Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Skye

"T hanks for meeting me here."

"No problem," I say, adjusting my seat at a table for two at a small coffee shop in Silverlake. It's off the beaten path. Not crowded, it seems to be frequented by artsy young locals. Hipsters. The vibe is funky, filled with flea-market finds and local artwork, including, to my surprise, one of my husband's abstract paintings. It's definitely not the kind of place you'd expect to find one of Hollywood's A-List actresses... Nicole Farrell.

Sitting across from me, she's barely recognizable. Devoid of makeup, she's wearing an oversized gray hoodie and a Dodgers baseball cap, which holds back her flaming red hair and partially obscures her face. Even without makeup, she's stunning with her porcelain complexion, high cheekbones, full lips, and almond-shaped green eyes. In fact, she's more exquisite in person than she is on the big screen.

Last month she won an Emmy for her portrayal of Gloria Steinem, the outspoken and daring twentieth century crusader for women's rights and equality. The critically acclaimed movie was a Netflix original. Nicole's acceptance speech was exceptional. Moving. Heartfelt. Teary-eyed, she thanked the Television Academy and accepted the award on behalf of women everywhere, urging them to speak up and to fight for the respect they deserve.

She takes a sip of her piping hot coffee, then sets the cup down. I have no idea why she wanted to meet with me nor am I prepared for what she has to tell me.

"Skye, I'm a big fan of yours," she says, her voice sincere. "Your piece last month on human trafficking was amazing."

"Thanks," I say humbly. "The feeling is mutual."

She quirks a fleeting, half-smile. "I need to get something off my chest... something I've been hiding." Her voice is unsteady, nothing like the confident actress who delivered her bold acceptance speech.

She takes a deep breath and then slowly spills out the words: "I was sexually assaulted by..."

Silence. A long tense pause.

"Tell me, Nicole, by whom?" I anxiously wait for her to answer and finally she does.

"Sheldon Greenberg."

At his name, I visibly jolt and feel my vocal cords shake. "That's a serious accusation."

She looks at me imploringly. "Please. You must believe me."

"I do." How could I not? Sheldon Greenberg, one of the most powerful men in Hollywood, lives in a dark, distant place of my mind. A suppressed memory I've tried to forget.

My companion lets out another breath, this time of relief. "Thank you. I came to you because I thought you would. And because I felt I could trust you."

"When did it happen?"

"Seven years ago. When I was twenty-three . . . "

Inwardly, I shudder. About the same time as me.

"I was auditioning for a recurring role in one of his Criminal Justice shows. He told me I got the part. Meghan Jones... the no-nonsense DA from The Bronx."

I remember her on that series... from when I used to watch it. A standout character and performance. A woman after my own heart—fearless, ballsy, and self-confident in a tough male-dominated world. A perfect blend of grit and grace. Anxious to hear more, I take a sip of my hot beverage as she continues.

"I was ecstatic as it was my first big television break. Then afterward, he told me he wanted to meet with me to talk about my career."

All ears, I set my coffee cup down and reach into my backpack for the pocketsize recorder I always carry with me. "Nicole, do you mind if I record this?"

"Please, I'd rather you didn't."

"Can I take notes?"

She nods. "Yes."

My hand still in my bag, I fish for my small spiral notebook and a felt-tip pen. Slipping them out, I place them on the table, opening the notebook to a clean page. I remove the cap of the pen and put it to the lined paper.

"So what happened?" I ask.

Her eyes darken as she recalls the incident. "He asked me to meet him at the Chateau Marmont where he was staying. When I got there, I assumed he'd be at the restaurant, but he wasn't. So, I went to the front desk and inquired about his whereabouts. The clerk called up to his room and told me he was ordering room service and expecting me. So I took the elevator up. It was the penthouse suite."

She takes another sip of her caffeinated beverage and I do the same. "I rang the bell and he came to the door. To my shock, he was wearing only a bathrobe. Despite my reservations, I accepted his invitation to share some champagne with him. Letting him lead me inside the suite, I was taken aback by its size and grandeur. I was just an ingénue from Indiana and had no experience with Hollywood glitz and glamour." She pauses. "Or Hollywood power."

After one more sip of her coffee, she perseveres. "He poured us each a glass of champagne and we toasted to my career." Her face tenses. "Then, he told me I owed him."

"Owed him?" I repeat back her words, my brows lifting.

"Let me see if I can repeat his exact words." She makes air quotes. "‘Sweetheart, I'm giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. Do you realize how many girls like you would kill to get a starring role on Criminal Justice?'" My companion pauses, setting her hands down on the distressed wood table and giving me time to jot down her words.

"What did you say?" I ask, looking up.

"I merely shook my head and then he threatened me. ‘Girls like you are a dime a dozen. If you're not nice to me, I'll recast the part.'"

Nice to him? The word nice doesn't belong in the same sentence as the pig.

"Then, he untied his bathrobe." She pauses again, her lips quivering. "He was wearing nothing beneath it and had an erection."

I remain speechless as tears fill the actress's eyes. Genuine ones, not the kind you put on for show. "Then he shoved me down on the couch and forced himself on me."

I feel myself stiffen. "Did you try to fight him off?"

"I tried to free myself, but he was too big and powerful for me. And he was hurting me... groping my breasts... squeezing my nipples."

The sleazebag.

"The creep hiked up my skirt and ripped off my panties." She blinks back tears. "And then he... r-raped me."

She breaks down and begins to sob. Feeling her pain, I reach across the table and rest my hands on top of hers. They're cold as ice and shaking.

"It's okay," I say softly. "Thank you for sharing your story."

To myself, I shout, "The bastard."

Sniffling, she blots the tears spooling down her cheeks with a paper napkin. "I wish I'd come forward sooner, but I was afraid."

"Better late than never. What made you reach out to me now?"

"The Emmy. When I accepted it, I felt like such a hypocrite. Here I was playing the part of a brave woman who stood up for herself and I was a silent victim. Sheldon was in the audience... the front row. I swear he was leering at me, taking credit for my success. And mentally undressing me. All I wanted to do was throw my Emmy at him and shout out what he did to me. I'm such a coward." She bows her head in shame.

"No, Nicole, look at me." Her head lifts slowly and she meets my gaze. "You're very brave." I squeeze her hands. "I mean that."

"Skye, I'm not the only one he abused."

A cold shiver zigzags down my spine. With all the will power I can muster, I refrain from sharing my past. "There are others?"

"Yes. We have a kind of secret club. Not everyone was raped like me. But he forced himself on them, touching them in places he had no right to be and coercing them to perform other sexual acts against their will."

She goes on to give me a list of names. A dozen in all. My initial shock gives way to abomination. Greenberg's a monster!

Her sobs subside. "Skye, I've come to you because I want to expose what he did to me and so many others."

"You've come to the right person." I shoot her a reassuring smile. Inside, I'm burning up with rage. "When I'm done with him, he'll never work in this town again."

"Thank you." A grateful smile and then it fades. "He took a part of my soul that I can never get back. I don't want more women to lose theirs."

The check comes. I insist on picking up the bill, scribble down a few things, and then slam my notebook shut. My eyes flit to my husband's painting, a mash-up of oils and garbage he aptly titled Hollywood Trash . Sheldon would have worked too.

After all these years, I'm going to take the monster down.

Time's up.