Marnie
I’d done something very very bad. It became more obvious every second I sat opposite Constance at the bar. There was a delicate quality to her. Underneath her quiet demeanor, she seemed to absorb everything, to feel her feelings so deeply.
I paid our bill like it was the most natural thing in the world, and we went back to our hotel.
I could only hope that Carmen wouldn’t check the charges on the credit card until we were back home.
By then, I would have turned this ship around, and it would have all been worth it. Or so the plan went in my head.
“You’re our fairy godmother,” Lou joked as we ambled along.
She hooked her arm through the crook of my elbow and stared at me with wide Bambi eyes.
“You really think it’s going to win?” she asked.
It wasn’t hope in her tone, but something I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Everyone says it’s a masterpiece.”
That was what people said. And what they weren’t saying yet was that the movie might be dropped from the competition for too much offscreen drama. Lou didn’t need to know that. Nobody needed to know anything until I’d figured out the rest of the puzzle.
“Just be prepared for all these stories to come out.”
Lou’s face lit up in alarm against the dark sky.
“Good stories!” I rushed to clarify. “And if anyone reaches out for confirmation, just be vague. Neither deny nor confirm. No comment—that’s the stance.”
She nodded seriously.
“Actually, give them my details. Tell them I’m your publicist. I’ll handle it.”
It might have sounded like confidence to her, but it was the desperation talking.
“You know I can’t afford you either, right?” Lou said.
“What’s good for the movie is good for me, is good for you. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out. Let’s get you into the biggest parties. Let’s get you noticed. Let’s get you seen.”
I turned to Constance, who’d remained silent throughout the walk so far.
“Constance will make sure of it.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed at me, when Lou was checking her phone.
Her gratitude felt like a ticking time bomb. Soon, that story about her would come out, and I would never be able to look her in the eyes again. Or at myself in the mirror.
Back at the hotel, I hugged the girls goodbye.
I had promises to keep and more plans to make.
But first, I popped in my AirPods and flicked through my music, looking for something to put me in the mood.
And then I realized: Ben was gone. I didn’t need to worry about him, to tiptoe around his feelings.
I could blast my rage-y songs. I could dance on my own and bounce on the bed so hard the pillows flew off.
So I did just that. For a few minutes, I let it all come out screaming. His disgusting betrayal. Odetta Olson’s nastiness. The way Carmen hadn’t even lifted a finger to defend me. I didn’t know why I’d always worked so hard at being a good girl. It fucking sucked.
Then I turned the music way down, sweat dripping down my back, and sat cross-legged on the undone bed with my laptop.
I was ready to get to work.
I texted everyone I’d met in Cannes and asked about upcoming parties.
By now I’d made my own reputation. There was no way to confirm it, but people could guess that I’d been the one to spread the gossip they’d shared with me.
I was the one who’d sprinkled a little karma over their Cannes drama.
I’d made friends. Allies. I had, without even realizing it, been picking up chips along with every story I’d shared.
It was time to cash in.
Within an hour, I had a comprehensive list of events happening until the end of the festival, which I quickly ranked in terms of prestige and accessibility.
On any given day in Cannes, there was an array of breakfasts, brunches, lunches, cocktail hours, dinners, and after-parties.
There were events on boats, in villas, in luxury suites, on the beach, everywhere.
Some of these were official festival events with strict guest lists.
The rest were, well, they were just parties.
Organized by rich people, movie studios, or even brands with products they wished to promote to the glitterati of Cannes.
These last ones were the easiest to infiltrate.
If you arrived early, you caught the organizers at their weakest, when they still feared that no one important would turn up.
There were too many competing events at any given time, especially if you didn’t have the budget to shower your guests with champagne and caviar.
And I had a great asset. So I honed my pitch and sent it wide.
I’m the publicist for a young actor who stars in Don’t Be Sad!
Her name is Lou Ocean Utley, and I’d love to have her attend your event.
Here’s a link to Lou’s social media account so you can see her reach.
She’s working with a hot new stylist who also dresses Dorian Fisher, so we expect Lou to get a lot of publicity!
I knew saying that Lou had “starred” in the movie was a bit of a stretch, but please remember that I still hadn’t seen it.
If Lou had been left off the guest list for the welcome party, it was only because the rumor about Odetta Olson was true.
She really was insecure around younger women.
And Lou had been at the party after all.
Someone with influence had done what needed to be done to correct Odetta Olson’s wrongs. Dorian Fisher himself, probably.
He was looking out for Lou because he knew how special she was.
It all made sense.
And it cemented my strategy.
Once I had a schedule in place for Lou, I texted the list of events to Constance, so she could start working her magic. I was about to put my phone down when it beeped with a new text.
Hey sis! You’ve gone dark
Bet you’re having too much fun
Send pics at least!
It was from Jessie, Ben’s sister. We’d texted a few times in the first couple of days of Cannes, but now I was avoiding her.
Sorry! I replied right away, like I always did with Jessie.
She and Ben were close, too, and there was no telling what she already knew.
No pics I’m afraid. I typed now. Too much work!
Is that what you call all the parties? ?? At least Ben sent me some. Looks incredible!
I flicked over to Ben’s Instagram account, though I already knew it was pointless. He only shared personal stories and details on the family chat—which I’d already checked—or directly with his sister. How long until I’d be removed from the group?
I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to see Ben again, but I wasn’t quite ready to lose everything that came along with him.
His dad’s fabulous cooking, his sister’s sound advice every time I vented to her about something that happened at work, the sense of belonging I felt whenever I was in their presence.
It was awful to think it, but I would have traded his family with mine without another thought.
I got along well enough with my brothers, who both worked corporate jobs on the East Coast, but we had so little in common.
My dad I heard from only once or twice a year.
That left my mother, who took it as a personal affront that I’d snagged a guy like Ben when she was still licking her wounds from the demise of her marriage over a decade ago.
I wanted everything to stay the same with Jessie for as long as I could.
He’s definitely having fun. Which party did he tell you about? I asked, feeling queasy.
When Jessie didn’t reply right away, my palms grew clammy around my phone. Maybe he had told her. She wouldn’t know the whole story, obviously. I couldn’t imagine Ben admitting he’d realized he was such a bad writer that the only way he could succeed was by stealing my work.
Something with Fiona Pills? Jessie replied at last. I’m not NOT jealous. He said Dorian Fisher was there too, but I won’t believe it without photographic evidence.
This was bad. Much worse than I’d imagined.
Had Ben shared my screenplay with Dorian Fisher?
Was he really going to keep claiming it was his?
A few months ago, Carmen and I had worked on a high-profile movie for which the screenwriter alone had been paid a seven-figure sum.
I knew what could happen when you worked with the big guys.
I had to stop Ben or risk regretting it forever.
That was where Lou and Constance came in.
Lou was a rising star whose new movie was about to win the Palme d’Or at Cannes.
Constance was a talented stylist who clearly had some baggage with Dorian Fisher, but she was still his stylist—I’d checked the paparazzi shots of them talking in the lobby of the Martinez.
One way or another, the girls would lead me to Dorian Fisher.
So what if Odetta Olson had shot me down?
I’d try again with him and do whatever it took to make him listen.
Once I explained my side of things, Dorian Fisher would be too spooked to even be seen in public with my stupid ex-boyfriend.
See, the girls thought I was helping them, but I needed them a lot more than they needed me.
There was one thing I didn’t think about. They never asked what I wanted out of this. They never wondered what was in it for me. But that’s the problem when you’re desperate, when the people you trusted betray you in the most hideous way.
You can no longer see the danger until it smacks you in the face.