She blushes, then smiles with half her mouth. “Because television likes women who act surprised when they’re competent.”
“Welcome to Santa Clarita,” I say with a little laugh. “It’s quiet out here. Quiet makes people honest. Or it makes them break. Either way, the place is helpful.”
The three of us play our parts all afternoon. Lila filters calls. Blake choreographs shots and demands “one more” of everything. I field softballs onMidday Nowand give the paper a quote about community. Donations tick up like a slot machine that finally found its rhythm.
When the car arrives for the studio, the driver holds a little sign with my name. He looks starstruck. It feeds something feral in me.
An hour later we pull up behind the theater—stage door, headset woman, clipboard woman. “Ms. Halston, we’re so honored,” she gushes, ushering us down a narrow corridor that smells like paint and nerves. The walls are lined with old posters—comedians, bands, politicians pretending not to be politicians. I recognize all of them. None will recognize me afterward unless I’m in white.
Green Room B has a tray of macarons and hydrangeas so fresh they still sweat. Cole Bishop’s producer runs through beats, eyes skipping over me as if reading me in braille. “He’ll welcome you warmly, but he will ask about the riot. It’s his job. Just… tell the truth.”
“Always,” I say sweetly.
“Hair and makeup are ready if you’d like a touch.”
“Touch me everywhere,” I tell her, and she laughs—relaxing exactly how I want her to.
The makeup artist is a man with silver hair and the gentle hands of a priest. “You already look like redemption,” he murmurs, patting glow onto my cheekbones. “We just add light where the world forgot to put it.”
“The world’s forgetful,” I say.
“It is,” he agrees. “Close your eyes.”
I close them. Let strangers line my lashes. Let them paint me into the woman the audience needs.
When I open them, Blake’s in the doorway, camera on his shoulder.
“Two minutes,” he says, and I swear his eyes shine.
“Now or never,” Lila says, pressing a tissue into my palm. “For show tears.”
“I can cry on command,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “This is backup. Weather balloon. If the wind shifts.”
She squeezes my fingers. It occurs to me that if I told Lila to walk into the river, she’d ask me which depth I preferred.
They lead me into the wings. Cole’s monologue laughter rolls through the theater like surf. It breaks, then he pivots into sincerity without breaking eye contact with the camera. He’s good—slick as a politician.
“—and now,” Cole says, “a woman whose story captivated the country. Please welcome Shae Halston.”
Applause detonates. Light collapses into a tunnel, and I walk through it.
Cole meets me center stage, shakes my hand with both of his, and guides me to the couch like I might be fragile—not a blade tucked in a purse. His eyes are kind. I can’t decide if that’s better or worse.
“Shae,” he says when we sit, “thank you for being here.”
“Thank you for having me,” I say. “It means a lot.”
The first questions are throwaways—How are you sleeping? How did it feel to walk free? What went through your mind at the gala? I give him everything and nothing, curated like a museum of almosts. I let my voice fray on certain words—alone, scared, grateful—then stitch itself back together. The audience murmurs when I talk about the charity. They clap when I say the legal fund is helping other women appeal their cases too. Theyooohwhen I mention Harper as “one of the first to believe in me.” America purrs.
Then Cole tilts his head—signal for the pivot to “hard-hitting.”
“Some people have… concerns,” he says. “About the prison riot. About aspects of your case that still feel unresolved. What do you say to them?”
Lila’s tissue sits under my right thigh, unnecessary.
“I say I understand,” I answer, meeting his gaze. “I say skepticism keeps us honest. I say institutions can be messy—and so can people.” I let a breath catch. “But I also say—if your sister called you from a cage and said she was in danger, would you demand she submit a bibliography… or would you go get her?”
