When she bangs on the door, there’s no response, but it’s locked with a keypad. Of course it is.
“The code is on your receipt!” chirps the cashier, and she must flash him a look of extreme distress, because he cowers a little and mumbles, “Um, 3-2-2-9.”
Once she punches it in and locks herself inside, she staresdown her reflection. Grips the cold porcelain sink.Fuck, why does she always end up breaking down in a public restroom?
Her hands are shaking and she can’t get a full breath.
Men who use their power.
The first time she and Zander had sex, Ramona had been uncertain. DeeAnn told her over and over how her virginity was a precious gift, and though she wasn’t sure if she believed that, there was something deeply confusing about those words combined with her music videos, her photo shoots, her public appearances. Everything about her image held a fragile kind of sexuality back then. A sheet strategically draped over her body forRolling Stone. A glossy strawberry pout. Brazen, confident poses that made her look like she was in complete control, when there were always so many other people gripping the strings.
Zander had told her he loved her, and Ramona had said it back. So when he hired a private chef for their second anniversary, which happened to fall right after her eighteenth birthday, she knew he had expectations.I don’t know if I’m ready,she said, and he promised he’d help get her there. It was okay that he was the one encouraging her to just please let him, just a little, wasn’t it, because she only needed a tiny nudge.
It was okay that she cried from the pain of it, because her body wasn’t ready when he pushed into her. Surely plenty of girls cried during their first times.
And when she told him to stop, palms pressed to his shoulders, wishing she could shove harder—maybe he just hadn’t heard her. That time, or a handful of times after that.
Because they were together. And he loved her.
So she didn’t tell anyone. Just accepted she wasn’t meant toenjoy sex. Eventually she started making up excuses, most of which turned him bitter and withdrawn. With the guys she dated afterward, she’d bask in that initial feeling of power, try to hold on to it as long as she could.
It always faded—but what didn’t, in her life? Every single thing she’s touched has been temporary. Her parents, her partners, her stardom. Nothing fucking lasts.
Which means these feelings have to eventually go away, too.
When Ramona heads back outside after splashing some water on her face, she asks Arlie more about her lip tints, and fortunately Arlie’s happy to gab about them while she remains lost in thought.
Maybe she didn’t have the language back then for what happened with Zander. God, so many years have passed and it’s all so blurry—what if she’s wrong? Maybe she’s only picturing it differently because of the articles, the accusation.
What would it change about her, if she acknowledged what really—maybe—happened? Does she become a wholly different kind of person? Does it make her a victim?
She’s not sure she has any of the answers.
Then she hears the unmistakable sound of a shutter.
On instinct, Ramona whirls around, finds an embarrassed guy at the table behind them, hastening to turn off the sound of his camera.
“Seriously?” Arlie says, rolling her eyes as she dabs her mouth with a napkin. “They can’t just let us live, huh.”
A few people at nearby tables have started to notice, and while most of them are remaining calm, Ramona notices a couple sneakily try to take photos.
She readjusts her Clippers hat. “Should we leave?”
“Nah, I hate letting them win. We could pantomime a fight and really give them something to talk about?”
Ramona laughs—right before she realizes that the attention, the whispers, the cameras…none of them are aimed at her.
They’re here for Arlie J.
And that makes sense, doesn’t it? Ramona never wanted the intrusion in the first place.
Still, it’s with a strange lump in her throat that she returns to her protein bowl, unsure why she suddenly feels left behind.
Like someone who used to be important.
Nick:I had a great time last night. Thanks again for the invite.
Ramona:me too
