No.
Before I can stop myself, I gasp in horror.
It’sme.
Not just a disembodied voice singing, but in full, graphic detail, right on Ken’s laptop screen.
I’m sitting at my desk, stretching, my arms raised towards the ceiling. The fabric of my shirt is pulled tight around my breasts. A sliver of skin peeks between the bottom of my shirt and my waistband.
I notice all these things because the video is paused. On me. On my breasts. My stomach. My body.
A cold, crawling sensation moves through me.
He recorded me. Using a camera planted in my office. A camera I had no idea about.
The reality of what I’m seeing slams into me, stealing my breath.
How many times did I change in there rather than making the trip to the cast changing room? How many times did he watch me do it?
Is that the only camera? Or are there more?
As I stand in his doorway, still reeling, Ken jerks his attention away from the screen. His expression displays a rapid-fire series of emotions: first desire, followed by shock, guilt, and finally, calculated innocence.
He closes the laptop and says calmly, “Noelle. I thought you’d left.”
I try to respond, but all that comes out is a dry click. On my second attempt, I manage, “I left my phone in the prop closet. I was just hurrying to get it, and I heard?—”
Wait. Why am I explaining things to him? If anyone’s owed an explanation, it’s me.
“I assume you found your phone, then?” he asks.
“Why were you watching me?” I retort.
He doesn’t flinch. “It’s not a big deal, Noelle. It’s not like I did anything to you.”
“Yourecordedme.” My voice pitches up. “That was me. On your computer. You had it paused so you could look at my?—”
“I did no such thing.” Ken sets his laptop on his desk and stands. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, but I certainly was not looking at your?—”
“You were!” My pulse races. Angry heat rushes through me. Sweat prickles along my back. “Don’t lie to me. It was me, on your screen. Paused, so you could see my breasts. And you made thisnoise.”
I can’t bring myself to say what the noise sounded like.
“Noelle.” Ken advances towards me. He smiles, but there’s a hint of a threat in his eyes. “You’re making more of this than there should be. You’re in theater, you should know how things work.”
I take a stumbling step back. “Thisisn’thow things work. Performances are for the stage. Not for recording someone without their knowing. Watching them. Looking at their body like they’re?—”
“Noelle.” It’s harder now. His hand clamps around my arm. “You need to stop. Now.”
“No!” Yanking my arm from him, I clutch my bag in front of me like a shield. “Don’t touch me! And don’t lie to me! If I go into my office, I’ll find a camera in there. Are there more? What about the changing room? The bathrooms? Are you watching everyone, or just me?”
“Noelle,” he repeats. “Come into my office so we can talk about this calmly.”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” Reluctant to turn away from him, I start backing down the hallway. “I saw you. And I’m going into my office to find that camera. I’m taking pictures to showthe board. They’ll fire you, so you can’t do this messed-up shit again.”
In a blink, his features twist with rage. “Don’t you dare threaten me!”
Then he lunges towards me.
