“Yeah…” Ridley squirmed uncomfortably. He clearly knew where Georgia’s body had been found, knew that when he’d watched her walk out that door that night, she’d been walking to her death.
We were silent for a moment, and then Gia said, “Ridley and Iwalked Alden up to his sister’s room, and she put him in bed. I’m telling you, the boy was done for. He’d drunk way too much. We could barely drag him up the stairs.”
“That’s why when I heard about your sister and there were all those rumors swirling that Alden did it,” Ridley said, “I knew it couldn’t be true. I kept it off my blog out of respect.”
For ten years, I’d wondered why Ridley had never posted about Georgia. News that dark and tragic, involving that many Hollywood players, should’ve been catnip to him. I looked at Scout. She sat frozen, her face pale.
“Oh, so on that one issue you had a moral compass?” Gia rolled her eyes. “What about the other ninety-nine percent of your career?”
“Are you still mad because I called you fat?”
“I waspregnantin those pictures.”
Ridley tore a napkin into shreds, the pieces collecting like snowfall on the table. “How was I supposed to know?”
Scout stared at her hands. I recognized the look on her face. She was reeling.
“This is why no one reads you anymore,” Gia said. “Everyone is trying to evolve except for bottom-feeders like you.”
“My apologies,” Ridley said, scattering the torn napkin. “I was under the impression that people like me were the reason B-list actors like you had careers. Don’t act like you’ve never called a pap and begged for attention.”
“Seriously?” It came out too loud, my stress let loose in a sudden geyser. “We’re here to talk about Georgia.”
“Sorry.” Gia looked abashed. “The whole thing is awful, I know. And now Easton runs around making money off it.”
Scout raised her head. “What do you mean?”
“She’s talking about his podcast career,” I reminded her. “Remember, we listened to one of his episodes? The one where he ranted about how Alden was innocent and women are reverse witch-hunters?”
Scout’s jaw tightened. One episode had been more than enough for us.
Gia rolled her eyes. “He’s a full-blown men’s rights advocate.” She picked at a nail. “You could almost say his son dying was one of the most lucrative things that ever happened to him.”
Ridley leaned in, lured by the gossip. “Everyone thinks Easton will get a cabinet position once Knox gets elected.”
“Gabriel Knox?” I’d never paid attention to the man before he popped up in Rosie’s notes—he wasn’t part of Hollywood, which made him infinitely less interesting—but here he was cropping up yet again.
“You actually think he’ll be president?” Gia scoffed. “His platform is awful. He’s an authoritarian wolf in handsome-man clothing.”
Ridley gave her an incredulous look. “Of course he’ll get elected.” He sighed. “Personally,Iwant him to lose just so Emerson Banks doesn’t become a Washington wife. As if that woman needs another reason to feel holier-than-thou.”
The name triggered a vague recognition.
“Emersonwho?” Scout asked, beating me to the question. Color was slowly returning to her face.
“Oh.” Ridley’s eyes widened. “You don’t know? Naughty Easton married his daughter’s best friend. You might remember her as little Emmy Nolan. She goes by Emerson Banks now.”
My jaw actually dropped—I could taste the garlic and oregano in the air. “So when Dakota mentioned her dad’s new wife, she meant…” I turned to Scout. I couldn’t even picture it.
“But Emmy was our age.” I watched Scout trying to do desperate math. “That’s a forty-year age difference.”
Ridley leaned in. “See,thisright here is why gossip is important, and I’ll stand by that until my dying day.” He turned to Gia. “Read your Mikhail Bakhtin, honey. Gossip and parody are the languages of the underclass. It’s how we peasants subvert the powerful—”
“Ridley,” I complained.
“Excuse me for having a graduate degree,” he drawled. “Anyway, among the entertainment industry C-suite, it used to be an open secret that Easton liked ’em young. Why do you think his ex-wife was always self-medicating? The man was a dog.”
“I heard he and his friends used to call themselves the Pussy Posse,” Gia said.
