Off the Record

by Camryn Garrett

  “You two need to eat,” Alice says instead, pushing at the plate in the center of the table. It’s full of nachos, which I normally love, but I can’t bring myself to touch them. A glance at Penny tells me she’s feeling the same.

  I scan my brain for something, anything positive to say. My phone ringing interrupts me. Every time it rings, my entire body tenses, like it’s Lennox and he’s tracked me down to tear apart everything in my life that isn’t already broken. It’s not Lennox or his lawyer or even Kim, though. It’s Savannah. I pull the phone up to my ear.

  “Hey, Savannah,” I say, making eye contact with Alice. “What’s up?”

  Alice’s face scrunches up. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I brace myself for the worst. Penny picks at one of the nachos.

  “I’m not sure who else to call.”

  Savannah sounds out of breath, like she’s just come back from a jog. I grip the edge of the table.

  “God,” I say. “Did something happen?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” she says. “It’s— I keep getting these calls. I think I’m getting one right now. I don’t recognize the numbers. They’re always unknown. And whenever I block them, they keep coming back. I think there’s been five maybe every hour since a few hours ago.”

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she continues. She’s not crying—at least I don’t think I hear tears in her voice. Just panic. “I turned off my phone, but then someone called the house. My mom can’t know about this—she doesn’t know I told you for your article. She can’t. She’ll freak out.”

  “I get it,” I say. My voice sounds small, disused, unhelpful. “Um, okay. Can you disconnect it?”

  “I’m trying to keep it on,” she says. “In case there’s an emergency.”

  “Right,” I say. God, I’m probably the worst possible person to handle this. “Can you tell your mom that it’s just those robocalls? That it isn’t anyone real?”

  “I can try,” she says. “But I wanna know how to fucking get them to stop.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m so sorry. Fuck. Um, I think maybe I can call the editor at the newspaper and—”

  “Maybe?”

  I don’t know what to do. She must know that. I’m younger than she is. I rack my mind for a solution.

  “I think you should go stay with a friend,” I decide. “Or another family member. Take your family and go hang out with someone else. You can even bring them over here to the hotel restaurant. We checked out of the hotel—we’re staying with a friend of mine—but maybe…”

  “I can’t just camp out at your random friend’s house, Josie.” She sighs, loud. “Jesus. I wish I never even said anything.”

  My stomach drops.

  “I’m sorry, Savannah,” I say, even though I know it isn’t enough. “Can you come here? I don’t—I don’t know what else to do. But if you come, you might feel better.”

  “I can’t,” she says again. “I can’t just—I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry—I’m going to take care of it. Did you find the NDA? The second one?”

  “I’m still looking,” she says. “I honestly don’t even remember signing it.”

  I resist the urge to groan. If we could see that second agreement—the exact words he used to keep her from talking about the assault—we might find proof of Lennox’s assault of Savannah. It would make our story airtight.

  “Really? Because your manager—”

  “Sorry, Josie,” Savannah says. “I have to go.”

  Then she hangs up. I frown down at my phone.

  Now I actually have to see if Kim can do anything about this. We don’t have any proof that it’s Lennox or any of his people calling her, but who else would be bothering her this way right now? We’re definitely not pulling the story. Maybe…if the story is published soon enough, the threatening phone calls and the barging into offices and lawsuits will all stop.

  Or they’ll just get a million times worse.

  Alice stares directly at me, as if asking a question. What does she expect me to say? Savannah was her friend first. I messed this up for both of them. I wish Lennox weren’t trying to freak her out. But what can I actually do about any of this? Nothing. I don’t have any power.

  Penny nibbles at the edge of a chip. I slump back in my seat.

  “Jesus,” I say. “I wish I had a stiff drink right about now.”

  Alice laughs, snorting water out of her cup. Penny stares at her for a second before breaking into fits of laughter herself. I want to laugh with them. I just can’t really bring myself to.

  “What?” I say, looking between the two of them. “I was serious.”

  They’re still laughing. Some of the guys at the bar glance over, but they don’t look for long.

  “Do you even know what a stiff drink is, Josie?” Alice asks. “You’re a little kid.”

  “No, I’m not,” I snap. “I’m almost eighteen.”

  “You’re still a little kid,” she says. “Isn’t she, Penny?”

  “She’s not a little kid.” Penny’s cheeks are pink. “It’s just funny to hear her say it. I’ve been feeling that way all day. Probably will for the next year. Maybe for the rest of my life.”

  She shoves another nacho into her mouth. It’s the messiest I’ve ever seen her while eating.

  “It won’t be that bad,” I say, but I sound unconvincing even to my own ears. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t publish something they don’t believe in, right?”

  “Still.” Penny shakes her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d have to…”

  Her voice trails off. I think of her face when Lennox showed up. I wish I had done something more. I wish I had said something more. I wish I hadn’t been so scared.

  “Me too,” I say. “I had no idea what it would be like.”

  “But you’re still doing it,” Alice points out. “You guys went to that office and worked on the story and did it. How many people—not journalists, just people—can say that?”

  Penny shrugs.

  “Just give yourself more credit,” Alice says. “Both of you.”

  I glance to the side. I really wish we did have wine right now. Part of me wants to check back in just to go back up to our room and raid the mini fridge again, but it reminds me too much of Marius. I’m already wobbly. I can’t be even more ridiculous than I already feel.

  Still. We did report this story. Even though it feels like it’s falling apart, we did the work. That has to count for something.

  “Penny,” I say, turning my head, “we did do it. We got women to talk about what he did.”

  “I wanted him to be ruined.” She snorts, shoving another chip into her mouth. A spot of cheese is on her chin. “I didn’t want to see him again. I didn’t want to feel like a fucking little ant he could squish without even lifting his foot. I didn’t want it to be like this.”

  I frown. There’s not much I can say to that. I twist my hands in my lap, ignoring the weight of Alice’s gaze on me. Finally, she sighs loudly.

  “I’m gonna check to see if the bartender will card me,” she says, pushing herself out of her seat. “Let’s hope not, for all our sakes.”

  That’s when the phone rings again. It’s Savannah. I hold the phone to my ear, bracing myself for another problem I can’t help with.

  “Josie,” she says, sounding out of breath, “Josie, I found it. I didn’t remember signing it because it was mixed in with all the paperwork I did once I quit, but—”

  “Oh my God, Savannah.” My chest fills with hope. “You found it?”

  “He told me I couldn’t tell anyone or he’d sue me,” she continues. “But this NDA is insane. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, not friends or family or coworkers. Not even a couns
elor, unless they signed an NDA, too.”

  “Josie?” Penny stares intensely. “What is it?”

  “And this isn’t the original NDA, right?” I say, rising to my feet. “You signed this one later?”

  “Yeah, I signed it when I left,” she says. “My manager must have explained it to me, but I didn’t even—I didn’t even process, you know?”

  “Savannah.” My voice is shaking. “If you could share that with me and give me permission to use it in the article, it would make a huge difference.”

  I hear her take a deep breath. Penny grips my hand. I look at her, my eyes brimming with tears.

  “But then you’d be publishing my name,” she says. “Right?”

  “That’s true,” I say. “And, Savannah, it’s your choice. Take the night to think about it—take as long as you want, even.”

  I pause, licking my lips.

  “But I can tell you right now that what happened to you is bullshit,” I continue. “The fact that he hurt you is bullshit. That NDA is bullshit. He tried to control you, but he can’t. You’re the one with the power here.”

  I squeeze Penny’s hand. She squeezes back.

  “You have the power, Savannah,” I say again. “Not him. He’s done controlling you.”

  It feels like I wait a lifetime for Savannah’s answer, holding my breath the whole time. But then she says, “Fuck it. You’re right.”

  And I can’t help myself: I scream, right there in the middle of the restaurant.

  @JosieTheJournalist: nothing in the world could’ve prepared me for this

  “Josie.” Kim’s voice filters into the room. “Do I have you?”

  “Yeah.” I swallow. “You have me.”

  It’s morning and I’m sitting in Monique’s living room, Penny, Alice, and Monique sitting beside me. We’re all holding hands. I wrote an updated draft as soon as I got the NDA from Savannah and sent it to Kim last night, and I got an email from her this morning asking to talk.

  “Excellent. So I won’t keep you waiting. We sent the draft to Lennox at one a.m., and we’ve already heard back.”

  Penny’s hand squeezes mine. I squeeze back.

  “Interesting response,” Kim says, voice dry. “He threatened to sue the paper.”

  “Jesus,” I say.

  Kim laughs. “Yeah, it’s ballsy, all right.”

  I swallow. Monique puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “But,” Kim adds, “we’ve spoken about it. Everyone on our end still has confidence in the story, and we want to publish. We wanted to run it by you before we let him know and asked for a statement.”

  I can’t even imagine what he’d say in a statement. My leg bounces.

  “I don’t know,” Penny says, looking at me. “He could make things so much worse.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But he would only threaten to sue if he were scared, right?”

  She bites her lip.

  “I believe in this story,” Kim says. “Our editorial board believes in this story. Our lawyer believes in this story. The question is whether or not you still do.”

  Penny stares at me. I stare back at her. I think one of us is supposed to comment, to say something first, to start it so that the other can follow. I don’t know if I should be that person. After all, this isn’t really about me. It’s about other people’s stories.

  But that doesn’t mean it’s not important to me. That doesn’t mean it’s not important, period. I didn’t say anything when Ryan King ripped my shirt off in the girls’ bathroom, and I barely said anything when Lennox tried to bully us. I can do something now. Even if this story doesn’t ruin him like Penny wanted, at least we get to fight back somehow. We don’t have to yell or scream in his face. We can just let this story run.

  “I think we should,” I say, glancing at Penny. “I’m proud of it.”

  Penny swallows.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Let’s do it.”

  I squeeze her hand.

  @JosieTheJournalist: sometimes it’s hard to remember that your voice is important until the world reminds you

  I wake up on Monique’s couch late that afternoon and everything seems normal. Penny is gone and there’s sunlight streaming through the window and the news playing on the TV.

  There’s also a lot of screaming.

  I blink, rubbing my eyes, and sit up. Alice walks back and forth, a phone pressed to her ear. Every time she moves, I can see a bit of the TV. It’s CNN. They keep flashing pictures of Roy Lennox and Penny and Julia and—

  Oh, shit.

  Underneath the pictures, in big block letters, it reads: “Director Roy Lennox Accused of Sexual Assault.” I rub my eyes. It doesn’t go away. I’m not dreaming.

  “Oh my God,” I say out loud.

  I knew we were moving forward with the story. I knew Kim was going to get an official statement from Lennox and that the story would be published. But for some reason, I didn’t think it would happen this fast. I certainly didn’t think it would be on CNN this fast.

  I reach for my phone, but it isn’t on the coffee table. It must’ve fallen. I toss the blanket off and start feeling around, but then Monique comes into view. I realize she’s the source of all the screaming.

  “Do you see this?” She jabs a finger at the TV screen. “Can you believe this?”

  “I can’t,” I say, which is the truth. “I—I can’t. I’m barely processing.”

  “Alice told me you were working on something important,” she says. “I’m so proud of you, Josie. Let me hug you.”

  She pulls me into her arms, squeezing tight. I grin into her shoulder.

  The TV’s volume is up, but just barely, and Alice walks out of the way so I can see. A white-haired journalist is talking directly to the screen.

  “After the article was published in the Times this morning, ten other victims came forward with allegations of sexual abuse,” the newscaster says. It looks like he’s shaking, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry or surprised. “Roy Lennox initially denied the allegations but has released an additional statement, clarifying that this was consensual sexual intercourse.”

  How long have I been asleep?

  “Oh my God.” I run a hand through my hair. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Is it that big of a surprise?” Alice asks. “ ’Cause I’m not surprised at all.”

  “I’m just in awe of you, Josie.” Monique pulls away, eyes searching my face. “Your parents must be so proud.”

  “Speaking of Mom and Dad, they want to talk to you,” Alice says, glancing down at her phone. “I told them you were asleep. They’re worried that you might get sued.”

  “Oh God.” My voice sounds faint. Has Deep Focus seen this already? They must’ve, if it’s on TV.

  I’m so screwed.

  “Not you individually.” Alice bites her lip, glances at Monique. “At least, we hope not. Lennox threatened to sue the Times before the story broke this morning. But more people—men and women and I think a nonbinary person—have been coming out, so he’s had to change his statements.”

  The first thing I need to do is call Penny. I reach behind me, finally finding my phone, and scroll through my text messages. There are several from Savannah.

  I never thought there were so many.

  Thank you, Josie.

  This wouldn’t have happened without you.

  I blink back tears. They’re bittersweet. She broke her NDA, which means Lennox could sue her. But I’m proud of her. I’m glad we got to tell this story together. I’m glad that other women are telling their own stories now.

  I text back: None of this would’ve happened without YOU.

  I’m not expecting her to respond almost immediately with: <3. Also: Don’t check social media for a
while.

  “Wow,” I say out loud. I turn to Monique and Alice. Even though Savannah said not to, I immediately want to go online. “Should I check Twitter? I mean—”

  “No,” Monique snaps. “You’ve gotten a lot of good attention, but there are also lots of negative comments. I wouldn’t check that out if I were you. Bask in the good stuff for a little while.”

  “Oh. God.” None of this feels real, even as it’s reported live.

  I can’t help but wonder what people are saying about me online. They flash a picture of me on CNN—the senior photo I took at the beginning of the year, cocking my head to the side and wearing a dark red cap and gown—but Alice shuts it off before we can see anything else. When I reach for my laptop, Monique wants to talk about Living Single.

  I get that they’re trying to protect me. It’s just a little annoying. I still feel myself shaking, like I just finished boxing a rhino or something, my body full of adrenaline. I need to do something. I can’t just sit here.

  Finally, Penny calls me, and I put my foot down.

  “I don’t need to be babysat,” I say, glaring at Monique and my sister. “What I need is privacy.”

  They share a look, but I step away from the couch and into the kitchen area with my phone. Monique’s apartment doesn’t have rooms like Marius’s does. The thought of him makes my heart ache. What is it like to see the story everywhere? I don’t get a chance to think about it that much longer, because Penny’s voice floods my ears.

  “Oh my God.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “It’s insane.”

  “I didn’t think it would happen this fast,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t even— I wasn’t sure the story was good enough, honestly.”

  “The fucking Times obviously thought it was good enough!” There’s something breathless about her voice. “Fuck. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he tried to deny it.”

  “It doesn’t feel real.” I shake my head again, a tiny laugh escaping my mouth. He tried to get me to stop, to keep me from writing the story, from publishing the story, but it went out anyway. “My sister and my mentor, they won’t even let me check online to see how people are reacting. Is it as bad as I thought?”