The door was open by the time Jo returned. Emma was sitting on her couch, working on her tablet, which she set aside when Jo came back into her office. Emma smiled, and the tension in Jo’s shoulders eased.
“It’s a good statement,” Emma said.
“Good,” Jo said. “I agree.” She sat in her desk chair. “It’ll be released tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Probably before you even get in.”
Emma got up to stand in front of Jo’s desk.
“Tonight, set your phone so it goes straight to voicemail,” Jo said. “Record a new voicemail reminding people who they should contact if asking for a comment. You don’t need to deal with any calls tomorrow. Maybe not the next day, either.”
“Okay.” Emma nodded. Her eyebrows pinched together.
“We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Jo reminded her.
“I want to,” Emma said immediately. She took a deep breath. “I’m nervous. But I want to.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the talk of the crew tomorrow,” Jo said. “Cast, too, maybe. Make sure you’re ready for that. I don’t want you to be caught off guard.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Jo didn’t know who else Emma had told. Avery, of course, but perhaps that was it. Jo hoped no one figured out who it was from the statement. She didn’t want Emma to have to reveal it to anyone if she didn’t want to. It was a vague statement, no names but Barry’s and Jo’s, but still. Jo worried.
* * *
—
The press release was live by the time Jo woke up in the morning. She made herself an espresso from the machine next to her bed and read hot takes while she sipped it. There was a lot of dissecting her background, discussing how she’d never shied away from controversy, the way she called out The Johnson Dynasty all those years ago, how she went to bat for her crew in her own contract negotiations. Her history meant most people believed the statement, thankfully.
By the time she got to work, there was a new article. An article with quotes from Annabeth Pierce and three other actresses detailing further harassment from Barry Davis. Jo felt like she should have a bucket of popcorn as she scrolled through the news. She shared a secret grin with Emma when she came into Jo’s office to ask a question about the filming schedule. Once Annabeth Pierce came forward, no one bothered trying to find out who Barry harassed on the Innocents set—they had bigger fish to fry now.
Jo had to say something to the cast and crew. She was right that it was all anyone was talking about, and it was both distracting and not something she wanted to make Emma relive in conversation after conversation.
She went to the soundstage as everyone returned from lunch. All she had to do to get quiet was raise her hands.
“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news about Barry Davis.” She breathed through her nose, decided to show most of her cards. “I am furious about this situation. That he thought he could do this to a member of the Innocents family. I don’t have words for how angry I am.” They could probably tell anyway, the way her voice shook. “I know this has been established from day one, but behavior like his will not be tolerated. Not from Oscar-nominated directors, not from Emmy-winning writers, not from a gaffer or a deliveryman or anyone. If you have ever been sexually harassed or assaulted by anyone on this set—” She took a steadying breath. “I’m not telling you you have to come to me, because you can deal with it however is right for you. But I am telling you that if you come to me, anonymously or otherwise, I will stand by you. I will have zero tolerance.”
Everyone stayed silent.
“Okay,” Jo said. “Back to work.”
* * *
—
Evelyn called that night while Jo ate takeout.
“It was Emma, wasn’t it?” she said as soon as Jo picked up. “No wonder she talked back to him.”
“Hello to you, too,” Jo said. “And I didn’t say it was Emma.”
“You didn’t,” Evelyn agreed. “But it was. Wow, okay, so that gives a lot of context to the whole you and her suddenly being okay with each other.”
It did, Jo supposed. Would Emma have forgiven her if this other terrible thing hadn’t cropped up? She’d rather still be fighting, as much as she hated that, than have Emma forced to deal with this.
“I’m surprised the rumors haven’t kicked back up about the two of you,” Evelyn said. “Given how white knight you’re probably going for her.”
Jo scoffed. “I’m not going white knight for her.”
“Releasing a statement and—and I’m just guessing here, but I know you, and you’re a badass, so I’m probably right—contacting and forewarning other actresses you figured he harassed? A coordinated effort to fuck up his career? Seems pretty white knight to me.”
“Fine,” Jo said, “but it’s not for Emma. I’d do the same regardless of who he harassed because he is a disgusting excuse for a—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Evelyn said, and Jo could picture her in her apartment, waving Jo off. “Down, girl.”
Jo picked up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks and popped it into her mouth. When she finished chewing, she said, “I need lawyers.”
“You mean for after you kill Barry Davis?”
“We both know I could make it look like an accident,” Jo said. “But seriously. Sexual harassment lawyers. Libel lawyers. Any type of lawyer that could help a victim come forward if a celebrity harassed or assaulted them.”
“What are you planning?” Evelyn asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Jo said. “I’ve got to talk to people. Figure it out. I know it’s not your specialty, but you have contacts. Put me in touch with the right people.”
“God, you’re a bulldog,” Evelyn said.
It wasn’t an actual solution—it wasn’t changing the Hollywood culture, the societal culture of the way men treat women. Support after the fact wasn’t as good as prevention. But it was something.
“You’ll get me names?” Jo asked.
“I’ll reach out to some people tomorrow,” Evelyn said.
“Good people.”
“As if I associate with anyone else.”
* * *
—
Emma turned her phone back on Thursday morning, but even then she was so inundated with calls that Jo had her turn it off again. No phone made for a quiet week. Not many people had Jo’s direct line, for good reason, but it rang Friday afternoon. Jo didn’t recognize the number, which at least meant it was neither Innocents’ network nor Agent Silver’s studio.
Instead, it was Annabeth.
“I hope your week hasn’t been too hard,” Jo said.
“Lord, it’s been a disaster,” Annabeth said, but she was laughing. “In a good way, if that’s possible.”
“I’ve had good disaster weeks,” Jo said. “Though I doubt any of them were particularly like your week.”
“Probably not.”
“You’ve done well,” Jo said. “Handled it well.”
“Thank you,” Annabeth said. “I’m actually calling to thank you anyway. For the heads-up. For the kick in the behind to make me step forward.”
Jo didn’t like that phrasing. “Ms. Pierce, I didn’t mean to push you into anything you didn’t want to do.”
“First of all, call me Annabeth,” she said. “And I know you didn’t. You not pushing me is what I needed to finally decide to do it. Which was the right choice for me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And bless his heart, Barry didn’t know what hit him,” Annabeth laughed.
Jo chuckled. Barry’s people had attempted damage control all week, not to much avail. More women had stepped forward. If it had just been about discrediting Jo and the anonymous employee from Innocents, he might have been able to do it, but this? He was drowning, and it was beautiful. It reaf
firmed Jo’s desire to do it to every scumbag in Hollywood.
“I’m thinking of funding a group of publicists and lawyers,” she told Annabeth. “To help women who want to speak out. Get their statements organized, protect them from any lawsuits or threats.”
“That’s great in theory,” Annabeth said, “but there’s more to it than that. I wouldn’t have said anything back during my first movie even if I had lawyers and publicists. That’s not really going to help a teenage actress on the edge of stardom—she’s going to put up with a lot because she thinks it’s the price of fame. I tell you this from experience.”
“It shouldn’t be,” Jo growled. She was quick to anger on this subject, but she tried to reel it in. “I want to do something to stop the perception that women have to put up with this as the price of fame.”
“You’d have to connect the victims with other job opportunities. Somehow ensure they wouldn’t end their careers by saying something.” Annabeth paused, changing tack. “And victims shouldn’t have to speak out. That’s not always the best choice for them personally. You don’t want to be forcing this on people not ready for it.”
Jo rubbed her forehead. “I want to make a safe space,” she said. “Where victims have access to everything that could help them, no matter the path that’s right for them.”
Annabeth was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, there was a spark in her voice.
“You need counselors, as well as the publicists and lawyers,” she said. “Counselors and other actresses, who have been through it—like mentors. Who can help you through it professionally.”
“Not just actresses,” Jo jumped in. “Any job in Hollywood.”
“And there’d be records,” Annabeth said. “Even if someone didn’t want to come forward, there would be records on each abuser. If a later victim comes forward, the organization—or whatever this is we’re dreaming up—can say, ‘Three other women have made such complaints about this man.’”
“That’s good,” Jo said. “Smart.”
“God, this thing would have to be huge,” Annabeth said. “It’d take so much money.”
“Good thing there isn’t exactly a dearth of that between the two of us.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” Jo said with no hesitation. “I’d love to have you with me on this, but I’ll be doing it regardless.”
“I’m with you.”
“A friend has already put me in touch with lawyers who may be interested,” Jo said. “It’s going to take a lot of logistics, but we’ll get there.”
Her adrenaline pumped. She’d never been one to sit on the sidelines. Being productive was how she worked through everything. It was a lot easier to focus on starting this organization than on how angry she was.
* * *
—
She told Emma about the project the next week.
“I’m doing more about this situation than just releasing the statement,” Jo said. “I’m happy to include you in that or work on it separately from you. Your level of involvement is completely up to you.”
Emma looked apprehensive. “What more are you doing?”
“It’s not clear yet,” Jo said. “Some sort of foundation, nonprofit—some kind of organization to support people facing sexual harassment and assault in Hollywood. It’s in the idea stage right now, but the plan is to include trained counselors, publicists who can work on the process of releasing statements and everything involved with going public, and lawyers to protect victims from threats and retaliation.”
Jo tried not to shift under the way Emma stared at her.
“Boss . . .” Emma trailed off. “Are you serious?”
“Of course,” Jo said. “It’s something that needs to exist, and I have the money and influence to build it. I have to.”
“Jo, that is amazing,” Emma said. Jo looked away. “That is just—it’s such a good way to use your money and celebrity. It’s a really great idea.”
“I wish it was something I came up with before this happened to you,” Jo said quietly.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve come up with it now,” Emma said. “It makes me feel like something good is coming out of this whole thing.”
Jo didn’t know how to take the compliment, so she moved on.
“There will be a lot of phone calls and meetings as this gets started,” she said. “I can deal with everything directly, if you don’t want to be a part of it, or—”
“I want to be a part of it,” Emma said. “And c’mon, I’m not going to make you set up your own schedule while you try to create a foundation from nothing. Even if I didn’t want to be a part of it, I wouldn’t stop doing my job.”
“You could,” Jo said, and Emma gave her a look. “Sexual harassment is a serious issue. If a part of your job made dealing with it worse, I would completely support you not doing that part of your job.”
“Jo, that’s ridiculous,” Emma laughed. “I’m your assistant. I’m going to answer your phone calls and schedule your meetings. I appreciate how much you’re willing to work with me on this but I’m not that fragile.”
“I don’t think you’re fragile, Ms. Kaplan.”
Emma shrugged at her. “Just let me do my job, boss. Especially because it sounds like you’re going to be pretty busy. Let me know whatever you need me to take care of for the organization, or whatever it’s going to be.”
Jo nodded. She should have known Emma would want to be a part of it, wouldn’t want to back down.
* * *
—
Emma was right; work was busy. Chantal mostly ran Innocents as things picked up with Agent Silver. Jo’s script—the second draft, of course, as the first was a trash fire—was out with other writers, for critique and revision. Jo bounced back and forth between scripts, dealing with the production side of things, too. Beyond that, she had the Cassandra Project, as they called it for now. They named it after the figure from Greek mythology to acknowledge that for too long women hadn’t been believed when it came to sexual harassment and assault. With how busy Jo was, making time for dress fittings for the Emmys was even more annoying than usual.
Emma was there through it all, smoothing out issues with Jo’s schedule, making sure she ate, making everything easier, as usual. Friday, after Jo’s final dress fitting, Emma was in her office. She gave Jo a brief rundown of the following week’s shooting schedule, then asked if there was anything else.
Jo chewed her bottom lip. “Do you want to come to the Emmys?”
The ceremony was Sunday. She was basically doing what she’d done with the SAG Awards, inviting Emma days before. Except she was actually inviting her this time, not simply demanding she come.
Emma laughed at first, but swallowed it back when she saw Jo was serious.
“We just got these rumors to stop,” Emma said. “You really want to get into them again?”
Jo sighed.
“No,” she said. “But I don’t want to go to the damn Emmys, either.”
“Why not?”
She gestured vaguely. “Things like the GLAADs and the Golden Globes can be fun,” she said. “The GLAADs are important and everyone gets drunk at the Globes. But for the most part, awards shows are people in uncomfortable clothes thinking too highly of themselves, giving each other awards.”
“You didn’t seem to have too terrible a time at the SAGs,” Emma said.
“Yes, well, you were there,” Jo said. She realized that shouldn’t have been enough to be an explanation, and went on. “You were a good buffer and a good distraction.” She wasn’t sure she was helping her case. “When I go alone, people think they can just come up and talk to me whenever they want. You may not have known it, but at the SAGs you saved me from at least five conversations with people I hate.”
Emma giggled. She tucked her hair behind her ear.
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“I mean, I could come with you to the Emmys, I guess,” she said, not sounding certain of it. “If you wanted.”
Jo looked at her. She did want. She wanted so much. Emma stared back, blinked those big brown eyes. Jo forced out a chuckle.
“Nah,” she said. “You hated the red carpet. And you’re right—we just got out from under the rumors. How stupid would we be to stoke them again?”
“Right.”
“Thank you, though,” Jo said. “For the thought.”
“Of course, boss,” Emma said.
She gave her a lopsided smile. Jo closed her eyes and took a breath.
“Sometimes I think I should apologize for not disputing the rumors,” she admitted.
“What?” Emma blinked at her, incredulous. “No, boss, you’ve never commented on your love life. In no way should you have commented on it just because I was involved.”
“Except it wasn’t just about people thinking they knew my sex life,” Jo said. “People think you slept your way into this job, which is wrong, unreasonable, and not fair to you. And I don’t know if saying something would have prevented that, but I think I should have tried.”
“We’ve both survived,” Emma said. She shrugged. “And I love my job. I love it even if people think I slept my way into it. I love this show and I love being your assistant.” Emma scuffed the bottom of her ballet flat against the carpet. “I’m excited to move to associate producer. I know it’s a step toward directing. But . . . I’m going to miss this.”
Jo took a deep breath, warmth radiating out from behind her sternum. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”
Emma smiled and returned to her desk. Jo went back to work. Before she left for the weekend, she looked at the picture in her top drawer. She sighed, wishing the Emmys would be as good as that night.
* * *
Something to Talk About Page 19
