Page 34 of Broken Beyond Repair
How could she forget?
“Of course. Give me a minute to unpack the car and I’ll be right with you.”
Sydney had made a plan and was perfectly ready to execute it as she sat beside Beatrice, moving the coffee she’d made her to within reaching distance. She’d written a list of areas that needed attending to over the coming weeks, and she intended on starting with what she thought might be the rawest emotionally for Beatrice. If she was going to inject some emotional highs and lows into the book, she needed to make sure the actress was capable of emotion. First impressions suggested she wasn’t, which would be why her writing lacked it.
“So, where would you like to start?” Beatrice asked once Sydney had touched the ‘Record’ button on her phone's app.
“#MeToo,” Sydney said casually, looking up from her notepad to gauge the reaction to her request.
Beatrice remained silent for a moment before answering. “As you wish.”
“You describe what happened to you… on several occasions. Too many occasions.”
Their eyes met. Sydney’s were sympathetic as she searched for some emotional response, but Beatrice withheld anything she could have shared behind an impenetrable stare.
Beatrice shrugged. “It happens.”
“And it shouldn’t. Not once do you acknowledge that. Did you not feel angry?”
“Beauty comes at a price. Everyone wants a piece of you.”
Sydney gulped back her own guilt; it’s not like she hadn’t admired the woman’s physical appearance in ways she shouldn’t have. When she was asked to scrub her back in the bath, her mind and body battled. Before she knew it, she was running a warm, soapy sponge over Beatrice Russell’s back.
“Why mention it at all if it didn’t affect you? Which I don’t believe for a second it didn’t,” she amended. “Isn’t the point of an autobiography to capture all those notable events in your life, your career, and lay them bare?”
What was wrong with the woman? Did she feel nothing? Or was she so numb she just accepted it, blamed herself, and moved on?
With no response from Beatrice, she tried another angle, one that could seriously backfire.
“Was it a high point or a low point? Because you’re not telling me in your writing.”
“How dare you suggest—” The words were out, but then Beatrice clammed up again.
Her walls were coming down and her face knew it.
“How did you feel the first time it happened?” Sydney pushed, her patience growing thin. “For God’s sake, give me something to work with!”
Beatrice’s face twisted. It was such a terrifying sight that Sydney sucked in a breath.
“You want to know what I was feeling the first time someone cornered me in my dressing room and shoved his tongue down my throat whilst he copped a feel of my tits?” Beatrice bellowed. “I was scared, terrified, shaken to my fucking core. I feel guilt and shame to this day that I did nothing back then. I didn’t stand up and call those men out or prevent others from experiencing what I did. Have you ever thought why all those women never said anything? We didn’t think anyone would have listened, and you know what? They wouldn’t have.”
Beatrice stopped for a breath and immediately started up again, though a little calmer.
“It’s easy to question other people’s behaviour in the past if you’ve not experienced what they have. Not had a director slip his hand up your skirt for a grope when you’ve never had anyone touch you like that before. You freeze, Sydney. You blame yourself. Ask yourself if you did something, said something to encourage him to do it. Back then I had nothing; I was desperate for work. Yes, I’d been a child star…”
What?
The look of surprise that washed over her face wasn’t missed by Beatrice.
“I take it you didn’t know that about me either. I suppose I should be pleased. At least you are looking at this from a clean angle; it does you credit. I had a part in a long-running series from the mid-seventies to early eighties, followed by several successful movies throughout my teen years. I worked under my real name back then. When I reached eighteen, I needed a fresh start.”
“A new beginning,” Sydney said, recalling the name of the first chapter she’d read.
Beatrice looked across to Sydney, the smallest hint of a smile flexed her lip. “Yes.”
Sydney paused the recording on her phone. “That’s more like it. I think we’re in business.”
“I can’t believe I let a woman I’ve known hardly a week record all that,” Beatrice muttered, her jaw clenching a little.
