My breaths come out fast and then stop altogether. I close my eyes, holding my breath. Penny squeezes my arm again.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You know and you’ll be okay. It’s fine.”
I can’t tell if she’s trying to convince herself or me.
@JosieTheJournalist: OBVIOUSLY #notallmen are horrible but if we are discussing all the ways women suffer at the hands of misogyny maybe now is not the time to remind me of that
All I can think about on the plane to Atlanta that night is what Penny said. About Roy Lennox. About how people are still watching his movies and honoring him because they don’t know what he’s done.
They should. Everyone should know what a creep he is.
He shouldn’t be able to keep making movies and harassing women on his sets. He shouldn’t be able to go to award shows and get hailed as this great genius when he’s hurting people. Other people on the plane are snuggled under blankets, eyes closed, but I’m too anxious to sleep.
“You’re being quiet,” Alice says. “You’re not gonna ramble on about that guy?”
I don’t have the energy to tell her to be quiet. I just feel sick. The plane lurches and I shift forward like I might puke.
“Hey.” Alice places a hand on my arm. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“No,” I say, my voice almost a moan. “Alice, what would you do if you knew about something bad but you couldn’t tell anyone?”
Alice frowns. “Did you do something?”
“No,” I say. “You have to swear you won’t tell.”
She searches my face.
“Okay,” she says. “What is it?”
It all comes up like vomit. I’m not sure if journalists are supposed to pour their hearts out to their older sisters, but that doesn’t keep me from doing it. In a whisper, I tell her everything Penny told me about Roy Lennox, about what he did, about how there might be other girls, about Marius signing on to his next film.
“Jesus,” Alice says when I’m finished. “Fuck. He always seemed like a creep, but wow.”
“It’s ridiculous,” I say. “He’s probably still doing it because no one knows.”
“I don’t know.” Alice shakes her head. “I think—it sounds like an open secret.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means the girl—whoever told you—will probably warn other girls. I really doubt she’s the only one,” she says, pushing up her tray table. “And I’m sure there are executives and other men who know about what’s going on. It’s shit, but that’s how these things go.”
“It shouldn’t be the girls’ responsibility to warn each other, though,” I say, leaning back in my seat. I hate being anxious about things I can’t fix right away. “This shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be a thing.”
“Yeah.” Alice goes quiet for a second. “Maybe you could write about it.”
“What?”
“You write all the time,” she points out. “Doesn’t that help you figure things out?”
Normally it does. I hate carrying things around in my head, but putting them on paper lifts the weight a little.
“I guess so.” I tap my fingers against my tray. “It just feels wrong, like I’m in over my head. Who am I to tell their stories?”
“I mean…” She pauses. “This sucks, but I feel like every woman has a story. You know that guy who used to harass Maggie at the supermarket? And the really shitty boyfriend I had junior year? Stuff like that.”
I’ve never been coerced into sex by a creepy older dude. No older dude has done anything to me, period. Sometimes guys are weird at Cora’s when I’m working the counter—telling me about how I grew up pretty or asking how old I am—but that isn’t the same as what Penny went through. And I’ve never had a shitty boyfriend, just shitty crushes and first kisses.
Middle school, though—that was definitely a different story.
It was when the anxiety first started up. I’d get sick every morning before going to school and barely slump through the day. I’m not sure how I survived it. I remember general themes of middle school, like being self-conscious, not wanting to wear the right-sized bras, and covering myself in the locker room. I used to sit alone at the lunch table. No one paid much attention to me at all, except when they were saying something rude.
Lots of kids used to tease me or make fun of me, but Ryan King…he was the worst. The absolute worst. He made everything horrible. I haven’t brought him up since it happened. I try to shove everything from middle school to the bottom of my brain. Sometimes it works. Other times, like with my memories of Ryan, it doesn’t.
“Do you remember…?” I swallow. “Like, do you remember Mom coming to have a meeting when I was in middle school?”
“Mom had so many meetings when you were in middle school,” Alice says. “So you’re gonna have to narrow that down for me.”
“Whatever.” I flush. “Forget it.”
“No,” Alice says, kicking me with the tip of her foot. “Tell me. Was it about you throwing up? Or when you hid in the bathroom for a whole class period?”
God, I really hate thinking about this.
“No,” I say. “It was like—there was this one kid who was, like, really into my boobs. I don’t know. You remember how I grew really fast? He used to, like, track every new change and tell everyone when I was wearing a bra. And, like…he followed me to the bathroom once. And tried to take off my shirt.”
Alice is quiet.
“I think—” My throat is dry. “I don’t even know why I’m talking about it. But I keep thinking about Penny, and it’s hard not to think about it. How scared I was. And he kept saying it was just a joke. At the meeting, with Mom and the principal and everyone, he just kept saying it was a joke. I was crying and I felt stupid, like everyone thought I was making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Not everyone,” Alice says. She rubs her jaw. “I remember now. Mom flipped the fuck out. And then Dad found out and they were both so mad. You came home and wouldn’t talk to any of us. It was kind of—I don’t know. Scary.”
I bite my lip. For a second, I hate Penny for making me think about all of this, but I swat that thought away fast. This isn’t her fault. None of it is.
“So, yeah,” Alice says after a second. “There you go. Something happened to you.”
I squirm in my seat.
“Not really,” I say. “It’s way different. Like, my thing was a kid fooling around. Hers was an actual adult man harassing her while she was at work.”
“Well,” Alice says, “they’re both assaults.”
“Not really.”
“Josie.” Alice gives me a look. “What happened to you is literally the definition of assault. You know that, right?”
“It was in middle school.”
“So?”
Ugh. I don’t know how to make her understand. What Ryan King did to me was horrible, but lots of kids were mean to me in middle school. I always got stuck with “bad” kids. That was one of the worst things about being quiet. Teachers put the guys who acted up around me, like my presence would make them simmer down.
Middle school wasn’t exactly the brightest time in my life.
“You don’t have to be assaulted by a creepy man for something to count,” Alice says. “I hope you know that.”
The Fasten Seat Belt sign lights up. I lean back and close my eyes.
“Do you know that, Josie?”
“Yeah, Alice,” I sigh out. “I know.”
I try not to think about it for the rest of the flight, but it’s impossible. Even though I’m bone-tired when we land, I pull out my phone to search for Penny’s number.
She was brave enough to share with me. I can do the same for her.
@Jos
ieTheJournalist: i’m not mature enough for any of this
“Josie.”
I groan into my pillow. It’s Alice’s voice, but that doesn’t give me any more reason to get out of bed.
“Josie. Your phone keeps ringing.” She shoves my back. I barely move. There’s drool on my pillow. Ew. “I don’t know who it is—it’s an unknown number—but you can’t be that tired. You’ve been sleeping for forever.”
I know I fell asleep as soon as we got to our hotel room, but I have no idea what time it is now. I sit up and rub my eyes. Alice frowns at me.
“Mom wanted to know where you were,” she says. “I told her you were sleeping. You’re welcome.”
I roll my eyes. My scarf is falling off my head, the blue-and-green design blurring my vision.
“And it’s noon. For all I know, you have an event or something that you’re missing.”
I open my mouth to say something, but my phone’s shrill ringing cuts me off. Alice stares at the bed. I yank my scarf all the way off my head and hold the phone up to my ear.
“What?” I snap.
“Oh. Is this Josie?”
“Penny?” I blink. “What’s up?”
Alice slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
“I got your text,” she says simply. “Anyway, I wanted to see if you were available for lunch or something.”
Honestly, I didn’t think about what would happen after I sent Penny the text about Ryan King following me into the bathroom and tearing off my shirt, the part I didn’t want to talk to Alice about. It felt right in the moment. Like we were on even ground. Like I was showing her that she’s not alone. But now I’m not so sure.
“Oh,” I say, reaching for my computer. “Yeah, just let me check.”
I open the itinerary up on my laptop. We’re at the beginning of the second week of the trip, and most of the days say, “Up to your discretion.” It’s weird, going from being super scheduled to having to figure out what to do on my own. I’m supposed to interview Marius back at the hotel later today, but I should probably lock down more interviews with him. There’s also the fact that thinking about Penny makes the anxiety in my belly flare up. It’s like I should be doing something to help. Something I haven’t figured out yet. That she’s inviting me out—doing something for me when I’m not doing anything for her—just makes me feel worse.
“Um,” I say. “Do you have anything scheduled for today?”
“I did,” she says. “Some news show. It was at six this morning. I wanted to die.”
“That sucks,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Um. Okay. Where should we meet?”
* * *
The best thing about Atlanta is that there are so many Black people—all shades, different hairstyles, together and apart, walking around like they own the place. I love driving out here with my family whenever we find the time. This is the closest I’ve been to home the entire trip.
I look up at the sign out front to make sure I’m at the right place. It’s smack in the middle of a cluster of stores, all sleek and black, with signs in different fonts. Posters are plastered on the windows. One in particular makes me freeze.
It’s him, with his salt-and-pepper beard, staring into the distance. ROY LENNOX: A LIVING LEGEND appears in big red letters above his head. Below are the details of the documentary: a two-day televised event featuring interviews with celebrity fans, collaborators, and the man himself. My stomach rocks like a ship at sea.
“Josie!”
Penny presses me to her chest. I blink in surprise.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she says, drawing back. “How are you?”
Penny’s face is open, eyes searching my face like she’s actually interested in my answer. I look away.
“I’m good,” I say. My eyes are drawn to the poster behind her. There’s no way she hasn’t seen it. “What about you?”
I want to ask what it’s like. She knows what Roy Lennox has done. He hurt her and no one else knows. Or maybe they do, but they don’t believe her.
I don’t think I could stand it.
Penny’s eyes dart to the poster. It’s only for half a second, but I notice. She swallows.
“Come on,” she says, tugging at my arm. “Let’s talk inside.”
It’s a café like the one I first went to with Marius. That feels like it was weeks ago, even though it was only one. Penny picks a comfy-looking seat near the fireplace—why is there a fireplace in Atlanta?—and I sit in the green armchair next to her.
“So,” I say before she can change the subject, “are you okay?”
“I guess so.” She shrugs. There’s a smile on her face, but this one is clearly fake. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Your text got me thinking, and now I have an idea.”
I raise a brow. We’re in a public place, which means either she’s confident talking about this in public or she wants to make sure I don’t freak out.
“An idea?” I say. “Like, for my Marius profile? Or…for a role you want?”
“No, no.” She waves a hand. “I thought I could help you write something.”
“Oh.” I hesitate. “I didn’t know you liked to write.”
“That’s—not the point,” she says, shaking her head. “I want you to write something about him. About everything he’s done. I want to ruin him.”
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out but a croak. Penny breaks into laughter. She’s inches away from my face, like she’s staring into my head, analyzing every thought to gauge my response.
Good thing she can’t actually read my brain. Because what the fuck?
I want to do something to help, but this is completely ridiculous. This is a job for an actual journalist. This is a job for someone with decades of experience and talent and sources. I barely know how to write a profile.
“Penny.” I shake my head. “That’s— Oh my God. It’s—”
“Don’t say no.” She rests her hand on mine. “Please don’t say no.”
“I just don’t get it.” My throat is dry. “It’s a great idea. Really. I think it’s so important, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. I just don’t think I’m the right person to write about this. It’s not my story, you know?”
“But it is,” Penny says. “Not exactly, but you know what it’s like.”
I bite my lip. She makes it sound so simple.
“I could find people for you to interview,” she continues. “People I’ve talked to.”
“You’re closer to them. Why don’t you just interview them?”
“Even if I do, I can’t write,” she says. “Not like you can. I’ve read your work. You’re talented, Josie.”
Normally I tell people age doesn’t matter. I don’t mention mine in any of my pitches because I want people to look at my work instead of how old I am. But this feels like something out of my league. It’s too important to mess up.
“Yeah, but I’ve only ever written soft stuff before,” I try again. “What if I do this all wrong?”
“I don’t know if there’s a right way to write something like this. I can’t—” Her voice breaks. It makes me go rigid. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching people worship him like he’s some sort of saint. I can’t.”
I immediately squeeze her hand, surprising myself. She squeezes back.
“Please,” she says. “Just tell me you’ll think about it.”
I stare down at our hands. Maybe I have anxiety because I always think about everything, always try to make sure everyone else is okay. It freaks me out. I never thought of it as a good thing. I still don’t think it’s a good thing. But maybe it’s just a magnified part of me. The caring, so big, so amplified, that it becomes too much for me.
Can I use it to help someone else?
“Fine.” I clear my throat. “I’ll think about
it.”
@JosieTheJournalist: have you ever met someone who is absolutely beautiful??? someone whose face just makes it a little harder for you to breathe for a second because you’re in awe?? pls end this
Somehow, I’m supposed to interview Marius after that conversation. He’s coming up to my room for us to talk. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be a good idea.
“Okay,” I say after letting him into the room. “This is awkward.”
Alice isn’t here, which means it’s just the two of us.
Alone.
In my hotel room.
“It doesn’t have to be.” Marius plops down on the edge of my bed, bouncing only a little. “Not every silence has to be awkward.”
So far, I’ve been taking notes about where we are when we speak—in a restaurant, at a clothing store, in a café—but writing that he’s in my hotel room feels kind of shady. God, I’m so stupid for suggesting this. Hopefully it doesn’t end in some journalistic scandal that finishes my career before it’s had the chance to really start.
“Do you mind if I have something out of this?”
I blink. Marius is standing in front of the mini fridge. I want to tell him not to take anything, but when I get closer, I see there are already things missing. There’s supposed to be four of everything—soda, mostly—but only two bottles of beer are left. Alice must’ve taken the others.
It’s wild. I was only gone a few hours with Penny. I wonder if Alice and the intern gang started a party here and moved it somewhere else. I’m not surprised; I’m pretty sure that’s what she does at her new sorority. Still, I’m pissed. Who does she expect to pay for this? Yeah, the magazine covered the room and told me to save receipts to be reimbursed, but I don’t think that includes extras. I don’t want them to think I’m taking advantage.
“Go ahead,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. Screw it. If Alice can raid the fridge, so can I. I reach for a small bottle filled with dark wine.
Off the Record Page 11