Chapter Four

“What was that all about?” Zette is waiting for me in the dressing room when I arrived. The anxious woman is standing with arms crossed behind the black leather swivel chair, her dark wavy hair smoothed down her back in ringlets.

“What was what all about?” I ask innocently. I plop down in the swivel chair and Maylene instantly hovers to do her job.

“Are you trying to provoke the White House and the English royalty?”

“I was just being honest, Zette. You advised me to be honest with the media, right?” I lean back and close my eyes, letting Maylene fiddle with my hair and face.

“That wasn’t being honest, Lucy. That was being a bitch.” I hear my manager sigh.

I stifle a laugh. “I am a bitch.”

Zette turns to Katrin and grimaces. No one ever really wins an argument with me, especially with my smartass mouth. That’s one of the reasons why the production staff doesn’t want me to snap or get mad—Lucy Woods can go from a sweet and polite superstar to a total bitch in a millisecond.

The entire room falls silent as Maylene works on me, carefully dabbing foundation to make my skin glow slightly. Then she artfully brushes some light brown eye shadow to match my white dress. Just then, Jessa Kowalski, my publicist, comes rushing inside the dressing room like she is being chased by a madman.

“We have a situation.” Her usual pitch is strangely off-key and in her hands are her iPad and cellphone. I turn around to see a red-faced Jessa. The woman is tall and plump, with a shoulder-length hair.

“Spill it.” Zette shuffles forward and pats Jessa’s shoulders to calm her down. With her hands shaking, she hands my manager the iPad and violently shakes her head.

“Her pictures are all over the internet.” Jessa points at me accusingly and then her puffy face crumples in distress.

“Jess, I’m Lucy Woods. It’s only natural to find my pictures on any site. Are you high?” I tilt my head upward as Maylene applies red lipstick on my lips.

“I meant your drunk and scandalous pictures of last night’s party, Lucy. Buzzfeed is getting ready to publish today’s showbiz article featuring you turning into a wild party animal.”

“Should I be worried?” I ask Zette who has her eyes and mouth wide open as she obsessively browses through the stolen pictures. The room’s atmosphere slowly intensifies as we all wait for her to say something. My manager looks like she is ready to faint any time soon.

“This is bad.” Zette’s voice is grave, almost shaky. “You have an interview in thirty minutes and this will be brought up. We can’t do any damage control now. It’s too late.”

She hands the iPad back to Jessa and sits in the couch, looking very discouraged. She leans back as she weighs in some options. For the first time, Zette looks very old. My scandal record is, admittingly, not clean, but this seems to be one of the worst hits to ever land on my career.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask sincerely. Seeing my manager so down makes me guilty. I know I have to fix this immediately.

“I’m not sure. It’s either you deny the whole thing or just admit what happened at the party. Now, tell me what actually happened and why you were so drunk,” Zette demands.

“Uh…” I purse my lips as I check my reflection in the mirror. Maylene did a great job in hiding the purple bags under my eyes. She also did an amazing job with my hair, leaving it in loose, stylish waves that emphasize my high cheekbones and jawline.

“Well?” Zette prompts. I sneak a pleading glance at Katrin and then I return my emerald eyes to the woman who has been acting like an older sister to me since I entered the showbiz industry.

“Actually, I don’t remember anything from last night. It’s just blank. All I could recall is arriving, talking to the guests—Simon Oliver was even trying to flirt with me—” I snicker but immediately sober up when I catch Zette scowling. “What I meant was, aside from getting hit on, all I remember is drinking. And then more drinking. Then there’s nothing. I was pretty out of it, honestly. How did I even get home?”

“You have no idea who brought you home?” Zette asks disparagingly. “What is this girl!”

“No.” I look at my best friend. “Didn’t you take me home, Kat?”

“I didn’t, Lucy. Joseph told me you sent him home last night. You said you were going to hitch a ride with Tim. Maybe he drove you home?”

“Over my dead, gorgeous body. No freaking way. Tim and I didn’t even drink together. Yes, we chatted for a while but that was it.” And then a sudden realization hits me. “Oh my God!”

Everybody turns to me as I gasp in horror and disbelief. They all ask me the same question “what?” but it took me a minute before I could answer.

“Was I… was I… raped?” A pause. The silence is deafening as each one falls mute and dumbstruck.

“Are you out of your mind?” Zette jolts from the couch and throws her arms in the air. “But all things considered, is rape a possibility?”

“Of course not!” I leap to my feet and cross my arms on my chest, my bright green eyes flaming in defense. “I am a full-fledged virgin.”

“That’s sharing too much information.” Maylene laughs nervously.

I raise my left hand and yelp. “I remember! I remember how I got home.” Heads turn to me expectantly. I clear my throat. “I boarded the subway and took an Uber service to take me home.”

Everyone sighs in apparent relief. Surely this wouldn’t come up in the interview and if it does, I can answer it truthfully. Sometimes I really hate having eyes on me 24/7. Everything I do is instant gossip!

“So, what’s our next step?” Katrin walks over and places her arm around my shoulders, expressing her affection and support.

Zette takes a deep breath and exhales in defeat. “Let’s just hope Jia Collins plays nice during your interview.”

As if on cue, the director of the morning show knocks on the door to call me on set.

The NY This Morning studio is large and full of lights. From the sophisticated interior design of red and white to the large LED screens suspended on the walls, anyone new to showbiz would get easily overwhelmed. Not me.

I calmly walk to where Jia Collins, the entertainment reporter, is waiting. Two upholstered beige chairs are set across each other and a round glass table is between them. Jia looks up from her notes and smiles lavishly when I sit.

“Hello, Lucy.” She extends her left arm to shake hands with me.

“Hello, Jia.” I smile to hide the slight grimace as the muscle beneath my right eye twitches involuntarily.

Oh, shit. Fucking hangover.

“Please don’t get intimidated with me or with my questions later when we are on-air. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” The reporter waves her notes in front of me and I just shrug slightly. Bite my ass.

“All right, we’re coming live in three… two… and action!”

The whole studio falls quietly into the steady thrumming of cameras as Jia Collins carefully pats her blonde hair into place before flashing a wide smile to the non-existent audience. “Good morning, New York! This is Jia Collins for NY Entertainment and we are joined today by one of the hottest names in fashion, Lucy Woods!”

I wave my hand once and give a delicate smile. “Thank you, Jia. Good morning, New York!”

“So, you are here to launch your newest autumn collection for Fallen Grace. Tell us about it.”

“Well, I have added a bit of personal touch for this year’s autumn collection. The line-up features more of my paper plane and tattered wings trademark, along with carefully chosen gray palette for the plaids, V-neck tees, and hoodies.”

“That sounds like your fans can expect a lot of excitement with Fallen Grace’s newest collection.”

“Yes, definitely. They can subscribe for the latest updates through fallengrace.com.”

“We will definitely do that. Meanwhile, let’s get to know you more, shall we? I’m sure a lot of your fans would like to know more about the person who single-handedly pushed Fallen Grace to the top of fashion industry.” There’s an ominous glint behind those brown eyes. Jia smiles warmly—a fake one—and begins flipping through her notes. “As a national icon, how do you deal with your fame? Do you still have a normal life?”

I’m not normal, I want to say but I choose not to for the sake of Zette who is watching nearby—if I’d said something like that, I’m certain she would have a heart attack.

“I guess being in showbiz means having the world’s eye on you,” I answer truthfully. Deep inside though, I’m anticipating the attack on the spreading drunk pictures of mine. “It’s the price you have to pay for fame.”

“Nicely put.” Jia grinned. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. No matter how nice the reporter seems, all showbiz reporters are the same. They have that hunger, that thirst for information, to share. “On a more serious note, how do you deal with your haters?”

“Oh.” I feign a shocked expression, letting my eyes go wide and my mouth fall open. “Do I have them?”

Evasion trick number one: if you don’t want to look bad in front of everyone, look good by claiming innocent of something bad.

The trick works like magic. Jia looks surprised at my comeback and she frantically scans her note for the next question. “Let’s talk about your career and love life instead.”

“My career is my love life.” I give a sheepish grin.

“So there’s no guy in your life right now?” Jia prods. Curse this woman. Gone is the nice and pleasant Jia Collins. I’m now talking to a hungry predator and I have to be careful.

“I have male friends and we hang out a lot, but I’m not romantically-involved with any of them.”

“You like to hang out a lot?” Uh-oh. Here comes the issue. I brace myself mentally and smirk confidently. I know the question is a trap; if I say yes, Jia would take it as a confirmation and if I say no, it would look like I’m denying everything.

Evasion trick number two: never answer a yes-no question where it would put you in a more complicated situation.

“Whenever I have time, I try my best to catch up with my friends. Just like last night’s party, you know?” I couldn’t hide my wide smile.

Jia Collins is caught off-guard. Obviously, she didn’t expect me to be the one to open the issue at hand. Her carefully-trimmed eyebrows raise in confusion and her hand is frozen midway in flipping her notepad.

Feast your eyes, America. Here I am, Lucy Woods, ready to backtrack all your bullshit.

I wait for Jia to regain her composure, the fire in my eyes unwavering and sparkling with anticipation. No one dares to talk shit about me, especially when I have nothing to do with it. I watch the different expressions on the reporter’s face—the fear, the surprise, and the helplessness. It’s bad enough to be caught off-guard but to not be able to have a comeback is the worst thing to ever happen to any reporter on-air.

“Y-yeah.” Jia clears her throat. To my evident shock, her confidence is back. “Speaking of that, we’re going to flash some pictures on the screen. Will you explain this to us?”

I turn my head to the big LED screen and stiffen. What I see is a girl on top of the bar counter with a bottle of Jack Daniels on hand, head thrown back in frozen laughter. The strap of the velvet dress is halfway down her shoulder, showing a generous portion of her chest and underneath the skirt, the suspender is quite visible.

It’s my turn to look horrified. More pictures are flashed, with me giving the dirty finger with both hands, with me drinking directly from the bottle of vodka. I have no idea that the pictures are this scandalous. I glance at my manager and she nodded, discreetly telling me that it’s now or never. It’s your mess, now clean it up.

Without thinking, I respond with the stupidest answer that instantly ruins my career.

“That’s not me.”