“Are you out of your mind, Marissa? Exchanging sex for six degrees of separation from—”
“Don’t fucking judge me!”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just . . . you’re scaring me.”
“And anyway, it wasn’t sex. Not really. Ebony said all I’d have to do was get naked and make out with her a little while he watched, and maybe make out with him a little, too. And maybe, you know, let him watch me touch myself while they . . . But that was all. She’d take care of the rest, she said. They’d already agreed on a price. A thousand dollars, which we could split fifty-fifty.”
Bree gets off the sofa and goes over to the window. Stands there with her back to me. “Marissa, do you know what they call women who make business arrangements like that?”
“Yeah, and do you know how many casting calls I’ve been to in the past month? Seven. With zero callbacks. Look, I don’t expect you to understand. You go to work every day, sit up there in your office on the umpteenth floor of corporate headquarters, nice and safe. But acting is a tough business.”
“And finance isn’t?”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is. But it’s not like you have to go out and hit the pavement all the time, looking for jobs that you don’t get, and then go waitress at night. Put up with a bunch of bullshit from assholes with money to burn so you’ll get bigger tips. And hey, it’s not like you didn’t sleep with your supervisor before you got that promotion.”
“Because I liked the guy. There’s a difference, Marissa.”
“Yeah, and you like your new salary, too.”
As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I’m sorry I said it. The last thing I want to do right now is make her mad. Alienate her so that she leaves. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. It is different. And it was stupid of me to go there with her. I know that now, okay? But at the time, it seemed like an opportunity. It’s like what Ebony says. In this business, it’s all about who you know and who you blow.”
“Jesus Christ, Marissa!”
“Look, all I’m saying is that if you want acting work and you’re not Scarlett Johansson, you’ve got to make compromises. Take risks. That’s just the way it works. And it wasn’t like there was going to be any penetration. I was clear about that.”
She turns and faces me. “Wasn’t going to be? Just tell me, Rissa. Did he rape you in addition to using you as a punching bag?”
“No! He was . . .”
She comes back and sits down. “Okay, just tell me what happened. God, you’re making me a nervous wreck.”
“He was staying at the Mondrian down in SoHo, okay? I met Ebony in the lobby and we were both a little early, so we went to the bar and had a drink. You know who we saw in there? Kate Hudson.”
“Yeah, whatever. Then what?”
“So Ebony was explaining how it would play out. What she was going to do, what I’d do. I asked her if it would be cool to talk with him about representation—if, like, he thought I should try to get an agent or wait until I had a few more acting credits, maybe ask him who his agent is. I already knew he’s represented by UTA, one of the big gorillas out there, but I figured, hey, if I could get him to talk about it, he might even give me a referral to them. But Ebony said I shouldn’t bring any of that up until after we were finished, and only if, you know, he had had a really good time. ‘Let’s play it by ear,’ she said. And I was nervous, you know? Part of me was like, okay, I can handle it. Ebony will be there. It’s not like I’m going to be alone with him. And another part was like, I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
Bree shakes her head. “That was the part you should have been listening to, Marissa,” she says. “So?”
“So we went up to his suite. And at first, everything was cool. He paid Ebony and ordered up some sushi and a couple of bottles of Cristal. And after they delivered it, we were just sitting and talking, drinking champagne. Tristan and Ebony were eating the sushi, too, but I didn’t because I’m always so spastic with chopsticks. Didn’t want to hear, ‘You’re part Asian and you don’t know how to use chopsticks?’ But then he starts feeding me. Putting maki in front of my mouth and going, like, ‘Open up, Ming.’ ”
“Ming?”
“Yeah, Ebony had given us both fake names. She was Karina and I was Ming. She said the only real information she gives these guys is her cell phone number. It’s a safety precaution.”
“Oh. So at the end of this little session he’s going to give a referral to someone named Ming?”
“No! But I figured that, if we gave him what he wanted, I’d tell him my real name afterward.” She’s staring at my swollen face. “Look, are you trying to make me feel like a bigger idiot than I already—”
“No. I’m sorry. Go on.”
“He . . . he asked us if we wanted to do a line of coke with him, and we did that. I wasn’t going to, but I was feeling a little tipsy from the champagne, and I figured the coke would get me, you know, refocused. But I wasn’t out of control or anything. I know my limits.”
She reaches over and touches the bruise on my cheek. “Well, apparently Mr. Hollywood doesn’t know his,” she says. “Does it still hurt?”
I nod. Go on. “He put some music on, some Jay-Z, and he said he wanted us to dance for him. So we did that. Then Ebony started doing this striptease for him. So I did, too. We hadn’t discussed that downstairs, but I mean, the guy was paying us a lot of money, so I figured okay, I can do that much. Ebony started kissing me and I was like, well, this was what I agreed to. It was just acting, you know?”
“Oh, yeah. Sounds very Shakespearean.” I give her a look. “Okay, I’m sorry. I get sarcastic when I’m nervous. You know that. Then what happened?”
“He was . . . he was sitting there, smiling and watching us and . . . touching himself. Under his shirt, between his legs. Then he got up and got naked and the three of us were dancing. He started getting a little free with his hands, but it wasn’t over the top or anything. But then he . . .”
“He what?”
“Went into the bedroom. Said he had to call California and ask his agent something. And I was like, his agent, so I was trying to listen to what he was saying. But the only thing I could make out was him going, ‘Are you shitting me, Jenny? Then fuck Universal! And grow a dick while you’re at it!’ And after he hung up, he was in there for another ten minutes and we were just sitting there, waiting for him. And when I asked Ebony what was going on, she was like, ‘Shh.’ . . . I don’t know, Bree. I think maybe his agent gave him bad news about something. Or that maybe he took something else while he was in there. Because when he came back out again, he looked wild-eyed and was acting all pissed off at us. He goes, ‘Come on, let’s go!’ like we were the ones who’d been keeping him waiting. It was like Jekyll and Hyde, you know? He started getting rough. Grabbing at us, bumping up against us. He reached over and pinched my nipple and I was like, ‘Ow!’ Ebony told him to cool it, and he said he hadn’t paid her for a fucking lecture. So she got down on her knees to . . . you know. But he batted her head away and said he was calling the shots. And she said, no, she was—that they’d already agreed on the terms. He went ballistic! Started screaming that she and her ‘slant-eyed sidekick’ had better do what he wants or else. Then he starts walking around the suite and has this . . . tantrum. Pushes over the table where the champagne and sushi were. Picks up a chair and smashes it against the wall. He was like, ‘Do you bitches know who I am? Do you think I’m giving you a grand for fucking amateur hour?’ ”
Bree flinches. “God, you must have been so scared.”
“I was. And I was like, okay, let’s just give him his money back and get out of here. He had paid Ebony in cash, okay? And I could see the bills sticking out of her bag. So I grabbed the money and held it out to him. And when I did that, he got so mad that . . . He grabs the money out of my hand and throws it on the floor. Then he gets all up in my face and . . . starts screaming at me. I kept backing up, you know? Until I was against the wall. Ebony kept
saying, ‘Come on, baby. Come over here so I can make you feel good.’ Except he wouldn’t back away from me. There was this big vein popping out on his forehead, and his face was all red and contorted. His spit’s flying out at me. Then he starts . . . he makes a fist and starts . . .”
Bree covers her mouth with her hand.
“Punching me! In my face, my stomach. At first I was like dazed. Doubled over, you know? I felt like I was going to throw up. And when I looked up again, I saw him forcing Ebony facedown on the arm of the sofa. She was struggling to get up, but he had his hand on the small of her back and he wouldn’t let her. And she was like, ‘Use a condom, please just use a condom.’ And he goes, ‘Fuck condoms. I want it back door.’ ”
Bree’s blinking back tears. “This is a nightmare. What did you do?”
“Got behind him and tried pulling him off of her. But he swiveled around and shoved me so hard that I fell backward. Onto the floor. One of the champagne bottles was right there. And I thought maybe if I hit him over the head with it. . . . But I was scared that, if it didn’t knock him out, it would make him even crazier. So I figured, okay, I’ll get help. Grabbed my clothes. Got dressed as fast as I could. But when I was almost to the door, I was like, ‘Oh, shit! My purse!’ I went back to grab it, but he saw me and yanked it away. Started whacking it, over and over, against the wall. And everything went flying out. My wallet, my phone. While he was busy beating the shit out of my bag, Ebony grabs her clothes and points at the door, like come on, let’s go. But what was I supposed to do? Leave without my phone? My credit cards? Only, when I went to pick them up, he tackled me. Got on top of me and . . . Oh god, it’s . . . it’s like I’m back there again.”
“No, you’re not,” Bree says. “Look around. You’re here with me in your apartment. You’re safe.”
“Look what that son of a bitch did to me!” I pull back my hair so she can see the bruise on my neck. Pull up my shirt and show her his teeth marks on my stomach.
“He bit you?”
I nod. “Ebony ran out of there. And when he heard the door, he jumped up. Started to go after her and . . . that gave me enough time to get up and get to the bathroom. Lock the door. But then he starts slamming himself against it. I was down on my knees on the floor, watching it push in like that movie where Jack Nicholson goes crazy. Except it wasn’t a movie. It was really happening, Bree. I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. I thought . . . I thought, now he’s going to bust in here and kill me.”
A shiver passes through her. “Did he get in?” she asks. I shake my head. “Then how did you get out of there?”
“When Ebony got out in the hall, she saw this room service guy. He called security and they came right up. He wouldn’t answer the door, but they had a pass key, Ebony said. And some tool to push back the bar that secures the extra lock. When they got in, I could hear them out there like, ‘Okay, Mr. McCabe, let’s calm down before this turns into an incident. Why don’t you put your clothes back on? It’s not worth it, is it? If we have to notify the police and they come up here and see . . . what is that over there? Cocaine? You don’t want the media to get a hold of something like this, do you?’
“After they got him under control, they told me to come out. And when I did, I couldn’t even look at him. I just glanced at the security guys. They looked like ex-military or something. I grabbed my stuff and went to leave. I just wanted to get out of there, you know? But they said they needed to talk to me and my friend out in the hall. One of them stayed in the suite with Tristan and the other one had Ebony and me go with him down to some office on a different floor. He asked us a bunch of embarrassing questions and wrote down our answers. Wanted our contact information. He asked for mine first, and like an idiot, I gave him my real name and phone number. Ebony just made up a name and number. She did most of the talking. She was like, ‘Look, we’re not going to call the cops or anything. We just made a mistake. There wasn’t any money exchanged. Can we please just get out of here?’ And I was thinking like, oh, no, there wasn’t any money exchanged. It was just all over the floor. But the guy said okay, they were willing to overlook what happened—that they’d contact us if they needed to. But that from now on, we were banned from the Mondrian.”
“Oh, you’re banned, but Mr. Celebrity isn’t? They probably apologized to the pig and sent up a fruit basket because of the inconvenience. So then what did you do? Go to the emergency room, I hope.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like I needed stitches. He beat my purse up worse than he did me. We just . . . just left. Got into one of the cabs waiting outside the hotel. Neither of us said much. I just sat there with my hands over my face, trying to stop shaking. It took forever to get across town. Obama was in the city and the traffic was horrible. The driver dropped me off first, and when I got back up here, I locked and bolted the door. I just kept walking around in here, trying not to see it all over again. Bree, I can’t eat, can’t sleep. All day yesterday, I was too scared to leave the apartment or even answer the phone. You’re the first person I’ve talked to since it happened.”
“Did you call your therapist at least?”
“Sandie? No! She’s already on my case about my risky behavior.”
“Then maybe you ought to start listening to her. Jesus, Marissa, you are so fucking lucky.”
“I know, I know. But now what am I supposed to do?”
“Get yourself as tetanus shot for one thing,” she says. “And if I were you, I’d go to the police and press charges.”
“And tell them why we were up in his room? Get arrested for . . . ?”
“Solicitation,” she says.
“Oh yeah, that would look good on my résumé, wouldn’t it? Never mind the cops. I don’t even want to talk to Ebony. She’s called and texted me like five or six times since it happened, but I haven’t answered any of them.”
“Good,” she says. “You shouldn’t. Your friend is a hooker.”
“No, she’s not. She’s just . . . Bree, look at my face. I’ve got my mother’s wedding next weekend. And I was planning to see my father at the Cape first. Surprise him. My sister’s going to be there and—”
“Okay, calm down. The swelling should go down by then.”
“Yeah, and these bruises he gave me are going to turn all purple and yellow. I can’t just show up and have them ask me about them.”
Bree says she’s more concerned about the bite mark. Do I want her to go with me to a clinic and get that tetanus shot?
I shake my head. “Those places are always jam-packed on weekends. I don’t want to have to sit in some waiting room and have everyone look at me. I’ll get one tomorrow.”
“Have you been cleaning it at least?” she asks.
“Yeah, with peroxide.”
“Well, we should get you some antibacterial cream to put on it. And some gauze and tape. You need to cover that wound before it gets infected.”
“I’m more worried about my face,” I say. “I can’t let my father or my sister find out what happened.”
Bree says she’s heard about some homeopathic stuff that’s supposed to be good for bruises. “Arnica or something. It acts like an antiinflammatory. And my friend Karen? The one who works the cosmetics counter at Bloomingdale’s? She says there’s this great cover-up they sell there. Karen said some model she recognized came in last week wearing sunglasses and a kerchief. She told Karen her boyfriend had roughed her up, and she had a shoot the next day. Karen says she fixed her up so that you couldn’t even notice. She’s working today. Why don’t we go uptown and—”
“I can’t! I don’t want to leave the apartment. Not yet anyway.”
She gives me this look like I’m pathetic. Which I am. “Okay,” she says. “Then why don’t I go get it for you. I’m sure it’s expensive, but maybe Karen can use her employee discount. And while I’m out, I’ll pick up the other stuff, too—the Arnica and some Neosporin or something. Okay?”
I tell her I don’t want her to leave y
et.
She says okay, she’ll stay for a while longer, but I have to promise her I’ll get that tetanus shot. “All right, I promise,” I tell her, but I already know I won’t. It’s not like he was a rabid dog. Not in that way.
When she asks me if I’ve eaten anything today, I shake my head. “Then let me go over to that place across the street and get you something. Some soup, maybe, or a sandwich.”
“No,” I tell her. “But on second thought, can I have that Xanax? That one of Allegra’s I took was the last one she had.”
Bree nods, reaches into her purse. “Want some water with it?”
“No. Some wine, maybe. There’s some chablis in the fridge. Pour yourself some, too. Let’s get drunk.”
And so we do. Or I do, anyway. I lose track of how much Bree has drunk, but she’s taken a Xanax, too, because she says just hearing about what happened has made her so anxious, she needs to even herself out.
After the wine and drug kick in, I don’t feel so scared anymore. Wasted, we start complaining about our lives, our respective careers. “Why is it that in corporate America, the ones who wield the most power are the biggest douche bags?” Bree asks.
“Kate Hudson,” I say. “She does movies, commercials. Gets herself on Leno and Letterman, Access Hollywood. Why her? Why not me?”
“Because your mother’s not Goldie Hawn.”
“No, my mother’s an artiste.” I say it as much to myself as to Bree. “An edgy lesbian artiste. Next weekend, I’m going to be in my mother’s lesbian wedding.” For some reason, this makes me laugh. I picture Mama working in her studio, surrounded by all that scary art she makes that rich people pay insane prices for. Like that piece she made out of ruined bridal gowns. How much did Gaga pay for that thing? And I can’t even get acting work that pays scale?
I ask Bree if she wants to see the bridesmaid’s dress I’m wearing to the wedding—the black strapless Stella McCartney that Viveca bought me when the two of us went shopping. But Bree just looks over at me vacantly, like she’s deaf or something. So yeah, she is wasted. Maybe if I showed her.