Page 21 of Deck the Hauls

Lucia had messaged, checking in on how filming was going. I should try calling her again tonight. I hadn’t heard from her since she’d messaged the family group chat to say she wouldn’t be going to Ryan’s family’s house for Thanksgiving and would be coming home alone instead. I’d called her to check if everything was okay, but she hadn’t called me back and it had been a few days.

My stomach lurched as I noticed I had another missed call from the journalist.

Should I block her? It felt kind of rude. Perhaps it was better to just call her back and tell her to stop hounding me.

Before I had a chance to overthink it, I dialed her number.

“Emily, hi, thanks so much for calling me back,” Rebecca answered swiftly.

I took a deep breath. “No problem. Look, I’m not interested in talking about Phillip so I’d appreciate if you could stop calling me. Please.” I walked over to the small desk and stared out the window of the trailer at a pair of brown cows munching on grass in the distance.

“I understand why you feel that way, but could I just quickly explain what the article I’m writing is about?”

I sighed. I’d seen enough articles about him before to know what it would be about. Phillip Weatherstone, the director of a generation. Phillip Weatherstone, the Hollywood director with the Midas touch. But if it would help get Rebecca off my back to listen to her spiel, I’d suck it up.

I gripped the side of the desk. “Okay.”

Her voice softened. “I appreciate this might come as a shock, but we’re investigating serious allegations that Phillip sexually harassed and assaulted a number of female actors who worked with him over the years. I understand you might have experienced this firsthand and I was hoping you might be willing to talk to me about it. I know this is really hard, but sharing your story may help prevent other women from being hurt and ensure Phillip is brought to justice.”

The cows out the window seemed to sway. I slowly lowered myself onto the sunken gray couch.

Rebecca wasn’t writing a puff piece about Phillip. She was investigating him.

He’d harassed other people, too.

“Emily, are you there?”

“Sorry, yes.” I traced my finger down a seam in the couch.

“I know it’s a lot. Could I ask if Phillip made you sign an NDA?”

“An NDA?” My hand froze.

“A confidentiality agreement. To stop you from speaking to anyone?”

“No. He never asked me to.”

Was his threat to ruin my career in place of an NDA? Or perhaps he thought what had happened hadn’t been serious enough to require one?

“Okay, that’s great. He has a habit of using them, which has made it very difficult for a number of women to speak to me on the record.”

My thoughts jumbled together. My clothes were suddenly too hot and too tight.

Sometimes, I’d let myself wonder whether I’d done something to attract Phillip’s attention—had I been too friendly, and he’d misread the signals? I’d never considered Phillip’s behavior toward me might be part of a broader pattern. Now I wondered why not. Of course, I wasn’t to blame.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the table next to the couch and took a swig. “How did you get my number?”

“A source mentioned that you’d been targeted by Phillip. I asked around and managed to get hold of it.”

A source? The only people I’d told about Phillip were Cat and Brittany, and I’d sworn them to secrecy. Brittany definitely wouldn’t have said anything. She’d told me not to. It must have been Cat. My hand clenched around the water bottle. I’d told Cat about Phillip in confidence.

“If I decide to talk, I’ll call you. Please stop calling me.”

“Okay, bu⁠—”

“Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

I hung up and slumped back on the couch.