Off the Record by Camryn Garrett (read more books TXT) 📕

what rape was, because maybe something inside of me did. He didn’t do that—he said he would, he joked, but he didn’t use that word—but he touched my boobs over my shirt, and when I tried to slap him away, he tore it. After that, everything went into overdrive. Afterward, I was embarrassed, felt like I’d overreacted. I cried, I couldn’t stop crying, but the principal made the whole thing go away, even if everyone thought I was a crazy girl who was making a big deal out of a joke.

Telling on Roy Lennox—that’s like willingly becoming a pariah. In an industry where it’s so hard to succeed, if someone got the chance to work with him, how much would they deal with? How much would they lose if they told?

I force a breath through my nose.

“Did he have you sign an NDA?”

Tallulah nods. “Before we started filming. I feel sort of guilty. Just because—well, I wish I could just come out and say something. It’s not even about being sued—Julia started talking and look at what happened to her. Everyone thinks she’s crazy. And he’s the one behind it.”

“I know.” I bite my lip. “I already talked to her about it.”

“And it’s— I know this is horrible. But I just kept thinking I could smile and bear it and never have to deal with it again. Then I read Penny’s email, and I started thinking about the stories I’ve heard….” Her voice trails off.

“I mean, I get where you’re coming from,” I say. “But it’s not your fault, Tallulah. He’s the one who started this.”

“Right.” She clears her throat, though her words are still watery. “I know. It’s just…hard to remember sometimes.”

“I know.” I squeeze her shoulder. “But we’re going to end it. I promise.”

I just hope I can keep my word.

@JosieTheJournalist: i’m so fucking angry

When I get back to the hotel, Alice is giggling on her bed with the interns. They stop laughing at the sight of me. Savannah waves. I give her a small smile back.

“I’m working,” I announce, grabbing my laptop and sprawling out on my bed.

Alice doesn’t say anything. One of the girls, with brown skin and long brown hair, whispers something to her. Alice nods and turns on the TV.

The clock reads 6:00 p.m. Perfect. I’m still full from all the finger food at the cocktail party, so I can work through dinner. The tour ends Monday, the same day the profile is due, but I also need to see what I can do about my project with Penny. I need to be doing something.

It’s hard to stop thinking about Tallulah. It felt like we talked forever. She’s a lot older than me, but at the same time I related to her. She told me about her addiction to Skittles and how she watches episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender when she has free time. It should be comforting to know we’re so similar, but it isn’t. It’s scary. I turn to my Marius project instead.

My Google doc labeled “Profile” isn’t exactly a first draft yet. It’s more like a dump of quotes organized by topic: production on the movie, Marius’s childhood, his acting, and so on. So far, I’ve only listened to recordings from my talk with Penny and the first few conversations with Marius. The recording from when I met his parents feels too personal. I’ll check it out later.

I’ve barely started organizing a first draft when I get the urge to switch projects again. Marius is great and all, but I just— The story about the survivors feels more pressing. Everyone will know how talented Marius is once they see the movie. No one has talked about what these women went through. But the profile is the story I’m actually getting paid for. I hold back a groan and flip to the Word document with the Lennox story.

Maybe I’m being dramatic, but Google Drive feels too open for a story like this. It feels like anyone can hack into my account and steal Julia’s and Penny’s words. At least with Word, their stories are on my hard drive and not on a cloud.

Penny’s and Julia’s stories are already typed up. Instead of writing blocks of quotes, like I did for Marius, I wrote out their memories exactly how they shared them, in sequential order. I don’t want to change anything if I don’t have to. Already, I have ten single-spaced pages, but I know deep down it won’t be enough for some people. They’ll say that two women are a fluke or a misunderstanding or a lie. Not worth taking seriously. Even if I find a hundred women to talk to, some people will write the women off. I want to give their stories the best chance possible, and that means we need more women. I just don’t know where—or how—to find them.

Alice’s friends get up and start filing out the door. One waves, but I’m too focused on my work to pay attention. Alice lingers by the door after it closes. I type for another minute before realizing that she’s staring at me.

“What?” I say, not looking up. “I wasn’t mean. I just said I was working, which is true.”

“I can help you transcribe.”

I glance up. Alice is holding her phone in one hand. A reality show plays on the TV. Now that her friends are gone, she must be bored.

“I’ll use my laptop,” she continues. “And you can keep working on—whatever—in the meantime.”

“How are you going to hear?”

She pulls an earbud out of her pocket.

I pause, fingers hovering over my laptop keys.

On one hand, it’ll be humiliating if she listens to everything that happened at Marius’s apartment, especially since she just lectured me about being professional a few days ago. But on the other hand, I hate transcribing interviews. The awkward silences, wanting to skip around but needing to listen to the full recording, even hearing the sound of my