“Did you focus too much on your shabby chic business and let yourself go?”
She is miming pity as Chad’s lens drills into my face. She nods to make me nod, but I refuse.
“You won’t ask Bart Hardenburg the same questions, will you, Violotta, because he’s still on the network payroll,” I say.
Violetta blinks. I push on, mindful of the timing.
“I am not guilty and I am not a victim – not Bart’s, not yours, not anyone’s,” I say, perfectly composed.
“Difficult women lose their husbands,” Violetta shoots back.
“Selfish men create difficult women,” I parry.
“Lucy, what do you say to the rumors you’re an alcoholic and a drug addict?”
“I’d say you invented that rumor right now, Violetta, because this interview isn’t going how you planned. This shoot is supposed to be about the ReUse charity, which gifts good quality furniture to people in need, so that something can be salvaged from failed relationships and other tragedies. I am here to help benefit people who are bravely remaking their lives,” I say. “And even if I was addicted to drugs and alcohol, which I’m not, there are programs available for people who need help, and many of your viewers will be bravely receiving therapy. How dare you try to shame me and shame them, Violetta?”
“You’ve let yourself go.” Violetta tries to interject, but I’m on a roll.
“If you’re trying to humiliate me so that viewers, mostly other women, are shamed into buying more beauty products, then you are despicable. Beauty comes from within, Violetta, and when your behaviour is ugly, you let all of us down.”
“Unstable,” says Violetta, and she gives the camera her sad eyes.
Chad is hyperventilating, gesticulating wildly, pointing at the crew to run the next ad, predictably, an anti-wrinkle treatment with some kind of pink plastic wand.
“Please,” Violetta hisses at me.
“The charity is the only reason I’m here,” I say. “You get off my back and I’ll get off yours. How dare you attack me like this. Have some decency. You should be ashamed.”
Her eyes flash anger and sudden self-control as Chad’s fingers go up again – four, three, two, one.
“So Lucy, how do you spend your time now that you’ve lost your home and husband and business? And how about Phoebe? How does she feel about all this?”
I see red.
“How dare you bring our child into this, Violetta? This has nothing to do with her!” I stare into the camera. “This network exploits staff and viewers,” I say and Violetta locks eyes with Chad and talks over the top of me, shaking her head.
Even with the five-second delay, most viewers will have heard me fight back. I’m so angry, I could explode. How could I ever have thought this industry was glamorous? Violetta talks to the camera.
“So sad to see our colleague reduced to this. When did you start receiving therapy, Lucy, and speaking of therapy, viewers, take a look at this beachfront health resort.”
Chad is at my shoulder, hoisting me out of the chair and shaking his head. They can’t get me out of there soon enough.
