But if he wasn’t there . . .
The call connected and Layla was immediately put on hold.
“I’m afraid you’ve just missed him,” the receptionist said, her voice terse and hurried. “Can I take a message?”
Layla sat behind the wheel of her car, her gaze shifting between her side and rearview mirrors. “How long ago did he leave?”
The receptionist heaved an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know. Not long. Look, do you want to try his cell? We’re really busy here what with the launch and all.”
Layla ended the call and started the car. Someone was playing her—using her as a pawn in hopes of exposing Madison’s lies. And the worst part was, Layla had no clue as to who was behind it. Though the threatening tone had given her pause, to fold now would be to surrender what little power she had, and that she would not do. If they wanted her to post the journal entries, then they’d have to send something a lot juicier than the adolescent angst she’d received so far.
With the sun blaring overhead, Layla fed the CD into the stereo, cranked up the volume, and merged onto the street. Maybe she didn’t plan on making a career out of marketing, maybe she loathed the corporate hierarchy, which bore an eerie resemblance to her junior high cafeteria, but there was something to be said for getting paid to drive around the city listening to a demo CD.
The sound of an electric guitar burst through the speakers, and like Malina had warned, the sound quality really was rough. But the opening refrain was catchy enough to convince Layla to turn up the speakers.
A few chords in, a male voice began to sing. The lyrics were so wistful, Layla unwittingly slowed at a yellow, causing a flurry of horns to honk all around her. But she was too captured by the singing to focus on the driver behind her flipping the bird with both fingers. The voice coming through her speakers was strangely and hauntingly familiar.
She listened closer . . . something about kissing a girl in a bar . . . a girl with deep violet eyes . . .
The light turned green. The car behind her slammed the horn hard. But Layla remained right where she was. Listening to Tommy Phillips sing about the night he hooked up with Madison Brooks, knowing she now held the power to either make or break his debut.
SEVENTEEN
’TIS A PITY SHE WAS A WHORE
Transcript
Trena Moretti Exclusive Prime-Time Interview
Episode Title: “What Happened to Madison Brooks?”
Air Date: August 19, 2016
Topic: Did Aster Amirpour Murder Madison Brooks?
Trena Moretti: Aster, I’d like to thank you for agreeing to talk with me today. After nearly a week in jail, you were just released on bail. What was it like for you living behind bars?
Aster Amirpour: A complete and total living hell.
TM: I can’t help but notice your injuries. Can you tell us about how you sustained those?
AA: I was jumped.
TM: You were jumped by . . .
AA: Another inmate. I’d just been put into the holding cell and the next thing I knew, I was being attacked.
TM: Was there any indication as to why?
AA: (sighs) Listen, jail is a sad, depressing, and desperate environment that doesn’t operate according to the usual social niceties. People are locked up in cages, locked up like animals, and so they begin thinking and acting that way. I have no idea what motivated the attack; maybe she was a Madison fan.
TM: A Madison fan. According to our records, you were once a Madison fan too.
AA: (looks directly at the camera) I still am. Listen, what people don’t understand and what I’d like to make clear is that I’m one of Madison’s biggest fans. I love her, and admire her, and I’d never, ever do anything to harm her—
TM: (interrupts) And yet you had no problem having an affair with Madison’s boyfriend at the time, TV star Ryan Hawthorne. Or are you denying your involvement with Ryan?
AA: I’m not denying anything, though I’m not sure that what I had with Ryan constitutes an affair.