CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SKYLAR
I’M A MANNEQUIN PROPPED ON A STAGE. I’M SITTING DELICATELY ON A STOOL talking to the two hosts of the talk show, facing the studio audience and a legion of cameras, a reminder that this interview is live. My legs beneath the hem of my miniskirt shimmer unnaturally with the amount of product that’s been slathered on, and as much as I love doing my makeup, the amount that is caked onto my face right now makes it feel heavy. It kills my ability to make any facial expressions.
Or maybe that’s just because I feel empty inside. For days, I have felt empty inside.
I haven’t cried since I left Rose Hill. Instead, it’s like I plucked my soul right out of my body and replaced her with a robot just to make it through.
I feel nothing.
“You look amazing,” one of the hosts says, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s blind or just willfully oblivious.
I checked myself over in the mirror before I waltzed out here and thought to myself that West would take one look at me and know that I’m a bone-
deep level of miserable.
Does no one else see me at all?
“Thank you,” I say demurely, smoothing my skirt down while hoping
there’s no up-skirt camera angle.
My agent’s words echo in my head.
All press is good press. This kind of exposure only makes you even bigger.
The problem is, I don’t think I want to be bigger.
“Especially on the heels of what’s been an eventful time for you.”
My head tilts and my eyes zero in on the woman. I gave my dad and agent a list of questions I wouldn’t be answering, but I’m sensing they’re going to get asked anyway. “Well, I am thrilled about the nomination. I could not be prouder of this album or this song.”
“But there’s also been the scandal. That’s been the talk of the town. Do you want to explain?” She uses this obnoxious news broadcaster voice like she’s performing some sort of hard-hitting journalism.
I look at her and wonder where she gets off and how she decided this would be the first question of our interview. Then I glance to the side of the stage. My dad and agent are here watching. I didn’t want them to be, but they’re a package deal at this point, and they scheduled the interview. And I’m too numb to care about their presence. Kicking them out would involve talking to them, so I continue to ignore them instead.
All I have to do is remind myself that Ford has these recordings locked down legally, so I know there’s nothing they can touch. And, quite frankly, I’ve grown accustomed to them loitering around me like leeches.
The devil you know and all that.
Plus, my dad has never felt like a parent—I know that now that I’ve seen a great one in action—so my expectations for him are low. Still, agitation flares when he rolls his hand at me, urging me to say something. He’ll berate me for freezing up when we get behind closed doors, telling me my image should always be intact. But his reaction begs the question: Did he relay my no-go questions at all?
It was too easy to think I could just fall back into my old role. From the minute I landed, it’s all been out of whack. It feels like forcing my feet into a pair of shoes that are too small.
Like a wrecking ball, it hits me that it’s bizarre to allow them here. To allow them access to me at all. To roll over and show them my belly like a beaten-down girl who came slinking back when her trial run at independence didn’t work.
I may not have West, but I still have my wits. I still own all that growing I did out in Rose Hill, and it kicks in all at once.
“Skylar?” the other host asks in a gentle voice. “Are you —”
I know he’s about to reference me freezing up, so I cut him off. “Am I horrified that you’d invite me here, then ask me to explain myself on national television as though I’ve done something wrong? I am not a scandal. I’m a victim of a despicable breach of my privacy. I’ve been violated, and you want
me to explain myself?”
A manic laugh bubbles up in my throat as I straighten to turn and face the pink-faced talk show hosts. “This”—I point between them—“this is what the media does, to women especially. It’s not my job to take accountability for someone else’s shitty behavior. I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I don’t owe anyone insight into my private life or consensual love life—least of all vultures like you. Asking about it? Searching for it? You’re just as guilty as whoever leaked those photos for perpetuating it.”
“Skylar…” The man tries to placate me while the woman turns the most satisfying shade of dark red. Like my favorite fucking lipstick. The one my agent told me was “too vixen” for this interview.
Fuck them all.
I can see my dad’s ruddy face and my agent rapidly shaking his head, but I don’t care. I feel like Cherry that day she flew between West and me.
It’s impossible to forget how flying feels.
“No.” I reach back and yank the cord off my back. The mic unit crashes to the floor with a single angry tug. “I’m done here. Want to boost your ratings?” I can see the camera people and producers gesturing wildly. They won’t capture this next part quite as loudly, but it won’t stop it from spreading like wildfire on the internet. And I won’t ask Ford to lift a single finger to stop it. “You can quote this. Go. Fuck. Yourselves.”
With that, I spin on my three-inch heels and strut off the stage, straight toward my dad and agent. One sickly white, the other red like a rage-infused tomato. I hold up a hand to cut them both off. “Don’t waste your words on me.” I face my agent. “You’re fired.” Then I turn to my sperm donor.
“You’re fired and cut off. I never want to see you again.”
His jaw works as he struggles to swallow his rage. “Skylar, you’re having a nervous breakdown.”
I snort. There’s the gaslighting. I see it now for what it is. I see him for
who he is.
And I see myself for who I’ve become.
My own woman.
“No, Dad. I’m having an awakening. I already had the nervous breakdown, and it was really fucking low. This is my rebirth. And you’re not my daddy anymore. You’re not my manager. You are nothing without me, and that’s exactly what you deserve. Expect to hear from my lawyers.” I add the last bit with extra flourish. I don’t have my own lawyers yet, but I’m
marching out of here to get them.
I leave the studio with only my purse and my pride. I skip the town car and duck into a cab. When it pulls away, I sigh and pull out my ridiculous flip phone. The first person I call is Ford Grant.
He answers on the first ring with, “Fuck yeah, Skylar,” and I instantly know he was watching the show. Ford has never told me what to do, only empowered me to do it. I’m not sure how I’ll ever thank him for taking a
chance on me.
“I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Numbers for the absolute meanest lawyers money can buy.”
“I’ll have Belinda call you.”
I smile. Of course Ford has a shark of a lawyer. He doesn’t take any shit.
And neither do I. Not anymore.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says. “And it’s going to suck.”
“Ford, nothing can suck more than the past couple of weeks. Out with it.”
“My investigator got back to me. They traced the hack and the leak back to your agent.”
I suck in a breath. We don’t say it, but we both know that means my dad too. Those two are thick as fucking thieves.
“Well, it’s a good thing I just fired them both.”
I hear him sigh. “What else can I do?”
“You’ve done enough. Just get me Belinda and all the proof. Let’s see what she can do. I’ve been paralyzed by this for too long. I’m ready for a fight.”
“This could be a violation of your old contracts too, you know.”
And now I smile. “Photosynthesis, Ford. Gonna take all this garbage and convert it into a win.”
“Good…” He trails off and I know there’s another question on his tongue.
“Can I tell West?”
My heart hurts instantly. Just hearing his name sucks the air from my
lungs. “Sure. How is he?”
“Fucking terrible, but this will help.”
If I wasn’t so sad, I’d laugh. Ford is not one to mince words. “Okay,” I say before hanging up with an aching heaviness in my chest.
Then I watch the city pass by in a blur, making plans for how to fix the
mistakes I’ve made. To take back control, to ask myself what I really want out of this life. Before long, a sense of optimism creeps in. It reminds me of West.
A sense of empowerment settles over me. And I wonder if this is how Cherry felt that day she spread her wings.
Because it’s fucking fantastic.
And I’m only getting started.