A FATAL FEUD
Amos DuPont: Those shoes. I dream of them.
Jasmine McKenna: I was a junior reporter at the time, and Heywood was up-and-coming but not yet the attention-grabbing phenomenon she became, so I was assigned the article.
It was an opportunity for me as much for them—if I could turn Moore and Heywood from a spat to a legendary rivalry, it would be my articles making the front page. So I went digging.
Seated on a veranda looking over a Californian vineyard, Stephanie Cameron—actress, philanthropist, model, entrepreneur, fashion designer, and a dozen other titles that can most accurately be distilled into “heiress”—addresses the camera.
Stephanie Cameron: I had a few cameos on City Girls, which is how I met Harper.
She was new to town and our fathers knew each other, so you know, instant new bestie.
That interview was a throwaway line that was taken way out of context.
But Nadine was such a diva that one admission by an unknown actress turned into a storm.
Harper never wanted any of this, but Nadine?
I think we all know she’d do anything for attention.
A road lit by flashing cameras and pointed headlights, the crumpled hood of a black Mercedes, shattered glass and a trail of blood.
More blood, on marble this time, the camera jostled as people rush about, finely dressed, a gala turned to chaos.
Nadine Heywood, head ducked, shielded by her hands as she pushes through trails of paparazzi.
Amos DuPont: Please, they were both just as bad as each other, that’s the point. Nadine was unflappable until suddenly she wasn’t. I never saw anyone get to her like Harper did.
The screen splits. On one half: Nadine and Oisín hand in hand at the Trellis premiere. On the other, Harper on her own red carpet, a tattooed arm snaking around her waist.
Jasmine McKenna: It’s not the first time a relationship has fallen victim to their obsession with each other. That’s the legacy of all this: wreckage, havoc, and complete annihilation.
Kayla Alexander: Joel never stood a chance.