“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re not stupid.”
“I don’t know.” She squeezes my hand. “He didn’t rape me or anything. Just started groping me, pulling down my shirt, and I told him I’d yell if he didn’t stop. He said he’d make sure I never worked in the industry again.”
“Did he stop?” I ask. “After you told him to?”
“After he threatened me? No.” She grimaces. “He only stopped pulling down my shirt because one of the other workers came in. But everyone just pretended like nothing ever happened. I told my manager, but she pretended like nothing happened, even when I quit.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, gripping my pen uselessly in my other hand. “I’m so sorry, Savannah.”
“I’m glad I’m talking about it.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I just told my mom today. Before then, it felt like I made the whole thing up. It’s scary. I don’t know. We prayed about it.”
“I’m glad you could talk to your mom,” I say. “You’re so brave for talking about this. Seriously—so fucking brave.”
I glance at Alice, but her eyes are red-rimmed, and it just makes it harder to swallow down my own tears.
“Thanks,” Savannah says. “I want to be. I try to be. I mostly fucking hate him for ruining my experience, you know? My brothers make fun of me for liking his movies because they’re boring and super white and everything, but he was a poor kid from the city like me. I figured I could be like him.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I never thought I’d be like him, but I never thought he’d be such a fucking douchebag. Like, I thought only having white people in his movies was bad, but this is different. This is—taking from other people.”
That’s the difference between being problematic and assaulting or harassing women. Savannah was lucky enough to get another internship, but Julia’s career is a mess, and even Tallulah, who is still getting roles, has had something taken from her. When that boy followed me into the bathroom, he took something from me. That’s what happens during harassment and assault and shitty touching of other people when they don’t want it.
“I feel like he ruined that whole experience for me,” Savannah says. “My whole, like, initial love for movies was based on Roy Lennox’s work. It’s been hard to deal with.”
“He stole something from you,” I say. “So we’re gonna take something from him. Okay?”
“Yeah.” She squeezes my hand. “Okay.”
@JosieTheJournalist: Marius Canet is going to win an Oscar in like five years and you’ll all remember me for interviewing him first (probably) (idk) (maybe)
I wake up on Sunday to the sound of a phone ringing.
“Alice,” I say into my pillow, “can you get it?”
She groans, but I hear her bed creaking, so I snuggle deeper under the covers.
“It’s your phone, Josie,” Alice says, dumping it on top of me. “Not mine.”
“Ugh. Can’t you just answer for me?”
“Oh, hey, Marius.”
I shoot up. Alice is standing on her bed, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Alice,” I say, “give me the phone.”
“I don’t know why she hasn’t been answering you,” she says, ignoring me. “I’m sorry. That’s horrible of her.”
“Alice.” I lunge for her, but she easily avoids me.
“Oh, I know.” She steps to the side as I jump on her bed. “It sucks that we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Alice,” I say, reaching for the phone. She shoves her elbow in my face. “Alice, come on!”
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’m sure she’d love to meet you at your apartment to discuss the profile.”
“Alice.”
I launch myself onto her back. We collapse onto the bed in a heap.
“I hate you,” I say, jabbing my shoulder in her side. “Why are you so obnoxious?”
“Trouble in paradise?” She shakes her head. “It’s such a shame.”
“Shut up.” I hide behind my hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But I obviously do. That’s what makes me so nervous to talk to him.
On the way to Marius’s apartment, I decide I’m going to ask thoughtful, professional final follow-up questions that will allow me to complete my profile on time. But he opens the door to his apartment, with his golden-brown curls and his brown eyes and the most open expression, and all I can do is kiss him.
His hands cup my cheeks, and I lean into his touch. For once, I’m not worried about anything. I just want to kiss him. I just want to enjoy this, to live in the moment without thinking about what will come next. Eventually, he pulls away.
“You haven’t been answering any of my messages,” he says. “I thought you were gonna leave without talking to me again.”
“Yeah, well.” I stare at his mouth. “I’m not—not very good at this.”
He bites his lip. I can’t tell if he’s thinking about the ignored texts or the kissing or my sister’s embarrassing phone call. My fingers twitch at my sides, anxiety returning. I could be the one to end the silence. The problem is, I have no idea what to say. None of my plans seem appropriate anymore. I don’t want to talk about being professional or even Lennox. I want to look at him as much as I want, without it being creepy. I want to kiss him again. Kissing Marius in an empty apartment, everything silent except the sound of our breathing, should count as a form of therapy.
“Did I do something?” he asks, breaking my trance. “To bother you?”
“No,” I say. “Not at all.”
I watch him nod, just the slightest movement of his head. There’s still a worried crease between his eyebrows. I want to smooth it away.
“I just…” My voice trails off. There are so many reasons and I don’t want to get into any of them. “I saw your texts. I’m sorry I didn’t answer. It’s just—I’m supposed to work on the story. I thought I’d have a few days to finish
