Page 1 of Remember Me

CHAPTER 1

Skye

“Thanks 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 hisCriminal Justiceshows. He told me I got the part. Meghan Jones... the no-nonsense DA from The Bronx.”

I remember her on that series... from when Iusedto watch it. A standout character and performance. A woman after myown 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.

---