Many theorized as to how she died.
The Lady’s Bridge Club gossips over iced tea and secret flasks that she was having an affair with a businessman; her boyfriend discovered it and snuck into her house armed with a knife and slit her throat. He dragged her body down the street and hid her in a dustbin.
The businessmen concoct the story that she had been walking home from work and was abducted by a crazy construction worker. He hit her over the head with a crowbar, and left her in a trashcan.
The construction workers guess that it had been a hit and run, and she had rolled behind a dumpster.
They can only imagine, because all the details of the case are classified.
Her name was Juliana Madrid. She always wore pearl earrings and her nails gleamed with red polish. She was lively and bright. Juliana spent her nights charming and spinning on the dance floor. She had fiery red hair, which startled against her pale skin, and green eyes that looked as though they had been set ablaze in the center.  Her nose was angular, her lips were big, and her cheekbones were high. Everything about her roared with life. 
There was a rumor that she was Marilyn Monroe’s cousin, wearing plastic smiles and cheap gold eye shadow she hoped looked expensive. Her right eye twitched ever so slightly when she told a lie. She held her breath whenever a woman wearing too much perfume walked by. Her mother had worn too much cheap perfume; she left the scent of artificial flowers wherever she went.  Juliana only wore almond hand lotion and she dreamed of being a cinematographer.
Juliana grew up in a poor family, but made her small apartment lavish. She kept freshly rolled towels in the bathroom, the blue crystal chandelier was always polished and she constantly had a fresh vase of lilies on the faux marble coffee table.
Who would want to see Juliana Madrid dead? She was the most desired, charismatic of socialites. Sadly, one morning, an old man who was throwing out his garbage noticed a pale hand with red fingernails sticking out of the dumpster behind his apartment building. Her green eyes were opaque and her red hair had turned grey. In one instant, all the life and fire had drained from her, and no one knew how.
Juliana had grown up impoverished. Her father supported her and her two older brothers. He was a factory worker and he made 10 dollars a day. Juliana remembered sewing different labels onto her clothes and walking to the recycling center with her father to turn in their empty bottles for cash.
When she was only 13, Juliana’s father bought her a copy of a movie that had just come out, Roman Holiday. She watched the movie over and over again, admiring Audrey Hepburn’s masterful work in front of the camera and her believable chemistry with Gregory Peck.
Juliana did not believe that she could be an actress. Her stutter was too prominent and she trembled when she was nervous. Juliana wanted to be behind the camera, manipulating the lens in a way that caught the light and dazzled the audience.
After she had expressed her love for cinematography and the glamour of Hollywood, Her family took a road trip from their small Mississippi town to Los Angeles. 
After the trip was over, Juliana’s cheeks hurt from smiling.  She had seen more lights than she thought existed. The buildings were taller and the people were happier. Her family stared in wonderment at everything around them.
Juliana realized if she wanted to be rid of her simple life, she had to free herself of her simple family. That was the only way to live the life she had dreamed, a life that radiated glamour.
At first, Juliana did not realize that most of Hollywood was a lie. The movies, wealth and excess tricked her into falling in love, before she discovered the truth of Hollywood.
Juliana remembered the day she had left home. It was midnight on a hot August evening, her 18th birthday only a few days before. All Juliana had was an old trunk, half-full of clothing she despised and an old coat that fluttered beautifully around her ankles and 61 dollars. She stood on her porch savoring the stars as she had so many times. She would never see them this way ever again.
“You look like your mother,”
Juliana turned around, her father stood in the doorway. His face was handsome, but aged beyond his years. His skin drooped and his green eyes were haunted.
“I’m nothing like that woman,” Said Juliana, bitterly.
“You look like her the night she left. She loved that coat, you know, but not enough to stay.”  Her father didn’t move.
Juliana held her tears back and looked up at the North Star.
“You’ll be happier wherever it is you're going, like I hope-” He sighed, “Like I know she is.”
Juliana said nothing.
“Promise me one thing. Don’t lose this,” his voice changed, it took on the resolute tone it always did when he had something important to say, “This passion, this fire, this tenacity that your mother never had, she never will have, that’s what makes you different.”
            “I promise,” she said, and she left her home forever.
                                                            *          *       *
When Juliana first came to Hollywood, she was shiny, happy and willing to do whatever she could to become a cinematographer. Juliana, in her blissful naiveté had thought it would be easy to become a cinematographer. But she was only able to get a job as a waitress at a small downtown diner. These were the most difficult times. Juliana was barely able to afford her rent.  Soon after, Juliana gave up on becoming a cinematographer.  Her only asset was her personality and charm.  Juliana thought that she could get a job in media, but she found a catering job faster.  This job came with an opportunity to attend an A list party.
The party was on the ground floor of the Roosevelt Hotel. The women wore sweet smelling perfume, muted dresses and benevolent smiles. The men wore tuxedos that looked like black ink and ties as crisp as a fresh apple.  Under her apron, Juliana wore a beautiful black dress. As dinner ended, Juliana’s workload decreased and she was able to remove that apron.
Juliana approached the head table, filled with big executives. She confidently took and seat and began to speak to the man next to her, Alfonso Citren, a French Director.
“Bonjour, Monsieur, comment allez-vous?” She asked, she recognized Alfonso Citren from a few films.
“Bien, Merci,” He paused, studying Juliana’s face, “You are not French.”
“No, sir,” She said, “But that does not end my admiration of the French and the fabulous director they produced.”
Alfonso smiled, and so did Juliana. “I don’t meet many people as happy and excited as you, why have I not met you before…”
Juliana spoke so eloquently to Alfonso, that right there, he offered her a job as his publicist.
Since then Juliana enjoyed many wonderful parties.  In the midst of the festivities, she grew to feel uncomfortable.  She was not from Los Angeles, and never felt fully comfortable in this city of dreams. She just had to keep being her charming, exuberant self, and not let her insecurities and indifference get to her, or she would turn into her mother.
                                                *          *       *
When she was 14 Juliana wrote in her diary, “I want to become the kind of person that you can become obsessed with, the kind of person who someone falls in love with quicker than they he can blink.”
Now, It felt like no one could love. Juliana couldn’t even love herself.
    * * *
Four years later, Juliana stepped into the resplendent home of Alfonso Citren. When she was growing up, she lived with constant fear, not knowing where her next meal was coming from. This mansion, these decedent entrées turned out on silver plates, the lavish pillows thrown about carelessly and the sparkling chandelier seemed to her to be a bit much.
When she had first come to Hollywood, she would have loved this party, but now, she thought it a waste.  Juliana felt discontent, but she looked beautiful. Her blue dress fell like water. Her pearl earrings glittered and her silver eye shadow reflected the light.
Juliana looked up at the marble staircase, and blinked.   Her mother, whom she hadn’t seen in 20 years, appeared. She had the same red hair, lack of smile, and vacant eyes. She blinked again, her mother disappeared. Good, she thought, there was no place here for her mother who always yelled, and never had anything nice to say to six-year old Juliana, and hit her brothers when they tried to defend her.  Alfonso’s mansion was Juliana’s world, not her mother’s.
“Juliana!” Her boyfriend, Jeremy, kissed her cheek. Juliana did not love Jeremy, she thought he was simple.  He had dark eyes and hair, a sharp jaw, a wry smile and lips that always found a way to frown. He was trying to become a producer.
Jeremy opened his mouth, Juliana cringed inside.  He spotted something across the room, and then changed his tone, “I need a few moments, I just spotted the Paramount executives. Would you mind getting me a drink?”
“Not at all,” Juliana smiled, the red lipstick on her pursed lips shined mysteriously.
Juliana didn’t order him that drink.  An unknown force pulled her toward the dance floor and for 10 minutes she forgot her mother, Jeremy, her job and the city that she had grown to hate.  She twirled and spun, she saw a flash of red in the crowd. Juliana stopped and stared.  There was no red, she had imagined it.  But she saw it again, the red flashed against the wood of the dance floor.
Juliana excused herself and crept up to a secluded balcony.  The lights of downtown Hollywood refracted below her. The air was clear and warm, blowing through her hair.
“Julie?” Juliana whipped around, but there was no one there.
“Get out of my head!” She screamed into the lights. The lights responded by brightening, overwhelming her vision. She slipped backward and fell. Her grace had fallen away from her.
            Juliana left the party without saying goodbye to anyone, wearing the same coat she wore the night she had left home, the same coat that fluttered beautifully.
At home, she looked at her reflection in the mirror of her bathroom. It was the same beautiful girl looking back at her. But then it changed.
“Julie.” Said the reflection of her mother, “Look at you, you look just like me, you are just like me. The only thing making us different is gone now.” Her mother smiled maliciously.
Juliana threw her least favorite perfume at the mirror,  “I am nothing like you!” She screamed, tears running down her face.
Juliana knew her problems would never leave until she banished them. And the only way to banish them was to run from them.  “Celui qui fuit de bonne heure peut combattre derechef.” she whispered to herself, that was a French proverb her mother had told her before she had left. Juliana had never forgotten it. “He that flees and runs away might live to see another day, another better day.” Juliana sighed and smiled her last smile. 
Juliana was not killed by either a jealous lover or drunken driver. She was killed by her own demons. Her beauty and fire was not compensation for lack of happiness. Her passion was doused by the skeletons of her past and her misplaced love for the city she now despised.  Juliana’s mysterious and seductive nature lead her to kill herself in the most dramatic way possible. She made her own death into a murder.