Marnie
Like I said, I knew my place in this world.
I had no qualms about lining up water carafes with their matching glasses just so or checking microphones—test, test, test—one by one.
It was my job to prepare all the minute details for the press conference.
Especially since it was the one that might make or break my career.
I was so deeply focused that I didn’t even notice Carmen enter the Palais des Festivals’s media room.
“We’re ready,” I said. “I just need to get the printouts.”
“Good. Great.” Carmen checked her watch. “Odetta is on her way. I just need to go check that everyone else is there.”
The conference was starting in less than thirty minutes.
Until then, Odetta Olson and the rest of the crew would wait in a private lounge on the next floor down.
I’d stay here to welcome the press, and then Carmen would shepherd the team over.
I scanned the room once more, making sure everything looked perfect before they arrived.
There was something else on my mind, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. I bit my lip and took a deep breath. Carmen was going to walk out any moment. This was my chance.
“I heard a funny story earlier,” I started, uncertain. “People love to talk in this town.”
“People love to talk everywhere,” Carmen said. “Parties are just chatter with booze.”
“Right.” I straightened the chairs once again, avoiding her gaze. “It’s just fascinating, everything that goes on behind the scenes. Like that story about Tyler Charles.”
Carmen raised a curious eyebrow. She glanced toward the door, but no one would arrive until the last minute. The schedules in Cannes were so tight that journalists had no time to spare between conferences and interviews.
“What about Tyler Charles?” Carmen said. “Apparently he’s working with a new stylist who’s, like, a sex maniac.”
I tried to keep my face still, but I found that story so juicy, in a totally disturbed way.
Carmen was suddenly interested in rearranging the chairs with me.
“A man?”
“No, I think women can be maniacs, too.”
Her eyes sparkled. I had her hooked.
“How kinky are we talking?”
“It’s not really about the kink level,” I said. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say to my boss. “But she was obsessed with Dorian Fisher and texted sexual photos and videos of herself to him constantly.”
“That woman was making porn and sending it to one of the most unattainable actors in Hollywood?”
I nodded. “It went on for months.”
“Respect,” Carmen said.
“I think it’s considered sexual harassment,” I said carefully. “It’s pretty serious.”
“Right. Do you know what he did?”
“Nothing for a long time, apparently. He didn’t want it getting out. And he never responded, so she couldn’t screenshot it and share it with anyone.”
“So he never…” Carmen tried to think of an appropriate word.
“Reciprocated?” I suggested.
“Sent her dick pics in return? Or tried to get it on with her?”
I shook my head. “From what I heard, it all came crashing down when she broke into his hotel suite and Dorian Fisher found her naked on his bed. Her boss, Carly Wolf, was with him at the time, so they both saw the extent of the…obsession. Obviously the woman, Carly Wolf’s assistant, got fired on the spot. ”
Carmen made a face, like yikes, but I could tell she was eating it up. It was time to share my devious plan.
“It might take the heat off Odetta Olson.”
“Is that story out already? I would have heard about it.”
I kept moving around the room, not wanting Carmen to notice how nervous I was.
“It’s probably going to get out. I mean if I heard it…”
I dared a glance her way.
“Well, as long as we stay way out of it. We don’t deal in gossip. Especially not the litigious kind.”
That was not the response I’d been fishing for.
“We do deal a little bit in gossip,” I said with a laugh. “That’s our job, no? Crafting good stories, casting the bad ones aside…”
Even from across the room, the chill in Carmen’s gaze stopped me.
“We would never share negative stories about other people to deflect from our clients. Let the bad PR firms do that, but that’s not how I run my business.
We don’t lower ourselves to this. We don’t deal in defamation.
We have standards of prestige and professionalism.
Our whole reputation is built on that.” My jaw must have gone slack. “Fuck, yeah. I can be serious, too.”
It was a little late for that. I’d sent that story to Dis-Moi Tout two hours ago, when Carmen had gone out for a coffee break. It was the juiciest one I’d heard, and shared, by far.
I had a great reason for doing this, but I never expected it to feel so good.
Dis-Moi Tout, along with a few other gossip outlets, had posted several of the tips I’d ushered their way already.
I created a few fake social media accounts and more anonymous email addresses, so I could quickly share a steady stream of gossip about anyone but Odetta Olson.
There hadn’t been any new stories on her in almost twenty-four hours. An eternity.
I wouldn’t take credit for it, obviously.
I just hoped that Carmen would notice that our problem seemed to disappear.
It would help get things back on track for the movie.
And nothing could be traced back to me. Until this morning, I’d only shared stories of things that had happened publicly, in front of several people who could have tipped the gossip accounts themselves.
To be even safer, I switched up a few details or left names out.
Like with the actor in Dorian Fisher’s arms on the red carpet.
Her face was obscured in the photo, and I didn’t bother trying to figure out who it was.
I’d only suggested she might be Dorian Fisher’s new love interest and left it to other people to connect the dots and reveal her identity, which was how I found out that I’d met her.
I was pretty certain she wasn’t dating Dorian Fisher, but it didn’t matter. Bending the truth was so easy.
Then again, it made sense that Carmen hadn’t noticed.
She’d focused on trying to convince Odetta Olson to release a statement confirming that she did not, has not, and will not ever pull anybody’s hair, famous or not.
Odetta Olson had flat out refused, but she’d agree to a press conference, as long as we’d shoot dead anyone who dared bring up Pull-Gate.
“On that note,” Carmen said. “It’s almost showtime.”
We left the room. She was going one level down to collect the team, and I had to go pick up the press releases from the office at the other end of the corridor.
The palais was particularly busy that afternoon; ours was one of several press conferences happening back-to-back.
Even zigzagging through people, it should only have taken a few minutes.
I reached the office, got the documents printed, and rushed out to retrace my steps. That’s when someone called my name.
“Marnie! Hi!”
It was Harper.
She quickened her pace, and gave me a hug before I could even step back.
“I’m so glad to run into you!” she said after releasing me. “I feel bad about the other day. I’m not… I mean, I have a boyfriend. Well, we’re broken up right now, but I’m pretty sure we’re going to get back together. So it’s not… Well, I don’t know what you think, but it’s not that.”
“It’s fine,” I said curtly.
From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the entrance to the media room but we still had a few minutes to go.
“Oh great,” Harper said, oblivious to my discomfort. “Because Ben is brilliant and I can’t tell you how honored I am to be part of his journey, you know?”
“Of course.”
My phone beeped, but Harper kept distracting me from it.
“Ben told you that James read the screenplay, right?” She snorted. “Of course he told you. You guys are like, the best couple.”
James was the big-shot agent Harper worked for.
“I really have to—”
My phone beeped again. But this girl would not shut up.
“James thinks it’s incredible. One of the best things he’s read in months. He’s so excited about it, he’s already started sending it out. You must be very happy for Ben!”
I wasn’t. Because Ben hadn’t shared any of this.
He had a good excuse though. Since that dinner, we’d been ships passing in the night.
I was working nonstop, at my official job, and also scavenging as much gossip as possible to sprinkle it all over Cannes.
The truth was that I was relieved that we didn’t have time to talk.
He’d lied about getting laid off and made it clear we should all believe he was about to make it as a screenwriter. What else was there to say?
Another text came through on my phone. This time I checked it.
Fucking disaster.
Fiona Pills not here.
Hunting her down.
Stall everyone, okay?
Yes! I typed back quickly.
I needed to get back to the media room so I could greet the journalists and show them to their seats. I’d be extra friendly, apologize profusely for the delay, and make sure everybody stayed put until Fiona Pills arrived. I could handle this.
Still, I realized the opportunity. Harper would have the answer to one of my burning questions.
“Your boss seriously thinks he’s going to sell Ben’s screenplay?” I sounded so doubtful, I felt terrible. “I mean, he’s tried for so long, and I worry about him, you know?”
Harper bobbed her head up and down, because nodding like a normal person wasn’t enough.
“He thinks it’s going to go for a lot of money.” Her eyes opened wide. “Like, a lot. There could be a bidding war. This is going to be his big breakthrough. So exciting!”
I gulped. I should have been happy, but I couldn’t quite wrap my head around this. Was I a shitty girlfriend who couldn’t see the extent of his genius? Was it my fault he hadn’t succeeded earlier because I hadn’t put all my trust in him?
“That’s great,” I managed to say, eventually.
“You’ve read it, right?”
Did I hear a bite in her tone? Could she sense my doubts?
“Of course I did.”
I’d read all of Ben’s work. But come to think of it, Ben hadn’t mentioned which of his masterpieces he’d shared with Harper. Usually I got the blow-by-blow of every email, rejection, and heartache he encountered. But I’d been so busy the last few days, there had been no time for that.
“It’s the one about the hitmen who need to kill each other, with the sci-fi twist,” I said, a little miffed.
Harper’s pretty little face turned into a frown. “Um, no. It’s about a vengeful mistress who kills her lover? And then does whatever she can to make him look alive to the rest of the world?”
“WHAT?”
Harper was oblivious to the shock in my voice.
“It’s so good! The part where she moves his body to her house… You can feel the physical exhaustion like you were there yourself dragging it. The writing is superb.”
“What are you talking about?”
I no longer cared about pretending to be friendly.
“He said he just came up with the idea like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And wrote it in, like, a week. It’s the best part of my job, hearing the stories of how great art is created.”
Except that wasn’t Ben’s story. That was mine.
The screenplay she was describing was the one I’d written.
The one I’d emailed to Carmen’s producer friends.
Ben must have somehow found it on my computer.
I never worked on the screenplay when he was home, and I always closed the file in between sessions, but my laptop was frequently lying around the apartment, left open on the dining table or the couch.
The fucker had stolen my work and passed it off as his.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Carmen’s icy tone cut through the air.
Harper froze. I whipped around to see my boss, more red-faced than ever.
We all know what happened next. The press conference started thirty minutes late, with the few people who’d bothered to stick around, because I hadn’t been there to keep them waiting.
Fiona Pills never showed up. I was so flustered I forgot to remove the empty chair next to Odetta Olson.
Never had a piece of plastic furniture spoken so loudly about the rift between two women.
Odetta Olson, the veteran Hollywood figure who’d done a hundred press conferences in her career, had fumbled so badly through some of her responses that replays of her answers had gone viral within hours.
It was a disaster of epic proportions.
Pull-Gate would never die now.
But my stealing asshole of a boyfriend might.