Penny and maybe Marius.
Maybe it isn’t fair that I’m avoiding him right now, but I don’t feel like being fair. I’m angry. Actors who work with Lennox have to sign nondisclosure agreements, but I’m sure there are stories swirling around. There have to be, if Penny and Julia know other women Lennox has hurt. Marius must have heard something.
I want to know why Marius would even consider working with Lennox when there are so many stories. If I got an offer to be in his movie—which I wouldn’t, but still—I would say no. Even if it meant that I didn’t get to be famous.
“That’s not really fair, though,” Alice says after I explain all of this to her. “Because you aren’t an actor. Acting isn’t your big thing, but it is for him. You don’t really care like that.”
“I care!”
“I mean,” Alice says, “not like an actual actor does, though.”
She’s already dressed, wearing this fancy black dress that’s so low-cut you can tell she isn’t wearing a bra. It’s really hard not to be jealous of Alice’s body sometimes. She has curves, but in the right places—her hips and her ass and her boobs look the way they’re supposed to. Or the way girls on TV and in magazines look, anyway.
I, on the other hand, am half dressed—which means I’m sitting on my bed in my underwear and have not actually put any real clothes on—my stomach and boobs and thighs too big for me to ever look like her, unless I dig the Spanx out of my suitcase. I pout.
“I guess,” I say. “But it’s like…if a gigantic magazine gave me the opportunity to write a cover on Ava DuVernay or something, but I knew the editor of the magazine had done horrible things to women, I wouldn’t be able to say yes. I’d feel too shitty about it.”
“But that’s a hypothetical,” Alice says, leaning toward the mirror to put on an earring. “You say that now, but you’d probably say something different if you actually were faced with it.”
“I don’t think it’s that hard to say you won’t work with bad people.”
“It’s not a contest, Josie,” Alice huffs. “I’m just saying that not everything is black and white.”
I stare at the bedspread. Sure, not everything is black and white, but there’s a difference between working with someone who might’ve done something normal bad—like made a nasty comment—and someone who consistently harms other people. Yet I can’t help but wonder whether I’d feel differently if I were in Marius’s shoes. I don’t know. I still think I would choose not to work with them. I still think I can be mad at Marius about it.
Alice tosses a skirt at me, covering my head. I grunt.
“Hurry up,” she says. “I told Savannah we’d get there early.”
Everyone else at the party looks like they just stepped off the runway—gowns of soft red and black and green paired with elegant high heels. I’m wearing a black skirt, because Alice made me, and a yellow blouse. That’s it. I immediately stick out.
“God, where were you?” Savannah says to Alice, appearing next to her in a cute red dress. “You said you were getting here early.”
I think I’m staring too long at her legs. The hard thing about being attracted to girls is that I’m never sure if I want to be them or be with them.
“Josie took forever,” Alice says, an eye roll in her voice. “It’s whatever. Where’s the open bar?”
“In the other room,” Savannah says, pointing down a dimly lit hall. Everything here is wooden floors and warm, dim lighting and the gentle murmur of polite conversation. “You’re missing a rousing debate about which movie is Cassavetes’s best.”
“Oh,” I say. This I can do. “Obviously A Woman Under the Influence.”
“That’s what you would think!” Savannah says, turning to me. “But then one guy said Faces, and now no one will shut up.”
“Okay.” Alice stares between the two of us. “This is big nerd talk. Savannah, let’s find the bar, and I’ll tell you about this gorgeous guy I saw on the High Line.”
Savannah grins at me and I grin back. I like talking about movies—or films—with other people. I don’t feel like I’m the only one who cares about them.
“Is Josie coming with us?” she asks, looking at me.
“Josie is underage,” Alice points out helpfully.
Savannah shrugs. “So are we.”
“Yeah, but Josie is technically working,” Alice says, already walking toward the next room. “And we are not.”
I wish I had a great comeback prepared, but I don’t. The truth is, I don’t want to hit up the open bar. I don’t even want to be here in general. I smile at Savannah as she follows Alice down the hall, trying to think of things I could include in my article. There will probably be speeches at some point that I can quote from. I’m sure it would be wise to…mingle? The only thing is, I’m not great with small talk, especially with people I don’t know.
At parties, I’m usually the person standing against the wall, watching as everyone else has fun. And it’s pretty much my own fault—after all, I could trail around after my sister and Savannah if I wanted to. But in some ways, it’s easier to be here by myself. It’s something I can handle.
I only recognize a few people in the room—a few New York–based directors of the indie variety, an actor or two. It’s weird to see celebrities in real life. It’s like they aren’t supposed to exist off a screen. There’s one woman in particular who catches my eye. I know her from somewhere. Then she turns her head and I recognize her immediately. She looks perfect: straight blond hair, blue eyes, a movie-star smile. Tallulah Port.
She’s one of
