Beauty Pageant Winner
Kelly Maxwell was an exceptionally beautiful child with pale blond curls, dimpled cheeks and violet-blue eyes. She was such an adorable little girl that when she was just three months old, her mother, Vivian, entered Kelly in the America's Most Adorable Baby Contest, which, quite understandably, she won. The prize was an all-expense paid trip to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida, and a check for five thousand dollars.
Vivian was so thrilled by her daughter's triumph that she entered her in another beauty contest and then another and another, regardless of the title or the prize being awarded. Vivian was always delighted when her daughter won, which more often than not she did. On those rare occasions when Kelly failed to place first or second, Vivian became despondent and then more determined than ever to prove to the world that she had given birth to the most beautiful child ever to emerge from a mortal womb.
Given her mother's fanatical interest in winning beauty pageants, Kelly had a childhood that could by no means be considered a normal one, nor was it a particularly happy one. From the time she took her first tentative steps, the toddler was enrolled in dance lessons and gymnastics soon after. In this way, Vivian hoped her daughter would develop proper posture and a graceful carriage from an early age. Kelly also had to endure long sessions in the beauty salon before each pageant, having her fingernails and toenails manicured and polished; her blond hair highlighted, set, teased and lacquered into an elaborate coiffure; and her face and eye makeup applied by a professional cosmetologist—all of which, in combination with her pageant costumes, gave the little girl an appearance far more sophisticated and adult than innocent or childlike in nature.
When it came to clothes, Kelly wore only those outfits that Vivian selected. As a baby and a toddler, she had always been clad in the fancy, frilly party dresses more often found on porcelain dolls than on real children. But as she grew older, her clothes resembled those of a grown woman: stylishly tailored pantsuits, chic evening gowns, sexy cocktail dresses, and tight pants or short skirts and belly shirts—outfits other little girls normally only wore while trick-or-treating on Halloween or while playing dress-up with their friends.
Kelly's diet was also unlike that of most children her age. Vivian allowed her absolutely no sweet, greasy or fatty foods. The youngster had never been to McDonald's, Kentucky Fried Chicken or Pizza Hut, nor had she ever eaten French fries, a Hershey bar, a bag of potato chips or a chocolate chip cookie. Vivian would not allow her daughter to ruin her waistline, her flawless complexion or her pearly white teeth with junk food.
It was not only Kelly who had to adhere to this rigorous beauty regimen. Vivian paid constant attention to her own appearance as well. A plain woman with only ordinary features, she had at one time or another tried just about everything to enhance her looks. Her over-treated mousy brown hair had been permed, primped, scrunched, teased, layered, shaved, feathered, frosted and dyed. There was not a shade of hair coloring she had not tried. When Vivian went shopping, she spent more on cosmetics than she did on groceries.
Yet regardless of her hair color and style, makeup or choice of outfit, Vivian never looked like anything other than an overly made-up, well-dressed woman of average appearance. She never came even remotely close to achieving the zenith of beauty into which her daughter had been fortunate enough to be born. Thus, every pageant title the little girl won was not only a victory for Kelly but also one for her ordinary-looking mother.
In all fairness, Vivian Maxwell honestly believed that participating in so many beauty pageants was in her child's best interest. After all, she had high hopes for her beautiful little girl. When Kelly turned five, her mother hired a private tutor, so the child could be home-schooled, thus affording her a more flexible learning schedule that allowed ample time for beauty pageants, modeling assignments and, later, acting lessons. Vivian naturally assumed that if children such as Jody Foster, Elizabeth Taylor, Brooke Shields and Natalie Wood could grow up and become wealthy, successful motion picture stars, so, too, could her daughter.
Sadly, Kelly did not share her mother's grand dreams of Hollywood stardom. She was a lonely little girl who more than anything else wanted to have friends, go to school and play with other children. The neighborhood kids could ride bikes, go rollerblading and play softball and soccer. All these activities were strictly forbidden to Kelly since Vivian feared her daughter might get hurt or—God forbid—disfigure her perfect face.
* * *
Vivian's glorious dreams for her child's future came to a sudden, tragic end, however, when, three weeks before Christmas, her beautiful daughter—her pride and joy—was brutally murdered. Kelly had been a contestant in the Little Miss Christmas beauty pageant held in Atlantic City and had greatly impressed the judges at the opening of the contest when she appeared before them in the opening dance number, dressed in a shimmering blue leotard and a silver tutu. However, when it was time for her to sing "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" in the talent portion of the show, the little girl was nowhere to be found.
An Amber Alert was issued, and both the local police and New Jersey state troopers were called in. After a nine-hour-long search, the child's battered body was discovered in a dumpster behind the hotel in which she and her mother had been staying. Kelly Maxwell, only seven years old, had been molested and strangled before being callously discarded in the trash like an unwanted, broken doll.
It was a heartbreaking sight, indeed. She was still wearing the lace-trimmed scarlet lamé evening gown her mother had selected for the pageant, an outfit far too mature for a young child her age. Her pale blond curls were matted and clung to her forehead; her violet-blue eyes were wide open and staring but vacant and unseeing. With her lipstick smudged and her mascara and eye shadow running down her powdered and rouged cheeks, Kelly had lost all appearance of childhood innocence.
Public reaction to the little beauty queen's death was extraordinary. Outraged parents demanded the police find the monstrous murderer. Newspaper, magazine and television reporters descended upon Atlantic City. The tabloid press had a field day; they hadn't covered a story so thoroughly since Amy Fisher shot Mary Jo Buttafuoco. Week after week, month after month Kelly's photographs appeared on the covers of the National Enquirer, the Globe and The National Tattler. Her face became as recognizable as that of Princess Diana.
In the absence of facts, rumors ran rampant. Unfounded accusations were hurled at members of the hotel staff, the hairdressers, the makeup people, the judges and everyone else connected with the Little Miss Christmas beauty pageant. The Maxwells themselves fell under suspicion, even though the girl's father was more than three hundred miles away at the time of the murder.
The tabloids, as usual, offered several bizarre scenarios. One paper claimed that Kelly was actually a little boy and that the Maxwells had to murder him before puberty set in and exposed them all as frauds. Another story hypothesized that Kelly was really an extremely short twenty-two-year-old woman who looked much younger than her actual age. The article further hinted that she had been foolish enough to get pregnant and was then murdered by the same man who had fathered the unborn child. Yet a third article theorized that Kelly died while making a kiddy porn snuff movie.
Whether any of these ridiculous theories were ever taken seriously remains unknown, but one thing was certain: all these absurd stories sold a lot of newspapers.
* * *
Not long after the brutal murder, the Maxwells' friends and neighbors began to worry about the mental state of the little girl's grieving mother. Vivian's seemingly calm acceptance of the heinous crime was completely out of character for the overly ambitious, domineering mother. So, too, was her sudden change of habit regarding her personal hygiene and appearance. Vivian, who had long existed solely on vitamin supplements, diet sodas, bottled water and scant helpings of fresh fruits and vegetables, was frequently seen eating Lays potato chips, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, McDonald's Big Macs and Drake's Ring Dings.
What worried people most, however, was Vivian's behavior toward the other children in the neighborhood. Kelly was never allowed to associate with others her own age. Vivian had made it clear some years earlier that she considered her daughter superior to her neighbors' offspring, and yet now she was making every attempt to win the hearts of the same children she'd once scorned. She invited them to her house to play video games, ride skateboards and jump rope. It seemed incongruous to see a grown woman shooting baskets and climbing trees with a group of seven- and eight-year-old girls and boys.
No one who saw the thirty-two-year-old woman wearing ripped jeans, a stained sweatshirt and a pair of muddy Reeboks, with her dark roots showing and her unbrushed hair hastily pulled back in a scrunchie, would recognize Vivian Maxwell, a woman well known for her flawless appearance, designer clothes, imported shoes and salon-styled hair. All those who knew her came to the same conclusion: the poor woman, unable to cope with her daughter's death, had obviously taken leave of her senses. At the same time, these people also had to admit that they liked the new Vivian much better than the old one.
Naturally, the dead child's mother was not the only one affected by the tragedy. Kelly's father, too, was devastated by his daughter's brutal murder and his own feelings of guilt. Shortly after Kelly was born, Vivian assumed complete control over the girl's life, shutting her husband out completely. At first, Chad Maxwell felt bitter toward his wife for cutting him out of her life and her daughter's life with one swift stroke. But after a while, it ceased to bother him. He found comfort with his administrative assistant, Elizabeth DeAngelo, a woman who gave Chad all the love and affection Vivian denied him. For the good of the child, though, there was no divorce. The Maxwells maintained an amicable relationship, but it could in no way be considered a marriage.
As his daughter grew older, Chad began to worry about Vivian's domination of the child. Kelly had no friends and few opportunities to enjoy herself. The concerned father felt sorry for his lonely little girl, beautiful though she was. On several occasions, he tried to suggest to his wife that Kelly be given more freedom and a proper, in-school education, but these discussions always led to bitter arguments, and nothing was ever solved.
It was no surprise to anyone then that after Kelly was found murdered Chad wanted nothing further to do with Vivian. He instructed his lawyer to begin divorce proceedings as soon as possible. In the meantime, he packed his bags and moved in with Elizabeth.
Several weeks later he received a phone call at his office. It was his wife, a thoroughly distraught Vivian, who begged him to come and see her. There was something important she had to tell him. When Chad arrived at the house that had been his home for the past seventeen years, he noticed that the flowers in the garden were dying from neglect and that the lawn needed mowing. He wondered if Vivian was ill. She had always considered her home an extension of herself and had thus kept it immaculate, both inside and out.
Chad was even more shocked by his estranged wife's appearance than the neighbors had been. In all the years he'd known her, Vivian had always taken such pride in her appearance, even to the point of being vain. Yet she had gained close to fifteen pounds since Kelly's funeral—which wasn't necessarily bad because he had always considered Vivian somewhat of an anorexic—but her hair was straight and uncombed, and there wasn't a trace of makeup on her face. More surprisingly, she was wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt.
Chad walked past his wife and into the living room, which looked to him as if it hadn't been cleaned since he'd moved out.
"What the hell is going on here? This place looks like a pigsty!"
Vivian immediately burst into tears.
"Please help me," she sobbed. "I don't know how to manage everything by myself. I tried to keep up with the cleaning, but it was impossible. And then I ran out of money, and now people keep calling me about the unpaid bills."
"How could you have run out of money? I put more than enough in your checking account to cover the household expenses."
"But I've never written a check. Besides, I don't even know where the checkbook is."
What was the matter with her? Was this all the result of her grief, or was she, for some strange reason, trying to get her claws back into him? Maybe now with Kelly gone, Vivian realized he was all the family she had left. Well, if that was her game, she was a bit too late.
"Vivian, pull yourself together! This isn't like you!"
"But, that's the problem. I'm not Vivian; I'm Kelly," she cried as she threw herself into her father's arms.
My God, he thought, Vivian is insane.
"I didn't tell you before now because I was sure you wouldn't believe me. Plus, I didn't want to get into any trouble."
Chad frankly didn't know what to do. Should he call the police or perhaps a doctor? After all, she might be a danger to herself or him. For the time being, though, he thought it best to humor her.
"Shhh, don't cry," he said soothingly. "Just tell me all about it."
"Mommy was always making me do things I didn't want to do, and she never let me have any friends or do anything fun. All she cared about was how I looked and whether or not I won those dumb contests she kept putting me in."
So, it was guilt that had unhinged his estranged wife's mind, Chad surmised as he listened to Vivian's insane ramblings—guilt over having selfishly denied their poor daughter a normal childhood.
"Then she put me in that Little Miss Christmas pageant," she continued. "It was so horrible, Daddy! This big, ugly, hairy man watched me rehearsing for the talent contest, and then later he came to our hotel room to talk to Mommy. He told her he would take us to Hollywood, put me in the movies and make me a big star. Then Mommy went out and left me alone in the dressing room with him. He grabbed me, kissed me on the mouth and told me to take off my clothes. I pushed his hands away and ran out of the room screaming for Mommy."
Vivian could barely speak at this point; she was crying so hard.
"Mommy started swearing. I never saw her get so mad. But then I realized that she wasn't mad at that man; she was mad at me. She called me an ungrateful little bitch."
Kelly looked sheepish at having used profanity in front of her father but managed to continue with her story.
"She said she'd worked so hard for this break and that I was going to spoil it all. Then she told me to go back into the room and be nice to the man, to do whatever he told me to do."
Chad couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had Vivian been so desperate that she would allow her daughter to be molested to fulfill her own dreams? If so, then insanity was not nearly a strong enough punishment for her.
"Mommy and I had a big fight there in the hall right outside the dressing room, and she slapped me across the face. She said if she were me, she'd do anything to be famous, and ... and ... that's when it happened."
"When what happened?" Chad asked, terrified of learning that his estranged wife might have accidentally killed their daughter in anger and then made it look like a sex crime to avoid suspicion being cast upon her.
"Mommy became me, and I became her. Her soul went into my body, and mine went into hers. When she realized what happened, she was really happy. She told me, 'I don't need you anymore. I can do it all on my own now.' So I left. I went down to the hotel's coffee shop, and she went back into the room with that man."
Chad was livid with rage.
"Do you mean to tell me that you've known all along who murdered our daughter and that you didn't tell anyone?" he screamed, shaking Vivian roughly.
"I'm your daughter, Daddy. Mommy was the one who was murdered."
Chad let go of his wife and looked away in disgust.
"You're pathetic."
Vivian reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out a tiny gold locket.
"Look, Daddy, I still have the necklace you gave me on my last birthday. Don't you remember? Mommy was getting her hair done, and you took me to Chuck E. Cheese. On the way home, you told me that it would be our little secret, and then you gave me a breath mint so that Mommy wouldn't know that I had eaten pepperoni pizza."
Chad stared at the little girl in astonishment. Then he looked around the room at the toys and candy wrappers littering the floor. Could such an incredible story be true? Was his daughter alive in his wife's body? If so, was it an act of divine justice? Had the heavens spared his daughter the cruel fate that had been waiting for her and condemned her mother to it instead?
"How could this have happened?" he exclaimed, his mind reeling with confusion and doubt.
"I think ... I think we both got what we wished for," Kelly said. "Mommy wished that she was pretty like me so that one day she could become famous. Her wish came true when she became me."
"And now Vivian is more famous than she ever dreamed possible," Chad said sadly. "Her face—or rather your face—is known worldwide but not for the reasons your mother would have wanted. And you, Kelly, I guess your wish was to forget all about those stupid beauty pageants and lead a normal life."
"Yes, Daddy," she lied, although it was only a partial lie.
Kelly had always longed for that very thing. But it was not the wish she had voiced in the hall outside her dressing room after her argument with her mother. On the day of the murder, seven-year-old Kelly Maxwell had glared at Vivian through tears of rage and shame and wished, with all her heart, that her mother was dead.
Salem once entered a beauty pageant. He was disqualified in the talent segment for dancing to the "Monster Mash" with a partner.
