Page 88 of Love and Lingerie (Rockland Falls 2)

“I was working one Saturday night at the restaurant when he walked in. Keith Glow.” She looks at me expectantly, like the name alone is supposed mean something, and yes, I do admit the name is vaguely familiar, I just can’t seem to place why.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t exactly kept up with what happens in that circle. How do I know that name?” I ask her, lightly stroking her arm with my thumb.

“Keith Glow. He was the former producer ousted for drugging women.” Her words are a whisper, barely audible.

Ahhh, yes, I do remember that story. It was all over the news. Just as I get ready to open my mouth, the puzzle pieces start to click into place and my blood runs cold.

“I was twenty when he introduced himself. He was charming, charismatic, and seemed to really want to help advance my career. Not that I had much of one, at that point, but he seemed so devoted to helping me become a big star.”

The tears welling in her eyes do me in. I tighten my hold on her, not just for her, but for me. We both need to feel grounded, the comfort of the other’s touch, to know we’re both there for each other, despite what bomb she’s about to drop on me.

“For the next year, he was able to secure me larger jobs than what my agent was finding. I was attending parties I had dreamed about, meeting people I only knew from the cover of magazines. I was well on my way to making a name for myself, and I had Keith to thank for it.”

“No way. I don’t buy that for a second. Keith might have opened a few doors, but it was you who landed those jobs. It was you they fell in love with behind the camera. It was you they were signing.”

She gives me a wobbly, tearful smile. “I know, but the problem with that industry is it’s extremely small. Everyone talks, everyone knows everyone. If someone wants to tank your career, all it would take is just a phone call or two, maybe a couple of photos, and it would be done. You wouldn’t even see it coming until it was too late. Until you were the next tabloid cover story and your phones stopped ringing.”

Again, she takes a deep breath and reaches for my hand. She holds on for dear life. “I was at a premiere party at some fancy hotel in Paris. I had just finished shooting a clothing spread for a magazine. We had the entire penthouse floor, which included two levels of open space. Keith’s wife was there; I had met her several times. She often accompanied him to big parties and such. He brought me a glass of champagne. I didn’t think anything about it because he was always doing little things like that. My head started to feel a little fuzzy, and even though I had only had one glass prior, I excused myself to use the restroom. There was a line at the downstairs restroom, so I decided to try to find one upstairs. I knew there were four spread out throughout the penthouse, so I had a good chance of finding one or two upstairs.

“I was having a hard time focusing on the steps. I couldn’t seem to make my feet work, but I managed to get upstairs. There were a few people milling around, and a line in the hallway. Suddenly, Keith was there. He told me I wasn’t looking so well and asked if I needed to lie down. I don’t remember anything after that. Not until I woke up in the master suite.”

My jaw hurts from tension, but I don’t say a word. So many questions filter through my mind, but I don’t ask a single one. I remain quiet and listen. The pain and uncertainty is so evident as she retells a story I’m sure she’s never spoken of since it happened.

“He was there, taking pictures of me. My dress was skewed and my breasts hanging out. When I asked him what happened, he said nothing. He was still dressed, and for the most part, so was I, but I knew I had been violated. Maybe not my body, but my personal space, my sense of security, my dignity.

“He dropped the camera back into his pocket and handed me a glass of water. I refused to drink it because something told me he was the reason I was in a haze. He just laughed, straightened his tie, and turned toward the doorway. He politely informed me nothing happened and that if I told a soul about this, he would make my life hell. He would sink my career, my reputation, and everything I valued most. He told me no one would believe me, and I would never work in this industry again. But then he went for the final blow. He told me he’d sink my mother’s business and make sure the scandal would never die down.”

Air seems to thicken as I try to breathe and remain calm. It’s hard as fuck to suck oxygen into my lungs at this point, but I don’t panic. I don’t want to scare her any further than she’s already been.

“That’s when I left. As soon as I could fly home from Paris, I packed up my car and drove back to Rockland Falls, leaving New York City completely behind. I’ve never told anyone about what happened.” Her words are small, but the meaning is huge. She trusts me enough to share her biggest secret. I want to cry for everything she’s been through, everything she’s endured.

“You are the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” I tell her, kissing her on the forehead.

“But I’m not. I should have gone to the authorities. I should have fought, but I didn’t. I ran.”

“You were twenty years old, Sweetheart. No one can fault you for being scared and running away, especially when he threatened your family.”

Tears start to fall now. “I didn’t care about my career, about modeling anymore. I cared about my mom, my sister. I cared about what this scandal would do to their business. Mom had been through enough when my dad cheated and left. I just couldn’t do it to her again.”

“Your mom and family are tougher than you think. So are you.”

She takes a deep breath. “I know.” She remains quiet for a few long seconds, as if gathering her thoughts. “I called them.”

“Who?”

“The police department. After the story broke last summer, I called them and told them what had happened to me.”

My heart pounds in my chest, tight and hard. “What happened when you called?”

“I wasn’t the only one. There were fourteen other women who called, all with similar stories about Keith. They took all of my information and asked me to come to New York City for a formal meeting. I went last fall and gave a complete recount of what happened.” She locks eyes on me. “He took a plea deal, in exchange for pleading guilty to invasion of privacy and drugging the women. He’ll spend sixteen years behind bars, a year for each woman he violated. There were more, according to the photos he kept, but they never came forward. Without their testimony, they couldn’t do anything more.”

“You didn’t have to testify?”

“Not in court. I was prepared to, but with the plea deal, I think he knew it would be much worse if the jury heard all of our testimonies. And we were all prepared to give them,” she assures me.

“I’m proud of you,” I reiterate.

“I was a coward.”

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