Sex. Murder. Mystery(191)

Karen O'Leary was well-known in the Normandy Park neighborhood and though she tried with all her considerable persuasive charm, the TV reporter was unable to get any of Mary Kay Letourneau's neighbors in front of a camera. She worked on the Bernsteins the most, talking with Lee quite a few times, but getting nowhere. The calls to Lee irritated Tina.

“He didn't feel quite as sympathetic of that whole thing. I think he gave negative tones to Karen.”

Months later she paged Karen, but the TV reporter told her it wasn't a good time to talk. Later, one evening when Tina had company visiting, Karen returned the call. This time it wasn't a good time for her to talk.

Karen kept pushing and Tina hung up on her.

“She kind of irked me,” she said later.

At least to the defendant's way of thinking—if there had been a hero in the media circus that pitched its sleazy tent in front of Mary Kay's home in Normandy Park, it was Ron Fitten. The reporter for the Seattle Times article in the newspaper's July 25, 1997, edition was headlined:

BURIEN TEACHER'S SEX WITH A YOUNG STUDENT SHATTERS THE BOY'S FAMILY, AND HERS

It was a sympathetic portrayal by a reporter who had spent time with both perpetrator and victim. She said she was sorry. She loved the boy. It was clear there was enough tragedy to go around, and along with the photographs of Mary Kay and her baby, it begged the question: What purpose would be served by sending her to prison? It was the kind of article that won awards, changed public opinion, and caught the attention of Hollywood bottom feeders. It wasn't skin deep.

And oddly, though there was a time when he would announce that he was writing a book about the Letourneau story, Ron Fitten's byline became missing in action.

Kate Stewart would later shake her head at the reason she felt Ron Fitten had been dumped off the story of a lifetime. He appeared too close to the subject, and because of his “on the inside” perspective, very sympathetic. He had become a confidant of Mary Kay's and nearly a surrogate father to Vili.

During a marathon conversation with Kate that lasted several hours, the reporter told her that what had happened between Mary Kay and Vili Fualaau could not have happened between any other two people. That kind of message didn't go over well at the paper.

“This thing is so big politically. He's not ready to leave his job… you had a sympathetic writer on the case… and off.”

The first wave of television movie producers came the summer that Angie and Amber Fish helped Mary Kay Letourneau take care of her infant daughter, Audrey. The wave was small—and nothing like it would become in the months that would follow—as Hollywood beat a path to Normandy Park, Washington. It was an interesting time. The twins felt Mary Kay courted the attention as much as she denied her interest in it. She put up blankets over the sliding glass doors to shield them, yet there were times when the media caught her peering through her temporary partition.

When the girls asked why she wanted to get involved in a television movie, Mary Kay shrugged.

“It will be done anyway,” she said, “I might as well have some input into it.” She even teased Amber about casting Shannen Doherty as Angie.

“Because she's such a bitch,” she said teasingly.

Amber countered that with an idea about who should play the lead role.

“Meg Ryan is you, Mary Kay.”

They both laughed.

“I just can't wait until the movie comes out!” Mary Kay said with a laugh, as if none of it really mattered to her. Meg Ryan or not.

Yet she continued to talk about the television deal's viability and how the whole world would want to watch it. It was a modern Romeo and Juliet, a cross-generation saga, a cross-cultural tale. She worried if any movie could capture the essence of her love story. She was also quite hopeful that the film would be a big moneymaker.

“If anything comes out of this,” she said one day, perched on her hide-a-bed command post, remote control in hand, “I want each one of my children to have a trust fund for college. Maybe this will even put the boy through school.”

Angie didn't see the point of worrying about the boy and how he might profit.

What? Who cares about him? What about the others? she thought.

The delays were over. Everyone in the little Normandy Park neighborhood knew that, as part of a plea agreement, Mary Letourneau was going to jail that first week in August, though no one knew for how long. Some neighbors had avoided her for the mere fact that she had been dubbed a criminal; still others, like Tina Bernstein, had kept their distance because of the awkwardness of the situation. Here was a woman they had known, cared about, and somewhere along the way she had become someone else. A predator. A child rapist. A criminal. For those who knew her at all, none of those labels were appropriate—or even plausible.