My stomach burbles beneath the damn corset, and I burp champagne.
I kick off the door before I can second-guess myselfcamera flashes blind me, shouts ring in my ears.
I say, turning back to face Noni.
Credit: Emily Lipson; Imprint
Her face is pale and drawn in the shadows of the backseat.
Sometimes I forget how painful the spotlight is for her.
But you dont know me if you think I cant do this in my sleep.
I hold Nonis hand in mineits dripping wetand I feed her all the energy I can.
Dressed in silk and dripping in lanterns, it exudes glamour.
And the crowd: Its too surreal an experience to not appreciate.
I might be sort of famous online, but Ive never seen clamoring, sweating throngs like this.
Sharp-edged holes exposing two glassy beads.
He moans, collapsing over a waist-high metal barrier.
She will return to me!
Theyre only children, Noni whispers to me.
Why do they care?
A groan escapes the impromptu mosh pit.
I open it: skimpy girls hotpants.
I burst out with a laugh.
Not my size, I say, tossing it back into the crowd, roaring in my ears.
A schoolgirl screams with barely contained joy beyond the fence, setting off a second flurry of technological lightning.
The fuck, I whisper to Noni, squeezing her hand.
I can feel how all of this nourishes me and how it compromises her.
Remember?Not Another Girl of Ice?
And then I remember.
She was just sixteen.
Sort of your typical preMe Too, Im-an-old-white-guy-director stuff.
Remember when we saw the poster?
Manon asks, as we continue on.
She said she feltfreeduring filming, for the first time in her life.
As if she could fight for anything she wanted, anything at all.
I dont say this, but I dont remember that.
It sounds like bull-s–t, and my own memory cuts through the champagne fuzz.
That character reminds me of White Fox.
