As I exited El Paso’s airport, I saw Ron’s Jaguar parked close to the front door. He had come to pick me up and take me to his day spas, Salon Red, to investigate what he believed to be employee theft. He had not yet seen me, and I laughed to myself as I caught him preening in his rearview mirror.
As we left the airport and headed down interstate 10, we passed a large billboard looking down upon the interstate. It had a black background with a profile picture of Ron with long blond hair, ala a lion’s mane, blowing as if in the wind. Above, in gold lettering, was the caption, “Morgan Interiors.”
“Ron, that’s quite a portrayal.” I said.
“Isn’t it magnificent! I have two of them on I-10.”
Soon, we arrived at one of the day spas where there were numerous other poses and representations of Ron, as if he were a model. It appeared that the marketing was working. The place was abuzz with many stylists working on a number of what appeared to be very happy women, as they received facials, dermitage, manicures, and hair treatments. I asked Ron if he was healing up from his surgery on his left tricep implant, and he advised that it seemed to be going well.
I write of Ron’s narcissism and its ultimate interplay with the Wall Street Journal heiress he was about to meet in my book, The Ronnie Lee and Jackie Bancroft Spencer Morgan Story, a tale of people, greed, envy, manipulation — even crime.