Rose McGowan sat at the edge of the couch, fingers worrying the hem of her sleeve. The mansion smelled amazing, a faint mix of honey, rose, and jasmine. Yet, she wasn't comforted by it at all. She had been in this position too many times to pretend she did not know what might follow.
From an early age she had been aware of her good looks. Wherever she went, someone always mentioned them. So when an agent promised a big break in Hollywood before she turned eighteen, she had said yes without thinking. How naive she had been then. More than a decade had passed, and if she could go back she would choose anything but acting as her career.
Now, she was in the home of the world's most famous young producer, Troy Armitage. She knew what men in his position expected. Still, she had come. She had no choice. Work had dried up and there was only the tiniest hope that Troy might be different. Who was she kidding? In Hollywood, tiny hopes rarely lasted long.
"Hey."
She turned. Troy stood in the doorway in workout clothes: a sleeveless T-shirt, shorts, and a towel slung around his neck. Sweat darkened the fabric on his chest. He must have just finished exercising.
"You are early," he said, dropping onto the chair opposite her. "I would offer a handshake, but I am all sweaty and gross, so let us wave from across the room." He lifted his hand in a mock salute.
Rose released a breath she had not realized she was holding. "Hi," she squeaked.
"Believe me when I say this, I love your work," Troy began. "From [Scream] to [Charmed] to [Grindhouse]. Although I think you need a better agent to land meatier roles."
Rose let out a short, bitter laugh. "That is easier said than done. It is almost impossible to navigate Hollywood unless you have a powerful godfather behind you."
Troy studied her for a moment. "I thought you had Harvey Weinstein?"
The name landed like a cold stone. Rose went still. The mention pulled up memories she had tried to bury. For a long beat neither of them spoke. Troy watched her carefully. She could not understand why he would say that name in front of her.
Did he know?
When her voice returned it was low and edged with anger. "That man is why I am not getting the roles you call meatier. He is no man. He is a monster. He ruined my career, my dignity, my life. After [Scream] I had so many offers, but he made a few phone calls and overnight they disappeared. Do whatever you want, but do not put his name and mine in the same sentence. I absolutely loathe him."
"Okay, I will not," Troy said quickly, then his tone softened. "I will not lie to you, Rose. I did not call you here about a role. I heard that you might have a story to tell about that man. It could help me. I want you to help me take him down."
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. So he was aware of her worst nightmare. Few people knew about it. She might have told a handful of people in the past, but she could count them on one hand.
"Who told you?" she asked.
Troy shrugged and leaned back against the arm of his chair. "They do not want to be tied to this scandal. They have a successful career, and they were not involved in this personally. I signed an NDA to keep their name out of it."
Rose shook her head, lips pressed thin. "It is impossible to bring him down. It will never happen. He is too well protected in his bubble. Everyone. Every damn person in Hollywood is facilitating his abuse of power."
"That is the thing about bubbles, Rose, they burst," he said, voice flat but insistent. "And I am part of Hollywood. I am not facilitating him in any manner whatsoever."
Rose closed her eyes and turned her face to the window. Huge glass windows showed the view of the beautiful garden outside.
After a few moments, she turned back to him. "I just want to go back to my normal life and forget that anything like that happened to me. So if you do not have a role for me, I will go."
She stood up, fingers hooked in the arm of the chair, and took a step toward the door. Troy stopped her with a few measured words. "I approached you because you did not sign an NDA."
She paused, breath caught halfway out.
"Every other woman I contacted has signed ironclad NDAs and will not speak to a stranger. I have a feeling they might listen to a fellow victim." He watched her closely, as if gauging whether she would bolt.
"What is your agenda?" Rose asked. Her voice was steady, but wary. "I am guessing that the monster screwed you over in some way, and now you want revenge. Am I wrong?"
"You are not," Troy said bluntly. "At first, when I started digging, I wanted dirty laundry on him. Anything would do. That was before I learned how deep it goes. I hired investigators. They estimate the number of victims could be in the dozens, maybe even hundreds, innocent girls with dreams of making it big in Hollywood."
Rose's mouth fell open. The number hung in the air between them, impossible and awful. "That can't be true," she whispered. "How has this never come up?"
Troy's face tightened. "That is Hollywood for you. I love movies, but I despise the way the industry protects its own. I think most people who are aware of his creepy practices, don't want to find out how deep this goes. I want to change it, but I will need your help." He put his hands on his knees. "I guarantee your safety. You will have a dedicated security detail and every resource you might need to take him and the corrupt system down. In return I ask that you keep my name out of it. I have already stirred enough controversy recently and I do not want this tied to me publicly."
Rose sat again, the cushion sighing beneath her. For a long moment she said nothing as she weighed the offer. Finally, she motioned for him to go on.
"Thank you for listening," Troy said, offering a small, cautious smile. "My plan hinges on one question: how involved do you want to be? If you prefer anonymity, you can contact suspected victims and offer to buy out their NDAs if they are willing to speak. Tell them their identities can be kept secret, or they can go public. It is their choice."
"And what if I want to tell the world what he did to me?" she asked, voice small but steady.
"Then I will set up interviews with any reporters you choose. I can get you prime time," Troy said, folding his hands together as if arranging pieces on a board. The apartment felt suddenly too quiet, every tick of the wall clock loud.
"That won't be enough," Rose said after a moment. "It will be the classic he said, she said. His word against mine."
"I know," Troy replied. "That is why there is a second part to the plan. We will run a sting operation."
Rose's eyes narrowed. "California is a two-party consent state," she reminded him.
"But New York isn't," Troy said. "He has an office there and he travels there often. Neither is Utah, where he will be for this year's Sundance. Or London, where he will go for the BAFTAs. There are several opportunities we can use. All we need is a motivated woman like you. Money will not be an issue while I am involved. When we finish with him, we will use the same platform to call on others to come forward about harassment by powerful people."
Rose stared at him. The scope of the plan impressed and terrified her. If it worked, it would shake the industry to its foundation.
"I can see why you want to stay anonymous," she said. "This could bring the whole system down, and people at the top will hate you for it if they find out."
"It is inevitable they will find out eventually," Troy said emphatically. "But I want to delay that as long as possible so the conversation is not about me. I have no personal stake in the outcome."
"Except the downfall of the monster."
Troy nodded. "Except that."
Rose let out a long breath and felt resolve settle around her like armor. "I have decided. I will not remain in the shadows. I will be the face of the resistance. I want him to know who brought him down. But I need guarantees first. You must promise you will not back out and leave me exposed."
Troy met her eyes. "That can be done. We will sign a contract in which I commit to supporting you for the foreseeable future, and you agree to keep my identity confidential. Is that acceptable?"
"It is," Rose said, relief and fear mixing in her chest. Then a new worry surfaced. "He has powerful political connections. He knows the Clintons and many other Democrats. They are the people in power right now."
"Obama?" Troy murmured, thinking for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. I will handle that side of it. You handle the rest. Investigations, contacting actresses who might help, fieldwork. I will have my top investigators contact you and provide a list of confirmed and suspected victims. If this goes according to plan, 2009 will be the last year Hollywood works with Weinstein at all."
(Break)
February 2009, The Oval Office, White House, Washington DC
"I am honored to meet you, Mr. President." I shook Barack Obama's hand firmly, feeling the weight of the moment. "This is going to be the highlight of my month, probably my whole year."
"No, the honor is all mine," Obama said warmly. "My family and I have been fans of yours for as long as I can remember. My daughters love your music entirely too much. That is all they play in our home all day long. Though I would recommend using a little milder language in your songs."
I laughed. "I'll try, but no promises. I wouldn't mind meeting a few of my die-hard fans, though, so the next time we meet, hopefully at my home, please bring them along."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a small smile. "Also, thank you for your generous donation to our party during the elections. Your support helped us achieve victory."
"It was my pleasure," I said instinctively.
Of course, the Democrats were not the only party I had supported. My presence had shifted the timeline in unpredictable ways, and if things had gone even slightly differently, we might have had a Republican president instead. To hedge my bets, I had donated to both parties. To avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest, I arranged for Dad to donate to the losing party instead of me.
It was important to me that the ruling party harbored no animosity toward me. If it were just my entertainment career at stake, I wouldn't have minded as much. But now I owned multiple businesses, and lobbying required both wealth and political connections.
"So, what can I help you with today?" Obama asked once the small talk had run its course.
"Direct and to the point," I noted. "I like that in a leader."
He shrugged. "I have to be. Every moment of my life is important for my country. I cannot waste it."
I gave a small nod of admiration. "Alright, I will get straight to the point then. I need your reassurance that if a rich and powerful person is accused of a serious crime, like rape or sexual assault, you will speak out against him."
He looked at me, surprised by the request. "Who is it? And why do you think I would defend him at all?"
I shrugged. "Because he was your most generous donor from Hollywood. Until me."
It took Obama two seconds to connect the dots. "Weinstein."
I nodded gravely. "Someone I know personally, someone who wants to remain anonymous for now, is conducting an investigation on him. They have solid evidence that he assaulted or raped multiple women over the last decade, probably even more. This exposé will be out soon. I would appreciate it if you kept discretion about this conversation. If it reaches him prematurely, it would be a huge setback. I know all conversations with you in the Oval Office are recorded, so I would request that you instruct your team to keep this confidential. It will not look good for you, or your party, if it leaks to him and he decides to retaliate against me."
By mentioning the Oval Office recordings, I had made it clear that if this conversation ever leaked, he could not shift the blame to anyone else. He would be implicated. I might have donated to his campaign, but that didn't make us friends. If he tipped off Harvey in any way, I would expose him. The Democrats needed to cut ties with Weinstein completely, or it would tarnish them beyond repair.
"You have my promise," Obama said finally, his tone measured. "I have no tolerance for criminals."
"Glad to hear that." I nodded, allowing a small smile.
After a few more minutes of polite conversation, I stood, thanked him for his time, and left the Oval Office.
Outside, Hunter Johansson was waiting, lounging on a bench near the corridor. He stood as soon as I appeared. "You took your time in there," he said with a grin. "I was surprised when you told me to wait outside. Can I ask what the talk was about now?"
I shook my head. "We discussed a few sensitive matters. I might tell you later, but not right now. Thank you for arranging this meeting, Hunter."
"Anytime, bro. Anytime." He smiled as we began walking toward the exit. "Mr. President is a really chill guy."
We stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, the hum of traffic faint in the distance. As we approached my car, Hunter asked, "So what now?"
"Now I'll go back to New York to see your sister," I said. "I know she'll be miffed that I came straight here from L.A. instead of visiting her first. But needs must."
"Can I come along?" he asked hopefully. "Haven't been home in a while."
"After the favor you just did me?" I laughed. "You could have asked to go on a world tour, and I wouldn't have said no."
Hunter chuckled at that, and we fell into a comfortable silence.
"Have you noticed something… odd about Scarlett lately?"
I looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged, uncertain. "I don't know. Until last year, we were best friends. I like to think we still are, but she's changed. She used to tell me everything about her life. Now she barely calls. And when she does, it's short. She always says she's busy preparing for a role, or practicing ballet, or something else. Once, she even said she was sleepy and just… hung up."
Now that he mentioned it, I realized I had noticed it too. At first, I hadn't minded. My schedule had been chaotic with the filming of [The Deathly Hallows], and long gaps between conversations were normal. But ever since the shoot ended, Scarlett and I hadn't spoken as much as before.
"Don't worry, it's just the role she's doing," I said, waving off his concern. "It's a demanding one. She'll be back to her old self when it's over. You can visit her on set and see for yourself."
Hunter nodded, though not entirely convinced.
I had tried to sound reassuring, but deep down, I was uneasy. Scarlett had warned me not to lose myself in a role, especially while I was filming [Avatar]. Now, I feared she might have done exactly that.
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AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com