“I mean, white women pay attention to each other most of all,” Alice says, leaning back against my pillows. “I don’t know. There’s no way I’d tell a white woman if something like this happened to me. At school, there’s a reason I only hang out with Black girls.”
“Alice,” I say, taking a deep breath, “you go to a school that’s only for Black girls.” I try to ignore the mild sense of panic that sneaks up my neck. Mom and Dad are supposed to let me know if I get a letter from Spelman, but I haven’t heard anything about it yet.
It’s Saturday evening and we have two more days until we fly back home. I’m trying to put all of the Lennox story pieces together—both for Marius’s profile and for the story I’m working on with Penny—and I have no idea how I’m going to finish when, as it stands, it’s all about privileged white women.
It’s hard to articulate why it bothers me so much. Obviously, the women I’ve spoken to have suffered and been hurt by Lennox; it’s not a contest. But I know how easily—and how often—Black women and other women of color are left out of conversations about “women’s issues.” If there’s even one woman of color who went through this and I don’t get to talk to her, I won’t be telling the full story.
“Yeah, for a reason,” Alice says, glancing up. “Look. We both have white friends. Our town is pretty white. Sometimes you just don’t want to be the odd one out. It’s nice to be in the majority.”
“I get that,” I say. “But that doesn’t help me with the article. I’ve been searching literally every single corner of the internet and haven’t found any women of color he might’ve worked with. I tried to ask Penny and even she didn’t know. That’s impossible, right?”
Alice snorts. “Definitely not impossible.”
My phone buzzes and I glance down, hoping for a lead. But it’s just Marius texting me again. Well, not just Marius. I barely saw him at the LGBTQ event earlier, and I haven’t answered any of his messages since then. I know it’s kind of mean. It’s just hard to focus on this Lennox story and him at the same time, especially when it’s not just him I have to focus on, but my feelings about him, too.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I just have a gut feeling. There must’ve been women of color affected. It’s crazy that we can’t find them.”
“I mean, if something like that happened to me, I don’t think I’d wanna tell anyone. Let alone someone I didn’t feel close to,” Alice says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I just—I don’t want other women to be left out, you know? Because Penny was telling me about how this is making her feel better, and if it helps another woman feel better—”
Alice is making a weird face. It’s the face she makes when Cash farts or when Mom gets disappointed in her.
“Wait,” I say. “Do you know someone?”
I try to think back to all the times I saw her hanging out with different interns, if they were all white or if there were women of color. Would any of them know anything about Lennox? Have any of them worked with him directly?
“Why would I?” she asks, but it’s a little too fast. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Why not?” I scoot closer to her. “Don’t you see how important this is?”
“Of course I do,” she says. “But I don’t think you can just call up brown ladies and ask them about sexual assault allegations. Especially brown ladies I like.”
“So you do know someone.”
“Josie,” Alice huffs. “Listen. I’ll ask her. But if she doesn’t want to talk, I’m not badgering her about it, and neither are you.”
“Who says I’d badger her?”
Alice ignores me and starts typing on her phone. I feel like I should keep working on the stories, but now that I’m waiting to hear back from this girl, I can’t focus. I write a line and then erase it a minute later. I fool around on Twitter. After a few minutes—it feels like an hour—my phone buzzes. I’m expecting it to be Alice’s friend, but it’s Ms. Jacobson.
Hi, Josephine! I wanted to check in and see how your profile of Marius is coming along. I really don’t want to rush you, but you should keep in mind that I’ll need your draft by Monday so we can edit together before sending off to our editors. Is there a time a phone call would work for you? Thanks!
It feels like I don’t know how to breathe anymore. I really don’t want to rush you? But what else would I do except rush when Monday is just two days away?
It shouldn’t be such a big deal. I’ve written pieces for Monique in less than a day. But those were always different. If I needed quotes, it was usually from some film expert at a college somewhere, and I could do it over the phone in thirty minutes. This is a celebrity profile for a major magazine. That should have my complete attention, but the piece I’m working on with Penny keeps pulling me away. It’s more serious than anything I’ve ever written.
“Ugh,” I say, tossing back my head. “I hate everything.”
A phone starts to ring. I glance up to see Alice holding it to her ear.
“Hey,” she says. “Are you sure?”
After a second, she nods, silently handing me the phone.
“What?” I say.
“Just do your thing,” Alice says. “And don’t be obnoxious.”
I want to tell her that I’m never obnoxious, but I put the phone up to my ear instead.
“Hi,” I say. “This is Josie Wright.”
“Um, yeah, I know,” Savannah says. “Alice told me you wanted to talk? About Lennox and stuff?”
I glare at my sister. She’s turned on the TV and seems intent on watching an episode of Real Housewives I’m sure she doesn’t really care about. I cover
