Off the Record

by Camryn Garrett

  My voice trails off as he drops the shirt to the floor.

  He’s skinny. Not like he’s been starving himself, but he’s smaller than me. Smaller than I’m ever going to be. And that’s fine, because I don’t mind being fat, because this is my body. It’s just that our bodies are so different. I want this to work, but we’re already different—different ages and genders and people….

  But I can’t stop looking. There are miles of skin. His nipples are pink, just like his lips, just like his tongue. It makes me tingle. It makes me want to touch, so I do, stroking his shoulders and getting closer. There’s just the sound of his gentle breathing. I formulate a plan: touch every bit of him with my hands before following the same pattern with my mouth. I feel light-headed, but in a good way, like after I finish an impromptu dance party.

  I kiss his shoulder. I’m not sure if my brain is processing like normal.

  Marius turns his head.

  “Josie?” he says. “Can I see you?”

  It’s a simple request, but enough to make my palms sweat. I’m not the same type of beautiful as him. There are no smooth miles of skin. I have stretch marks everywhere.

  “You don’t have to,” he says when I don’t say anything. “I just—”

  “No.” I reach for the bottom of my shirt. “It’s just—I want you to know that I won’t— There are stretch marks on my stomach and on my legs. They’re darker than the rest of my skin. And my stomach is bigger, just…”

  I can’t read the expression on his face. Disbelief? Surprise? Whatever it is doesn’t make me feel any better.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, kissing my chin. “I want to see.”

  “I want you to be prepared.”

  I pull the shirt over my head before he can say anything else. My stomach pools in between my legs, and my back is straighter than usual. I force myself to imagine the bathroom mirror at home, how good I look in it. It’s easier to feel like I look good when there’s no one else around.

  After a second, I let myself glance at his face. His smile is so tender that it makes me want to cry.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, shifting so he’s sitting up. “Why were you so scared?”

  “Not everyone else thinks so.” I swallow. “They’re wrong, obviously.”

  “Obviously.” He flashes a boyish grin. “You’re gorgeous.”

  My cheeks burn. He tilts my head up and kisses me. I let myself fall into it, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. He doesn’t feel like he’ll snap. He feels warm and solid and here. This is real. I’m not imagining it.

  But then he’s pulling me closer to him, almost on his lap. I jerk away.

  “Marius, no,” I say, shaking my head. “What if I crush you?”

  “Then I’ll be crushed,” he says. “What a lovely way to go.”

  “It’s not funny,” I say. “You’re acting like—like I’m not fat, but I am, and you obviously know it. You don’t have to pretend like it isn’t the truth.”

  “I’m not trying to ignore anything, Josie.” Surprise flickers across his face. He shifts forward, our knees touching. “I know you’re bigger than me, but I also know you aren’t gonna crush me so much that I won’t be able to handle it.”

  “How?”

  “Because I can talk.” He kisses my cheek. “And if I need to stop, I’ll tell you. Just like you’ll tell me, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He makes it sound so simple. Maybe it is to him, but it isn’t to me.

  “I like your body,” he says, leaning forward. “It’s my favorite person’s body. And it’s not like I didn’t notice that you’re, you know, bigger.”

  “It’s okay for you to say fat,” I say. My voice comes out as a whisper. “I’m fat.”

  “Yeah.” He smiles, soft. “I know.”

  “It’s just that…” My voice trails off. What am I trying to do here? Convince him that he shouldn’t like me? I’ve spent all this time telling myself that I’m beautiful, but now it’s like I don’t even believe it. “I don’t know. People I like don’t really like me back. Not usually, anyway. I think it’s because they don’t like the way I look. And I’m pretty sure everyone likes the way you look. I don’t want you to do anything just because you feel bad for me.”

  He snorts. “People are stupid. I like you and the way you look and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  “It’s just a lot,” I say. “Sometimes I have trouble with the way I look, but I like everything about you.”

  He takes my hand.

  “I think I understand,” he says. “I don’t think anyone really likes the way they look. At least, not all the time. Sometimes I look in the mirror and feel like I’m still fifteen. I hate it.”

  My eyes snap up. He shrugs a little.

  “Are you serious?” I say. “You shouldn’t. You’re beautiful.”

  “Are you just saying it because you feel bad for me?”

  Now I know he’s mimicking me. I roll my eyes and look away.

  “Not everyone looks the same.” He moves closer, placing a hand on my cheek. There’s something so intent in his eyes, so earnest, that I can’t just laugh it off. “And not everyone is— Look, Paris and New York are both beautiful cities, right? But they’re different. People love them for different reasons. It’s like us.”

  “You make it sound so sappy,” I say, ducking my head into the crook of his neck. “I must sound more insecure than I thought if you’re doing big-city metaphors now.”

  Instead of laughing, he leans closer.

  “But I want you to know that I’m here because I want you,” he says. “You know that, right?”

  I think I do. I fight back a smile.

  “Well, I want you, too,” I say, cheeks burning. “I just haven’t done this before.”

  “Kissing?”

  “Not without shirts.”

  “Ah.” He moves down, kissing my chest. “It’s a little different for me. The last time I did this was with a guy—that was, like, two years ago.”

  “Oh,” I say. It’s another thing for my brain to worry about—how different my body must be from his ex-boyfriend’s. “Is it weird? To be with a girl this time?”

  “I don’t think so,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Kissing someone new is always different. You’re different from him, but it’s not just the gender. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

  “I think it does.”

  Marius runs his hands over my stomach. No one has ever been this nice to my belly, touching it with gentle hands and grinning up at me every few seconds. Then he moves lower and I let him, both of us reaching for the buttons of my jeans, pulling them down.

  I always thought of sex as the thing straight cis people do to make babies, but Marius leaving kisses on my thighs feels like sex, too.

  “Is this okay?”

  “Yeah.” I close my eyes and let myself forget everything else but his lips. “It’s perfect.”

  @JosieTheJournalist: why do people with power have to be completely horrible?

  I’m giddy when I get back to the hotel room a few hours later, but my grin is wiped off my face when I see Alice waiting for me by the door with her arms folded. There’s no reason for her to be waiting for me outside the room unless something bad happened.

  I glance down at my phone. There’s a call from Maggie, but also an email and three calls from Ms. Jacobson. Shit. I didn’t look at my phone once while I was at Marius’s, and I didn’t think to check it while I was on my way back. Why would I? I’ve been floating on air.

  My steps slow as I get closer to Alice. Her eyes are wide as she glances up at me.

  “What took you so long?”

  “Um,” I say. “Marius and I hung out a little longer than
I thought….Why does it matter?”

  “You— It’s—” She runs a hand over her forehead. “I don’t know what’s going on, but someone left you a bunch of messages on the hotel phone.”

  I push past her and into the hotel room, my stomach sinking. Was it Ms. Jacobson again? Maybe she wanted to get in touch with me about some notes, but I wasn’t picking up. I’m just grasping at straws. My stomach is all twisted up as I head to the nightstand between our beds. The phone flashes red.

  “Did you listen to them?” I ask. My throat is so dry that it’s hard to swallow. “Do you know who was calling? Did they sound mad?”

  “I only listened to the first one.” Alice pauses by the door. “It was Ms. Jacobson, asking you to call her about something urgent.”

  It feels like there’s a large stone in my throat and I can’t swallow around it. All of the things I’ve been doing wrong jump to mind: spending time with Marius when I’m not supposed to, kissing him, doing things you aren’t supposed to do with interview subjects. But how would they know about that? He wouldn’t have told them, would he have? I don’t even think he knows people at the magazine.

  I stare at the phone like it’s going to bite me.

  “I would get it over with,” Alice says, interrupting my thoughts. “You should know what you’re dealing with.”

  Like it’s that simple. Like knowing what I’m dealing with will make anything any better. I take a deep breath and pick up the phone, pressing the button that plays back messages.

  “Hello.” The word is practically barked into the receiver, but I know it’s a woman’s voice. “I’m looking to reach Josie Wright. This is Lauren Jacobson. It’s urgent. If you could call me back, that’d be great. Thanks.”

  “Hello again,” the second message starts. “This is Lauren Jacobson looking for Josie Wright. It’s really important that you call me back.”

  “Josie,” the third message starts, “it’s Lauren trying to reach you again. I sent you an email, but it would be really helpful if you could call me. There’s something urgent we have to discuss.”

  I frown down at the phone. The idea of calling her back definitely is not appealing. I hold my breath as I dial the number she gave on the hotel phone.

  “Josie,” Ms. Jacobson says on the other end of the line. “I’ve been trying to reach you. How is the press tour going?”

  “Oh,” I say. She doesn’t sound as angry as I expected her to. “It’s fine. Um, we’re spending a lot of time in New York, like you said we would. I just got back from interviewing Marius, actually. Just, you know, wrapping up loose ends.”

  It’s only partially true. But there’s no way I’m going to get into everything with Ms. Jacobson.

  “I figured,” she says. “But I’m glad you’re finishing up. Will you still be able to get me a draft by tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I should be able to do that.”

  Alice glances at me and I shrug at her. I honestly don’t know what this call is about. Ms. Jacobson could’ve emailed all of this to me. I bounce on my toes. If she’s calling, it has to be about something important. But what?

  “Great,” she says, brisk, like she’s crossing things off a list. “And there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. Look, Josie. I don’t want to scare you.”

  Saying that is the easiest, fastest way to scare me. My stomach instantly flips.

  “Oh,” I say. What else can I say?

  “I’ve been hearing some things,” she says. “Well, the entire office was hearing things all week. And we know they’re probably rumors—about a bunch of women getting together to accuse Roy Lennox of assault. Honestly, we’ve been hearing rumors like those for a while.”

  My mouth goes dry.

  “Obviously, I’m not calling to tell you about the rumors,” she continues. “I wouldn’t waste your time with rumors. But I’m calling specifically because we got a call from Mr. Lennox today.”

  My entire body freezes. It feels like my throat is locked up, like I’m having an allergic reaction to the news she’s sharing with me. Why would he call? He wouldn’t call unless he knows about me. I figured…I don’t know what I figured. That he wouldn’t know about my involvement until the article was published. But of course I was wrong. This whole time I’ve been hearing about how powerful and connected this guy is, how he can make or break women’s careers, and I’m writing a story accusing him of sexual assault. Of course he found out.

  “He’s accused you of collecting lies about him,” she says. Her voice is unusually gentle, like she’s telling me someone just died. “He claimed you’re working on a story about him, intending to publish some sort of slander from a bunch of angry, vindictive former actresses. We told him you’re completely focused on a profile of Marius Canet at the moment.”

  My brain short-circuits. I’m not sure what to say. I could deny it. I definitely could deny it. But part of me, the hopeful part of me, wonders if I could tell her the truth. If she would have my back.

  “Between you and me, I think this is a case of a big man with loads of power getting paranoid,” she adds. “I don’t know what it is, exactly—maybe he’s asked around, noticed that you’re working with Penny Livingstone, assumed a few things. But I assured him that you aren’t publishing any story like that with us.”

  “Right,” I say. My voice sounds weak. I think I’m about to throw up.

  “We told him you aren’t a professional journalist,” she continues. “That you won our contest and you’re a high school student who loves to write. That’s it.”

  Something about her words makes me unfreeze.

  That’s it. Like I don’t have an entire portfolio of online writing I’ve been working on since I was fifteen. She makes me sound like I’m a little kid. Like I don’t know anything. Like…the only reason why he doesn’t have to worry about me is because of who I am.

  I don’t like it.

  “I just wanted to bring it up to you,” she continues. “I consider the matter handled, but on the very, very small chance someone from his camp reaches out to you, I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on.”

  My body drops to the bed. I’m not sure how to deal with any of this at all.

  “Josie?” Ms. Jacobson says. “Are you still there?”

  “Um, yeah,” I say. “Just a little, um, shocked.”

  “I completely understand,” Ms. Jacobson says. “It truly is ridiculous. Lennox is an amazing filmmaker, but he’s so out of line to go around accusing teenage girls of doing things like this.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Um. Is there actually a story? Like the one he thinks?”

  “I doubt it,” she says. “Everyone knows not to cross him. I mean, you didn’t even do anything, and he accused you of slander. Imagine what would happen if an actual reporter tried to write the story?”

  An actual reporter. I swallow the emotion rising in my throat.

  “Anyway, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Ms. Jacobson laughs. “People like Lennox are just crazy. If you decide to go into this industry when you get older, you’ll definitely see.”

  “Right,” I say. “Yeah. I see that.”

  I can’t bring myself to laugh along with her.

  “I’ll let you go now, Josie,” she says. “Have a great time finishing out the tour. I’m excited to read your draft.”

  “Yeah,” I say, but my voice sounds distant. “Thanks.”

  I hang up before I can hear what else she has to say. When I glance up, Alice is looking at me, frowning. I’m still clutching the phone in my hand.

  “Josie?”

  I see Alice’s shape in front of me, but my breaths are coming out so quick, it’s hard to focus on her.

  “Josie,” she says again. “Come on. It can’t be that bad.”

  But it is that bad, actually. Because Lennox kno
ws. He called them to get me to stop. Does that mean he’s called Penny? Has he called the other women who talked to us? Does he know about all of them?

  I want to throw up.

  And there’s no way I can ask Ms. Jacobson for help. She sounded so sure that it couldn’t have been me. But it was me—and Lennox knows. He must have people watching me. People asking around. He knows.

  I imagine what Ms. Jacobson would do if she found out the truth. Deep Focus would probably ask me for the prize money back. She could probably tell me to stop writing the Lennox story—and I’d have to do it. If she finds out I’m actually writing it while on assignment for Deep Focus, they could probably take me to court, right after Lennox does.

  “Josie?” Alice says again. “Listen—”

  I don’t hear the rest of what she says. Instead, I push past her and into the bathroom and throw up.

  @JosieTheJournalist: do you ever want to yell at yourself

  I still feel sick when I show up at Marius’s apartment an hour later. I don’t even know why I’m back here. Maybe I’m just looking for a fight. I’ve spent these last few days trying to ignore Marius’s complicity. Not anymore.

  “Hey,” he says when he opens the door, smiling in the same way that always makes something tighten in my chest. And it does. It just doesn’t feel good. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he jokes.

  I think he’s about to kiss me, but I slide past him and into the apartment.

  “Is something wrong?”

  I turn to face him, keeping my eyes on his socked feet instead of his face.

  “I know you’ve heard the rumors,” I start, forcing my voice to remain level. “But did you know that Roy Lennox has sexually harassed and assaulted at least six of the women he’s worked with?”

  Silence.

  I sneak a quick look at him. His eyes are wide as he shakes his head, blinking too much. It’s like the first time I asked him. I always thought Marius was genuine, but I can’t tell if this is a real reaction or not.

  “I think you do,” I continue. “Because I tried to bring it up with you before and you brushed me off. But you can’t brush me off again. Not right now.”