Ashes to Ashes

by Rebecca Norinne

  Grace leaned back in her seat and cleared her throat. “Right now, I’m trying to give the audience a feel for who you are underneath all the fame and fortune to the backbone and steel resolve that exists within you. This way, when we get to some of your later life—the things you’ve never discussed before—we’ve primed the audience to see your inherent strength versus your weakness.”

  “Um, thank you,” I responded, my cheeks reddening.

  “No problem.” She turned and nodded at Sam to begin again.

  “Are awards important to you, Rae?”

  While Rocky had given Grace several stipulations for the interview, she’d had only one of her own: that I tell the truth to the best of my ability. Since this whole thing was about setting Ford’s lies to rights, being honest was my goal as well.

  I considered my answer thoughtfully and then took a deep breath. “The truth is, every artist wants to win awards for their work since it’s the pinnacle of professional validation.” Another deep breath. “But the other truth is that even though I’ve been nominated five times, I only thought one of them was deserved. The others came during years where better artists hadn’t put out any new music, so my efforts shone that much brighter.”

  Grace did a superb job of hiding her reaction from the camera, but I could tell my answer startled her. “I’m sure you’re just being modest,” she said sweetly.

  “I assure you, I’m not,” I laughed. “Ask my manager and he’ll confirm there’s not a modest bone in my body.”

  Without missing a beat, she pivoted to the subject that had precipitated our conversation in the first place. “It’s interesting that you would say that since your ex-husband, actor Crawford Madigan, has often said you’re very demanding and that you hold everyone to a very high standard.”

  I licked my lips, suddenly parched, and took a drink from the sparkling water at my elbow. “Well, I don’t know that I’d say I’m demanding, but Ford’s not wrong when he says I hold people to high standards. I’d argue though that I don’t expect anything from others that I’m not willing to give myself.”

  There, that was a good answer, wasn’t it?

  “And would you say Ford not being able to meet those standards was one of the things that led to your divorce?” she volleyed right back without missing a beat.

  I set my glass to the side, happy to see my hands weren’t shaking, and then met her stare. “I’d say there were several factors that led to the breakdown of my marriage, not the least of which was the fact that Ford wasn’t the man I thought he was when we got married.”

  “Do you care to elaborate?”

  I looked out the window briefly and noticed the sun was beginning to set behind the trees. Flicking my eyes back to Grace, I said, “I was very young when I first met Ford and, as I’m sure everyone knows, he is very charismatic. At first, I was flattered that someone as famous as he was knew my name, and then I was overwhelmed when he pursued me.”

  “And what was that like?”

  I blinked and caught Ash’s presence off to the side of the room, his face impassive, but the hard set of his shoulders giving him away anyhow. We’d talked about my relationship with Ford and the things that had led to my bout of self-destruction, but I’d been careful to avoid a number of the particulars, including the early days of our relationship and how we’d fallen in love. Or rather, how I’d fallen in love since Ford had never loved me back. I couldn’t tell what Ash was thinking, but from the way his muscles clenched under his shirt, I imagined this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to hear. Still, as my personal bodyguard I wouldn’t be out of his line of sight while others were here so he’d stay through it all.

  “Flowers, fancy dinners, presents. You know, everything you see in the movies. As most everyone already knows, I didn’t have the most conventional upbringing, so Ford was really my first boyfriend. Since I grew up poor, his gifts were really lovely, and while it was exciting to go to premiers and have him show me off, what really attracted me to him was his sense of humor. Not a lot of people will know this about him, but Ford is a dead-on mimic. He’d leave me in stitches doing impressions of everyone we’d interacted with earlier in the evening.”

  “Impressions?”

  I chuckled, remembering those good times. The easy times. The ones that had all been a lie. And then the devil on my shoulder decided to come out and play. “The next time you see Ford, ask him to do Cher or Meryl Streep. His male impressions are great, but the female ones are spot on.” I smiled serenely, knowing Ford would shit himself if this part of the interview made the final cut.

  Grace chuckled right along with me. “I will.” Then, bringing the conversation back to the serious asked, “In your estimation, at what point did the relationship begin to sour?”

  I’d been prepared for this question. Still, I hoped the camera wouldn’t pick up the white of my knuckles or the thrumming of the pulse in my neck as I answered. “I’m sure there are several ways that question could be answered. In fact, we all know Ford’s thoughts on the subject … but as a storyteller, I’ve found there are always two sides to every story, and mine differs greatly from his.” I swallowed down my anger. “There’s been a lot said from his camp about how my immaturity and neediness was a problem almost from the get-go. I won’t deny that I needed my husband; I don’t think any new wife would. The problem, from my point of view, was from the moment we returned from our honeymoon, everything changed. Ford wasn’t home most nights. In fact, I’d often go days without seeing him. We literally went from spending every waking moment together to living like complete strangers. So was I needy and whiny?” I shrugged. “I’m sure I was. We were newlyweds, he was breaking my heart, and he couldn’t be bothered to care.”

  Grace nodded thoughtfully and her eyes turned sympathetic. I wasn’t sure if it was for me or for the cameras, but it would play well with her audience. “That must have been incredibly difficult for you. Is that when you started drinking?”

  I’d been prepared for that question, but it still shook me to hear it so soon. Given what I’d just revealed about Ford’s behavior toward me, I’d anticipated additional follow up questions about him. After all, wasn’t the whole point to discuss our marriage, to give my side of the whole sordid tale?

  I emitted a sigh and tried to tamp down my frustration. “Actually, no. I don’t know if anyone will believe me when I say this, but I’d never had a sip of alcohol until I met my ex-husband. Growing up hearing about what a lousy drunk your granddaddy was tends to put you off the sauce. But being around Ford and his friends, I saw what a good time everyone was always having and how champagne and fine wine was different than homemade hooch and cheap beer. I began to drink socially, but never at home. For some reason, drinking at home was the slippery slope.”

  Grace nodded thoughtfully, encouraging me to continue.

  “The first time I got well and truly drunk was The Grammys. It was my first nomination and I was nervous. Every time I turned around, someone was handing me another glass of champagne and telling me to relax.” I shook my head ruefully. “It’s a good thing I didn’t win because I’m not sure I could have walked up on stage unassisted. My hangover the next morning was epic. I didn’t drink again for six more months.”

  Grace shifted in her seat and leaned forward, her eyes bright and dogged. I knew that look. She was getting ready to pull out a big question. “And yet your ex-husband claims you were drunk nearly all the time. You said it yourself a few minutes ago: there are two sides to every story. Why is it, do you think, yours and his differ so drastically?”

  With my eyes locked on hers, I gave the answer I knew would send shockwaves across the industry. “I learned a very long time ago never to believe a word that comes out of that man’s mouth. One of his specialties is taking the things he’s notorious for and pinning them on someone else, someone who can’t fight back. Who won’t speak up to defend themselves.

  “I’ve never spoken of this before because I literally signed
a document that said I wouldn’t.”

  “A pre-nup?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Like I said, I was young and naive when I married Ford. At the time, I didn’t understand some of what was in that document. His manager and his lawyers were very happy to make sure of it. But I’m not young anymore, and I’m certainly not naive either. So here I am, saying to hell with him and the $10 million dollars I’ll have to fork over for revealing the truth about our marriage. I’m tired of the world believing all of his lies, exhausted by sitting back and allowing Ford to dictate my story. So today, I’m done.”

  I sat forward in my seat, mimicking her posture. Grace had said she viewed me as a woman with an edge and the world was about to see exactly what sort of edge she meant.

  “The reason Ford goes around telling everyone that I was drunk for most of our marriage is because that’s his way of deflecting blame for his own bad behavior. The truth is, he’s a drunk and a drug addict, but he’s been enabled so long by his handlers that he refuses to see it. Or maybe he does, and that’s why he insists on painting me as the villain. Because he’s afraid if anyone looks too long or too hard at him they’ll see the real him. But I lived with him for five long years and I saw what lay behind the public mask. And while he may be beautiful on the outside, inside he’s ugly as sin.

  “To answer your earlier question, Grace, no, I didn’t start drinking heavily until I was served with divorce papers. By that point, I’d known my marriage was in shambles, but despite everything, I still loved him and I believed in the sanctity of our vows. Despite his cruelty, I hoped I could fix him. That I could fix us.” I laughed cynically and sat back, shaking my head. “Isn’t that always the way? We women will forever believe we can change the men we love, but the truth is, the only person who can change you is you.”

  For several long seconds, Grace was silent, her eyes flicking between mine. The camera wouldn’t pick up on it, but I saw clear as day she was seeking my permission to continue down this path of questioning. I smiled benignly and nodded slightly. I’d blown open Ford’s secret, and if I was going to have to pay him $10 million for the pleasure of doing so, I was going to get my money’s worth.

  “Those are massive allegations, ones I’m sure you’re aware could lead to lawsuits. Defamation, slander, and possibly even libel if the press repeats them.”

  “I’m fully aware how Ford’s team will react when this interview airs so I guess I’ll see him in court. He’s spent years lying about me and I’ve sat back and let it happen. The only difference between what he’s done and what we’re doing today is I’m actually telling the truth.

  “In fact, I’m positive his dealer will corroborate my story. Tommy has always desired the spotlight. I’m sure his fifteen minutes of fame would thrill him to pieces. Would you like his phone number? I’d be happy to give it to you.” I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled victoriously.

  If Ford was half as smart as he thought he was, he’d have realized a long time ago that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Instead, he’d counted on my silence but this meek little songbird had just sung the song of her life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rae

  I tossed a handful of popcorn into my mouth and chewed while Charlotte brought me up to speed on what she’d been working on the past few days. “I connected with Grace Trombley’s assistant, and we’re squared away on our end. Ana said promos will start airing next week. She stressed they’re taking a two-pronged approach to advertising since this is the biggest interview of the year.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The first set of commercials will air during day-time talk shows to capture the female audience—” she gagged into the receiver “—while they’re counting on Ford’s demographic to drive eyeballs during some sports ball spectacle.”

  I assumed she meant the World Series, but even if I asked, she probably wouldn’t know. The only thing Charlotte hated worse than perceived sexism was sports that women couldn’t play.

  “Wasn’t I supposed to get final approval on the live promo?” I asked, remembering I hadn’t seen anything beyond the small ad they were going to place on their website.

  Charlotte cleared her throat nervously. “Oh, I saw it already. It’s just you and Grace walking together deep in conversation. You know how they do these things—all hazy lighting and soft music. They’re going to loop ‘Weak Heart’ under Grace’s voiceover.”

  A spike of irritation fluttered in my chest, but I tamped it down. Or at least I tried to. “Well, I’m glad you saw it, but I was promised final approval. Just because I’m out here in the boondocks doesn’t mean I can’t answer emails.”

  Charlotte cleared her throat again and I knew I wasn’t going to like what she said. “Well, you’re actually pretty slow about that, if I’m being honest. That’s why I told them to just run it past me and Rocky. With the interview being fast-tracked to air at the end of the month, they needed our go-ahead quicker than usual. Like, a two-hour turnaround.”

  I sighed. Since Grace had left, things had been so far out of my hands it was hard to believe they’d ever been in them. “I don’t know why I bother trying to be involved anymore. It’s not like I ever get a say in anything anyways. No wonder Ford saw me as an easy mark. I just roll over and go along with whatever everyone says I should.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Charlotte implored. “You know we’re just trying to make things easier for you. You go make beautiful music and I’ll be your gatekeeper. You don’t need to worry about any of this. I promise.”

  I shoved another handful of popcorn in my mouth and then washed it down with a glug of Diet Coke. When I swallowed, I asked, “How can I not worry? The second that promo airs, Crawford and Belinda are going to go on the defensive. There’s going to be a thousand soundbites from them before I ever get to say my piece. Not to mention the fact that Kyle’s head is going to explode.”

  Truthfully, Crawford and Belinda were the least of my worries. Kyle was the one I was really afraid of. He was every evil Hollywood stereotype rolled into one disconcerting package. Last year, there’d been a huge sex scandal involving a few directors, producers, and the head of a studio, and at the time, I’d been sure Kyle’s name would surface, but somehow it hadn’t. Not that I wasn’t convinced he hadn’t done all the things those other men had. I was one hundred percent positive it was only a matter of time until someone came forward with a story of their own about Kyle Macintyre. In the meantime, I hoped no female I knew was ever in a room alone with him. Not only did he get off on power, he was a true misogynist. Flexing that power over women made him hard. I’d seen it with my own eyes.

  “But think how great it’ll be when you do get to say your piece,” Charlotte countered. “I really wish I could be a fly on the wall when Ford hears you mention Tommy.”

  I laughed, picturing it. His housekeeper was going to be busy the next day, cleaning up all the shit he’d throw at the wall. That was the other thing I’d revealed to Grace—he had a violent temper and behaved like a petulant child when he didn’t get his way. Ford had never hit me, but he’d broken enough shit over the years that I’d always worried I’d be next.

  “But the damage could be done before the interview even airs. Once they see the promo, they can say anything they want,” I reminded her.

  “Honey,” she tsked. “They’ve already done that. What more could they possibly say they haven’t already? Besides, it’ll just look like they’re scrambling to save face. And let’s be honest, we all know they’re going to try to lob some whoppers at you that’ll just sound preposterous. They don’t know the first thing about subtlety.”

  “No,” I agreed. “Subtlety is not Crawshinda’s strong suit.”

  “Cheer up,” Charlotte said. “We got this.”

  I sighed. “I know. I’m just tired of all this bullshit. I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed.”

  Charlotte’s breath hitched. “That’s just a figure of spe
ech, right?”

  “Um, no. I literally want to sleep in my own bed.”

  She groaned and cursed. “Ash didn’t tell you, did he?”

  “Tell me what?” I asked.

  “Fuck,” Charlotte groaned again. “Look, I don’t know all the details. I just overheard Gage talking to Ash about it. He didn’t know I was eavesdropping. But I assumed Ash would have said something to you.”

  Fed up with how vague she was being, I said, “Someone better start saying something to me or else I’m going to lose my shit. And no one wants that to happen,” I threatened. Not that I really knew what I was threatening. We all knew I wouldn’t do anything to Rocky or Charlotte. Ash, on the other hand? Well, he better have a good reason for keeping whatever he’d kept from me. The sooner Charlotte filled me in, the sooner I could find out.

  “Look,” Charlotte said. “I only heard snippets of their conversation. I really think you need to talk to Ash. I’m not even sure I know the whole story.”

  “What aren’t you saying, Charlotte?”

  She groaned. “Just please go talk to Ash.” And then she hung up.

  I stared down at my phone in shock. Oh, I’d be talking to Ash all right. Just as soon as I finished strangling him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ash

  Rae stormed into my office waving her arm out in front of her like a woman possessed, her face red with fury and her other hand clenched at her side. “What the fuck is this all about?” She shoved her phone in my face.

  “Whoa, hold up!” I grabbed the device and my eyes flicked over the screen, reading the text Charlotte had just sent.

  I’m sorry I hung up on you, but I really don’t know anything. I just confronted Gage about what I’d overheard about your bed, and he told me to mind my own business. You really need to talk to Ash.