Constance
When I saw Dorian, I thought I was going to be sick.
I’d spent the last couple of hours pleading with myself not to come to this party. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t face him.
But I had to do it, for Tyler. Tyler, who had lost the role he’d been so excited about hours after I kissed him.
Of course there was a connection. Dorian had seen the pictures and instead of deciding he wanted to be with me, he chose to destroy the only other man who mattered in my life.
That’s how powerful Dorian was. He’d gotten Tyler kicked out of his exciting new movie.
Probably all it took was for him to make a phone call or two.
That was how easily he could twist our lives beyond pain.
“I came to talk to him,” I told Lou. “Just something I have to do.”
Lou nodded, like she understood. She came forward and wrapped me in a hug.
“Thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
She placed her hand on the necklace before releasing me.
“Right,” I said, but I didn’t ask what she meant.
I only cared about Dorian.
A mistake I kept making, a lesson never learned.
I got close enough to him that our eyes locked, but I didn’t realize until it was too late that he was talking to Carly Wolf. When she noticed me, her eyes burst wide open. What the hell is she doing here, she seemed to wonder.
I had to push through. She couldn’t hurt me anymore than she already had. Or so the thinking went.
“Hello,” I said, looking from Dorian to Carly.
Dorian nodded coolly.
Carly shot him a nervous look before addressing me with a pinched smile. “I didn’t realize you were in Cannes.”
I glanced at Dorian, waiting for him to speak.
He was the one who had explicitly said he was looking for a new stylist, who had also strongly implied that it could be me.
The one who had then invited me to his styling sessions, had listened to my opinions.
Everything else, I could put into question, but that had happened. I hadn’t dreamed it.
Now it was obvious that Dorian hadn’t told her. These two looked way too friendly with each other. Still, I was here. I hadn’t seen Carly since she told me how disgusted she was with me, how wrong she’d been to hire me. This was my moment to prove her wrong.
“I have a few clients in town.” I gazed pointedly at Dorian, who still didn’t react. “I work for myself now. I’m doing great.”
I cringed inwardly at the last part, because anyone who insists they’re doing great is obviously a horrible liar.
“Well, we won’t keep you then,” Carly said.
Dorian smiled at Carly like he agreed.
“Have you told her yet?” I said to Dorian, trying to sound casual, even though my legs were shaking. “Does she know you’re looking for a new stylist?”
Carly scoffed. “Oh Constance! Sometimes I wonder what I could have done to stop you. You worked for me for three years, and I never saw how…obsessive you were. Some people just can’t be around celebrities, or around very handsome men for that matter.
I feel terrible for how I let you treat my client.
You don’t understand what someone like him goes through in life.
Surrounded by young women desperate for his attention, scammers trying to steal his wealth, all of them dying for a piece of his money or his fame.
I don’t know how you got onto this yacht, but based on your history, I don’t want to know. ”
While she spoke, Dorian took a sip of his drink and looked all around him, like he wasn’t part of this. Like we weren’t talking about him.
Like he wasn’t at the center of everything I was and everything I’d done.
“Tell her,” I said to him. “Tell her we’re sleeping together.”
Dorian’s laugh was subtle, quiet, but the contempt in his eyes spoke louder than words.
“I’m truly sorry you still have to put up with this,” Carly said to him.
Then, to me, “You’re an embarrassment. This relentless sexual harassment is beyond despicable.
If you were a man and you’d sent dozens of naked photos and videos of yourself to a woman, it would be a clear-cut case.
We found you in his hotel suite, for god’s sake. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“He wanted me there!” I screamed.
Though it hadn’t been so simple. Dorian had asked for the photos and the videos, but only ever in person.
There was no digital trace. At the time, I thought I understood why.
It was part of the fun, the thrill. But also, he was Dorian Fisher.
He had to worry about people screenshotting anything he sent.
I would have explained anything he did, back then.
Like I was doing now. And when I snuck into his hotel suite, when I took my clothes off and waited for him like that, I genuinely thought that was what he wanted.
That our months of flirting, the oppressive sexual tension between us, was leading to that moment.
“You have a problem, Constance,” Carly said. “Dorian is not interested in you. He has never been interested in you. And maybe he’s too nice to say it to your face now, but at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if he took legal action against you.”
“You’re lying! Or maybe you’re just jealous of what Dorian and I have.”
Carly and Dorian looked around to make sure no one was listening, but the music was loud enough. The shock on her face made me wonder though. Maybe I’d struck a nerve. Maybe she didn’t see Dorian Fisher only as a client. Maybe she’d wanted him all along, too.
“Take a breath,” Dorian said, like there was nothing else to address.
But I was done feeling like I was in the seventh circle of hell. I was done trying to pull myself back up when the weight of what had happened was still pushing me down.
“I took those videos because he asked me to. He wanted me to. Tell her! Tell her you’re having sex with me!”
Just as my outburst reached its conclusion, the puzzle pieces started falling into place, every little detail coming into sharp focus.
I’ve already talked about that first night in New York, when Dorian and I had a drink.
Things had escalated from there. Whenever I saw him—every few weeks—there was always a moment when we would find ourselves alone.
He’d invite me up to his suite, where we would drink and talk.
He never kissed me. He never touched me.
I wanted him to, so badly, but I would never have made the first move.
Dorian started opening up to me about the kinds of challenges he didn’t share in interviews.
He was getting older. The face that everyone on the planet adored so much was now lined with the passing of time.
Despite what the world said, he’d never been convinced he was such a great actor.
His last two movies had flopped. He was riddled with doubt, still now, decades into his smashing career.
My heart was galloping. Dorian Fisher was sharing his most intimate secrets with me.
It was incredible. I told him what anyone would have said to him: He was amazing, one of the sexiest men alive.
Every girl’s fantasy. As talented an actor as he’d been twenty-five years ago.
I’d seen all his movies. I knew what I was talking about.
Dorian had chuckled, too humble.
Where have you been all my life, Dorian had said, looking over his glass. I need you. I need you so much. I need to feel you. To see you, all the time.
My mind left my body. It took me a moment to understand what he said next.
I don’t want to do this press day tomorrow. Talking to all of these people who always ask the most boring questions. You’re different. Send me a picture, will you? So I can think about you all the time.
I shouldn’t have to clarify this, but I’ll do it just in case. I hadn’t gone straight for naked pictures. That first one was an innocent little selfie from my best angle. And remember, he asked for it.
Dorian had studied it, a smile forming on his lips. I want more, he’d said. So much more of you.
He was Dorian Fisher and he wanted something from me. It never occurred to me not to give it. Dorian watched as I undid the top button of my blouse—just one to begin with—and took another photo.
Did he force me? No.
Did he hold me down and strip off my clothes? He did not.
I chose to do it. I never saw myself as a victim.
By the end of that night, my blouse and my bra were on the floor of Dorian Fisher’s suite. I’d sent him a dozen pictures, taken in various positions. He studied them while I sat next to him, still topless.
This will help, he’d said. I was vibrating all over. I hope you think about me tomorrow.
My throat tightened. I was so sure this was only the beginning of the night. He ran his gaze all over my body, slowly drinking in every part of me.
Surprise me. Whatever you do, I have a feeling I’ll enjoy it very much.
He glanced at my things on the floor, a silent suggestion to get dressed again.
This was a lovely evening. Thank you for being here for me, Constance.
The following night, I put on a black lace lingerie set I’d worn only once, years before. I must have taken twenty shots before finding one that seemed worthy of Dorian Fisher. After I sent it, I stayed up all night, waiting.
Dorian didn’t respond and I didn’t send anything else, even as I worried that the picture hadn’t actually reached him and that he’d been waiting all along, wondering why he wasn’t hearing from me.
When I saw him again, he gave no indication that he’d seen that last picture. He didn’t invite me up to his suite. There was only a brief moment when he leaned over me and whispered, Why would you stop? I need you so much. He bit his bottom lip as he sighed.
That night I got a little more creative. A little less dressed, too.
He never responded.
By our next encounter, I was a shell of myself. I couldn’t think about anything else. Sometimes I’d send ten photos in an hour. I monitored Carly’s schedule endlessly to find out when I would see him next.