The Comeback(61)

“Are you feeling okay about this?” Emilia says as she passes behind the sofa, touching me gently on the shoulder.

“I think so,” I say, shrugging. “The media have been hard on me lately, so I don’t want to make anything worse.”

“That’s how it works, isn’t it? They gobble you up, then shit you out when they’re done with you,” Emilia says, and I would laugh if it weren’t true.

She sits down next to me. “You can turn this around. You just have to pretend to be suitably chastened, as galling as that might be. Everyone will want you to have learned something from your transgressions, as if life is ever that simple.”

I pull a face and she laughs.

“Have you run through the questions with this person in advance?”

“Most journalists don’t do that,” I say, which isn’t entirely true since I’ve already told Camila exactly whom she can’t mention.

“You’ll be fine. Would you like me to stay in the room in case you don’t like the direction she’s taking? I feel slightly uncomfortable that you don’t have a publicist here or anyone to support you.”

I’m about to decline her offer, but I stop myself when I realize that having the physical reminder of Emilia’s presence might just stop me from revealing too much about myself. I nod, trying to look grateful.

“Thank you, Emilia.”



* * *



? ? ?

The shoot is straightforward enough. I am wearing a white shirt and ripped jeans with Emilia’s diamond and sapphire Bulgari necklace that she insisted I borrow. I choose the living room as the location because it’s dark enough that the photographer will have to use a flash without me asking, and it will be more flattering for me. Before we start, I make Camila promise not to airbrush any of the shots, knowing that she will include the surprising request in her story and that it will instantly endear me to thousands of normal Americans who will now take it upon themselves to defend my appearance. I pose in front of Able and Emilia’s extensive book collection with a small, sad smile on my face that says it all: I may be fragile but I am brave, and more importantly, I am learning.

The interview is trickier to navigate. Even though I have told Camila she needs to focus on my hiatus and return only, and to avoid the subject of Able, her questions are still probing, and they affect me more than I thought they would. I try not to let her see that she’s getting to me, becoming more creative with my diversionary tactics as the hours pass.

“Everyone makes out like I was literally plucked off the streets and rescued from this depressing existence, but I had a good life in England, too, you know? I’ve always had a family who love and support me,” I say at one point, smiling amiably. “I’m aware that I’ve been incredibly lucky in that respect.”

Camila nods, but I can tell from how she shifts in her seat that she is frustrated by the uninspiring answers I’ve been giving her since we started.

“And what about the drinking? There have been rumors that you’ve had a problem with alcohol for a number of years.”

I take a deep breath and stretch out my hands in front of me, palms up. The picture of openness, honesty, asking for forgiveness.

“Yes, I was absolutely overindulging at one point. I’m trying to understand how it happened, and I think that it was because I never had to learn who I was when I was alone. Being back home with my family this past year has really grounded me. I’ve been sober for over a year now,” I say, nodding graciously when Camila congratulates me, as I knew she’d have to do. I think of the bottle of pills in my bag, and hope I closed it before leaving it by the foot of the kitchen table. “I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me, and I promise you that I’m hyperaware of my own privilege. I know that I’m not saving any lives. I’m just trying to be the best version of myself.”

I wonder if Camila is trying not to roll her eyes.

“And what about Emilia? Can you tell me about what this relationship means to you?” she asks then, watching me closely as she changes tack, and I understand that I have already backed myself into a corner by choosing Emilia’s house for the shoot. If I deflect in any way, I will be flagging up to Emilia that something is wrong.

“Emilia,” I call, and Emilia smiles from her position behind Camila. I pat the sofa next to me and she takes a seat.

“Camila was asking about you,” I say, before turning back to the reporter. “Emilia is my rock. I’m proud to call her my friend.”

Emilia smiles at me and takes my hand.

“We would do anything for this girl. Woman. She’s a member of our family.”

The photographer takes a photo of us, and just like that, our affection for each other is immortalized. Snap.

Camila nods and scribbles something down. I narrow my eyes and then smile when she looks up.

“And Dylan? What role does he play in the life of this new and improved Grace Turner?”

Hyde.

“Dylan will be in my life forever. Our souls have known each other for a really long time now.”

“Are you talking about past lives?” Camila asks, her pen hovering over her pad.

“Absolutely,” I say, widening my eyes slightly. “We have the strongest karmic connection.”

Emilia sneaks a look at me. I know it’s a good deflection even if I sound like a fantasist. Camila frowns and puts her pen down.