Notes on the Lady in Stripes

There’s nothing like a celebrity court case to bring out the crowds. Fatty Arbuckle proved that a long time ago and Christian Brando is proving it now. If they get any more popular, they’re going to have to be held in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.

Give us a murder, a rape, a dope bust or even a slap in a cop’s choppers, and we gather like hungry buzzards at an auto-da-fe, provided, of course, the carrion in the case has what is known in Hollywood as A Name.

The elements of these trials are compelling: pretty women, handsome men, expensive criminal lawyers, massive media coverage, violence buffs, groupies by the gross . . . and, of course, the mysterious Lady in Stripes.

In the Brando case, we are additionally blessed with the Great Brooding Presence of Christian’s father, Marlon Brando Himself, elevating the proceedings to a spiritual level that ordinary murder trials rarely attain.

At one point in the preliminary hearing the other day, he pleased the crowd by closing his eyes and extending his hands as though meditating. It was pure Brando.

He somehow continues to come across as the mystical Col. Kurtz in “Apocalypse Now.”

One sees him lying in semi-darkness in the steamy jungles of Vietnam, speaking in a characteristic hoarse whisper to the spirits of the dead, as a cow is killed nearby in ceremonial sacrifice.

What a scene. Hold on the cow. Come up with the wailing spirits. Cut to the Great Brooding Presence and fade out.

Beautiful. That’s a take.

I don’t mean to minimize the seriousness of what’s going on here. A man is dead and Christian Brando, if convicted of his murder, could spend a long time in the slammer.

But there is a quality of carnival to a celebrity case that is difficult to ignore.

You already know, I suppose, that Christian is accused of killing Dag Drollet last May 16. He believed Drollet was beating Cheynne Brando, who was Drollet’s woman, as they say, and Christian’s half-sister.

There may or may not have been an argument between Christian and Dag, and they may or may not have struggled for a gun that may or may not have accidentally fired, but one thing’s for sure. Dag is dead.

As defense attorney Robert Shapiro put it, Christian was enraged because “a loved one (pause), a sister (pause), a little sister (pause), a little pregnant sister (pause) was desperate.”

Then: “He reacted as any brother would.” Well, almost any brother.

I caught only a snippet of the hearing but was left with no doubt that this was A Name on trial.

You knew it by the portable TV cameras lined up on the floor outside the courtroom, like a row of electronic Howitzers waiting to be fired.

You knew it when you entered the courtroom itself and a bailiff searched your briefcase.

You knew it by the frantic note-taking of the reporters, by the standing-room-only crowd . . . and by the mysterious Lady in Stripes.

Oh, yeah . . . her.

There’s one at every celebrity trial. They seem to know everyone involved and chronicle every word of the proceedings, but never reveal their identity.

It would be more lyrical had the woman in question worn red, since a mysterious Lady in Red is shrouded in the kind of aura a Lady in Stripes lacks, but you take what you get.

She was a dark-haired, gum-chewing person in her mid-30s who took notes enthusiastically. I was sitting next to her and, during a break, she asked the equivalent of did I come here often?

Then, without further preamble, she established her mysterious nature by refusing to give her name before I asked.

The conversation went something like this:

“Do you come here often?”

“Well, not exactly, I’m a, you know, journalist.”

“I can’t give you my name.”

“Oh . . . OK.”

“Or why I’m taking notes.”

“No problem.”

“But I can tell you I know a lot of what’s going on here. I’m a friend of Christian’s girlfriends.”

“Ah, ha.”

“They’re all Pisces.”

“Of course.”

I had a little trouble concentrating on the Mysterious Lady in Stripes, because in addition to chewing gum, which was expressly forbidden in court, she giggled mindlessly. Another for instance:

“That’s (chew, chew) Christian’s best friend’s (chew, chew) ex-wife (giggle) over there (chew, giggle). They used to (chew) date (giggle).”

I left her in mid-giggle because I was afraid I might snap and do her harm. I punched a woman once who chewed and giggled simultaneously and have never forgiven myself.

“Pay no mind,” she said, picking herself up. “It’s what any son would have done.”

What a swell mom.