There’s the uproar of applause, and my heart starts pounding hard and fast.
Sweater guy isn’t helping things, as he’s still holding my hand and gripping it a little tighter as every second passes, bringing ever closer my no doubt heartbreaking tale of abuse and blackmail. I can see why they’d think it’d make for good television.
From off set I can hear Ida starting the show.
“Welcome everyone to a very special show. Tonight, we’re going to be talking to Emma Roxy, who—” she’s interrupted by a strange applause. “Yeah,” she says as every member of the audience tries to show just how kindhearted and sympathetic they are for supporting a wretch like me. “As you all know,” she says, “Emma’s filming a new movie with Damian Jones—” another applause break, and I stop listening.
“Tell me when it’s time for me to go on, will you?” I ask.
“Of course,” Sweater Guy says, and I walk away from the stage entrance a little to pour myself a cup of water from a nearby water cooler.
I take a sip.
Usually, when I get nervous, I try to battle my nerves and work through the situation, but now, I’m just trying to clear my mind. I’ve gone over the story enough times in my head and in my house by myself that I think I’m comfortable with whatever she can throw at me, but that doesn’t change any part of the story I’m going to have to tell.
“Emma?” Sweater Guy says, and I set my cup down and walk over to him. “It’s just going to be a few seconds,” he says. “Are you ready?”
“Nope,” I answer.
On the stage, Ida announces, “Miss Emma Roxy!” and I pat Sweater Guy on the shoulder as I walk past him and onto the stage, waving at the drama-thirsty audience as I make my way toward Ida.
She gives me a big hug that I have to bend down for, as she’s a lot shorter in real life than she looks on TV, and I just wish everyone in the audience would just drop right fucking dead.
I’m sure they’re decent people, but the fact of the matter is that they’re in this room with me right now and because of that, I hate everything about them.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” Ida says through the continuing cacophony, and I smile and I nod my head.
“I’m glad to be here,” I respond, though I’m sure not even Ida could hear it.
We sit down and the applause slowly dies down.
“Emma,” Ida says, “I know we’re going to be talking about a lot of harrowing things today, and I would just like to tell you that I admire you, so much—” the audience starts in again with their fucking clapping, and I’m trying to hide my contempt. “Really,” Ida says. “I think that you are a strong role model for our children, and I am so excited that you’ve got your entire career ahead of you.”
“Thanks,” I answer.
“Now, this all started just a few months ago after you started on your new film, right?” she asks.
“That’s when I first heard from him,” I tell her. “I hadn’t spoken to him for about a year before that.”
“Did you ever suspect that he might do something like this?” she asks.
“With people like him,” I tell her, “you learn to expect the worst at all times. I don’t think it ever crossed my mind that he would do this specific thing, but—”
“—but he was just that kind of guy, huh?” she interrupts.
“You could say that,” I tell her. “I think I always knew, even after we broke up, that he wasn’t just going to let me go—”
“He was controlling?” Ida interrupts again, and she’s really starting to irritate me with all the interrupting.
“Very controlling,” I answer. “Everything always had to be exactly the way that he wanted it, and that everything included me. For a while there,” I tell her, the studio audience, and a couple million viewers at home, “I was, effectively, his captive. Even when he wasn’t around, he—”
“So, if you don’t mind talking about it—” Ida starts.
“That’s why I’m here,” I interrupt out of spite, hop
ing she takes the hint and learns how to let me finish a sentence.
“How did the two of you first meet?” she asks. “You and Mr. Cole, that is.”