“No,” she snaps. “I just told you. Look, I have to go.”
I bite my lip, tapping my pen against the table. Technically, Alice counts as someone who can corroborate since she knew about it before I did my article, but she’s a conflict of interest because we’re related. That means I have to try my best to get Savannah’s old boss to talk to me. But if I call her, she’ll probably run and tell Lennox.
Then again, he’s gonna have to find out at some point.
“Okay,” I say. “But one more thing: Do you remember the name of your manager?”
I jot down the woman’s name—Anne Mullers—and start Googling it on my phone. This is the most confident I’ve ever felt. Well, I guess it isn’t exactly accurate to say that I feel confident. But I’m not worried about flubbing on the phone or saying the wrong thing. I’m not worried about what this woman will think of me. All I’m thinking about is finishing the story.
Maybe it’s unprofessional to call Anne Mullers at a personal number I found on Whitepages, but I know it’ll be the fastest option. Lennox knows I’m doing the story, so if a stranger calls his office looking for Anne Mullers, they might give me the runaround, especially if she isn’t working today. I know she lives in New Jersey, and this phone is probably a landline. The phone rings once, twice. I close my eyes. She has to be there. If she isn’t there, I’m not sure what we’ll do. We might have to take Savannah out of the story. Then there won’t be any women of color at all. We can’t just focus on the rich white actresses and ignore a Latinx assistant. It would be erasing part of the story. It wouldn’t be the full truth.
I start to think about Marius, the way he looked when he told me what happened to him, but then someone picks up.
“Hello?”
I almost shoot straight up in my chair. All of the Times staffers turn to look at me. The papers are spread out around them, like they’re teachers getting ready to grade final essays, and I can already see the transcripts marked with the red pen resting in Kim’s hand. I can’t bring myself to smile, so I just nod at them.
“Hi,” I say, leaning forward. “This is Josie Wright. I’m a journalist reporting on a story for the Times. I wanted to reach out to corroborate something with you. Did you work with someone named Savannah Rodriguez about two years ago at Lennox Productions?”
She is quiet for a second. Penny, now done with her phone call, glances up at me.
“Why are you asking?” Anne says. “That was a long time ago. I don’t know if I remember.”
I resist the urge to groan. This whole back-and-forth, trying to get information out of people, it’s not something I can do right now. Not without snapping at this woman and possibly tearing her head off. I guess maybe it isn’t fair for me to get angry about what he did and reflect it onto her, but it’s not like she tried to help Savannah at all.
“I need to confirm an allegation made against Mr. Lennox,” I say. I don’t know if that’s something I can say or not, but none of the adults look up, so I figure it’s fair game. “Is it true that Ms. Rodriguez came to you two years ago and told you about an incident that happened between her and Mr. Lennox?”
“I’m not able to say anything about that,” she says, all bluster. “And Ms. Rodriguez isn’t, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’d be breaking her agreement,” she says. “We both would be.”
“Like an NDA?”
“Yes,” she repeats. “Like an NDA.”
I frown. Savannah didn’t say anything about an NDA.
“Okay,” I say. “Just another question—does every employee sign an NDA?”
“Yes.”
Shit. I guess that makes sense. But it would’ve been way more helpful if Savannah was the only one who had to sign one. That way—
“But not everyone signs more than one,” Anne says. “I would ask Ms. Rodriguez if she still has her copy of the second agreement she signed.”
Second agreement?
“What do you mean?” I ask, already jotting notes down on a pad. “Why did she have more than one agreement?”
“I can’t tell you any more,” she says. “I really can’t. Good luck.”
Then the line is dead.
Kim is staring right at me.
“Agreement?” she repeats. “Does the source have a copy?”
“I don’t know,” I say, already typing out a text to Savannah, asking if we can talk. “I’m going to figure it out, though.”
Just as I’m holding the phone to my ear, waiting for Savannah to pick up, the door swings open. In walks Roy Lennox.
@JosieTheJournalist: remember when i said men are horrible? yeah, i stand by that
It takes all my power not to let out a startled scream. I shouldn’t be scared of Lennox. He’s a horrible person, but he’s a coward.
Still.
As he walks toward us, my eyes grow wider and wider until I feel like they’ll freeze that way. I can’t stop staring at the dark scruff on his chin, at his bulldog face. He almost gets right up to me before Tom steps between us. Several security guards rush through the doorway, along with a white woman with a briefcase who looks terribly tired.
“Roy,” she says. “We talked about this.”
My phone is still ringing in my hand. I hear Savannah’s voice, but I can’t bring myself to even cancel the call. Next to me, Penny is shaking. I don’t know what to do to make her feel better. I grab her hand, gripping it hard, but I’m not sure if it’s more for me or for her.
“Robin.” Stan clears his throat, crossing his legs. “Roy. So nice to see you both. I would’ve expected a word of warning before you came barging into this office.”
Robin
