"I'm telling you, Rose, it will happen this time. Mark my words, we'll trap the son of a bitch for sure," said Melissa Gillis, the investigator Rose had been working with. Her tone carried the kind of conviction that came only after months of frustration.
"It helps that the woman we have asked for help this time around is a complete professional and knows what she's getting into," added Anthony Hernandez, Melissa's partner, his voice steady but his eyes betraying fatigue.
Rose only nodded in response. Outwardly, she tried to mirror their confidence, but inside, she had long given up hope. This was their third attempt to catch Harvey Weinstein in the act.
The first two times had been disasters. The girls they had sent before were inexperienced and came off too strongly onto him, and as a result, they weren't able to get anything usable because Weinstein hadn't made a move on either of them. Maybe on some instinctual level, even he felt that something was off about the scene, so he didn't act on it.
This time, Rose had insisted on a different approach. Instead of another struggling actress desperate for a break, they had enlisted an experienced escort who understood how to handle men like Weinstein. Her name was Kylie, and while he had been an escort for years, she was only 25. Rose had personally interviewed her and found her not just confident but disarmingly beautiful, the kind of woman who could command a room with a glance. She was certain Weinstein wouldn't be able to resist her.
From Kylie's choice of outfit to the tone of her conversation, Rose had gone over every detail. Now, as evening descended over New York, it was finally showtime.
The apartment they were using as their base was dimly lit and situated directly opposite the hotel where one Harvey Weinstein was staying temporarily. Thanks to the generosity of Troy Armitage, they had the best surveillance technology money could buy. Kylie had been fitted with discreet microphones and miniature cameras, all expertly concealed. Even if Weinstein's people checked her for a wire, they wouldn't find a thing.
"They're talking," Anthony said suddenly, snapping Rose out of her thoughts.
Rose leaned closer to the monitor, her pulse quickening. The feed was a little grainy, but there was no mistaking the face of the man on screen.
"Mr. Weinstein," Kylie greeted him, standing up and extending her hand. "I've heard so many great things about you. Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to see a nobody like me."
Weinstein, ever the opportunist, grabbed her thin hand in his meatier one and pulled her into an embrace.
Melissa and Anthony both stiffened beside Rose. Their security team stationed in the hotel was on standby, ready to act the moment Kylie said the agreed-upon password: pineapple. It was their failsafe. If Weinstein made a move, Kylie could utter that single word, and the team would burst in to end the meeting. But Kylie knew to use it only if things turned truly dangerous. The moment she said it, there was a high risk of the operation being blown, and Weinstein finding out that they had been setting him up.
"I can always make time for a beauty like you," Weinstein muttered against her ear. Thanks to the hidden microphone, every sleazy word came through the speakers loud and clear. He released her and let his eyes roam over her from head to toe.
"Our company needs hot girls like you to dial up the glamour in our movies," he said, his grin widening. "Do you know the requirements for the role we're offering you?"
Kylie brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled sweetly. "Yes. I'm open to trying new things for my art. I don't limit myself to a particular type of story or character."
Weinstein's smile deepened. "Good girl. Come, let's move up to my suite and audition you in person."
Kylie didn't respond immediately. Her lips parted slightly as if to speak, but she hesitated. "Can't we do the audition here instead?" she asked finally, her tone cautious.
"You want to pose in a bikini here in the hotel lobby?" Weinstein asked pointedly, his smirk faintly visible even in the grainy footage. "I would've asked you to come to my office for this part, but it's Sunday, and tomorrow I'm flying to a film festival in London. This is your only chance to audition if you're really interested. I have hundreds of girls waiting to do anything for even a foot in the door."
"No, no," Kylie said quickly, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "I didn't mean it that way. It's just that… I'm new and I don't really know how these things work. We can go to your suite if that's necessary."
"She's good," Melissa murmured as they watched Kylie and Weinstein walk toward the elevator. "That nervousness, that little reluctance. Exactly what we needed to sell the act."
"I know," Rose replied quietly, her tone bitter. "I taught her that. I kept thinking about why he didn't make a move the last two times, and the only conclusion I reached was that those girls seemed too eager to please him. He needs someone gullible and hesitant. He enjoys the thrill of reluctance."
All three grimaced at the thought, their eyes fixed on the monitor as the elevator doors closed.
A moment of uneasy silence filled the room before Rose spoke again. "I don't know why, but I'm getting a bad feeling about this," she admitted softly. "Sure, Kylie's an expert, but what if something goes wrong? We could blow our cover, and worse, even if she's an escort, she's still a woman walking into danger. He could ruin her life, just like he did mine…"
Melissa reached over and placed a steadying hand on Rose's shoulder. "It'll be fine. We all know the risks, and so does Kylie. The security team, disguised as hotel staff, is close by. If anything goes too far, they'll step in. And if I think it's getting out of hand, I'll pull the plug myself. Trust me, Rose."
Rose exhaled slowly, her shoulders lowering a fraction. "You're right. There's no other way."
A sudden voice from the speakers made her heart lurch.
"You have a great body," Weinstein said, his tone dripping with false charm. "Don't be shy. Take off those denims and show me properly what I'm working with."
Rose's hands clenched into fists as she focused back on the screen. The monitor now showed the inside of the hotel suite. Kylie was now standing near the couch, her shirt already removed, revealing a bikini top. Her movements were hesitant, her arms crossing loosely over her chest as if to shield herself.
In the hotel lobby, the only active devices were the ones hidden on Kylie and in her handbag. But now, additional angles had come online, the result of the security team's earlier infiltration. They had broken into Weinstein's room when he was outside, and discreetly placed cameras and microphones throughout the place to ensure the evidence would be irrefutable.
"But you already got a good look at what you're working with," Kylie said, trying to sound playful, though her voice wavered.
"No, I didn't!" Weinstein snapped, the sudden shift in tone making Rose flinch. "For all I know, you could have a nasty scar on your thighs, your hips, or even your buttocks. Makeup can only hide so much. We need a flawless actress for this film I'm making. You'll be presented as the hottest girl on the planet. So lose the jeans if you really want it."
Kylie froze for a few seconds, her breath shallow. Then, slowly, she began to undo the button of her jeans, her hesitation almost painful to watch.
The cameras and microphones had been carefully stitched into Kylie's clothes, the wires concealed on the seams, ensuring that even if she were to get fully naked, the devices would stay hidden.
Rose's stomach twisted. Part of her wanted to look away, to close her eyes and pretend she wasn't seeing this. But she couldn't. She forced herself to watch because this was what she was fighting against, the same kind of degradation she had endured in her own past.
"Very good," Weinstein said, his tone dripping with approval. "Now don't be so shy. Do a spin for me, and keep your hands outstretched. I need a clear view."
Kylie obeyed, turning slowly in place. The movement was mechanical, almost robotic. Weinstein circled her like a predator sizing up its prey, his gaze lingering far too long on her exposed skin.
"If you're like this on set," he said suddenly, "I don't think the role will suit you. You're far too stiff. We'll be shooting sex scenes for this film in front of many people. If you can't loosen up with just me, how will you handle the pressure of a real shoot?"
"But… you said that…" Kylie's voice trembled, the fear in it seeming real.
"There's a workaround for that," Weinstein assured her smoothly. "We can try something to make you more comfortable. Sit on the bed, and we can begin."
Kylie hesitated for two seconds that felt like an eternity. Then, following the script they had prepared for different scenarios, she sat on the edge of the bed. The bright lights in the suite cast harsh shadows against her skin, and her two-piece white bikini seemed to glow against the muted tones of the room.
Weinstein moved behind her slowly. He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to massage her.
"The stiffness is right here," he whispered close to her ear. "Relax, and forget everything else."
Rose's pulse quickened. A surge of anger and nausea crashed through her. In that moment, it wasn't Kylie sitting on that bed; it was her. The memory of her own encounters with Weinstein flooded back, vivid and raw. The same words, the same touch, the same sickening routine. How many other girls had he done this to?
"We need to get her out of there," Anthony said suddenly, his voice tight with panic. "This is getting too much."
Rose's mouth opened, ready to agree, but no sound came out. Her thoughts were a storm, and reason was slipping away.
"No," Melissa cut in firmly. "Not yet. We don't have anything on him. He hasn't crossed the line." She leaned closer to the screen, her expression unreadable. "Remember the plan. He makes a move, she shuts him down, gets a confession, and then runs. That's how we end this."
Anthony shot her a glare. "He's practically massaging her while she's half-naked. How much more do you need before we pull her out?"
Melissa didn't answer. Her eyes stayed fixed on the monitor, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "We'll know," she said quietly.
And they did.
Within moments, Weinstein's hands roamed from Kylie's shoulders, down to her waist, and before anyone even knew what was happening, he had grabbed her breasts tightly over her bikini top.
"Aaaahhhh!" Kylie screamed fully in-character, then shoved Weinstein away. "What the fuck are you doing, you motherfucker!"
"Hey, calm down, honey," Weinstein said in a deceptively soft voice.
"Calm down? Did I give you permission to touch my breasts?"
"If you did not, then why are you here? It is an unspoken rule in Hollywood that if you want a part, you have to keep the producer happy. I am used to touching my actresses whenever and wherever I want. They all know that is the condition for working with the god of Hollywood. Say the word, and I will transfer half a million dollars into your account right now as a signing bonus for your debut film."
"Oh, this is good," Melissa murmured, breathless with quiet triumph. "The so-called god is panicking. That payout is exactly what we needed."
"Do not celebrate yet," Anthony warned. "We have to get Kylie out of there first."
Rose barely heard him. Her eyes were fixed on Weinstein, who had exposed himself by now, and was now slowly masturbating.
"Come now, honey, serve me and enjoy your life at the top of the world. All actresses do it before they hit big. If not me, then with some other producer," he said, his voice slippery with entitlement. "This is how the world works."
Kylie grabbed her clothes and moved toward the door. It was locked.
She spun back, phone held out like a weapon. "If you do not open this door right now, I will call 911!"
For a split second, the color drained from Weinstein's face as he realized how badly this could turn. He jammed his penis back into his pants and stepped toward the door. Kylie kept her distance until the lock clicked. The moment she had sight of the corridor, she bolted, sprinting past the suite and down the hall until she rounded the corner and reached the room the security team had rented. The team had also manipulated the hotel's internal system to cut off cameras in that stretch of corridor, so no one would know where she ran.
She did not stop until she was inside and finally buttoning her shirt, breath heaving.
Only then did Rose let out a long, shaky exhale. Kylie was safe. For a moment, it felt like justice had been delivered the way it should have been. This was what Rose wished she had done for herself years ago.
"We did it!" Melissa cried, hugging Rose hard. Her voice trembled with excitement. "We finally got him on video and audio. We have the bastard now. We can drag his ass to court."
"Yeah, we did," Rose said, her voice distant. "But that girl did not walk away scot-free."
Melissa pulled back and set both hands on Rose's shoulders. "Remember one important thing. That girl is an escort. This was probably the easiest job for her considering her profession. All things considered, I think we did great."
Rose steeled herself and nodded. She knew Melissa was right, but the ache of the night's memories did not fade so easily.
"So now what?" Anthony asked, tension returning to his voice. "Is that it? Are we done with this?"
"Not at all," Melissa said with grim certainty. "This is just the beginning. We have more girls lined up for him. Nothing is certain in a courtroom, and one recording can always be excluded from the evidence if things go even slightly in the grey area of the law. If we can get a few more such recordings, our case will be ironclad. And even if a judge throws it out, we can still upload these videos online and force a public outcry. We know the type of women he targets now, so let us use that against him. Next stop, London, and that film festival he is going to."
(Break)
I watched the laptop screen in a daze as three videos of one of Hollywood's worst predators played back-to-back. I had known he was vile, but seeing him like this stripped any remaining words from me. His behavior was more depraved and monstrous than I had ever imagined.
The first clip showed him trying to bribe the girl with promises of money and fame. In the second, which was shot in London, when the girl refused, he tried to force himself on her physically. She kicked him in the groin and fled the room. The third video, which was shot in New York again, ended with their hired security, disguised as staff, stepping in to give the girl a chance to escape. Despite not being high-definition, it was undeniable what those videos represented: the inevitable downfall of Weinstein.
"Melissa wanted to continue the operation, but I put my foot down," Rose said quietly when the last clip ended. Her voice trembled but was steady. "I think we have enough to bring him down for good. That last encounter came too close. I will not send another girl into a room with him. Money does not make it worth the risk."
I had to admit the plan had been meticulously constructed. Weinstein and others like him had built an entire system around exploitation. As soon as a girl left his suite, his people and his lawyers would call with offers of payoffs, insisting on silence. If the women accept the money, his operatives let the encounters end without further escalation. We did not pay the women ourselves. If it were proven that they had been hired by us, the case could be derailed because that could be called prostitution, not harassment. But since the money came only from Weinstein, we were safe.
Moreover, the payout was proof that Weinstein did something bad. Why else would he pay such outrageous sums to random girls? Even high-end hookers come for much cheaper.
To protect our evidence, each woman signed an affidavit before any meeting, acknowledging she knew about the recordings and consenting to their use. That way, when the tapes surfaced, they would not be violating any nondisclosure agreements since they disclosed the details before the NDA was signed. That was the cold logic behind the plan.
"You made the right call," I said to Rose, quieter than I intended. "Still, remember this: if we had not used escorts, he would have instead found a naive girl to prey upon. It is a lesser evil that he harassed someone who understood the game."
Rose frowned, worry flickering across her face. "Then we need to get this story out as soon as possible. Which newspaper do you think we should contact? The New York Times, maybe?"
"No one," I said firmly. "Post the full video directly on YouTube. All these newspapers are sellouts. If you wait for a major publication, it'll take them months to verify your claim. And even then, with full proof, some of them still won't post it out of fear of disrupting the status quo."
"But that's unfair!" Rose exclaimed, her tone sharp with disbelief. "It's their job to report on injustice. If this report came from The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal, it would give us so much legitimacy. How sure are you that they'll try to bury the story?"
"99 percent," I replied grimly. "You can try going the traditional route if you want, but I'll give you two months. If nothing moves forward by then, you must post it on YouTube. Once there, I'll make sure that the video can't be taken down at all, and everyone sees it. Remember, the longer you wait, the more girls will be harassed by him and the other so-called 'gods' of Hollywood."
Rose's jaw tightened before she nodded in agreement. She stood up slowly, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. "I'll leave you be then. If I need to contact you, will you still be in New York?"
I shook my head. "I leave for London in two days for my next concert. I've already done five here, which I think is more than enough."
She nodded again, understanding, and turned to leave.
Just as she reached the door, I called out, "Remember, this is our last meeting. You haven't gone to any journalists yet, which is why you're still safe. The moment you do, Weinstein will know, and he'll have you tailed. It's inevitable. Do not contact me unless it's an absolute emergency."
She paused briefly, gave a silent nod, and walked out.
I sighed and got up from my seat, thinking I could use a workout in the home gym to clear my head. But before I could even move, the door to my apartment opened, and in walked Scarlett. Very early. She wasn't supposed to be home for at least two hours.
"Hey," she said casually, shutting the door behind her. "Was that Rose McGowan who just left?"
Shit. So much for keeping things confidential. Now the big question was, should I tell her the full truth or not?
____________________
AN: Check out my second story, 'Swimmer to Superstar (A Hollywood SI)', which is now publicly available.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com