Page 48

Kat

The gym in Kat’s apartment building had large windows overlooking the Hudson River.

The view was supposed to be a perk, but in the late afternoons, the sun was blinding.

It dug directly into Kat’s eyes while she ran on the treadmill, sharp and glaring, giving her a headache even worse than the one she already had.

Every minute of sunlight filled her with a compounding fury, and she raged in her head against the architect, the building management company, the real estate agent who’d found this apartment for her.

She let the rage spur her on, pressing the button to go faster and faster with every mile.

It was easier to feel angry about the poor design choice than to think about the fight or the three endless, miserable days since.

She’d been running for nearly an hour. Plus, she’d lifted weights that morning and done a spin class. She shouldn’t be on the treadmill right now. But she couldn’t stop.

Have you ever realized how empty your life is?

Every time she tried to stop running, she heard Jude’s words in her head again. They turned her organs into worms, squirming around inside her, and that uncomfortable panic drove her right back onto the treadmill, punching the speed higher in an attempt to push her thoughts out of her head.

Because wasn’t Jude right?

She jabbed the control panel again, hard enough to hurt her finger, speeding up until she was practically at a sprint. It wasn’t enough—Jude’s words still rang through her mind. Enjoy the rest of your life. I’m sure you’ll be very famous.

A sudden sob stole her breath, and she stumbled. She fell, grabbing wildly for the emergency stop cord, and managed to pull it as she landed on the belt, smashing her elbow into the machine’s side and twisting awkwardly over her ankle.

“Fuck!” Kat screamed. Gingerly, she lifted her body into a normal position. Her ankle throbbed underneath her. Still sitting on the belt, she buried her face in her hands.

She let herself cry for a few minutes. Then, she reached up and took her phone out of the cup holder. She found the number she needed and pressed Call.

“Hi,” Kat said when the other person picked up, her voice wavering. “Can we talk?”

?????

Madelyn lived in a converted loft in Brooklyn Heights, full of high ceilings, exposed brick, and enormous windows that let sunlight stream in.

The entire place was too color coordinated to be anything but the work of a decorator, but Madelyn had clearly been very involved in the direction.

The whole place echoed her personality, from the framed Kinks and Ramones posters on the walls to the California flag throw pillows.

It felt cool and stylish, but also personalized.

A far cry from Kat’s sterile Chelsea box.

“Nice place,” Kat said, trailing her hand along a shelf full of records.

“Thanks.” Madelyn came out of the kitchen holding two glasses and a bottle. “Sparkling cider?” she offered. “I don’t drink anymore, so it’s all I’ve got.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Kat perched awkwardly on the other end of the couch while Madelyn poured for them both. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There had been too many years of hurt to know where to begin.

Madelyn watched Kat over the rim of her glass. Then she said, in a soft voice, “Do you ever think about how young we were when P.R.O.M. started?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was fifteen.” Madelyn leaned back against the arm of the couch, half turned so she could look at Kat. “My youngest cousin is fifteen now, and all she thinks about are TikTok dances and volleyball tournaments.”

Kat picked up her glass but didn’t drink. “I mean, I started working full time at eleven.”

“I started doing commercials when I was five,” Madelyn said.

“By the time we were teenagers, we had adult schedules and responsibilities, with hundreds of people relying on us to show up, work hard, and make them money. We had all these fans and journalists watching our every move, calling out every mistake. We never got a chance to actually be kids. I mean, no wonder we’re both messed up. ”

“Are you?” Kat turned to her in surprise. “Messed up?”

“Oh yeah,” Madelyn said casually. “My therapist thinks I have PTSD. Which is part of why I panic whenever I feel like I’m being less than completely perfect all the time.”

“I didn’t know that,” Kat said. “From the outside, you seem so sure of who you are. Coming out, getting on The Qties. Your life looks so put together.”

“From the outside, sure,” Madelyn said, rolling her eyes. “But you know better than to believe what it looks like from the outside.”

Kat watched the bubbles fizz in her apple cider. She should have known better. But she’d spent the past few years convinced that Madelyn’s life was as perfect as she made it seem on Instagram.

“Coming out was actually really hard,” Madelyn said.

“I’ve known I’m into girls forever. But I was so worried about what people would say.

So worried that suddenly I’d be this completely different person in so many people’s eyes.

But it was killing me to hide it. I was second-guessing everything I said or did, afraid I’d give myself away somehow.

Eventually, I decided it would be easier to stop hiding and deal with the consequences.

But I didn’t come out until the pain was unbearable. ”

“You still figured it out years earlier than me,” Kat said.

Madelyn shrugged. “We’re all on our own timelines.”

Kat took a sip of the cider. She was surprised to find that it was delicious. She hadn’t had a drink this sugary in more than a decade, probably. Too many empty calories. The thought made her sad, suddenly. What would it be like to live without that constant calorie math in her head?

“I have some issues, too,” Kat said. “Although I guess you already know that, since I called you a bitch in public last week.”

“Well, I was kind of acting like a bitch.” Madelyn half smiled at her, and Kat tentatively half smiled back.

“We were the lucky ones, too,” Kat said. “We didn’t get sexually or emotionally abused, like the horror stories you hear from other shows.”

“I mean, there was some questionable stuff. Joel would get really mean if you weren’t doing a scene exactly the way he wanted.”

“True.” Kat crossed her free arm around her body, hugging herself. “He yelled at me in front of everyone for not wanting to do that skinny-dipping scene.”

“I remember that,” Madelyn said. “That was fucked up. It was, like, forty degrees. The crew were in parkas, and we were all in bikinis with our lips turning blue, then he wanted you to actually go in the water.”

Kat swallowed. She could still feel that unique mix of shame and helplessness and panic, so familiar from her days on set, rising up in her.

That I really don’t want to do this alarm bell, mixed with the constant parade of I’m messing up the scene.

I could delay the whole shoot. What if they replace me?

I’m lucky to be here that reminded her she would have to do whatever they asked.

“We should have done something about that,” Madelyn said. “All refused to do it or something. But we were too scared.” She shook her head slightly. “It kind of blows my mind that none of the crew stepped in.”

“It’s nice to talk with someone who gets it. Who was there,” Kat said. “I’ve been feeling…really alone lately in my experiences.”

“This industry turns everyone who should be your friend into competition. It makes you paranoid.”

There was a beat of silence. Kat felt an urge to jump in and change the subject to something lighter. Smooth things over. But instead she took a deep breath and forced herself to say what she’d come to say.

“You were my best friend,” Kat said. “Why did you leak the news about my stay at the Serenity Center?”

Madelyn shifted in her seat, tucking her legs underneath her. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “I was in love with you.”

“ What? ” Kat said.

Madelyn cocked her head. “You had to know, Kat. We spent all our time together. We told each other everything. You were always touching me. But then I kissed you and you freaked.”

Kat put her glass down. She didn’t like thinking about that day.

They’d been in Kat’s trailer, stretched out on the bed the way they usually were during breaks, their toes tangled together.

She remembered the way they kept finding excuses to get closer together.

The held-breath feeling of expectation. The eye contact that stretched out unbearably long.

The inevitability of it all, when Madelyn had leaned in and closed the space between them.

“You said you didn’t feel the same way about me,” Madelyn said. “Then you stopped talking to me, practically overnight. You cut me out. And then you started dating Frasier.”

Kat had stopped talking to Madelyn. She’d been so nervous that someone would guess what had happened between them.

If rumors got out, the network could probably have sued them—they’d both signed contracts saying they wouldn’t do anything to materially change their public perception while on the show.

Every time they’d been close to each other, Kat had been filled with a panic so loud she could barely think.

Wasn’t that why she’d finally agreed to go out with Frasier?

Not because other people were asking questions, but because Kat herself was?

“I was so hurt. And I’m not proud of this, but I wanted to hurt you, too.” Madelyn looked up, holding Kat’s gaze, and Kat’s chest lurched in uncomfortable recognition. “I know it was wrong. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much I’ve regretted it since.”

Kat let out a long, slow breath. She’d been waiting for that apology for four years. Two months ago, she might not have accepted it. But now Kat knew what it was like to hurt someone you loved.

“Is it true what you said the other night?” she asked. “That everyone on set knew?”