Chapter 25. Juliet, the Model
Juliet, the Model
PRESENT DAY
Every muscle in Juliet’s body burned, but she pushed herself harder on the treadmill.
She was an IMG model now, in the big leagues, going up for a print campaign just next week, and she needed to be perfect.
These days, her body was the only thing within her control, exercise the only reliable outlet for her anger.
Her new tablet, a perk from IMG, was propped on the treadmill, cycling through TikTok videos. This was her daily routine now: search the hashtag #OurLadiesoftheDark and let the videos roll while she ran and sweat and grew stronger in her new apartment’s gym.
The hashtag was a recent development. From what she’d gathered, the people online who hated Scout and her friends had taken over the #HotGirlMurderClub hashtag.
Somewhere along the line—she couldn’t figure out exactly where it had started—some influencer or another had claimed Scout and Co.
called themselves Our Ladies of the Dark, and the people who supported them had embraced the name.
Disinformation truly was the scourge of the internet.
Juliet wished she could message all the women in the videos, tell them no one in Scout’s group called themselves that.
But of course she couldn’t. She had to keep her mouth shut while other people were out there speaking and acting on her behalf.
They were pushing for progress, running toward something greater, and Juliet was running on a treadmill to nowhere.
Another video started, this one clearly shot by a drone, an aerial view of students marching down the main boulevard at Duke University.
An ethereal voice-over said, “A string of student protests are making waves around the country. At Duke, organizations are calling for an end to the collegiate adjudication system for sexual assault, insisting campus cases be immediately handed over to proper law enforcement, in an attempt to an end the cover-up of so-called college hunting grounds.”
The video cut to students gathered around a stage at Notre Dame.
“At Notre Dame, faculty have joined students to protest what they call a ‘backward step’ on trans rights, after student ID cards belonging to trans students were reprinted with incorrect genders, a move the university claims is in accordance with a new federal mandate. And at Stanford,” said the voiceover, the video cutting to a new batch of students waving signs, “a recent announcement that the university will be cutting its women’s and gender studies department has brought out not only students but constituents from all over Northern California.
“Surprisingly, news outlets are linking these protests to pop star Scout Sage and what pundits are calling her ‘underground action network,’” continued the voice. “We decided to ask students on the ground if this was true.”
Goose bumps lifted on Juliet’s arms, despite her sweat, as the camera cut to a young woman holding a hand-painted sign.
“I mean, it’s not like Scout Sage knows anything about Stanford, but yeah, me and my friends were inspired by that article.
We printed it out and taped it to our mirrors.
When you see an example of another woman fighting back, it makes you think ‘if she can do it, so can I.’”
TikTok rolled to the next video, where a young woman lifted her camera, filming herself and what looked like a hundred others sitting cross-legged outside the Americo Bank Plaza in New York.
“We’re peacefully protesting,” she said breathlessly, “and as you can see, the cowards at Americo called the cops.”
Over her shoulder, a line of blue-uniformed NYPD officers made their way toward the protestors, who chanted, “We have a right to be here.” Behind the woman, a cop bent down and tried to forcibly move a protestor.
“Please share this before they shut us down. America’s wealthiest people shelter their money and avoid taxes, while the rest of us pay through the nose.
Either make them pay their fair share, or give us the power we paid for!
” The hashtags at the bottom included #OurLadiesoftheDark and #NoMoreTaxSheltering, and Juliet remembered how the Times article had detailed how Miranda’s ex-husband, a Sony exec named Dalton Preston, had dodged taxes for years before someone (cough, cough) tipped off the IRS.
In fact, he’d used Americo Bank to do it.
People were dissecting that article with a fine-tooth comb and using it as fuel.
Juliet forced herself to run faster on the treadmill. The lights monitoring her heart rate began to blink red.
“Here’s something no one’s talking about when it comes to Scout Sage,” said a beautiful dark-haired woman in a new video, sitting on one of those news-panel shows. The title of the post was, “Watch Green Lions Founder Luca Clearwater Eviscerate Gabriel Knox on Live TV.” Juliet slowed her pace.
“Do you want to know the one thing the majority of mass murderers, serial killers, and child abusers have in common?” Luca Clearwater asked.
“A history of domestic violence. Look it up—they’ve done studies on this, and the numbers are incredible.
Private violence against women is the number-one indicator of future public violence.
When are we as a country going to stop treating domestic violence as a personal problem women have and start treating it as a societal sickness? ”
Juliet slowed to a walk. This Clearwater woman was a compelling speaker.
“I know everyone’s talking about Our Ladies of the Dark right now,” she continued, looking straight into the camera.
“And maybe this is yet another round of performative celebrity activism. Your so-called stiletto-and-eyeliner feminism. But what I haven’t heard anyone mention is that these women are performing a national service by getting these vile men off our streets before their private abuses can turn into big fat public problems. We should be giving them medals, not jail time. ”
Juliet jammed the emergency stop and the treadmill halted. She picked up the tablet and carried it to a bench, breathing heavily.
“An interesting take,” said a male news anchor, as the camera panned to reveal Luca Clearwater sitting next to Gabriel Knox at a roundtable marked with the CNN logo.
Juliet had never given Knox much thought, other than to register that he was young and handsome for a presidential candidate, which meant he’d probably win.
Sitting next to Clearwater, though, they were a study in contrasts: his punchy blue suit versus her somber black one, his American flag pin next to the roaring green lion on her lapel, his easy smile versus her grim expression.
He really was pretty, like a young Marlon Brando—the camera loved him.
“Representative Knox, also known as People’s ‘Sexiest Politician in America,’ what do you think of Scout Sage’s alleged actions? ”
Knox’s laugh was deep and throaty. “It’s safe to say that, like most things, Ms. Clearwater and I don’t see eye to eye.
If Sage is guilty of any criminal activity, I condemn her and everyone involved.
And I urge my home county of Los Angeles to prosecute her to the fullest extent of the law.
Crime is crime, even if you couch it in so-called vengeance feminism.
One thing I can promise viewers is that, if I’m elected president, I will return this country to law and order and restore respect between the genders.
I think it’s high time men and women stop waging war. ”
“Tell that to the men beating their wives,” Clearwater said.
“Women have been fighting a war since the dawn of time, whether you acknowledge it or not. And let’s be clear, when you say you want to return to law and order, you mean you want to return to a time when rich, powerful men like you were the order, and above the law. ”
A fizzy sensation started in Juliet’s stomach.
Knox flushed. “There are ways to make your grievances known that don’t involve breaking the law—”
“Yes, let’s talk about them,” Clearwater interrupted.
“Voting, social media, speaking out—none of those avenues have produced the change people want. And that’s because our decision makers are either in the pockets of the powerful, or the powerful themselves, which means they’re invested in keeping things the way they are.
Can you blame Scout Sage for allegedly resorting to more drastic actions? Frankly, we’re past due.”
“Representative Knox,” said the news anchor, “why don’t you—”
“Here come the personal attacks,” interrupted Knox. He tapped his watch. “You know, I’ve never had a single debate with Ms. Clearwater where she hasn’t resorted to insulting me. Haven’t you heard that’s the sign of a weak argument?”
There was a noticeable tick in the woman’s jaw before she too turned to face the camera head-on. “Representative Knox might look like a normal man on TV, but let me assure everyone watching that he is, in fact, a monster.”
Jesus. Juliet had never heard anyone talk like that on the news. She pulled the screen closer, ignoring the sweat rolling down her face and chest.
“And if Knox were to be elected president,” she continued, “he’d usher in a new Dark Age.”
“Ms. Clearwater, please remember to keep it civil,” urged the anchor.
Knox chuckled. “Tread carefully, Ms. Clearwater. The Green Lions benefit from federal funding like every other nonprofit. That’s not a very kind way to talk about a man whose appropriations committee keeps you afloat.”
Juliet drew in a sharp breath at the look on Clearwater’s face: There was barely restrained fire in her eyes, as if she contained something much bigger than hate. “You can’t intimidate me, Mr. Knox. I have truth and the long arc of justice on my side.”
The video cut and rolled onto the next, but Juliet swiped out of the app.
She’d never seen anyone that fearless. Luca Clearwater was in a different league.
She googled “Luca Clearwater” and a link for her organization, the Green Lions, popped up.
Juliet was surprised to be taken to a spare white website.
A beautifully illustrated green lion materialized on screen, below a golden sun, the image like something from a fairy tale.
The lion lifted its head and roared, and slowly, the sun lowered toward it—until the lion unhinged its jaws and swallowed it whole.
Text appeared at the bottom like magic ink, one word after the other.
“A green lion devouring the sun is an ancient alchemical symbol for transformation. Like the work of alchemists, elevating raw nature into a more refined state, the Green Lions seek to evolve humanity away from the traits, instincts, and behaviors that no longer serve us.”
A link emerged for a Contact page, and that was it—the entirety of the website. Juliet’s heart was still pounding, heat and sweat pouring out of her, but she made herself do it before she chickened out. She typed her information into the Contact box and began her message:
“Dear Ms. Clearwater, I’m taking a risk writing to you, but I think it could be worth it. I belong to a group of women whose name you might recognize…”