Page 53 of Faking the Pass

The Only Thing Ice Cream Can’t Fix

R osie

A couple months after I returned to California, Once Upon a Charm released in theaters.

It had been a massive box office success, and I’d managed to get through the promo appearances with Randy and the red carpet premiere without too much trouble.

The good news was I had started to get some other scripts through my agent as a result of it, some of them very decent.

The bad news was that any new projects would have to wait until after I’d filmed the sequel. I was supposed to report to the set in a couple of weeks, and I was already dreading spending long days on the set with Randy.

But I’d survive it—somehow. I’d certainly survived worse.

Losing Presley.

Not that I was in great shape or anything. Danielle had been a saint, not only for putting me up on her couch since my return but for putting up with my frequent crying jags and general mopiness.

I was never going to get over Pres, but I would be getting my own place soon. My new contract guaranteed me a nice pre-production advance, which would be deposited next week.

“I’m sure you’ll be relieved to get your couch back for its intended purpose—watching marathons of Real Housewives of… everywhere,” I teased her.

A struggling single mom, Danielle was a bit obsessed with the fantasy presented by the shows, a life of abundance—and of course the loving husband part.

“You are welcome to stay as long as you like, and you know that,” she said. “Anyway, even after you get your own place, you know you’re gonna be right back here on this couch with me to watch the season finale.”

“Fine, I admit it. You got me hooked,” I accused her.

“What about your real love life?” she asked. “Any word from him?”

“Who?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Randy, of course,” she joked.

Then she said, “You know who. I know you didn’t watch the Superbowl, but I’m telling you, he looked sad, even after they won.”

“He’s not sad,” I assured her.

At least I hoped not.

“He got his record. He’s won more Superbowls than any other quarterback ever. He’s gotten everything he ever wanted.”

“Has he?” she asked. “You’re about to get the biggest paycheck of your life, a week from now you’ll be on stage presenting at the Oscars, and you’re not happy.”

She wasn’t wrong.

My response was a whisper. “I don’t know.”

A little stronger, I said, “Anyway, it’s about to start.”

I turned away from Danielle and toward the TV where music and opening graphics filled the screen, introducing this week’s episode of the Ophelia show.

As we sat together on the couch/my temporary bed, I leaned forward and started fiddling with my already chipped nail polish the way I always did when I was nervous.

The teasers for tonight’s show had been cryptic, but they made it clear it had something to do with Randy Ryland.

Scandalous accusations against Randy to be more specific.

I wasn’t sure who was making them or what they’d entail, but I was definitely here for it.

As the music ended, the screen showed the famous interviewer seated in a chair across from a young woman.

“Thank you for joining us, everyone,” Ophelia said in her warm, deep voice.

“I’m Ophelia Winston, and I’m here this evening with Catelyn Hooper, one of the many women coming forth publicly tonight to accuse actor, producer, and Hollywood powerhouse, Randy Ryland.

Several more of them will be joining us remotely during the next hour, and as you’ll hear, they all have strikingly similar stories to share. ”

She turned to her guest. “Catelyn, first, I want to say how much I admire your courage for being here and sharing your experience with Randy. I know you’re putting your career as an actress at risk by standing up to someone who wields such power and influence in the film and TV industry.”

“Thank you,” the young woman said. “You’re courageous, too, for doing this show. He’s pretty vindictive. I just hope he won’t come after you, too.”

Ophelia laughed. “Honey, I’ve got more money than God and a little power in the industry myself. I’m not scared of Randy Ryland. Okay, why don’t you tell us your story. When did you meet Randy?”

“A couple years ago. He came to my high school play. I was sixteen—I’m eighteen now. Afterward, he came backstage to meet me. I could hardly believe my eyes.”

The girl went on to tell a story of predatory seduction, abuse of power, and heartbreak.

It was repeated with variations in details and timelines, by six other women who’d agreed to speak on camera. A score of others who were reluctant to appear publicly had apparently joined them in a lawsuit being filed against Randy.

There was going to be another civil case… against him this time.

But there were also likely to be criminal charges.

Several of the women, like Catelyn, had been underage when Randy had approached them and begun romancing them.

At the end of the hour-long show, Ophelia asked a final question.

“Catelyn, what made you come forward, even though you’d signed a non-disclosure agreement and knew it could very likely be the end of your career?”

The girl took a breath.

“After what happened with Randy, I was really hurt, but I sort of kept an eye on him through the media—and on his relationships. When I saw the news that Rosie James was going to marry him, I was so worried for her because I knew what he was like, you know?”

I clutched my chest, fighting back tears. Beside me, Danielle was already sniffling.

Catelyn went on. “I almost reached out to her to warn her, but at the time, I thought it had only been me… that I was the only one he’d done this too. And I was a nobody, you know? Why would she believe me?”

My heart squeezed—hard. A year ago, I’d felt like a nobody myself, a struggling actress toiling in obscurity, waiting for a break.

“But then I saw that press conference after Rosie ran out on the wedding,” Catelyn said. “And I realized he’d done it to her, too. And she said it publicly. She told the truth.”

She sat straighter in her chair. “That’s how all of us involved in the lawsuit found each other.

We all saw Rosie and realized we weren’t alone in this thing.

I mean, I guess she’s worked it out with him or something since they’re doing another movie together, but she got the ball rolling, and we’re not going to stop until he’s exposed for what he really is—a serial predator of women. ”

And now I wanted to sink into the couch cushions and never emerge again.

How could I have agreed to do another movie with him, no matter what the stakes were?

I’d been protecting Presley, saving his football season and his finances, but by doing so, I was inadvertently condoning Randy’s past behavior—with me and with the others he’d lied to and coerced.

I was going to pull out of it.

First, I’d sign those divorce papers I’d crammed into my top dresser drawer so Presley wouldn’t be affected by the blowback.

He’d already paid enough of a price for my sake.

Picking up my phone to call my agent, I was surprised to see an incoming call from her on the screen. Weird.

“Hello,” I answered.

“It’s Iris,” she said unnecessarily. “Listen kiddo, I have some news about the sequel. I just got a call from someone at the studio, hoppin’ mad. They’re cancelling it. Were you watching?”

“Yeah, I saw it,” I said, bobbing up and down in a sea of shock and exultation.

I was free.

I wouldn’t have to see Randy ever again—except for in court. I had every intention of joining that lawsuit.

Not because I wanted any money out of it. I wouldn’t take a cent of the payout. No, I wanted to add my voice to those of the other women he’d victimized and testify against him.

Make sure they were believed, that we all were.

“They’re in full-on damage control now,” Iris continued in her rough, tobacco-ravaged voice. “No other studio’s gonna touch it either. Randy may never work again.”

“Wow,” I whispered.

“You okay?” she asked. “Don’t worry, your advance is guaranteed, so you’ll still get the deposit next week. We’ll find you another picture, okay doll?”

“I’m fine,” I promised her.

And I was. At least about the cancelled movie.

I’d find other work eventually, and the guaranteed advance would tide me over until then and allow me to pay Danielle back.

My spirits rose higher and higher until I felt like my heart was out of my body, floating at the top of the room like an escaped balloon.

Hanging up with Iris, I turned to Danielle, who was a curled ball of energy, waiting to explode.

“I don’t have to do the sequel,” I told her in an excited squeal that might have woken her kids. “They cancelled it.”

She sprang from the couch and started jumping, and I grabbed her hands, joining her in a squealing, laughing happy dance that would definitely wake even the soundest little sleepers.

Sure enough, a pair of cries emanated from the kids’ bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” Danielle promised. “Keep the celebration going.”

Sadly, the person I wanted to celebrate with most wasn’t here but on the other side of the country.

I missed Presley all the time—sometimes it felt like every minute—but the pain was especially intense right now.

And then it occurred to me… Randy was about to be in a world of financial hurt thanks to putting that expensive law firm of his back to work on the new lawsuit.

Would he even have the time or resources to go after Presley if I were to reach out to him and try to salvage things?

A spark of hope flared to life, but I immediately doused it.

Look what Pres had accomplished without the distraction of me in his life.

And now that he’d achieved his record, he’d probably moved on with a new female distraction.

Pain twisted through my gut. Chances were, the answer was a big fat yes.

Of all people, I knew how irresistible he was to women.

Still…

I picked up my phone and stared at it for a few minutes, breathing fast. Then I hit the button to place the call.

There was no answer. An automated message informed me “this customer cannot be reached at this time.”

So either phone service was out on the East Coast, or he’d blocked me. Didn’t take a genius to figure out which was more likely.

That was fine. If it was what he’d needed to do to move on, I had to respect that.

I just wished it didn’t hurt so much.

Danielle came back into the living room, smiling. “Out for the count again. I don’t have any wine, but I think we should at least celebrate with some ice cream. What do you think?”

“Even better,” I said, returning her smile, though my mood had dimmed considerably in the last few minutes.

I didn’t have to deal with Randy anymore.

But I’d also lost Presley for good, and it felt like life would be permanently dimmer from now on.

Even ice cream couldn’t fix that.