiring on a new employee.  We all have reputations, both on and offline.  These days, people are becoming more savvy with how to keep the former in check, but not everybody.

This is where our story begins.

The Langham Hotel in Pasadena

This weekend, I drove up to LA to visit a couple college friends I hadn't seen in years.  Saturday evening, on a lone wolf excursion, I found myself in Pasadena - my old summer stomping grounds.  I stopped by the Langham (formerly the Ritz-Carlton) across the street from my old house, and grabbed myself a glass of wine before making my way back into the heart of the beast that is LA.  Now, I'm not normally receptive to gentlemen approaching me in a bar, but the vibe here is a titch different.  Replace the "mmph mmph" music on Austin's E 6th street with a little live jazz, and the "oops, I didn't mean to graze your butt with my penis" fellas in the club with cigar smoking, brandy swishing Cal Tech academics from down the street.  I have a thing for smarties.  What can I say?

And then he walked up.  Him, with his off white suit, charming smile - dabbing his brow with a cloth handkerchief.  My father is the only man I know who carries around a cloth handkerchief, and this man was obviously not my father's age.  I was immediately intrigued.



He asked if he could buy me a drink, and I said sure, I'll take the Santa Barbara Chardonnay.  We sat out on the back patio, looking over the green that I learned can sometimes see up to six wedding ceremonies a day.  He told me he was a movie producer at Paramount - that he owned a production company as well as a political media company, and was very well connected in the industry.  He didn't say this last bit out loud, but he was constantly dropping what he thought were subtle hints.  "I got my first copy from Diane Keaton", "Oh, McCain wouldn't listen to me.  He really does shoot from the hip, "I worked on Chicago, have you heard of it?"  He told me of his romantic safaris throughout Africa, the phenomenal deep sea fishing there is to do in Baja (do I want to come?), and all about the philanthropy he does around the world.  He told me how he despises the terrible beast that is American gambling, and once bet seven figure sums in an attempt to put some "scum bags out of business".

Not once did he ask me anything about my dreams, my interests, anything of substance other than redirecting my questions back to me.  I was a sounding board for his grandiosity, and I thought to myself "this is awesome".  Why is this awesome?  Well, I was dealing with either a hard core sociopath or a bullshit artist.  A really GOOD bullshit artist, and you'll see why.

So, I know my mother reads these posts, and I have no intention of giving her nightmares about what her daughter is doing over here on the west coast.  But when he asked if I'd like to go to dinner with him, I said "fuck it, why not".  This guy was going to make for some really interesting conversation, and I've always wanted to learn more about the two personality types mentioned above.

He took me to Elements - a lovely restaurant next to the Pasadena Play House.  He demanded a very specific table in the back corner, and we actually waited for it to clear.  I teased him about not wanting his back toward the entrance and he looked me very dead pan and replied "exactly".  Awesome.  Over dinner, he finally turned the tables and asked me about myself, but in a most interesting way.  He could care less about my family, other than what my father did for a living.  Over the course of our conversation, his personality began to shift to reflect the values and principles I discussed with him that I found to be important.  I told him I missed southern gentlemen, than the men in LA have seemingly forgotten how to treat a lady, and let me tell you, this man opened every door, pulled out every chair, stood up when I excused myself to go to the lady's room, prattled on about how a woman's place was the home, the whole nine yards.  I mean, I'm a little embarrassed that I did actually swoon a little when he did that last bit about standing up, because WHO DOES THAT ANYMORE??  Your quintessential southern gentlemen, that's who.  Yeah.  In Titanic.

When he went to the bathroom, I Google imaged him.  Sure enough, there he was with Jimmy Carter.  Oh, okay, I see you are actually friends with Diane Keaton, because that's you with your arm around her.  Okie dokie, you enjoy brunching with the Bush family.  That's swell.  And the celebrity list went on and on.  When he returned, the chef and owner of the restaurant came to the table and thanked him for coming by, could he get him anything else from the kitchen?  How about the lady?  Yep, it seemed like this guy's story was surprisingly checking out...  Perhaps my gut feelings were a little off today?  Was I becoming a jaded and over-analytical woman?  Is he really a decent fella that I just met who has his shit together, and I don't believe it because of my own personal baggage?  I have to be honest, I was beginning to really doubt my ability to read people at that point.  He was very charming, and the more he got to know me, the more charming he became.

The night grew closer to morning, and things got a bit more interesting.  For one, this guy wanted me to drink.  Not just "hey, you sure you're okay with your beverage, because I don't know when they'll be coming around", but "ARE YOU SURE YOU DONT WANT ANYTHING ELSE"?  I actually looked at the waiter at this, who seemed a little worried himself, and said "please, don't bring me anything else tonight."  That's what came out of my mouth, what was going on in my head was more "please, for the love of god, if you care for my potential safety, you will cut me off."  I think he got the message.

I was, however, still having a little fun with this.  I let him dazzle me with all of his heroic stories of philanthropy and financial success.  I looked at him doe-eyed and confused when he said his favorite pie was any kind of "cream pie", followed by a chuckle.  "Like, you mean, Boston cream pie?  Those ARE yummy!"  I told him of my friend's endeavors of becoming a screen writer (which, btw, he is quite good), with an air of innocence, like I was the only one with a story like this.  I played the good little girl from Austin, Texas, and not only did he eat this right up, he gorged himself on it.  By the end, he was saying to himself more than me, "yes, you're a good girl, aren't you...?".  All that was lacking was him rubbing his hands together and salivating at the mouth.  I thought back to a book I read called "The Last Victim", where this guy puts on a character for John Wayne Gacy during his time in prison to lure him out of his "I'm innocent" shell and to show himself for who he really was.  The book ended with a very scary moment in a private cell with the two of them alone, and the author wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into...

The moment he asked me to come back to his place for a night cap was the moment I thought to myself "now is the time to get the hell outta Dodge".  I was, at this point, actually worried he might slip me something.  He had a guest room, he chortled.  I had a "little too much to drink, maybe?".  Exactly.  This is why we good Texan girls drink whiskey and oodles of Lone Star - it builds up that tolerance.  Good try, though.

I got home safely.  And I was still wondering.  Was he just being an asshole producer from LA who was used to girls fawning all over him, spreading the goods the first night they met him?  Was it my blonde hair that grabbed his interest?  I was alone in a bar.  I was among the very wealthy.  I must be looking for a lifetime of comfort from my "knight in shining armor" or for "my closeup, Mr. Deville".

So I got to doing my REAL research.  I Googled his phone number.  I searched his name next to tag words like "scum", "con", "gold digger", "producer", you know - the usual.  I followed links and forum posts and kept track of dates and time.  Let's just say what I found was VERY alarming.

First of all, this guy is a creep.  Apparently, he's on a number of gold digger websites looking for "sugar babies".  This is all fairly new to me, so I'll explain.  A sugar baby is a woman who actually accepts money for being with a guy on a monthly basis.  They call it an "allowance", I call it prostitution.  Anyway, he's got a whole slew of angry women out there who claim that he promised them a 10k monthly allowance, slept with him, and didn't see a dime of it.  Or maybe a couple thousand dollars, but the rest, he told them, he would wire to them.  They'd never hear back from him after that, and if they did try to call him out on it, he would tell them that if they ever tried to speak to him again, he would report them to the police for being prostitutes.

:open mouth pose:

More than once was he called a sociopath.  I read about 25-30 posts from different people, men and women alike, warning others of this guy.

So that's personal life.  How about professional?  Looks like he was in the April 2009 issue of Details magazine, not for his good deeds and charitable nature he discussed with me at length, but because he was balls deep in trouble with the Mafia for some gambling fraud he committed in Vegas.  (Remember what he told me about those 7 figure bets?...)

It also appears that he is behind the Morgan Freeman/B.J. Lawson scandal seen this past congressional election.  What happened is he told Lawson in writing that he'd supply him "one Morgan Freeman ad campaign", saying that Morgan was a friend who would do him favors like this every once and a while.  B.J. Lawson ate it up.  It ruined his political career.
Check out this video clip of the coverage.


Can you believe this?  Thank GOD for the internet and material it collects on a person.  Thank GOD I didn't accept that "night cap" because of my insane curiosity.  Especially after reading the word "roofie" more than once in that long chain of forum posts.








Listen, don't ever let ANYONE tell you that you're "crazy" or "paranoid" when you Google them.  In fact, you should be very open about letting people know that you do this.  Employers do it.  Why can't we?  It is NOT STRANGE.  You have to protect yourself - there are a lot of crazy types out there.  I think this is a pretty fair example of exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?