Page 194 of The Comedown

“Not quite.” I hold a pair of ruby earrings out to her with shaky hands, and ask, “Could you please help me put these in?”

The last seven months have been…trying, to say the least. In all the seats I’ve been filling lately—from my psychiatrist’s to my ED therapist’s to my lawyer’s to the courthouse’s—none have been on a tour bus. I can’t say I’ve quit touring for good, but I’ve quit touring for today, and that’s all I can do, is take things one day at a time. Just like overcoming my eating disorder, I can’t get ahead of myself, I can’t take my eye off my main priority of becoming and staying healthy, or I’ll risk losing focus altogether.

After I walked out of Julian’s hotel room, I made major changes in my life. Changes I’d been wanting to make for others but couldn’t quite commit to. Once I chose to implement those same changes for myself though, it wasn’t hard to commit anymore. Which isn’t to say anything about this new journey has been easy; quite the opposite. I’ve been torn apart and put back together again in therapy, in the media, in court. I’ve faced challenges everywhere I look, none more so than the mirror because I’m my biggest task now, not my image, not my name, not even my sales or ranking in the charts. My mental health and my physical health—those are what I check on every day and have to work hard to maintain with love and patience and kindness and forgiveness. So much forgiveness. Even more during weeks like this past one.

All week I’ve been in a courtroom, facing off against Bodee. The fact that I haven’t had to do it alone makes things harder for me personally because I do carry a lot of guilt, but easier in that there really is strength in numbers. Strength and solidarity. So far twenty-one other parties have come forward with accusations against Bodee Keys, ranging from coercion and sexual assault to fraud and extortion. Sadly, I know that’s not all. There are probably many more victims choosing to stay silent, too scared to blow the whistle, just like I used to be. Not anymore. Now I use the voice I’ve spent over half my life improving against my ex, and I won’t stop until some form of justice is delivered.

John Davies—I finally came to terms with using his real name, only because it makes him more of a mortal and less of the undefeatable monster I’d created in my head—already had his reckoning at his own trial last month when he was sentenced to fifteen years in prison. It was obvious Bodee thought he’d be able to pin everything on John, because he stabbed his manager in the back so quick, it made my knifework look childish. And if it weren’t for Bodee’s now-viral confession at The Mousais, it might’ve actually worked because unfortunately, a woman’s word isn’t always enough. Usually, it’s only after a man corroborates her story that it’s even considered plausible. Luckily, I got that when several A-list male celebrities with squeaky-clean reputations backed me after Bodee tried to backtrack the statements he made that night. One of those voices being DJ Arique’s.

In an effort to redirect the heat aimed at him, Bodee did end up leaking the photos of me and Julian. I sent cease and desists to every outlet that shared the pictures for illegally distributing explicit images taken without permission along with defamation of character, and they were taken down within a matter of days. Copies are still circulating the internet, but there’s nothing I can do about that without exhausting a ridiculous amount of resources. Resources I’ve needed elsewhere, like securing full custody of Holter as well as our new home.

We moved off David’s estate and rented a small house of our own, one that wasn’t a driveway away from the kind of family life I couldn’t give Holter but always wished I had. We miss having our friends so close, but it’s for the best. Holter and I have found our own new normal, and I don’t cry at night as much, at least not about that.

“There,” Tanya says after fastening the last earring, stepping back to inspect her work. “How do you feel?”

“Sweaty.”

We chuckle, and I grab a handful of tissues, stuffing them under my armpits. Thankfully, I’m wearing a black strapless jumpsuit, so at least there’s no risk of pitstains.

“David should be landing his helicopter on the roof any minute.”

I nod absently. “Okay. Good.” His wife, Kim-ly, has been here since seven o’clock this morning, and I’m sure she’s already waiting up there for her husband, more than ready to ride home in the chopper after working herself to the bone making sure everything for tonight’s charity event is set up exactly the way she planned it. I helped out where I could, when I could, but Kim-ly is the one who really spearheaded this whole affair. As a silent partner, David was hands-off in the party-planning department from the beginning, with the exception of entertainment. David insisted on booking the artist himself. Or band. Or magician. I don’t even know because he also insisted on keeping that part of this evening a surprise. Hopefully someone tells me before I have to announce the act since I’m the sole host of tonight’s gala. I trust him though.

Someone knocks on the door, so Tanya excuses herself to answer it.

“Is she ready?” I hear Kim-ly ask.

I smile, standing from the chair to toss the damp tissues in the wastebasket. My ankle healed up nicely, thanks to me taking enough time off to actually let it. It wasn’t broken after all, but I think Bodee’s curse over me is.

I meet my friend in the doorway, freezing when I see her. “Date night?” I ask, pointing at her flowy, mint-green, halter-top gown.

With her hands clasped in front of her as she practically bounces in her spot, she nods the biggest grin, her cheeks disturbing her shiny, blue-black hair.

“You look stunning,” I tell her. “You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“Ride up in the elevator with me? David has something for you. A last-minute donation item for the auction.”

“Sure.” We have a project manager for stuff like that, but it’s been a while since I’ve actually seen my producer in the flesh. We haven’t recorded anything new for months, which is about how long it’s been since Holter and I were last over there for dinner. Almost all of our meetings for the gala were held virtually, too. You’d think we moved out of state, not a few neighborhoods over.

After grabbing my clutch, I follow her out, and during our wait for the elevator, she fills me in on the catering issue she got resolved a mere hour ago.

“Thank you so much,” I tell her once we’re moving inside the elevator. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“It was my pleasure. I hope David likes it.”

“David’s coming down?” I ask, tilting my head her way. “Why are we meeting him on the roof then?”

“I imagine so he can walk in with two beautiful women on his arms.”

“He’s staying?” This is complete news to me. Typically, David avoids these types of events, and I wasn’t notified he’d be making an exception for this one.

“Of course. He wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she says, her eyes on the rising red numbers.

“Should make for an interesting date night,” I say.

“Indeed.”

Before I look away, I notice her lips stretch even wider.