Noah
Chapter forty
CAUGHT IN THE ACT!
brEAKING
Disturbing video shows nightclub owner spiking Tabitha Styles's drink before bar brawl
Video circulating online appears to show Ken Jericho, owner of Tipsy's in the East Village, spiking a drink from behind the bar.
Moments later, a patron viewers claim is Yong-rae Kim, up-and-coming leading man, knocks it over.
The patron apologizes, then proceeds to leave the bar with a woman resembling starlet Tabitha Styles.
The camera angle then shifts to show the man behind the bar grabbing the patron, who swings in retaliation.
Though the video has not yet been verified by law enforcement, stills match pictures The Post published just two weeks ago, when Jericho filed assault and battery charges against Kim.
The video was posted by Jack Marlon, Queens native and assistant manager of "Tipsy's", who speaks directly to the camera before playing the footage.
My girl and I just got back from vacation two days ago. She's a huge Tabitha Styles fan. She showed me her Insta post, and then the article about Tipsy's; that's where we met.
Ken didn't come around much, but whenever he was there, I got a bad vibe. Like, he would stand too close to the female bartenders, or he'd make a creepy joke. I just got a weird feeling, you know?
So I checked the security footage—I have a backup password because I'm assistant manager—and boom!, there he was slipping something into a drink. My boy Yong-rae hit 'em with the two-piece on his way out!
When The Post reached out to Marlon for comment, he doubled down, saying, "I never liked that guy. Always gave me a bad feeling. I hope he gets what he deserves."
Styles's rep previously released a statement in support of Kim, her costar on the upcoming blockbuster "Forced Proximity" and apparent real-life love interest. Kim's attorney declined to comment on the active investigation, as did detectives assigned to the case.
Ken Jericho could not be reached for comment.
"Holy shit!" Jim says, slamming down today's edition of The Post before collapsing into his desk chair. After relocating a stack of papers to the table in the corner, I take the chair across from him. I could never function in all this mess.
"That Jack Marlon just saved your client's ass, Park!" he barks with a laugh.
I don't see what's funny; Yong-rae's been through hell these past weeks, what with reporters calling him a thug and the studio threatening to sue him and reshoot everything. I suspect it was only Tabitha's public statement of support that made them hold off long enough for the truth to come out.
No one cared that Yong-rae swore he was innocent, or that it looked suspicious as hell when the security footage went missing, or that Ken Jericho looked like more and more of a scumbag with every interview he gave.
Pinnacle only cared about the bottom line, which was being jeopardized by criminal charges against their golden goose.
"It certainly looks that way," I reply, forcing a smile. Jim's answering grin is more like a sneer.
"Now that Yong-rae looks like a knight coming to the aid of his fair maiden, it's full steam ahead on production," Brent says from his seat in the chair beside me. "They want to make up for the weeks off and wrap principal photography as scheduled in April."
I open my mouth to ask how the hell Brent knows Pinnacle's plans when Yong-rae is my client and I've yet to receive a call, but he waves me off.
"Don't give me that look, Park. I golf with their SVP, and your boy's mess has been all over the news."
My boy? I clench my jaw and swallow down my anger. There's no point in calling either Jim or Brent out on their thinly veiled racism, not when it's practically the backbone of this industry.
"I'll call Rory about logistics," I say instead.
"That's right, I forgot," says Jim, giving Brent a knowing smile that makes him chuckle. "Your new sister-in-law is the leader of this three-ring circus."
I can let their snide comments roll off my back—they're the worst part of the job, but they don't outweigh the joy of changing my clients' lives—but I will not accept disrespect towards my family, especially not when everyone in the cast and crew has had nothing but praise for how Rory has run this production.
"That is uncalled for, Jim."
I stand and button my jacket.
"Brent, keep my client's name out of your mouth unless you'd like me to start sniffing around Mel Michaels." I put my finger to my chin, pretending to remember. "If I recall, you really dropped the ball on her merchandizing agreement."
Brent's gaze turns furious, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut.
"I'm going to call Yong-rae with the good news, and I'll keep you updated on how things are faring on set."
I feel their eyes on me as I exit Jim's corner office and head to my own, but I don't slow down.
They can stare until they go cross-eyed.
I'm done acting like some kind of silent partner at Luxe when I earned my place just as much as they did.
Moreso, if you consider the odds have always been stacked against me.
I close the door to my office and pick up the receiver immediately, happy to finally be calling with some good news.
"Yong-rae!" I beam when he answers. "I hope you're sitting down!"
Cheers erupt when Yong-rae steps from his trailer and starts walking toward the soundstage.
The light team, all the PAs, costume and makeup; everyone showed up to celebrate my client's first day back to work.
I poke him in the ribs with a wink when I see him tearing up, though my own eyes are noticeably damp.
After two weeks, the nightmare is finally over.
Getting production back up and running was easy since everyone was still scheduled and neither Pinnacle nor Edward Ash released them to their next gigs. We were all holding our breath, waiting, and being back here to finish what we started is the best possible outcome.
And then multiple women started coming forward saying they barely made it home after a night at Tipsy's.
One said her friends had to put her in a cab after just one drink.
Another said she remembered going, but nothing about the night itself.
Apparently her roommate showed up and got her home safely.
The stories were heartbreaking, not just because of what almost happened to these women, but because nothing was being done about it. Ken Jericho was using Tipsy's as his personal hunting ground, and none of the women felt comfortable speaking out until there was video proof.
Jill McIntyre threatened a lawsuit if the police delayed authentication more than twenty-four hours; the charges against Yong-rae were dropped the next day. Jill's as fierce as Awa, though not half as beautiful.
Awa stands right next to the soundstage, flanked by Rory, Tabitha, and even Edward, who's wearing a rare smile.
"Welcome back, man," he offers, giving Yong-rae a hearty slap on the back.
"Glad you're not fired," Rory says with a wry grin. Yong-rae holds his arms out in invitation, and she allows him a brief hug.
Tabitha is openly bawling and pulls Yong-rae into a tight embrace. She gets tears and makeup all over his shirt as Jax, the head makeup artist, looks on, annoyed.
"Next time," she whispers, "we're staying in for dinner."
Yong-rae cracks a rueful smile and nuzzles into her neck. Tabitha's answering smile is watery.
And then there's Awa.
One look at her, and I have to remind myself to breathe. In her eyes is the past I was too stupid to hold on to, and a future that's finally within reach. We won't be giving this "a real shot" because this is already real. It always was.
But I can't say all that in front of my client, his girlfriend, and half the top talent in New York, so I simply nod, greeting her with a smile I hope is professional, and say,
"So, are we ready to get this show on the road?"
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Rory answers from somewhere behind me.
She addresses the crew like a general does her troops, and everyone snaps into action. We've got two weeks of shooting to make up, and a curse to break.
In all the commotion, no one notices me nudging Awa's shoulder and jerking my head towards the video village, or her pinky wrapping around mine as we walk in step with one another. There are no words; only looks of relief, promised passion, love.
"Thank you for your note," I whisper as I pull her chair out for her.
She crosses one leg over the other, and skin marbled like the richest mahogany teases me from beneath the hem of her blood-red skirt.
I'm in awe and can't stop myself from grazing her thigh with my index finger. She shivers in response.
"And for the flowers."
"It was nothing," she says, shaking her head, but I take her chin in mine, letting all the longing inside me show on my face.
"It was everything, Awa."
I want to pull her to me, kiss her right here in front of everyone. Would anyone even notice, with us tucked away behind a wall of monitors and everyone buzzing around like bees? One small kiss to tide us over. Until we can finally have the long overdue conversation to make things plain between us.
She moistens her lips—blood-red to match her killer suit—and I lean in. We're mere inches apart when—
"Am I interrupting something?" Rory asks.
I turn to find her grinning slyly; I know she's already seen too much.
"We were just discussing another client," I lie awkwardly, straightening my tie. "Awa had an insightful viewpoint on a potential amendment to their rider."
Rory's smile widens. She taps her clipboard with a pen.
"Of course," she says, reaching behind Awa for a stack of scripts. "Feel free to go back to whatever it is you were doing."
I watch to make sure she's back on the soundstage before slumping against the table.
"She knows about us," Awa murmurs, confirming what I'd feared. "Camila told me when we went out the other night."
I rake my hands through my hair and sigh.
"Is that OK? I mean, will you get in trouble with the case still active?"
Awa lets out a snort.
"Only just barely. The charges were dropped, so any loose ends are mainly administrative."
"Does that mean you and I…" I trail off, reaching for her again. I frown when she pulls away.
"Not yet," she answers. "Let me square things up with Jill, sign a few papers. Then I'm all yours."
Her pinky finds mine once again, hidden beneath the desk. I intertwine our fingers.
"Promise?" I'm begging, but I don't care. We've wasted more than enough time.
"Promise."