She nodded. I licked my dry lips.

“I’m sharing this with you because you feel you should know. But I don’t think you should tell others. Please.”

Another nod, this one less sure.

“You know the music video for ‘Prime’?”

Soleil looked confused by this apparent segue.

“The director of that.”

The confusion cleared. “Noah Decker?” she squeaked. Just hearing the name made me swallow hard. “Wait, I figured you were embarrassed it was some ordinary guy, like maybe a camera operator, but, like, the director? Why would you keep that from me for so long?”

I peeled the label from the water bottle, giving my hands something to do. “It was not . . . I didn’t want it.”

Her elated look disappeared. “Like . . . oh.” The realization hit her. She clasped her hands to her mouth. A muffled “Ohhh. Oh, god, Mom, I’m so sorry” came rumbling out.

I dropped the bottle and grabbed her in a hug. I knew the horror was setting in. “I love you so much. I am not sorry I had you,” I whispered fiercely. “That man was just . . . sick. And powerful. And it happened.”

She hugged me tighter and spoke into my hair. “That’s it, though? You just let him get away with it? You’re Merry Cherry Gloss, Mom! Why didn’t you expose him for the creep that he is?”

“Because. He’s a big name. He’s powerful. I don’t have any evidence that it was forced. And I kind of had a reputation—”

My daughter pulled away and stared at me. “But Mom, he’s probably done it to others. He’s probably doing it to some poor scared girl right now.”

In all my years of thinking—or not thinking—about Decker, I’d never once allowed myself to consider that he was likely a serial assaulter. I was so preoccupied with my reputation, I didn’t stop to think about his.

“You have to say something. He’s doing Joyride’s video next month! What if this happened to one of those girls?”

Magenta had said, I even wanted to be you in the ‘Prime’ video, to Rose at the premiere, and all I could think when she’d said that was, You wanted to have a fractured spine? Be forced into a situation against your will?

I sighed. “I don’t know, honey. How would I even start? What would I even say?”

“How?” She looked at me quizzically, and her small quirked smile was sweet. “You start on Instagram, of course.”

35.

Wednesday

Yumi

I’d taken the last plane out of L.A. to Houston and landed sometime in the night, so I didn’t spot Merry or Rose until we were filing into the church for Cassidy’s service. I had so many questions about Rose’s statement to the press about her relationship with Cassidy. As soon as I saw Rose, I jumped into step beside her and slid into the same pew.

Merry and Soleil took the seats at the end of the row, but my focus was all on Rose, who was dressed to the nines in a vintage Chanel dress with a black half-veil over her eyes. She looked like a caricature of a woman in mourning.

“Is that . . . the dress that Cassidy wore to the Music Video Awards?” I asked, noticing the white cuffs.

“This old thing?” Rose asked, rubbing her fingers along a sleeve. “I don’t think so.”

“You called the paps for this, didn’t you?” I accused. “You are playing this like it’s some sort of game. But Rose, Cassidy died. This is her funeral, for crying out loud.” Paparazzi don’t really exist outside of Los Angeles or New York City. I had to push through a caravan of news crews setting up on the other side of the road when I drove here.

She shrugged. The rest of the congregants were shuffling, sitting, murmuring among themselves. The family had not yet arrived to sit in the front row.

Frustrated, I whispered, “How did we not discuss any of this? I thought we knew all of one another’s secrets. We were spending so many hours together. I thought we were friends.”

“We were friends!”

“Please. This whole thing about you and Cassidy—it’s a stunt, right? If it was true, why didn’t Merry or I know?”

“Because we didn’t want you to know. Did it ever occur to you that Cassidy was not happy about you blabbing that poor, sad Alex was the guy who broke her arm? She didn’t want to talk to you after that. Her friendliness until she quit was a pretense to keep the peace.”

That shut me right up. I’d tried to apologize once, but Cassidy hadn’t wanted to discuss it. Soon after, she left. I’d been harboring unfriendly thoughts about how I was responsible for her leaving, and Rose all but confirmed my fears.

Merry leaned over me. “That doesn’t explain why she didn’t tell me. I was closest to her in the group. She kept my secret for me.”

Rose shrugged. “I doubt it. No one knew except Emily. But nothing gets past Emily.”

“You’re using this to further your career, aren’t you? This is just to look ‘diverse’ so that FPZ picks you over Yumi for the Sing It reboot.” Merry shook her head in exasperation. “You never change. You screw over your friends at the first dollar opportunity. Look at Viv.”

“Viv had cancer,” Rose hissed. “What would you have me do?”

“Give her back her spot when Cassidy left? She was in remission by then.”

“I thought Cass was coming back.”

“Whatever.” Merry stood up and Soleil scrambled to her feet.

“Oh Sunny,” Rose said in a singsongy voice. “I want my letter back now.”

Soleil set her jaw and shuffled out of the pew. She and her mother moved closer to the front of the church, leaving Rose and me by ourselves near the middle. The crowd hushed as the priest appeared at the lectern.

“What letter?” I whispered.

Rose ignored me.

The priest cleared his throat and began his homily.

“Rose, what letter?”

“Nothing. Just an old letter that would confirm Cassidy’s being in love with me.”

“That I guess you’re going to use to extend this story that you were lovers. All this for a ridiculous job?”

“A ridiculous job worth eight figures? Sure.”

I seethed. The priest introduced Cassidy’s sister, one of the twins whom we’d met a couple of times when we’d passed through Texas on tour. Then, “What, you think that one cameo in a comedy movie and being a judge on television is going to increase your social currency? This is the real world. You are in your thirties now. Be realistic.”

“This isn’t the real world, this is Hollywood. It is never realistic. It’s about who you know and who you’re seen with. We were pop royalty.”

I laughed with contempt. “You’re nothing without Gloss. You’ve been using us for years. Any time you need to feel relevant, you bring us back into the public eye. And now you’re dragging Cassidy into this, and she’s dead. You are toxic.”

“Shh! You’re being very disrespectful.” Rose looked ahead and listened to the eulogy. I sat with a burning in my chest.

I did not want to be on Sing It, I realized. I did not want to be a part of the entertainment machine. I didn’t want to associate with these people, I didn’t want to shake Henry Grafton’s hand, I didn’t want to be on the stage again.

But then again, I did not want Rose to get the seat. I didn’t want her to whisper toxic, friendship-ending things into her mentees’ ears. I didn’t want her to think she could win by invoking her dead friend’s name. And I didn’t want Stephen St. James to not get called out for what he had done.

I slid out of the seat and walked out of the church. On the front steps, I dialed Mike Parsons. When I saw the bobbing lenses from the small crowd across the street, I turned and headed into the courtyard, away from the cameras.

“Ms. Otsuka!” he said brightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I accept the job, under two conditions.”

“That’s wonderful news! What might those conditions be?”

“Tell me, how much was Rose McGill countering her salary to be?”

“Ah . . .” he paused. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“But she was countering.” I said it as a statement. Rose was always holding out for more. “She was not happy with what she was offered.”

“Well, ye-es . . .”

“I’ll do it for the amount you offered her. Send the offer to my lawyer.”

They had not quoted me eight figures. But they’d told her something in the teen millions.

“And the second?”

“You release a statement of why you decided against hiring Stephen St. James,” I said. “I even came up with the wording for you: ‘That while Sing It is proud of its alumni and past contestants, you don’t support or condone any actions that include beating women.’ If you don’t, I’ll have a press release of my own about what I know.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, a resigned, “I’ll pass this along to my boss, Ms. Otsuka.”