Fox - Kidnapped

J. Paul Getty with twins Martine (left) and Jutta Zacher at the infamous Cocaine shoot. (AP Images)

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Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand.

F. S COTT F ITZGERALD , The Great Gatsby

Getty Family

J. Paul Getty III: (aka Paul, Little Paul, young Paul) Grandson to J. Paul Getty

J. Paul Getty: (aka Old Paul) The grandfather, the oil magnate

J. Paul Getty II: (aka Big Paul) Father to Little Paul, son to Old Paul

Gail Harris Getty: (aka Gail Harris Jeffries) Mother to Little Paul, first wife to Big Paul

Martine Zacher: Little Pauls girlfriend, and later wife

Victoria Brooke: Big Pauls mistress, and later third wife

Talitha Pol: Big Pauls second wife and Victorias close friend

Gordon Getty: Big Pauls younger brother

Sarah C. Getty: Old Pauls mother

Balthazar Getty: Son of Little Paul and Martine

Tara Gabriel Galaxy Gramophone Getty: Son of Big Paul and Talitha

The Kidnappers: (Fifty, the Chipmunk, Piccolo, VB1, VB2)

James Fletcher Chace: (aka Chace) Troubleshooter hired by Old Paul to investigate kidnapping of Little Paul

Giovanni Iacovoni: Gails Roman lawyer

Nicolette Meers: Housekeeper for Big Paul in Morocco

Marcello Crisi: Little Pauls best friend and roommate in Rome

Jutta Winkelmann: Martine Zachers twin sister

Others

Byron: Getty driver in London

Jerry Cherchio: Big Pauls friend and owner of the Luau Club in Rome

Ciambellone: The Roman coke dealer

Cockney Pauline: London LSD supplier

D. O. Cozzi: Writer and social anthropologist, a San Francisco expatriate who has lived in Italy for fifty years

Ed Daley: Owner of World Airways

George dAlmeida: American in Rome, friend of Gail and Big Paul

Luigi Della Ratta: (aka Lou) Gails boyfriend

Derek: Big Pauls London minder

Derek: Old Pauls manservant

Danielle Devret: Rome go-go dancer and sometimes girlfriend of Little Paul

Capt. Martino Elisco: Commander of the carabinieri (one of Italys two police forces), in Lagonegro

Jack Forrester: Old Pauls best friend

George and Aileen Harris: Gails parents

Iovinella: squadra mobile (Rome police)

Lang Jeffries: Gails second husband

Fiona Lewis: Victorias close friend in London

Martin McInnis: Family lawyer in San Francisco

Mario: Big Pauls Roman chauffeur and minder, suspected of using the kidnapping to extort money, but nothing was proved

Dr. Fernando Masone: Head of squadra mobile (Rome police)

Ann Rork: Big Paul and Gordons mother, Old Pauls third wife

Dado Ruspoli: Big Pauls friend

Lord Christopher Thynne: Social peer to Big Paul, Talitha, and Victoria

Jack Zajac: American sculptor in Rome, friend of Gail and Big Paul

Los Angeles, 2001

As things turned out, it was the last time we met. Soon after our visit, Paul and his mother/custodian, Gail, took their entourage and moved back to Europe, never to return. I imagine they went in Uncle Gordons 747.

On this, our final visit, Vro, James, and I came down from the north through Death Valley. This time of year the desert was in bloom.

Paul was living up on the hill opposite the Hollywood Bowl in a luxurious cottage hideaway, said to have been formerly occupied by a senior CIA operative. A wheelchair van like my own was parked opposite a ramp leading to the living room. John, one of Pauls minders, came out to help unload me. He told us that Paul was out back.

We went through the living room into a garden with a swimming pool. Paul was reclined on his wheelchair in the deep shade of a magnolia, long legs stretched out before him, bedroom slippers on lolling feet, thin freckled arms secured on the armrests by black velvet ribbons about the wrists. We joined him. John invited Vro and James to go swimming and led them into the house to change, leaving the two of us side by side on our chairs.

In the buzz of the afternoon heat, a solitary bird repeated a plaintive note. Water trickled on jasmine-scented air. I looked up and watched a pale liquid fire dancing on the underside of the magnolia leaves, the sun reflected off the surface of the pool. A hummingbird hovered before a fuchsia. Through mists of steam, a clearing of crabgrass gave way to birds of paradise, frangipani, and black bamboo screening the door in the fence that led back out into the street. It was a mirage, this place.

From within the house a womans voice called out in Spanish. A man answered and there was laughter. They were, I supposed, preparing lunch. This was their place now. It was a good life, steady work. They would never know the nature of the man for whom they worked any more than museum curators know that of the creators of the artifacts they preserve.

I watched the steam rise off the water. He liked the water warm, I no longer enjoyed it; the paralyzed body bobs like a cork. The sensation is strange, the lack of control frightening.

Led by John, Vro, my wife, and James, my son, reemerged from the house laughing, cajoling. Vro and James plunged into the pool. I watched them swim, heard their laughter. When theyd had enough, they went back into the house. The ruffled water slowly slackened.

I could turn my head enough to see Paul reclined in effigy beside me, blank eyes staring fixedly ahead, nose rising up like the dorsal on a sailfish, shock of red hair cut short. Hed had no wish to conceal the swirl of scar tissue around the hole and pale patch of skin exposed by the missing ear. I watched his face for a sign of recognition, a flicker that would move us forward. There was none. When we had first met, his flame had been dazzling. The hotter he had burned, the more he had sought. He had trod where you dared not, done what made you wonder. Thats how his father had been, the late John Paul Getty II, the man who had kindled his fire and then left him to burn until all that remained was stillness and silence.

Where was Paul at this moment? In the halls of memory, waiting for the sound of a familiar voice? Was he, too, prey to clouds of claustrophobia? What to say? I couldnt carry on the way his mother, Gail, did each morning, chattering cheerfully over the speakerphone, her optimistic voice floating into his bedroom. But encouraged by the thought of her effort, I broke the silence: We just came from Zabriskie Point. Do you remember that film, Zabriskie Point ?

There came the sound of voices. They were coming back from the house. They had changed, wet hair gleamed. Martine was with them. She was fifty now, slight, gentle, hair cut short, her pretty face become beautiful. John came to stand behind Paul, putting hands upon his shoulders. A small smile, easily mistaken for a grimace, appeared on Pauls face.