“You’rereallysaying you’d write an article about me with no mention of such an infamous and defining incident?”
“Is that incident the only thing that defines you?” I retort. “I strongly suspect it isn’t, so I’m sure I’ll have a lot of other material to focus on.”
“It’s a scandal. And journalists like to tell a good story.”
“Only if it’s a truthful one, otherwise we’d write fiction. Or maybe go into film.”
She pauses. “Nothing much fazes you, does it, Harper?”
“You’re wrong there. A while ago, I had to do a feature on Madame Tussauds. Have you been there? Terrified the crap out of me. I don’t know why anyone in their right mind would agree to have a wax replica made of themselves.”
“I’min Madame Tussauds.”
“I know.”
She laughs despite herself, lines forming satisfactorily around the corners of her mouth, her eyes brightening. Her whole face changes. I start laughing along with her.
Shamari comes bustling into the room, carrying a tray of hot drinks. “I’m sorry I was so long! The kettle wasn’t working in the kitchen here, so I had to pop across the road to get these. Here you are.” She hands me a coffee and passes Audrey a tea, before perching on a chair to the side of the room with her own coffee. “All right, we can get started now, if you’re both ready?”
“I am, if you are?” I ask Audrey.
“Yes,” she says warmly, giving me an easy, relaxed smile that I can tell takes Shamari by surprise. “After all this time, I’m finally ready.”
The Incident involving Audrey Abbot happened at a restaurant in Mayfair.
She was a famous Hollywood star, an established, dignified, and highly regarded actor, whom nobody expected to put a footwrong, so when she did, it was documented and analyzed in an unsympathetic, almost offended way. As though she’d let down all of us, not just herself.
And as with any woman in her position, the tabloids relished her fall from grace.
It all started when she fell in love with Hank Lane, famous punk rocker and son of an LA real estate billionaire. She married him after four months of dating. It was her third marriage—first, there was her childhood sweetheart, followed by a film director, who left her for the lead in his newest film—and while she was quite a lot older than Hank, she was head over heels. He was adventurous, spontaneous, outrageous, the opposite of anyone else she’d publicly dated.
Audrey began making headlines when she was caught drunkenly emerging from a club; rumors started circulating that “a source close to the star” had seen her “sniffing a suspicious substance at a party” (of course, there wasn’t any evidence). She started wearing louder and brasher clothes, and experimenting more with her makeup; soon, reporters wrote that “her friends said” she married Hank too fast; their public arguments were “embarrassingly loud, according to onlookers”; she was “spiraling out of control.”
Increasingly hunted by the paparazzi, she was reportedly “paranoid and anxious,” and Hank began to lose interest. When she accused him of cheating, he told her she was deluded and controlling. A photo emerged of him kissing another woman in a Battersea nightclub, an actor who had played Audrey’s daughter in her latest film. Then another rumor began circulating that he was dating the model who had opened the Versace show at that year’s London Fashion Week.
One day, after drinking too much while on some prescription medication, Audrey Abbot showed up at a fancy Mayfair restaurant, having learned that Hank was inside enjoying sconesand having the cream licked off his fingers by the dancer who’d starred in his latest music video.
The paparazzi were already waiting outside.
First, there was a huge screaming match between Audrey and Hank. Then, according to witnesses, she picked up a champagne bottle and brandished it at Hank, prompting the waiting staff to yell out for everyone to get down just in case. She burst into tears and dropped it, smashing it across the floor and causing all the guests to gasp in horror and excitement.
When Hank yelled out that he was going to “divorce the crazy bitch,” she tried to slap him, but he dodged, grabbing her arm. She grabbed a fistful of the tablecloth and pulled it. The contents went flying: the cake stand, the scones, the macaroons, the finger sandwiches, the teapot, the cups and saucers, the crockery and cutlery.
The noise, according to onlookers, “was deafening.”
Audrey then went marching out of the restaurant, flipped off the paparazzi, and when one photographer put his camera so close to her face that it nudged her sunglasses farther up her nose, she pushed him aside and his camera was knocked out of his hands, the lens cracking as it hit the ground. (The photographer accused her of “viciously attacking” him, and she settled out of court for a rumored six-figure sum.)
The paparazzi followed her home that day, where she proceeded to grab a golf club and smash up Hank’s Ferrari. Those pictures have gained a sort of legendary status in pop culture: the scorned, blurry-eyed older woman smashing up the young, philandering heartthrob’s car.
Hank wrote a song about The Incident and it went straight to number one.The Correspondencecalled him a “lyrical, musical genius.” Jonathan Cliff atExpressionsaid the song was “inspired.” Hank released several more successful albums over the following years, cleaned up his act, and appeared on aBachelor-type TVshow in the USA, dating the winner briefly but marrying the runner-up instead and having two children with her. He launched an alcohol-free gin alternative and released a children’s book about a young boy who dreams of being a rock star. It was a bestseller.
Meanwhile, Audrey Abbot disappeared from the public eye.
As social media became a thing, the photo of her smashing the car with her mascara running down her cheeks transformed from an iconic image to a readily adaptable meme. But in recent years, she’s been reconsidered as one of the victims of an era that didn’t forgive women when they acted out.
Off the record, Audrey tells me that in the immediate aftermath, she was in so much pain, so humiliated, so lost, and so small, that she wanted to disappear. There is nothing like that feeling, she says, when you’re made to think everyone in the world despises you. It makes you afraid to leave the house, to go into a shop, to speak to anyone without hiding your face.
She eventually got help and began to feel whole again. The friendships that lasted through that period of her life became stronger. That overpowering feeling of shame began to fade. She invested in businesses, becoming a silent partner in a bestselling health, wellness, and beauty brand. She started writing her memoir. Depending on how this foray back into the world of theater goes, she’s considering taking a stab at directing a play, which she’s always wanted to try. She is happier now, more accepting, more loving—she forgives Hank. She forgives herself.
