“I mean…” She bites her lip. “Do you think anything will come out of it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, which is the truth. “I really, really hope so.”
“I…” She nods, slow. “I really don’t know what to say.”
When people say that, they usually have something in mind. Alice just sits in silence. It makes me fidget. I can’t tell if she’s freaked out or worried or uncomfortable. Maybe it’s a combination of all three.
“You’d better head down there,” Alice says, pointing at the clock. “She called, like, thirty minutes ago, and I’ve heard she doesn’t like to be kept waiting by commoners like us.”
Her joke doesn’t make me laugh. If anything, it makes the knots in my stomach tighten.
“Wait,” I say. “I can’t go by myself. I don’t even know the place. Do you wanna come?”
“Me?” Alice blinks like she’s shocked. “Aren’t you going to talk about, like, some really personal shit?”
We definitely will, but I’d feel more confident with my older sister by my side.
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “But I think it’ll be okay. And you’ll get to meet someone famous. Please?”
“Like anyone would want to meet her.” She scoffs but, thankfully, pushes herself off of the bed. “She might kick us out when we say we can’t afford a three-hundred-dollar meal. Prepare yourself.”
Charlotte Hart doesn’t admonish us for ordering the cheapest options on the menu. I don’t even think she notices. A lawyer sits to her left and a publicist sits to her right. Both are dressed in gray suits and both are white women.
Honestly, I’m not even sure why she called me. I don’t know what they could possibly let me print.
“Can I record this?” I ask. My hand is shaking. “Just for accuracy.”
“No,” the publicist says.
“Well,” the lawyer says, cocking her head to the side. “It could be useful.”
“For who, Jane?” the publicist asks. “Certainly not me.”
“Stop,” Charlotte Hart says, swishing her long dark hair over her shoulders. She didn’t even raise her voice and they stop immediately. “I have to be home when the kids get back. They’re never alone with the nanny for too long.”
She turns to me. I swallow, but my throat is still dry. Alice grips my wrist. I shake her off.
“I hope you understand,” she says. “Tallulah assured me this wouldn’t take up too much time.”
I blink in surprise. I wasn’t expecting Tallulah to bring this up with someone like Charlotte Hart. That must’ve taken real guts.
“It definitely won’t,” I say, holding up the recorder. “So…do you mind?”
“Of course not.” She waves a hand. “What do you want to know?”
Her elbows are on the table. I…I figured she’d be more tightly wound when preparing to talk about something like this. Maybe it’s not the same for everyone. Or maybe she’s just a good actress.
“What happened when you first worked with him?” I ask, opening my notebook. “On Force of the Nation?”
I make a calculated choice not to say his name, but the way her face tightens, I can tell she knows who I mean. Charlotte Hart taps her well-manicured pale pink fingernails on the table, pursing her lips. She doesn’t seem real.
“Things were normal in the beginning. He was friends with my father, so I’d met him at family dinners and events,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “I told him about how nervous I was to be on his set, so he took me out to dinner. That’s when he offered to father my children.”
She pauses, taking a sip of water.
“I suppose he thought it sounded romantic. At first, I figured it was a joke and brushed it off. I wanted to focus on honing my craft.”
Alice sighs and I stomp on her foot. My sister might find Charlotte annoying, but there’s something graceful about the way she speaks and moves—even just the way she lifts her glass.
“But there were glances I noticed,” Charlotte continues. “Things I tried to ignore. Toward the end of the shoot, he said I’d have to sleep with him to get my paycheck.”
My eyes widen. I want to say something, but calling him a fucking asshole doesn’t seem like an appropriate move around her publicist and lawyer. By the time Charlotte did Touch of the Heart, she was a household name. He harassed Julia and Charlotte on the same fucking set. Roy Lennox preyed on all sorts of women, regardless of whether or not they were already famous.
“That’s pretty much it.” She reaches for her water, and her hand is shaking. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to make sure other girls don’t work with him.”
“Did you sign an NDA?”
“Don’t answer that,” the lawyer says.
“Okay,” I say. “Did you tell anyone else? Like friends or family?”
“Charlotte.” Her publicist leans over. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”
I glance at Alice, who presses her lips together. This feels like a police interrogation—one where I’m the cop Charlotte needs protection from.
“It’s fine,” Charlotte says. “I told my brother. He was the only one.”
I nod, jotting it down in my notebook. “And—”
“I’m afraid that’s all the time Charlotte has today,” the lawyer says, already getting to her feet. “She’s a very busy woman.”
“Uh—okay.” I blink. “And you’re comfortable with your name being printed?”
“Well, yes.” Charlotte looks straight into my eyes. “If it’s going to help other women, I don’t mind taking the risk.”
It’s a much smaller risk for someone like her than someone like Penny, who is still trying to be taken seriously, but that’s not Charlotte Hart’s fault. It’s not her fault, or Tallulah’s, or Julia’s, or Penny’s. It’s not even just Lennox’s fault. There are people who know what he does, people who choose to keep their mouths shut. People who let him continue.
“Thank you.” My voice wavers, so I clear my throat. “Thank you so much.”
@JosieTheJournalist: brb i dead
“What do you think about working with problematic people?”
It’s Friday and we’re sitting in the back of Marius’s
