Amber alert

What we learned from Amber Frey's book and mega-media blitz.

By Heather Havrilesky

Jan 7, 2005 | Oprah was visibly agitated. She tapes her show before a live audience, after all, but her guest on Wednesday, Amber Frey, mostly just stared back at her, blankly. You'd think that the ex-girlfriend of Scott Peterson, the fertilizer salesman who was convicted in November of murdering his pregnant wife, Laci, would be a little bit more animated, or slightly outspoken, or maybe a little trashy, or at the very least, a decent storyteller. No such luck.

Oprah: And then what was Scott's reaction [to being confronted by Amber's best friend about being married, just a few weeks before Laci disappeared]?

Amber: Basically, the lies began again . . . or they extended. [Searches for words.]

Oprah: So the best friend calls him up ... I know the story better than you do, at this point! So, let me tell you what happened! She calls him up, and she says, "Don't tell me I set up my best friend with a married man!" And Scott starts to cry on the phone and says, "I was married, but I lost my wife, and it's been so painful for me, I haven't been able to discuss it."

Too bad the best friend or the murdering sociopath weren't around to provide some spectacle, because during the mega-media blitz that began this week for her new book, "Witness: For the Prosecution of Scott Peterson," Amber Frey offered little more than a parable on the dangers of having seriously indiscriminating taste (not unlike the millions of TV viewers who sat all the way through one of her stultifying appearances).

On camera, she just looks empty. Unlike most of the made-over, sound-bite-friendly, camera-ready faux celebrities paraded in front of us, Amber offers us the polar opposite of movie-star charm: She has not even the slightest hint of a personality, her desolate face reflects very little emotion, and she responds to every question with vagaries and generalities. She doesn't take a stand on any point, and allows Oprah and Matt Lauer (a day earlier, on NBC's "Dateline") to fill in the salacious details for her. She's neither beautiful nor ugly, clever nor ignorant, naive nor world-weary, and doesn't have a shred of the freak appeal of, say, O.J. murder trial witness Kato Kaelin. Throughout her media appearances and in her book, Amber offers astoundingly few insights into Scott's psyche or her own, and doesn't seem to have reflected on the meaning of any of it, except that she feels sympathy for the victims.

In fact, only a handful of details stand out in the book. Namely:

Amber took two years of Swahili in college.

On their second date, Scott bought her daughter, Ayiana, a pop-up book, and made "an elaborate seafood lasagna."

On their third date, Amber had Scott pick Ayiana up from day care.

Although they'd only been dating a month, Amber enclosed a picture of herself with Scott along with her Christmas cards.

Despite having made some questionable decisions, Amber never comes across as hapless or even unreasonable. In fact, she is consistently easygoing and accepting in dealing with Scott. She refuses to interrogate him or question his motives, and doesn't feel it's her right to judge him. She's the ultimate low-maintenance girlfriend, the kind of woman who gives more high-strung, high-maintenance mortals a bad name.

In her book, Amber recalls reading an article in which a friend of Scott's remembered that, at a gathering at the Petersons, Scott had spilled some wine on the couch, and Laci had become very upset over it. Reading this made Amber remember how Scott had been so impressed when he spilled wine on her couch, and she laughed it off. "You are so great," he'd said. "I can't believe you didn't throw a fit over that, like most women."

Amber wasn't "most women," and as such earned the sort of praise often won by the brand new girlfriend or the other woman or the long-distance love, the one who always has on fresh lipstick, the one who doesn't have to rewash the same pots every morning or pick up the same boxers off the floor every night. Such praise tells a woman very clearly: "You're better than other women" or "You're better than she is." Such praise is, in itself, a red flag -- at least to more neurotic, high-maintenance types.

Next Page: Frozen in Amber: The real mystery solved by her book

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