Dick googles Irving Grayson Ingberg III and doesn’t get any hits, but when he types in his alias, Grayson Ingall, the search reveals 691 results. Ingall comes from old money and invested his fortune in several businesses, the most well-known a modeling and talent enterprise called Ingall Talent Agency. He is known for his philanthropy and generous support of the arts.
What’s interesting is there is no mention of his criminal life. Somehow, Grayson Ingall has managed to keep the crimes of Grayson Ingberg III from being associated with him. One article in Riviera Magazine, a glossy publication on the who’s who of Orange County, is titled, “Where is Grayson Ingall?” The article, published a few months after his sentencing, explained that Ingall was taking a sabbatical from his company to be treated for an undisclosed illness. Dick could practically hear Ingall’s publicist whispering the story to the reporter.
There are lots of photos of Ingall and his highbrow life, and Dick thinks again how difficult it’s going to be to infiltrate his world. He searches next for his accusers. The first boy, thirteen when he accused Ingall of raping him, is now thirty-three and impossible to trace. His name is Steven Roche, and there’s no way of knowing which of the fourteen million results are the Steven Roche Dick is trying to find. He moves on to Kirk Krasner, whose accusation was made three years after Steven’s, and gets nothing. The third accuser, Cayman Riegler, was the complainant whose case was dropped by the DA for insufficient evidence. There are three results, all for a chiseled, honeycomb-haired model who lives in New York. The first is for a Tommy Hilfiger runway show that happened last spring.
The second is for a model management company. According to Cayman’s profile on the site, he is twenty-seven and has been working as a model/actor since he was twelve. His credits span from print ads to commercials to fashion shows.
The third entry, published three years ago, is for a blog called GuiltFreeSurvivor. Dick clicks the link:
Blog entry 127
Cayman: The hardest part was that I trusted him and that my parents adored him. It was such an honor that this esteemed guy had taken an interest in me and my career. He’d done so much for my family, always making sure I was short-listed for casting calls, using his influence to ensure I had steady work. My family struggled financially and he knew it so I thought he was doing it to be kind.
The first time he invited me to his house I was so excited. I remember rubbing it in my sister and brothers faces bragging that I got to stay at a mansion with a pool.
It started off exactly how I imagined. We had an amazing dinner that his cook prepared then went for a swim in the pool. When we were done I followed him to his bedroom where he told me I could change. I started for the bathroom but he told me to undress in the bedroom. I didn’t know why but didn’t think it was a big deal. I took off my swim trunks, and he took off his. That’s when I got a bad feeling. I should have put my clothes back on. I should have left the room. Instead I just stood there. My family counted on the money I made.
He told me to touch his penis. He said it would mean a lot to him. So I did. Then he told me to rub him. I did that also. It was like I wasn’t even there anymore. I know it sounds stupid. But I was just a kid. He told me to do things and I did them.
When it was over he told me to get dressed then he took me for a walk outside so he could show me his garden. He explained that I was now one of his special boys and that each special boy was represented by a rose bush.
This is really awful but when I saw how many rosebushes there were I felt better.
He told me he loved his roses and took care of them just like he would take care of me but that in order to do that I couldn’t tell anyone our secret.
The next day I went home and when my parents asked how it was I said great. I bragged about the pool and the great dinner we had.
That week I got the biggest commercial of my career.
A week later I was invited back to his home. The day I was supposed to go I got sick.
The next time he invited me I went. The first thing we did was plant a small rose seedling beside his back porch. He said it was special because it was the first bush planted beside the house which meant it was closer to him.
That night he raped me. I remember begging him not to though at the time I wasn’t even entirely sure what I was begging for.
Within days I started having nightmares and wetting my bed. My parents grew concerned and asked me what was wrong but I didn’t tell. Shame more than fear stopped me.
Several more times I went back. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. I was ruined and numb and all that was left was to please him so my career would continue and I could continue to help my family. But life had another plan. I shared a room with my brothers and I started having night terrors. It didn’t take long for my parents to figure out what was triggering them. My parents went to the police and I lived through the ordeal of telling my story a dozen times to a dozen different strangers only to have the monster set free because he had lots of money and a team of fancy lawyers.
My parents guilt was as hard to bear as my own unhappiness.
For the first few years I tried to bury what happened put it behind me and go on with my life. But I never really got past it. In high school I started abusing alcohol and drugs. I purposely got into fights, drove drunk, put my family through hell. My senior year I tried to kill myself. I lived and my parents got me into rehab. It was there that I first confronted my demons and that I discovered Prozac a wonder drug that numbs the edges enough for me to stagger forward without wanting to destroy everything around me.
This is no story of triumph. I know this site is called GuiltFreeSurvivor but I don’t feel like a survivor. I am simply alive. I remain because I don’t want to hurt my family any more than I already have. When my parents leave this world so will I. There’s nothing here for me. I can’t carry on a meaningful relationship without running away at the first inkling of intimacy. I cannot even say the word sex. The concept is forever tainted in my mind. Sex for me is dirty, ugly, humiliating, and shameful. I hate sex. This makes me very alone, out of touch in an aspect of life everyone else takes casually and enjoys immensely.
I do not want him to continue to have this power over me yet I seem powerless to stop it. He still follows me. I see him in every authority figure in my life—teachers, rabbis, bosses. He forever lives in the corner of my mind like the thorny roses he loves. His story is mine and I fear one day my story may be his.
* * *
Dick runs until he can’t catch a breath, then stops and bends over his knees wheezing, the first blind rage gone and the cool night air helping clear his head of the fury. He glimpsed the rose bushes surrounding Ingall’s house. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. He spits on the sidewalk and wonders how many were planted in the fifteen years since Cayman was twelve.