36. Martha
Martha
Heading down through The Flats of Beverly Hills, I feel the slow crawl of dread I always do when I return to Nicola’s life.
My hands grip the steering wheel, frustration mounting.
The little bundle of Emmy’s hair is still tucked into the visor, the end nipping out like a little tail.
I stroke it with my fingers and tuck it inside.
In the rearview mirror, I catch a look at my eyes and realize there’s something like happiness lurking there.
Maybe I like being at the Redferns’. There’s a freedom in being myself there that I’ve never known before.
It’s almost as if I’m living my own life as myself in this body.
It’s a strange, almost comforting sensation, like being hugged from within.
When I get home, Emmy is upstairs in her room with Scotch, the sounds of CelebrityStalkShow echoing through the apartment.
On the kitchen counter, a box of pizza sits partly open, half consumed.
I take a piece and head upstairs, following the rambling squawk squawk squawk of the livestream show.
When I knock on the door, she opens it, wearing her PJs and a hoodie, Scotch tucked under one arm.
Her eyes take me in. “You’re earlier than usual.
What happened? You get fired from the Redferns or something? ”
My arm pushes past her into her room. “No, I didn’t get fired.” I find a spot on her bed next to her laptop and school papers and shove them aside to eat my cold pizza, crust first.
“So, is school good?”
She sets Scotch down, and he runs from the room, barking at me as he goes. “Look, you don’t need to pretend, okay? You’re not my mom, so you don’t need to act like you actually care about me.”
“Ouch.”
Emmy sighs, her expression apologetic. “It’s the truth, though, isn’t it?”
I stop to think for a moment. The truth is way more complicated than Emmy knows. But I need her for right now.
“When is my mom coming back, anyway?” Emmy asks, not looking up from her laptop. “I mean, it’s been weeks and weeks. Aren’t you tired of living her life?”
A little chuckle escapes me. “I’m tired of a lot of things, Emmy. But let’s get one thing straight. I’m not living your mother’s life. I’m living mine. Okay?”
Emmy smirks. “Whatever.”
“No, I mean it,” I grab her arm, my fingers digging into her skin. Her eyes grow alarmed. “This is my life.”
Emmy tugs her arm out of my grasp. “Fine. Geez. I was just stating the obvious. I mean, look around you. This is my mom’s apartment. And you’re in her clothes. That’s her car parked outside, and tonight, you’ll go to sleep in her bed. How is that your life, Martha?”
My throat tightens. The little bitch has a point. All of this—everything—belongs to Nicola. Only the Redferns are mine. I found them.
“You’re right,” I say at last.
Emmy’s eyebrow arches. “I am?”
“Yes. Nothing about this life is mine. I stepped in to help, that’s all. I can leave anytime.”
“Hold on a second.” Emmy puts her phone away. “You can’t just leave. I mean, I miss my mom and everything, but I thought you were going to help us.”
“And I have, haven’t I? Your mom has money coming in again, good money at that, and things are better than they were.”
She leans in close, her little eyes sparkling. “Yeah, but what about the accident? Someone has to be held accountable for what happened, right? I thought that’s what you were going to do. Don’t you need, like, evidence?”
“I have evidence.”
“So then, finish it! Get him arrested. What are you waiting for? Once you do that, everything can go back to how it was before!”
“It’s not that simple, Emmy.”
Emmy makes a face like none of this is impressive. “So, what are you going to do exactly?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Emmy stares at me blankly. “What do you mean, you’re not sure? I thought you had a plan.”
I take a big bite of my pizza and roll it around between my teeth. “Things have become a little more complicated. Besides, this isn’t about her. Jason Redfern is the one I’m worried about.”
“Well, obviously. If she’s nuts, it’s because of him.”
My head snaps to her. “Why do you say that?”
She chews her fingernail. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? The guy has a major reputation for being a player.” She clicks away on her laptop and turns it to face me. A blaring red headline loops across the bottom of the screen:
CO-STAR ACCUSES JASON REDFERN OF SEXUAL ASSAULT
Emmy unmutes the livestream. Sure enough, it’s Jason making a statement outside a busy restaurant in Europe, lights flashing and paparazzi everywhere. I fumble for the volume on the keyboard and turn it up.
“She’s lying,” he says, a cocky smirk forming across his lips. “I’ve never had any inappropriate sexual conduct with co-stars and certainly not Lauren LaMonte. I’m a happily married man.”
An interviewer cuts in. “LaMonte says that you cornered her on multiple occasions, threatened her, and even sexually assaulted her during a private rehearsal. Is that true?”
“False.” Redfern crosses his arms. “LaMonte is a deeply unhappy person, from my experience, and prone to making up all kinds of fantasies. I did not have any inappropriate sexual conduct with her, and I certainly did not assault her.”
“Jason, you and Miss LaMonte were seen together numerous times in Los Angeles when you claimed you were still away filming—were you having an affair?”
“Lies. All lies.” He smiles, cavalier and definitive. “So, we both live in Los Angeles. We go to some of the same places. Is that a crime?”
Another journalist in a blue dress, hair perfectly coiffed, forces a microphone in his face. “Did you rape her?”
His face turns stony. “I’m done. I told you nothing happened. I’m done.” He heads into the busy restaurant as security bars the entrance from the media.
It cuts back to the livestream’s host. “There you have it. Jason Redfern denying the allegations of sexual assault with co-star Lauren LaMonte. We spoke to a source who claims she saw Jason and Miss LaMonte leaving her house and returning together late one evening. The source also claims that Jason appeared not to be wearing his wedding ring. More information as this story unfolds.”
Emmy stares at me. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
Emmy nods, like she understands. “I thought so. Bullies have that look about them. Like nothing bad can happen to them.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. It’s worse than that.”
Emmy stops chewing. “What do you mean?”
“I found blood on her linens. A lot of blood.”
Emmy’s brow wrinkles in concentration. “Like period blood or whatever?”
“No, not like that.”
Her face contorts. “Well, what then?” She swallows, the question sitting between us. I nod carefully, confirming her thoughts.
Emmy’s eyes turn big and round. Her pupils shrink. “Are you saying he’s hurting Bambi, too?”
I nod carefully. “In more ways than one.”
Emmy’s eyes form a recognition. “Why doesn’t she leave him?”
“Look at their life,” I say, standing up. A wave of something rises in my chest, difficult to contain. “Everyone knows who they are. She would risk everything. Her life, her marriage, her money, her career.”
“Yeah, but what if he …?” Emmy sits up. Her eyes brighten, like she’s just finished putting together a puzzle. “You have to do something,” Emmy replies. “We already know what he’s capable of.”
“We do.”
“So, are you going to help her?”
I think for a moment. It was never part of the plan, but here we are. I like Bambi. And she needs me. So does Nicola, for that matter.
“You’re right,” I say calmly. “He deserves to pay for what he’s done. To your family, to Bambi, to that actress. All of it.”
Her eyes widen. “Yeah, but he’s a celebrity. He’s got so much money and everything. Who is going to believe us? It’s not like we can just go to the police.”
“We don’t need the police. We need to do this another way. A cleverer way. And I’m going to need your help.”
I jump up, motioning Emmy to follow. I offer my hand, and she takes it, my fingers encircling her little palm and gripping it tight. As I lead her downstairs, I feel Nicola nipping and biting at me like a small rabid dog.