Page 2 of Remember Me

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 onCriminal 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 flitto my husband’s painting, a mash-up of oils and garbage he aptly titledHollywood Trash.Sheldonwould have worked too.

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

---