Idol Page 2

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You.’

  The girl appeared to be in her early twenties; she had dewy skin and shining black hair cut in a bob with sharp bangs. She’d smudged kohl around her eyes and she was wearing a cropped sweater with a checked mini-skirt, like Samantha had as a teenager when she’d developed an obsession with Liv Tyler in Empire Records. Is that when you know you’re old? she wondered. When you realize you wore the latest trends the first time around?

  ‘Hi, Ms Miller,’ the girl said.

  ‘Oh please, my love. Call me Sam.’

  ‘Um, OK. Sam. I just wanted to say congratulations on your essay in Blackout today. I thought it was super … brave.’

  ‘Aww, thank you. That’s sweet of you.’

  ‘I suppose …’ The woman tightened her grip on the mic. ‘I suppose I want to ask – why this book? Your work has been, like, totally transformative for millions of women, myself included.’ Samantha looked down, a small smile tugging at her lips. No matter how many times she heard it, she still couldn’t quite believe the impact her work had had, how big it had all become. It was beyond her wildest dreams, this life she had created for herself. ‘You taught us it was OK to see ourselves as sexual beings,’ the young woman continued. ‘Just because we were female didn’t mean we had to become wives and mothers, there was a different path we could take—’

  ‘And I still believe that,’ Sam interrupted. ‘Nothing I’ve said or written – especially not in my new book, Chaste – has contradicted any of that.’

  ‘Yeah … I guess,’ the girl said, and there was the beginning of something, a minuscule shift in the atmosphere, so delicate Sam wasn’t sure if anyone else would have picked up on it, but she’d been doing these events for a very long time and she was acutely sensitive to an audience’s temperature. She could gauge by a passing cough or clearing of a throat if the girls were still with her or not. ‘But this is your first book in over four years,’ the young woman said. ‘And I want to know why you would decide to write about chastity, of all things? Like, at this particular moment in American history when there are so many people in positions of power who would take advantage of that? And who, like, have done so in the past?’ She faltered as the other women in the auditorium frowned at her, clearly annoyed that she would bring the mood down in this way – What is this girl’s problem? she imagined them thinking – but then they turned to the stage again, looking to Samantha with curiosity, waiting to see how she would handle this.

  She walked to the back of the stage, touching each neon pink letter and calling it out as she did so. ‘C … H … A … S … T … E …’ she said. ‘Chaste. Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve been saying that the idea of “virginity” is a patriarchal construct designed to control female sexuality, but I believe chastity is a very different thing. What’s your name, sweetheart?’ she asked, and the girl mumbled, ‘Amy,’ into the microphone. ‘Thank you for your excellent question,’ Samantha said, and Amy couldn’t help but smile in relief. ‘The truth is, Amy, the modern dating scene has made sex disposable. It’s made people disposable. I’ve come to believe that sex is sacred and we have to honour it as the force that it is. We shouldn’t throw it away on those who are not worthy of us.’ She could taste something sour in her mouth as she remembered the people she had tried so hard to make love her, how weak she’d become in the process. All the things she wanted to forget now. ‘But it’s not that I think we should become asexual or anything!’ she said. ‘Women have the right to pleasure. But is casual sex all that pleasurable? When female satisfaction is still seen as secondary to the male—’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’ Amy asked impatiently. ‘That if we want to close the orgasm gap, we should just sleep with our best friends like you did?’ There was a gasp from the audience, a smattering of nervous giggles.

  ‘Woah,’ a voice near the front said and the girls shifted in their seats, whispering to each other. Samantha was losing them; she needed to get this under control or the event would be ruined.

  ‘I presume you’re talking about my essay in Blackout.’ Samantha pretended to laugh. ‘Have the rest of you read it?’ she asked the crowd, smiling when the girls shouted yes, of course. ‘Well, then, you’ll know the essay is about an experience I had with a friend when I was a teenager. I identify as straight – I’m attracted to men, I’ve only ever dated men – but I had the most intense orgasm of my life that night.’ She stood in front of the neon letter A, hands on her hips, as she and Jane had practised; this was the pose which would look the most flattering in the photos, they’d decided. ‘I chose today as the publication date for Chaste because it’s my anniversary. I haven’t had sex in two years,’ she said. ‘And I’ve spent a great deal of that time thinking about that night with my friend and wondering why I was able to let go in a way I never had before, and sadly, I never have since. This book is the result of that wondering. I believe that in reclaiming our right to be chaste, women will actually destabilize everything society has conditioned us to accept about our sexuality. Do you understand?’ She looked at the young woman, and there was something on her face that Samantha recognized; she’d seen a flicker of it on other people in her workshops before. This girl needed her help, she realized, and she knew what to do. ‘But I have a feeling that’s not what you wanted to ask me, is it?’ she said, and the girl shrank back, staring at Samantha with wide eyes.

  ‘I …’ Amy started. ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘This is a safe space. You can be honest here. What is it you really wanted to talk about?’ Sam asked gently and the young woman’s composure cracked, a sob clawing out of her throat.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Amy put a hand up to cover her face. ‘When I read your essay earlier, I just … I can’t imagine ever doing something like that.’

  ‘You can’t imagine doing something like what?’

  ‘Something so …’ Amy bit her lower lip to stop herself crying. ‘You wrote about having sex with another girl. Aren’t you scared of what people would say? My parents are—They’re religious,’ she said quietly. ‘They wouldn’t accept that. I wish—’ Her voice broke. ‘I wish I could be brave like you.’

  ‘Oh, honey,’ Samantha said, her heart hurting at seeing one of her girls in such pain. ‘I wasn’t brave when I left school. I wasn’t brave when I came to New York, all alone. I was young and scared, just like you are. But I’ve learned a lot since then, and the most important thing I’ve learned is that you have to be true to yourself. This isn’t about your mom and dad accepting your sexuality, it’s about you accepting it. You have the power to change your world, right here, right now! I know you can do it! I believe in you!’

  The girls began to applaud, shouting yes, queen! and Samantha wanted to throw her head back with the energy that was running through her, that electric shock stretching out her spine, ready to shatter her into a thousand pieces. This job could be difficult, it could be tiring, demanding. She had sacrificed so much to get where she was in her career – friendships, marriage, motherhood – and she had felt lonely at times, she could admit that. But none of that mattered when she was on stage and she saw these girls becoming whole before her, their broken hearts re-stitching because of her words. That was why she had been put on this earth, to help them. Thank you, she said silently, offering gratitude to the Universe for her gifts, and granting her an audience willing to receive them. Thank you. Then she looked the young woman straight in the eye. ‘Tell me, Amy. Are you ready to change your life?’

  As she came off stage, the jumpsuit clinging to her body with sweat, Samantha could see her manager waiting under a large, blinking EXIT sign. Jane was on her phone, scowling as she tapped furiously at the screen. ‘Oh my god,’ Sam said, half laughing. She lifted a hand, showing the other woman that it was trembling. ‘Fuck me! That was good. Did they get it all on camera? The energy was insane, we should use clips for Shakti’s YouTube channel. Did you see that girl at the end? I was worried when she first started talking – t
here’s always a tricky one, these days – but I got through to her, didn’t I? I really think I made a difference.’ Sam grabbed one of the hand towels stacked on a folding table, next to the bottles of smartwater and hand sanitizer. She dabbed at her forehead, then her chest. She waited for Jane to tell her that it had been awesome, that Sam was a star, that it was the best event she’d ever done. But the other woman just stared at her, an odd expression on her face.

  ‘Sam,’ she said. ‘I think we have a problem.’

  2.

  ‘Jane,’ she hissed as she tried to pull the key out of the lock, jiggling to get it free. ‘Just tell me what’s going on, you’re freaking me out.’

  Her manager had thrown a coat around her shoulders when they were still backstage at the Ballroom, insisting they leave immediately. Jane bundled her into an Uber, and Samantha could hear her tense conversation with the stage manager through the window.

  ‘I have fifteen hundred women waiting in a line down there, I don’t know what you expec—’

  ‘Tell them she has a stomach flu or something.’

  ‘A stomach flu? Are you fucking kidding me?’

  ‘Say she had a family emergency, then. I don’t care, man. You’ll think of something.’

  Jane climbed in after Samantha, slamming the door behind her. ‘You have the address?’ she asked the driver, a middle-aged white man with frosted tips who was blaring nineties hip hop from his iPhone. ‘Turn that shit off,’ her manager snapped at him.

  ‘Is … is everyone OK?’ Sam asked, her heart slowing to a painful thud. ‘Has there been an—’

  ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  But Jane wouldn’t say any more, holding a hand up to silence Sam when she tried to speak. ‘Not here,’ she said, tilting her head at the guy in the front seat. She stayed quiet as they walked through the building lobby, pressing her lips together as Sam smiled a hello at Alberto, her doorman, and made polite conversation in the elevator with Mrs Cohen, the elderly widow who owned the classic-six apartment on the floor above.

  ‘OK,’ Sam said once she managed to get the front door open. She hung her Max Mara cape on the coat stand, throwing her purse and keys on to the sideboard with a clatter. ‘Are you going to tell me what all this drama is about? It had better be good, Jane. I can’t believe you made me skip my signing. The girls will be devastated.’ That was always Sam’s favourite part of an event: meeting the fans, hugging them as they cried and told her how much her work had impacted their lives. ‘And’ – she tried to find some way of getting through to her manager – ‘they might ask for their money back. The meet and greet was included in the ticket price.’

  Jane closed the door behind them and leaned against its heavy wooden frame. She looked tired, her lean face almost haggard in the low lighting. ‘Are you all right? Do you need some water?’ Sam asked, concerned.

  ‘Can we sit down?’ her manager said, and Samantha led her into the living room. It was a large space with deep-set casement windows and intricate cornice mouldings running around the edges of the high ceilings, a faded Persian rug on the hardwood floor. She gestured at Jane to remove her heels before sinking into the smoky-grey velvet sofa. This apartment had been her first big splurge when the ‘movie money’, as Sam called it, came through. Everything in here – the French marble console and the embroidered linen cushions, the oversized paintings in vibrant oils and the hand-painted wallpaper in a whisper of duck-egg blue – it was all testament to her hard work, the sacrifices she’d made and the breathtaking success that had followed. Sam had never brought any of the men she’d slept with here, insisting they go to their apartments or a nearby hotel instead. It had felt too precious to sully in that way and she was glad of it, afterwards, glad she didn’t have to live among the ghosts of their contempt and her neediness; the silence that had buried itself in the walls when the men left immediately after fucking her, like they always did.

  ‘I need a drink,’ Jane said, tucking the leather satchel stuffed with extra copies of Chaste into the side of the couch. She looked at her phone, then back towards the galley kitchen. ‘Do you have any wine?’

  ‘Of course I don’t have wine here,’ Samantha said, screwing her face up. ‘I’m a recovering addict. What’s wrong with you tonight?’

  Jane held a finger up, finishing an email. A swooshing sound as the message sent, then she placed her iPhone on the coffee table, face down, and that was when Sam really began to worry. Jane never put her phone away, not even when they’d rented out the most expensive restaurant on Madison Avenue to celebrate Willing Silence selling seventeen million copies worldwide. It was something Samantha had chastised her for, saying that she should take Shakti’s digital detox workshop, and Jane had rolled her eyes, replying, ‘You can’t afford for me to take a digital detox.’

  ‘So,’ her manager said. ‘We have a situation.’

  ‘OK,’ Samantha replied slowly.

  ‘It’s about your Blackout essay.’

  ‘Oh, come on! We were expecting a backlash. We’re reclaiming chastity for a new generation; this isn’t easy work. Whenever you introduce an idea to the culture, there’s always criticism. Then, within a few years, poof! It’s part of the mainstream and everyone has moved on. Don’t panic, it’ll—’

  ‘It’s not that.’ Her manager smoothed her hair into a tight ponytail. Everything about Jane was neat, from the starched collar of her crisp, white shirt to the polished patent leather of her pumps, and even now, when she was as stressed as Samantha had ever seen her, she looked as if she’d been freshly laundered. ‘It’s Lisa. She emailed me. She must have got my details from the site.’

  ‘Lisa,’ Sam repeated. The name didn’t belong in her mouth, not here, not in this life. That was a name from before. Before the books and the movie and the money, before rehab, before the school in Utah, even. It was a name she had thought of every day while she was writing Chaste, but Sam hadn’t said it aloud for a very long time. ‘Do you mean … Lisa Johnson?’

  ‘Lisa Taylor now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Samantha swallowed. ‘She and Josh got married? Wow, I can’t …’ Why didn’t my mother tell me?

  Sam had looked Lisa up on Facebook years ago, but her privacy settings were so tight, all Sam could see was a profile photo of a sunset. She had sent a Friend request and a short message – Hey girl! It’s been forever! I’d love to catch up! S xo – but she’d heard nothing back. She had looked him up too, of course, holding her breath – what would she do if he was single? Maybe he was living in the city now? They could go for lunch, or a quick drink after work, and who knew what might happen after that – but after trawling through dozens of Joshua Taylors, none of whom were him, Sam had given up.

  ‘What did Lisa … Taylor have to say for herself?’

  ‘She saw the piece. And she’s not happy about it.’ Jane cracked the knuckle of one thumb, then the other. ‘You told me you’d make sure the friend couldn’t be identified.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You used her fucking initial, Sam! That’s not exactly high-level espionage. And Lisa Taylor definitely doesn’t think you did a good job.’

  ‘What? She’s not the only person in the world whose name begins with L.’

  ‘She says she’s easily identifiable as the best friend.’ Jane looked at her phone again. ‘She spelled “identifiable” wrong, by the way. Fuck me, this email sounds three glasses of Chardonnay deep. But yeah, she says it’s humiliating, she’s still living in your hometown, she’s worried what her husband will think, blah blah blah.’

  ‘Right.’ Samantha could feel the old resentment stir awake, scraping at her insides. ‘Perish the thought that Josh Taylor might have to deal with any of his fucking …’ She forced herself to take a breath. There was a place for anger, she would tell her girls at her workshops. It could be cleansing, especially for women who were so often told it was forbidden to them. But it could destroy you too, if you allowed it to burn thro
ugh you like a wildfire. She had done enough therapy to recognize that it was easier to be angry with Lisa and Josh than to admit how much they had hurt her, how rejected she’d felt after they’d abandoned her when they no longer had any use for her. ‘Has she actually read the piece?’ she asked her manager. ‘It’s basically a love letter to our friendship. I don’t get it.’

  ‘I bet she doesn’t want her friends thinking she’s a dyke,’ Jane snorted. ‘I know women like that. When I came out, half my senior year stopped talking to me in case I’d get the “wrong idea”. Like I would have had any interest in those basic bitches.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s not the nineties any more. There must be some gay people in Bennford at this stage. And besides, I said in the essay we were both straight.’ Sam walked out to the hall, rummaging in her purse until she found her phone. ‘Listen to this,’ she said as she scrolled through her Instagram messages. ‘Hi Samantha! I never DM celebrities but I read your Blackout essay and I just had to contact you. I’ve never felt so seen …’ She scrolled again. ‘I love you, Sam! Your honesty inspires me to be braver … And this other woman sent a voice message and she was like, because of your essay I told my husband about a queer experience I had in college. She knows now she has nothing to be ashamed of and she never did.’ Sam sat down on the sofa again, hugging one of the cushions to her chest. ‘There are hundreds of messages like that. Hundreds. And that’s just on Instagram. The new PA—’

  ‘Darcy,’ Jane reminded her. ‘She graduated top of her class at Princeton last year.’

  ‘Yeah, Darcy. Sorry.’ Sam did try to remember her assistants’ names but they were all so similar, with their shiny hair and liberal arts degrees and stories of ancestors who had arrived here on the Mayflower. ‘Darcy had to take over my accounts because I can’t answer all the messages myself. It’s crazy. How many views has the essay had now?’

  ‘One point four mill.’