Hi! I know you said you’d think about what we talked about yesterday, and I was just checking to see if you made a decision?
I blink. Somehow, I’d managed to forget about our conversation. Now I’m slammed back to reality. Roy Lennox, what he did to Penny, what he’s probably already done to other women. That’s not the only thing that comes back—for some reason, the conversation I had with Alice on the plane starts to replay in my mind.
What happened to you is literally the definition of assault. You know that, right?
I let out a heavy sigh and rub my forehead. This isn’t even about me. This is about Penny. Penny, who is completely sure of the truth, otherwise she wouldn’t have told me. Penny, who wants me to help her.
God. I’m not mature enough for this.
I text back: Yeah. Let’s do it.
She responds in less than a second: Oh God, I love you.
Can you meet up tomorrow? We should talk about everything.
Actually.
I already spoke to my friend Julia and she’s interested in talking to you.
Here’s her number.
And there’s a contact attached.
I sit and stare at my phone for almost a full minute. Right now, I feel like the human equivalent of at least five question marks. Maybe an exclamation point is tossed in there, too.
How did she find someone to talk to already? Has she been thinking about this, working on this, since yesterday? My stomach sinks. Was she working on this while I danced to Kendrick Lamar? God, why am I the worst?
There are too many things going on in my head. One comforting fact stands out: if I’m doing this—which I guess I am now—I won’t be doing it alone. Penny is here and she’s going to help. It makes it a little easier to breathe. Just a little.
Because her friend Julia isn’t just a regular Julia. The contact below the text is Julia Morrison. I know the name—and it’s not from her acting.
I’m not sure what she was ever initially famous for—a bunch of movies in the nineties, I think. A quick Google search tells me she’s in her midforties and has been doing made-for-TV films lately, though they fizzled out around 2017.
What she’s infamous for: kissing her brother on the lips like Angelina Jolie (though she never bounced back from that), showing up to a premiere topless, shaving her head, ranting about how the world is out to get her, and getting arrested for possession of marijuana. All part of the celebrity breakdown playbook.
I swallow, instantly feeling guilty. I’ve never thought much about Julia Morrison. She just seemed like a crazy person. But it feels shitty to even call her crazy, especially since I know how scared I get that people will call me the same thing if they see me have a panic attack.
Anyway, she has a reason for acting the way she does. I scroll through her filmography to see that one of her first movies was a Roy Lennox production. Her performance as an orphaned prodigy in Touch of the Heart catapulted her into the public eye. How did she deal with that? Was it a one-time thing, or did she have to keep seeing him, over and over again? What finally made her snap?
Talk to her? I text back. When?
Now, preferably. She’s expecting your call. I’m so sorry to spring this on you. Do you need me to reschedule?
Shit. This is a trap.
On one hand: PENNY, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING HELL?
On the other: She’s the one most impacted by this, so I can’t really judge her.
But: WHAT THE HELL?
I rub my hands over my arms, even though I’m not cold. There’s no way I can talk to a famous woman about a powerful man taking advantage of her. God. But I have to, don’t I?
I could try to talk to her another time, but we fly to New York later today for the last leg of the tour, and I really need to start piecing the Marius profile together. I can’t worry about this and write a profile of Marius at the same time. I’ll freak out if I talk to Julia Morrison now, and I’ll freak out if I have to find some way to reschedule later. I’m screwed no matter what.
No. I’ll call her now.
I glance up at the bathroom door. The shower is still running. Alice’s long showers are a pain in the ass when we’re both at home, but it’s pretty convenient right now. What else do I need? Questions. I pick my messenger bag up off the floor and pull out my notebook and a pen.
I’m not sure what’s too much to ask and what isn’t. I figure I’ll just ask some basic questions and go from there, depending on how responsive she is. This is a topic I have to tread lightly on. I’ve never had to do that before. It might be easier if I just pretend it’s a normal conversation, but we both know it isn’t one.
Thank God I still have the app I downloaded when I first started doing phone interviews a few years ago. It records calls, which I’d rather do than put her on speaker and record, especially talking about something so sensitive.
Now comes the hard part. I stare at the contact number on my phone screen but make no move to touch it and connect the call. Then, before I know it, I’m calling.
“What?”
I startle at the voice on the line.
“Oh,” I say, because that’s a great way to start off a conversation. “Um, hi, my name is Josie Wright. I’m a freelance journalist. Penny gave me your number. I’m working on something about…”
My voice trails off. What can I really say?
“About Lennox.” Her voice is blunt. The words don’t take any more air than they need. “Right, Penny and I were talking about it the other day. You
