by Claire Raye
“What?” she half shouts, pulling her head back.
I glance at the clock beside the bed, the glowing numbers telling us it’s just after three in the morning. “I mean,” I start, turning back to her. “It’s like what, eleven in the morning in London now,” I add, even as Sadie scrambles on the bed, leaning over me as she reaches for her phone.
“Shit,” she says, her fingers jabbing at the screen to wake it up.
“Sadie, baby,” I say, taking the phone from her hand as I sit up and lean back against the headboard. “Come here.” I beckon her closer, pulling her against me so her back is to my chest. Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I give her the phone back. “Just breathe,” I whisper, mouth at her ear.
I feel her as she takes a deep breath, steading herself before she unlocks her phone and starts searching.
The article pops up immediately, the link to The Guardian the first in a long list of news stories about Roger’s story. Sadie’s shaking fingers scroll down, bypassing the article she’s already read and instead looking at the reactions to it. Headline after headline tells her.
Shocking new revelations about one of Hollywood’s most powerful men.
UK journalist drops a bombshell and he isn’t the only one!
Noel Robinson – abusive and a cheat! Is this the end for the Hollywood legend?
Is this finally the end for one of Hollywood’s great? And are any of us surprised?
Sadie scoffs at the last one.
“Pretty positive so far,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. She nods, even as her eyes stay glued to the screen. “It’s gonna be hours before anyone in L.A. sees it,” I say, even knowing she’s not putting the phone down anytime soon.
She glances up at me. “But not New York,” she says, clicking on an article from the New York Times.
Well-known Hollywood director, Noel Robinson is the subject of a new article, published today in The Guardian by award-winning journalist, Roger Collins. Collins is no stranger to controversial reporting and certainly holds nothing back in his latest article, sparing no mercy for the director who used to call Collin’s country home. And if you can believe everything he tells us, it seems Noel Robinson may be in some seriously hot water and not just with the Hollywood elite.
I scan the rest of the article, my eyes flicking over the words that both criticize and applaud Roger for his article and the stories he’s now shed light on. The comments section below the article are also a mixed bag, with some people weighing in to offer support to the women who’ve been a part of this, congratulating them on speaking up and others attacking Noel for the things he’s done.
And what about his wife? Where’s she in all of this?
Sadie tenses in my arms, her finger now hovering over the screen as she stares at the words.
“It’s just one comment,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “From someone who probably hasn’t even read the whole article.”
“It’s what people will think though,” she says, still staring at the screen.
“Maybe,” I say shrugging. “But so what. When you and Roger make the documentary, you’ll be able to give your version of events.”
“Will I?” she asks, finally looking up at me. Her face is a mix of worry and confusion and I hate that she still doubts herself in all of this.
“Yes, Sadie,” I say, giving her a quick kiss. “You will.”
She stares up at me for a few seconds before finally nodding and turning back to her screen, where she continues to scan the comments.
Wonder if he did these things to his wife?
I worked on one of his movies once. I know this stuff is true. He’s a pig and he deserves to rot in hell.
The guy’s a douche and his movies suck!
Sadie chuckles a little and I exhale in relief, glad she’s reacting positively to all the comments. Just as she continues to scroll though, a text message fills the screen, the angry message shattering any semblance of peace she may have just found.
Noel: YOU FUCKING CUNT BITCH! HOW COULD YOU DO TO THIS ME? YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS SADIE, I SWEAR TO GOD YOU WILL FUCKING PAY!
I snatch the phone from her hand and place it face down on the side table. Sadie shakes in my arms and I pull her closer, holding her tightly against my chest.
“He can’t do anything to you,” I whisper, kissing her hair. “I’ve got you, okay. I’ve got you.”
By the time the sun finally comes up, neither of us have slept. I haven’t let Sadie look at her phone anymore and instead we’ve filled the hours lying in silence, Sadie’s head resting on my chest.
“You want some coffee?” I ask.
She nods, lifting her head so I can slide out of bed. I smile at her, giving her a quick kiss, at the same time grabbing her phone and sliding it into the pocket of my sweats as I pull them on.
“Hey!”
I glance back at the bed. “After you’ve had coffee,” I tell her.
I head downstairs to get some brewing, leaving her phone face down on the kitchen counter. By the time it’s ready, Sadie has pulled on a robe and wandered downstairs.
“Here,” I say, sliding the mug across the counter.
“Thank you,” she whispers, picking it up.
She blows on the hot liquid, her eyes staring at her phone on the counter. She looks exhausted, mentally and physically, dark circles under her eyes as she finally lifts them to mine. I move around the counter, stepping toward her as I pull her against me.
“No matter what he says to you,” I say. “We will get through this.”
She nods. “I know,” she says, pulling back as she rests her palms against my chest. “I’m okay, Paul, really,” she says. “I knew he’d be pissed, knew he’d react like this. But I’m not giving up this time. I’m tired of him and tired of his bullshit. It’s time the world knew who Noel Robinson really is.”
I smile, grateful she seems so positive about this. ‘That’s my girl.”
Sadie smiles up at me. “Thank you, Paul. For everything, really.”
My thumb brushes along her cheekbone as she looks up at me, her blue eyes clear and determined, despite her exhaustion. It’s almost like she’s turned a corner, as though these few hours since she saw the reaction to the article have only reinforced her need to tell her side.
I want to tell her how glad I am that she’s willing to fight this, to stand up for herself and tell that asshole where to go.
“Should we see what else the fucker’s had a rant about?”
Sadie swallows hard before nodding once. I reach for the phone, handing it to her without looking at the screen. She turns it over, holding it between us as she unlocks it, the screen now filled with messages from various people, including Noel.
She clicks on his name, opening up the chat. It’s filled with more curse-filled rages, all of them in capital letters. It’s like he’s sent her one every couple of minutes since he started with Sadie having to scroll through several screens worth.
“Well,” she eventually says, letting out a deep breath. “Looks like the idiot has just given me even more ammo for the documentary.”
Laughing, I pull her against me. “I like the way you think, Sadie,” I say, kissing her hard. “I like the way you think.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sadie
The phone shakes in my hand as a scrap of paper sits in front of me with her phone number scrawled on it. She doesn’t know I’m going to call her unless Roger warned her, and if he did, she’s either going to avoid me or lay into me.
Women are interesting. In times of affairs we want to blame the other women, giving men more power than they deserve. I would never blame the women who had affairs with Noel because I know what Noel was capable of. It takes me back to Noel’s ex-wife, the one he left for me.
She hated me and did everything she could to trash my name and my career, but never once did she go after Noel. It was a long and uphill battle with the media to regain what reputation I had, to co
nvince people I wasn’t just “the other woman”, but in actuality I was. I was one woman in long string of other women.
She knew what he was like though, and there’s no way she fully believed I was the reason he left her, but she needed someone to blame, someone to hate and that was me. I would never put someone through what she put me through all to make myself feel better.
Cutting another women down will never build you back up, and this is the exact thought I have as I start to enter the number into my phone.
We’re stronger together even if this woman won’t talk to me, even if she hates me, even if she hates herself for what happened.
I hit send and wait as the phone trills in my ear, panic rising up in my throat and pulsing loud in my ears as I try to figure out what I’m even going to say.
I looked her up before deciding to call her. It was a strange desperate pull to see what she looked like, if she was pretty, which sounds terribly petty, but I needed to see what Noel was drawn to. Was it the way she looked? Was she young and pretty? Was it her position in the industry? I already knew the answers to these questions. Of course she was young and pretty, and something about it made me self-conscious, like I wasn’t good enough.
My thoughts are jumbled mess, but I know everything Noel does is calculated. He played everything so well, even his affairs. He knew I’d one day find out and in order to remove the blame from himself, he hit me where he knew it would hurt the most.
He made sure everyone who came after me had something more than I would ever be able to give.
He made sure they were prettier or thinner or taller or more talented. He made sure he preyed on every weakness I ever admitted to him.
And I keep all of this in mind when the person on the other line says, “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m look for Sophie Clayton,” I say, a nervousness apparent in my voice as each word shakes slightly at the end.
“This is her,” she replies far more cheerfully than she will be in just a few minutes.
She answered her phone because she has no idea who is calling her. She’s still looking for work and any call that comes in could be a job. Noel has made her life a living hell since the relationship ended and things probably got worse before they got better. The publishing of the article has been the most beneficial thing to happen to all these women. At least it’s out in the open now.
“Hi Sophie,” I start, swallowing back the nervousness that continues. “This is Sadie Washington. I’m Noel’s…”
“I know who you are,” she responds and any kindness in her voice has faded as fast as Noel’s reputation recently.
“Yes,” I say, the shakiness in my voice now screaming loud and clear. “I just wanted to reach out and say I’m sorry.”
I have no idea what else to say, but what I decide on sounds weak and useless.
“You have no reason to be sorry. He does, but I’ll never get that from him.” Her words come out in rush and each one is laced with anger, but there’s also a hint of sadness.
“None of us will.” I stop speaking for a second, processing my next question carefully. “Did you know he was married?”
But again my words come out weak, like I’m asking for validation and blaming her for this.
“Of course I did and I’m sure that makes me the villain,” she says, sort of snapping at me in a way and rightfully so.
“No, not at all. I didn’t mean it that way. I just feel badly for you because I know you didn’t have a way to say no. Even telling him he’s married wouldn’t have worked.”
“I didn’t care that he was married and I know that sounds shallow and vindictive, but I wanted what you have. He told me he’d make me famous. I never wanted to sleep with him. Do you have any idea how shitty I felt after every encounter with him?”
I don’t answer as my heart races and tears well up in eyes. My heart breaks for her, for every word she says. I can’t imagine what it felt like to be in her position.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my words meaning nothing really.
“I wanted to be a producer. I saw what he did for your career, how marrying him made you, but what I had with him would never amount to that. I was just pawn in his attempt to control everything around him. I’m the fool for playing his game.”
“You’re not a fool. Did you know he was married when I met him?” I ask, but don’t pause for her answer. “I had an affair with him. He left his wife for me. I thought nothing of this so what does that make me?”
We can sit here and argue the logistics of the mistakes we made and which one of us is the bigger jerk, but in the end, Noel is the one to blame.
“You thought of yourself and your career and you just happened to be one of the women who were able to get Noel on your side. We all envied you and I know how ridiculous that sounds,” Sophie says, laughing without any humor. “We wanted to know how you won. What you had that we didn’t. How you managed to fare so well.”
“I didn’t win anything,” I practically snap back, thinking about all the abuse I lived through and while it wasn’t physical, the verbal abuse took its toll.
“You have to understand what it looked like to us on the outside. Your life was perfect. It was everything everyone in this industry wants. You had what we all hoped we would get by sleeping with him.”
“It was a lie,” I admit. “A beautiful lie.”
“I’ve learned a lot from this,” Sophie states, her words now firm. “Women have all the power, but we cower at the hands of men. He wanted me and I gave myself willingly. I should’ve held out, used what I had to manipulate him, but I was afraid. Look where that got me.”
“As much as it sucks because you’re suffering now, the article is making a big impact. I plan on making a documentary about the manipulation in the industry because I’m not going to let this die with this article,” I tell Sophie, meaning every word of it.
I plan to use my experience in the film world and all my connections to keep speaking out, to keep being an advocate for women. It’s the least I can do.
“I’ve always been jealous of you,” she admits, a bit of a bite to her words.
“Don’t be. Just because I married him doesn’t mean things were any different for me. He treated me like shit. Embarrassed me, belittled me and made me think I had no business working in the industry. I couldn’t leave.”
“But you did, and you came out of it with a career. I came out of this with nothing,” she shoots back.
I hate that there’s a small point of argument. Almost as if we’re battling to see who had it worse and that wasn’t my intention when I made the call.
“We can argue the logistics of this forever, but it all comes back to one thing. Noel Robinson is a horrible person,” I simply state, hoping she understands we are stronger if we take him on together. That jealously and bitterness toward each other will get us nowhere.
“The media wants us to hate each other. They want a bigger story out of this and so does Noel,” I add. “The more we push a divide between us the bigger his name gets. The more the media will run with a story about petty women. The more people will start to believe Noel. None of us want that.”
“You’re right,” she finally admits. “I want to hate everyone involved, but it’s getting me nowhere.”
“Please know that I’m truly sorry for everything that’s happened to you and even if you agreed to sleep with him it doesn’t mean it was fully consensual. I don’t look at you as the other woman, but as another one of Noel’s victims.”
“Thank you,” she says, a little less tension floating between us now.
We end the conversation with me telling her I’ll be in touch regarding my documentary. I haven’t worked out much of it yet, but I plan to pitch it to a few of the studio heads I’m currently working with. I think this could be a huge story and even more so when brought to life on the big screen.
I glance down at my phone as it lays on the counter the screen glowing up at me. I run a hand th
rough my hair and realize I have to be on set in an hour. Paul has already left for the day and is working on running through a few changes with the stunt crew before we begin shooting.
I quickly shower, whip my hair into a messy bun and throw on my clothes. The crew will still be setting up, but I like to arrive before a few hours before shooting starts. For some reason I like the silence of the quiet set while I prep for the day. I could always retreat to my trailer for quiet, but something about that feels less immersive.
When I arrive, the studio is packed like always, but my specific set is quietly running itself. The camera and set crew are finishing their first round of set up and the cast is back in makeup or wardrobe or even practicing lines in their trailers. Paul and the rest of the stunt crew are running through a safety briefing.
Things are exactly as they should be and I let out a sigh of relief that something in my life is running smoothly right now.
Since the article dropped my phone has been ringing non-stop and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a massive amount of people stationed outside the gates to my house. Their cameras were all poised and ready as I pulled out of the driveway. The same happened here at the studio. Luckily, security is tight and getting into this place isn’t so easy, especially for the media.
I grab a few things from my trailer, hooking up computers and headsets as I flip through a few notes from production. I’m just about to settle into my chair and review a couple of shots from yesterday, when I hear someone scream my name.
It’s a muffled scream coming from a distance, but the voice grows louder and instantly I recognize it.
Noel.
Jumping up from my chair, the small amount of people on set freezes as Noel’s feet pound loudly, his voice bellowing through the faux walls.
“Sadie, where the fuck are you?” he screams and I’m stunned into silence, my feet firmly rooted to the ground, as I look around wide-eyed.
