Kiss me under the Hollywood sign

Chapter 13

Devouring the greasy cheeseburger with the fervor of a starving artist (which, in a way, I was), I chased it down with a large soda, feeling a sense of normalcy return amidst the chaos of the day. The familiar tang of ketchup and the comforting squish of the burger bun grounded me in this reality – far from the sky-high restaurants and movie star encounters I'd experienced earlier. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But there's something to be said for simple pleasures too, like jamming half your body weight in processed beef and bread.

With a satisfied sigh, I pushed the remnants of my dinner aside, vowing to guilt myself into a salad tomorrow. As if. We all know those vows never last past brushing our teeth and falling face-first into the pillow. For now, however, the allure of my cozy sofa and a mindless sitcom called me. I was in desperate need of some brain cell murder after the mental gymnastics of the day.

Steeling myself for the sofa, I folded the pile of freshly laundered clothes, sorting them by owner. Mine, Sarah's, and then. Out fell a sharp purple top that could only belong to Daniel's elegant sister Diana. I lifted it to my face, breathing in the fresh scent of fabric softener I used with a hint of her subtle perfume lingering still. I wondered what she was like. Charming and quick-witted like her brother, or more serious and driven? Did she find LA as confining as I sometimes did? 

Settling into the worn cushions, remote in hand, I zoned out to the antics of some sitcom family.  At some point, eyes heavy, I must have dozed off. 

The rattle at the window startled me awake. Blearily glancing over, I saw the glass panel shaking in its frame as gusts buffeted the side of the building. I stumbled over, unlatched it, and pushed it shut, relieved to have the noises blocked out again. Whatever was happening outside could wait until morning.

At last, exhausted, I crawled under the sheets, phone clutched in hand as had become my habit. Sometime later, a buzzing awoke me. Rubbing gritty eyes, I fumbled for the phone, dreading some late-night issue only I could fix. But the glowing numbers showed it was a ridiculous 2:00 AM. Irritation and worry rose in equal measure until I swiped to answer. Dead silence. No hello, just white noise playing tricks on my tired mind. 

Just as I was about to hang up, a text message notification popped on my screen, making me jump. This number was different, a brand new one.

"Emily," it began, the name typed in bold letters, "We (you and I) need to leave early tomorrow. Glendale for Brand X costume fitting – 10 am. Charity gala back in the evening. Details to follow. 

- Daniel..

Relief swelled that it was Daniel, even at such an ungodly hour, though his message remained terse and demanding as ever.  Some nonsense about fittings and galas whirled by in a blur of nouns. The man moved warp speed, never slowing down, and expected those around him to keep up. With a weary sigh, I typed out a simple acknowledgment, "Understood. See you bright... or rather, early... tomorrow, Mr. Hunter." Hit send, and let sleep swoop me away once more.

~

The faint sound of sniffling slowly pulled me from my sleep. My eyes flickered open to the dim blue light of early dawn peeking through the blinds. For a moment I lay there, still hovering somewhere between dreams and reality, trying to place the strange noise. Then it came again - a small hitching breath tinged with sadness.

I squinted at the glowing numbers on my phone. 5:03 AM. Really? My body ached for sleep but curiosity got the better of me. With a sigh, I heaved myself up and shuffled out of bed, the hardwood cold against my bare feet.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I followed the sound into the living room. At first, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary in the gray half-light. Then a shape on the couch came into focus - a lump of someone curled into a tight ball, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

"Sarah?" I croaked, throat dry and scratchy from disuse. No response. I stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Sarah, what on earth are you doing?"

She jumped at my touch and slowly unfurled like a sad, soggy flower. Her usually cheerful face was utterly changed - eyes bloodshot and puffy, makeup smeared in haphazard black swipes down her cheeks like a sad raccoon's mask. Even first thing in the morning, the poor girl looked utterly wrecked.

"Oh Em," she croaked, fresh tears welling up. Her arms reached toward me in a desperate plea for comfort. I sank down and pulled her into my lap, letting her nestle her head in the crook of my neck while she quietly shook against me.

Questions buzzed in my brain but I held my tongue, letting her cry it out for a bit. The sun gradually colored everything a faint dusty rose as we sat there, the only sound was her occasional wet sniffles. Finally, her breathing began to even out. I gave her shoulder a nudge.

She took a deep, steadying breath and sat up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Even in the rosy half-light, I could see the bags hanging heavy under her eyes. Clearly, this was serious.

"It's that film shoot I told you about. The one that was supposed to wrap last night but kept getting more and more stretched out." She spoke in a cracked whisper, gaze fixed on a loose thread in the couch cushion.

I nodded, recalling our conversation from last night. A knot tightened in my gut as I waited for her to continue.

"I just... I had a bad night," she mumbled into my shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric of my T.

"Bad night, as in... stayed up too late editing footage bad night, or... something-awful-happened bad night?" I pressed gently, trying to coax the story out of her.

"During one of the breaks last night, I was in their tiny makeshift kitchen getting some water. Barely enough room for one person in there. And then..." Her voice wavered and she paused, worrying her bottom lip.

"And then what, Sarah?" I prompted gently but firmly. Something was very wrong here.

She took another shaky breath. "The film director came in behind me. I didn't hear him. And...and then he..." Tears spilled over again as a small whimper escaped her lips.

A surge of anger washed through me, hot and unpleasant. "Did he hurt you?" I asked in a low voice, fists clenched in my lap.

"He... rubbed himself against me," Sarah said, her voice a choked sob. "Like, on purpose. On my ass. And....I could feel the bulge Em...It was so gross".

The blood drained from my face. 

"And it wasn't the first time," Sarah confessed, her voice barely audible. "These last few weeks... there have been... incidents."

My mind reeled back to the evening I'd arrived in LA. Sarah had a faint rash on her hand, something she'd dismissed as an allergic reaction to detergent. Now, a sickening dread filled me.

"That rash," I whispered, the pieces clicking into place. "The one on your hand..."

Sarah nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He held my hand like that one night, after a wrap party. Kept insisting I wasn't doing things right as a casting director."

"Sarah," I said, my voice shaking with fury, "why didn't you say anything? Why haven't you reported him?"

She looked at me, her eyes filled with despair. "He's the only one who gave me a chance. I've been rejected from seven films in a row EMILY...SEVEN... This is my only shot. What am I supposed to do?"

~