Author: Emily M. Danforth
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/emily-m-danforth/page,9,568862-plain_bad_heroines.html
“I feel certain that you’d have done well at Brookhants,” Merritt said. “All the girls would have asked you to the dance.”
“Mm-hmm,” Harper said. “Only problem with that theory is I never would have gotten in. Unless they hauled their shit all the way out to Montana to hire me as a kitchen maid.”
“How can you know?” Merritt said. “Maybe 1902 Harper Harper would have been a famous stage actress, then on to silent films. You still could have been one of the real greats.” Merritt was just saying that to say it, but it’s not unthinkable. Harper had the it. You know, the it.
“The 1902 me wouldn’t have had the famous writer to be named after,” Harper said. “Harper Lee wasn’t even alive then.”
“Why couldn’t she be named after you?” Merritt said.
Harper didn’t answer that, there was a lull, and though it was really only the first bit of silence between them since they’d started the call, Merritt didn’t like it. She felt like it was the cue she was supposed to interpret as Harper’s polite way of telling Merritt she’d gotten all she needed, thanks. So Merritt asked, “Did you get everything you needed from me?”
“Never,” Harper said. “But I can let you go. I know I’m sort of fangirling you with all these questions.”
“That’s very funny,” Merritt said.
“Why?”
“I mean that it’s amusing to hear you, Harper Harper, use the verb fangirling in relation to something you’re doing to me.”
“I am doing it.”
“Oh, OK,” Merritt said. “I’m just thinking of your own rabid fans and this odd reversal.”
“Now why would you go and say that my fans have rabies?”
“I lurk hard online,” Merritt said. “You doing anything at all is apparently memeworthy—”
“Nah, now—” Harper tried to cut her off, but it was useless.
“Here’s you smoking at a café in—maybe Paris? Is it too obvious to assume Paris? Barcelona?”
“Never been to Barcelona.”
“OK, so smoking in Paris—check. Here’s you drinking a slushee outside a perfectly suburban gas station.”
“Yeah, OK,” Harper said, laughing, “point made.”
Merritt wasn’t done. “Here’s the GIF of you walking with that soccer player whose name I can never remember and you both hop over a puddle only you don’t quite make it. Here’s, like, seven in a row where you just take off a hat or put on a hat. You should read the comments on these. It’s enough to make a lady blush.”
“Not the ladies I know.”
“Ha!” Merritt said. “Tell me, do you know that your fandom’s hashtag is HARPEOPLE?”
“What now?” Harper said.
“Hashtag HARPEOPLE,” Merritt said again. “There’s a subreddit, too.”
“I’ve never heard that,” Harper said.
“Liar.”
“I mean I mighta heard it somewhere,” Harper said, her grin again draped over her words. This felt a whole lot like phone flirting to Merritt, Readers, but judge as you will (because of course you will).
“Well, go on,” Merritt said. “You were supposedly fangirling me.”
“You can’t just point it out like that,” Harper said.
“You pointed it out,” Merritt said. “You used the word.”
“Yeah, but now I’m embarrassed,” Harper said.
“No, you’re not,” Merritt said. “You’re miles from embarrassed. Let’s have it—turn it up.” She was not above being phone flattered by Harper Harper. Would you be? Really?
“I’m just saying that it’s good, what you made,” Harper said. “Like keeping Flo and Clara and the rest of them alive in your book—and known, that’s like a legitimate thing to be proud of, you know, or have define you. I mean who writes a book at sixteen?”
“Other people,” Merritt said quickly, the prickle of shame flicking along her skin like a rash. “Throughout time, plenty of them. Mary MacLane for one.”
“She was nineteen,” Harper said. “You beat her.”
“I had a lot of help along the way, a lot of advice. I didn’t do it alone.”
“I’m not saying you did it alone, nobody does anything alone. I’m just saying that you did do it. You did. Take the credit.”
Merritt felt distinctly uncomfortable for the first time since they’d started speaking. She wondered if she should now say the same kinds of things to Harper, tell her how enormous her talent was, how wonderful it was that she’d be playing Flo and how lucky it made her feel, but she also felt like those things would sound somehow too small or obvious—too sycophantic on the heels of Harper’s own flattery. And so the air again hung silent between them for a few moments until there was Merritt’s mother pulling into the driveway. And since her father had done what he’d done, surprises like this—anything out of the blue as it related to their home life—made Merritt rush to dread.
She could see through the windshield that her mother was not alone. One of her colleagues—a slim, man-bunned guy named Anderson—was with her. Neither of them noticed Merritt as they climbed out of her mother’s neighborhood-ubiquitous Volvo station wagon.
“My mother just got home and I have to go,” Merritt said, recognizing how young that no doubt sounded to someone like Harper Harper.
“Me too,” Harper said. “Not my mom getting home but I do have to go. Thank you for this. I already have a clearer sense of things and it was rad just talking to you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Merritt said. “Goodbye.” She immediately regretted that sign-off, regretted not saying that she’d also liked talking to Harper. But it was too late to change it. She’d said what she’d said and that was that and why was her mother home, anyway?
If you walked from the driveway along the path that edged up against the house there was an overgrown holly hedge that blocked your view of the porch, at least until you arrived at its steps.
“Oh, you’re home,” Professor Emmons said with only mild surprise as she rounded that corner. “What happened to the library?”
“I decided I like the porch better,” Merritt said. It was remarkable how quickly her worry over something potentially being wrong could shift into anger.
“Hi, Merritt,” Anderson said. They were both standing in front of her now. “Good to see you.”
She’d met Anderson before, many times. So had her father. They’d all even suffered through a dinner together once. But that was years ago. Merritt hadn’t known her mother was seeing him again, at least in this particular way. Apparently, by coming home Merritt had unwittingly interrupted their afternoon tryst. God, gross.
“You know I don’t like not knowing where you are,” her mother said. “I wish you would have told me you were leaving campus.”
“I did,” Merritt said. “I texted you. Also, I’m twenty-one years old.”
“Oh,” her mother said, ignoring the last part of Merritt’s reply as she inspected the curled leaves on a railing basket of pansies. “I didn’t get it. Somehow, I don’t have my phone. I went to put something in my calendar and realized. Did you see it in the kitchen?”
“No,” Merritt said. “But I wasn’t looking for it.”
“Well, we just stopped in so I could grab it,” her mother said. “Let me run and check.” She slipped into the house.
Now Merritt and Anderson looked at each other.
“Any movie news?” he asked. “Your mom said they’re really involving you. That must be dope.”
“My mother says a lot of things that she thinks sound good.”
“She’s just proud of you,” Anderson said. “She—”
“I’d rather we didn’t speak anymore. Let’s just wait together in unhappy silence.”
He gave her the face she expected, one of surprise tinged pink.
She blinked at him.
Anderson might have been embarrassed to know just how much relief Merritt could see come over him as they listened to her mother approach, her boots a
cross the wood floor of the entryway. “Got it,” Professor Emmons said from behind the screen door. She was holding her phone up, shaking it at them.
“Oh thank gawd,” Merritt said. “I was so worried.”
“We’ve got to run or we’ll be late for the department meeting.” Professor Emmons was now walking back across the porch to the side stairs. Anderson followed a step or two behind.
“Don’t leave on account of me,” Merritt said.
“I think we should do kebabs tonight,” her mother called back without turning around. “Can you get everything prepped and then we’ll light the grill when I get home?”
“Mmmmm,” Merritt said.
“Be sure to cut up those farmers’ market peppers. They’re getting soft. Love you!” Her car door slammed shut.
Merritt realized she hadn’t mentioned the phone call, the hour spent talking to Harper Harper. (Flirting with Harper Harper? Yes. Yes, flirting.) And now she wasn’t sure she would tell her mother about it at all. (She enjoyed being punitive in matters like this.)
In fact, Merritt might have almost let herself believe she’d daydreamed the whole call were it not for the text she found waiting on her phone. Harper must have sent it only moments after they’d hung up.
Thanks again! Talking to you made me really happy. I’m off to a vintage store to find old lockets to put my hair in. You know, for the fans.
Merritt’s response: the fans #HARPEOPLE.
And then she added, before she could convince herself not to:
talking to you made me happy, too
And Now: A Strange and Ugly Thing That Happened in the Not-So-Distant Past as Told on the Internet Not Even an Hour After It Occurred
JULY 14, 2006
In bizarre breaking news, Caroline Wells (of House Mother fame) is being treated for life-threatening injuries after she crashed her car into a residential fence before being subsequently attacked by the property owner’s dog early Friday afternoon in Bel Air. The incident was reportedly caught on two cameras within the property’s extensive security system. (Footage has yet to be released.)
The out-of-work actress, age thirty-seven, mother of child actor Audrey Wells, age fourteen, who is currently filming the second season of her Disney Channel series Class(y) Clowns, was traveling alone on Friday, July 14, at approximately 1:20 P.M. when she allegedly swerved her Mercedes Benz over a curb and onto the lawn of homeowner Kevin Sokol. The vehicle then made its way up the lawn before crashing into Mr. Sokol’s backyard fence, reports SpinSpun. The specific cause of Wells’s erratic driving is not clear at this time, though state police at the scene said they have reason to suspect intoxication.
Ms. Wells was reportedly not wearing a seat belt and sustained multiple injuries, including facial lacerations, from both the impact of the crash, which charged her vehicle through a large section of the fence, and also from the release of the front airbags.
SpinSpun reported that when Ms. Wells emerged from the vehicle, she was said to be incoherent and visibly impaired. She was also reported to be bleeding heavily from the head and face, and was screaming. At the time of the incident, the homeowner’s two school-age children had been playing in the backyard with their dog, a female pit bull mix, which subsequently charged through the break in the fence and attacked Ms. Wells, pulling her to the ground. Having heard the crash, Mr. Sokol came outside and, after some confusion, was able to call off his dog. First responders arrived and Ms. Wells was transported to Good Samaritan Hospital, where she remains in critical condition.
In an interview with SpinSpun, Mr. Sokol said he believes that his dog was attempting to “protect the children,” who were “upset and frightened” by the crash and the “bloody woman ranting on their lawn.” Mr. Sokol added, “My kids said they thought she looked like a zombie or something. I swear to God the media better not make this about pit bulls. I’m sorry it happened but this is about what she did, not what our dog did in reaction.” The dog in question, Garbo, is a rescue, age seven. Garbo remains with her owners at this time.
Last month, TMZ reported that producer Victor Castalano had filed for divorce from Caroline Wells after a series of headline-making public arguments. Audrey Wells is the couple’s only child.
A request for comment from Ms. Wells’s team wasn’t immediately returned.
This is a developing story. It will be updated as details become available.
Harper Harper’s Costume Life in DTLA
One of Harper’s cell phones, which she’d set on the counter next to her bathroom sink, buzzed with a call. Beneath the water droplets flicked on its screen, she saw that it was her manager asking where she was. They were supposed to meet with her social media team prior to the dinner she had that night (to strategize) and she was running late.
Her fingers were gooped with hair product, a purple-tinged paste. She smeared the screen as she texted him: I’m coming! I’m coming! On my way.
Her screen was now a mess, almost unreadable.
She’d gotten the hair product for free. She received so much free stuff these days. She felt compromised about it, about how it was totally true that the more you have, the more people want to give you, but when you’ve got nothing they find ways to make you pay for everything. Harper tried to use the things sent to her at least once or to pass them along to someone who would. Hence this paste she didn’t even like—but free.
She wasn’t thrilled with the state of her hair, but it would have to do because she needed to get out the door. Lateness was a bad habit from her not-so-old life, the one in Montana. It was something she’d worked on with real discipline in her new life, this Harper Harper movie star life that she still most often felt she was wearing around like a Halloween costume. Now she was someone who was on time, who kept deadlines and met expectations and seemed to do it with such effortlessness.
Harper believed that people liked this about her, this casual chill affect, best of all.
Given that it was an affect born of something once innate to her, the public expectation that she just was this way was mostly fine with Harper except she now felt that she always had to deliver it no matter what. Which, she’d realized, is the opposite of being chill.
She heard Eric saying something to Annie in the loft’s main room. Annie could work like this, with intrusion. She could keep painting, or sculpting, or arting, even with a friend hanging around, even with a bunch of friends in and out and around. It was almost always Annie’s own friends doing this, though. But tonight, it was Harper’s friend Eric, in town for a week while on summer break from Brown. Harper had been the one to fly him out to LA and put him up at Chateau Marmont, which she told him was clichéd and overpriced (which is what everyone had said to her about it, even when she was in groups that nonetheless ended up there) but Eric couldn’t be dissuaded. It was the sullied glamor of bad-choices-Hollywood-history he was after, and Harper was proud to be in a position to give it to him.
She pulled out her mascara (this brand one of Annie’s recs). The Cigarettes After Sex vinyl started up in the main room. They were a band Annie had also introduced her to, their music like some sweetly melancholy weed dream. (Harper had recently purchased the record player at Annie’s instruction as well.) Annie always worked to one band or artist exclusively until she didn’t. See, so Annie did have artistic rituals. She just didn’t let them become excuses.
Harper was starting to get used to having Annie around like this. Probably too used to it.
Eric wandered into the bathroom like a sleepy toddler about to ask for a cup of juice.
“You want?” He held out a joint to her. Eric had decided, he’d said, that he was only doing drugs the way people would have done them in the 1970s, so no vaping but plenty of joints, and no microdosing but a somewhat troubling (Harper thought) interest in cocaine bumped from the antique Laymon’s aspirin tin he kept it in.
“Better not,” Harper said. “This is a work thing.”
“Isn’t your whole life a work thin
g now?” He did not expect an answer to this and did not get one. Instead, he perched himself on the vanity, though there was hardly room for him there, one butt cheek slipping into the sink. This forced Harper to look around him to keep applying her blue mascara in the mirror he was now blocking. He was wearing these funny little vintage yellow soccer shorts and a white sweatshirt that he’d had on pretty much since arriving in California. He said he got the whole look from the lost and found in his dorm, which was very Eric. Knowing how to most effectively show off his killer legs was also very Eric.
“Do you want me to come with tonight since your scissor-sister bailed?” he asked.
“She didn’t bail. She’s working. You can see her working.”
“And so,” Eric said. “Me instead?”
“Always you. But not dressed like that and there’s no time to get you back to change.”
“I’m sure I could find something of yours to borrow.”
“Yeah and then you’ll look better in it than I do and forever ruin it for me.”
“Life is full of these hard truths.”
“Stay,” Harper said. “Hang out with her. I wish I could stay. I won’t be there long and then we’ll meet up at whatever Annie has planned.”
“That one does have all the plans.” He hopped down and stood close behind her. Then he reached around to place what was left of the joint between her lips (she let him) before resting his chin on the curve of her shoulder. They both watched in the mirror as she inhaled.
“We’re magnificent creatures,” Eric said before licking her neck.
“Do you really not like her?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like anyone. What I like is that you like her.” He’d pulled the roach from her mouth and flicked it down the drain and was now opening her tub of free hair paste and working it in his palm.
“I do like her.”