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The power of the 'casting couch' is in how it's used to shame its victims The power of the 'casting couch' is in how it's used to shame its victims
(about 1 hour later)
There is a convenient myth in the entertainment industry: “the casting couch”. As the myth goes, young women willingly sacrifice their virtue on this metaphorical piece of furniture to older, seemingly benevolent men who just need a little sexual encouragement to bestow their mentorship on the next big thing.There is a convenient myth in the entertainment industry: “the casting couch”. As the myth goes, young women willingly sacrifice their virtue on this metaphorical piece of furniture to older, seemingly benevolent men who just need a little sexual encouragement to bestow their mentorship on the next big thing.
And, maybe, for some women that was true – but there has always been an uncomfortable whiff of coercion to the myth, and more than a little slut-shaming of the women who, willingly or usually less than willingly, found themselves on that couch. And, as we’re now learning, that whiff of coercion in even the most optimistic retellings, was sometimes just rape – from Roman Polanski’s Quaalude-assisted sexual assault of a minor, to Bill Cosby’s admission that he obtained Quaaludes to give to young women for what he termed “sex” (and others understand as rape), to the alleged Quaalude-assisted sexual assault of 14-year-old Jackie Fuchs, the original bassist of the all-girl rock band The Runaways, by their manager Kim Fowley.And, maybe, for some women that was true – but there has always been an uncomfortable whiff of coercion to the myth, and more than a little slut-shaming of the women who, willingly or usually less than willingly, found themselves on that couch. And, as we’re now learning, that whiff of coercion in even the most optimistic retellings, was sometimes just rape – from Roman Polanski’s Quaalude-assisted sexual assault of a minor, to Bill Cosby’s admission that he obtained Quaaludes to give to young women for what he termed “sex” (and others understand as rape), to the alleged Quaalude-assisted sexual assault of 14-year-old Jackie Fuchs, the original bassist of the all-girl rock band The Runaways, by their manager Kim Fowley.
Should’ve known, should’ve known, the refrain goes, Should’ve known you weren’t that special, should’ve known he was only after one thing, what were her parents thinking, what did she think was going to happen. I know that refrain well.Should’ve known, should’ve known, the refrain goes, Should’ve known you weren’t that special, should’ve known he was only after one thing, what were her parents thinking, what did she think was going to happen. I know that refrain well.
There was a family that lived in the next town over when I was growing up: the father, a spitting image of Warren Beatty, was moderately famous for having written the screenplay for a successful Hollywood film; the mother, petite, eccentric and ravishingly beautiful, had been a Miss America runner-up or winner who briefly dated Elvis Presley; their three white-blonde children all with chiseled, model features were same in age as me and my siblings. The entire family together was almost narcotically alluring to me: more than anything, I felt I belonged in their big sprawling house where they hosted dinner parties with celebrities, talking about movies and books and music and art, not in my family’s more modest circumstances with parents who worked various gigs to keep food on the table and siblings who lacked ambition beyond the town’s borders.There was a family that lived in the next town over when I was growing up: the father, a spitting image of Warren Beatty, was moderately famous for having written the screenplay for a successful Hollywood film; the mother, petite, eccentric and ravishingly beautiful, had been a Miss America runner-up or winner who briefly dated Elvis Presley; their three white-blonde children all with chiseled, model features were same in age as me and my siblings. The entire family together was almost narcotically alluring to me: more than anything, I felt I belonged in their big sprawling house where they hosted dinner parties with celebrities, talking about movies and books and music and art, not in my family’s more modest circumstances with parents who worked various gigs to keep food on the table and siblings who lacked ambition beyond the town’s borders.
Leaving our town was all I could think about, almost from the moment that I became conscious that there was a world beyond it, and I saw this family, to whom I endeared myself, as a ticket out. And, after befriending the youngest son, it became clear that my being black made me exotic to them – special, and if nothing else, captivating.Leaving our town was all I could think about, almost from the moment that I became conscious that there was a world beyond it, and I saw this family, to whom I endeared myself, as a ticket out. And, after befriending the youngest son, it became clear that my being black made me exotic to them – special, and if nothing else, captivating.
They had a friend, who I will call Bill – a broadcast journalist for a major television network in New York City, with a well-known penchant for young women (who were mostly girls and not women at all). I had also been told about his charm, his humor and his outrageous jetsetter lifestyle. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he was nimble and direct and, not long after we met, he became enchanted with me. I was 14.They had a friend, who I will call Bill – a broadcast journalist for a major television network in New York City, with a well-known penchant for young women (who were mostly girls and not women at all). I had also been told about his charm, his humor and his outrageous jetsetter lifestyle. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he was nimble and direct and, not long after we met, he became enchanted with me. I was 14.
Though they’d cautioned me and I don’t remember giving him my number, I must have done so because he called out of the blue one night to ask me if I was interested in doing an internship at his network. “You’re so bright,” he said. “You’re going to be a star.” I was flattered – thrilled even – because he was telling me exactly what I wanted to hear, and what I desperately wanted to believe. Was I interested if broadcast journalism? The thought hadn’t occurred to me prior to our conversation but I figured that, if it involved New York City and television, then yes, I was interested in broadcast journalism. He said he would fly me to New York and back, and put me up at his place. Though they’d cautioned me and I don’t remember giving him my number, I must have done so because he called out of the blue one night to ask me if I was interested in doing an internship at his network. “You’re so bright,” he said. “You’re going to be a star.” I was flattered – thrilled even – because he was telling me exactly what I wanted to hear, and what I desperately wanted to believe. Was I interested in broadcast journalism? The thought hadn’t occurred to me prior to our conversation but I figured that, if it involved New York City and television, then yes, I was interested in broadcast journalism. He said he would fly me to New York and back, and put me up at his place.
My parents, always on the lax side of parenting and wrapped up in their own lives, thought this sounded exciting; my birthmother, who had recently become a dominant (if discordant) presence in my life, was understandably appalled that they had agreed to let me go to New York City on my own to stay with a man in his late 30s whom they’d never met. She insisted on driving me to New York City herself to meet this guy in order to ensure my safety.My parents, always on the lax side of parenting and wrapped up in their own lives, thought this sounded exciting; my birthmother, who had recently become a dominant (if discordant) presence in my life, was understandably appalled that they had agreed to let me go to New York City on my own to stay with a man in his late 30s whom they’d never met. She insisted on driving me to New York City herself to meet this guy in order to ensure my safety.
He wasn’t home when we arrived, but had left a note that read: “I get off at 7pm, meet me at [a restaurant], and wear your dancing shoes!” My birthmother gave me a look, and then surveyed the swank Upper East Side apartment with a discomforting ease. She showed herself into the bedroom, and then reemerged to say: “He has a picture of what looks like his mother on his nightstand, you’ll be fine.”He wasn’t home when we arrived, but had left a note that read: “I get off at 7pm, meet me at [a restaurant], and wear your dancing shoes!” My birthmother gave me a look, and then surveyed the swank Upper East Side apartment with a discomforting ease. She showed herself into the bedroom, and then reemerged to say: “He has a picture of what looks like his mother on his nightstand, you’ll be fine.”
And then she left without meeting him – but not before saying in her righteously condescending way that assumed I could only ever be the daughter she wanted me to be: “I know I don’t have to tell you this, right? But if he tries anything, just tell him, ‘I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but I hope you don’t expect anything in return’.”And then she left without meeting him – but not before saying in her righteously condescending way that assumed I could only ever be the daughter she wanted me to be: “I know I don’t have to tell you this, right? But if he tries anything, just tell him, ‘I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but I hope you don’t expect anything in return’.”
Bill and I had dinner at a fancy restaurant and he ordered wine for both of us, which felt weird but grown-up. Afterwards, we went dancing at a place downtown that was big, dark and loud. Back at his apartment, he gave me more wine that was too sweet and which I felt obliged to drink. I had only been drunk on beer once before at a high school party, and I didn’t even understand that wine could make you drunk like beer. It seemed too fancy to make you behave the way I understood drunk behavior – graceless, sloppy, stupid.Bill and I had dinner at a fancy restaurant and he ordered wine for both of us, which felt weird but grown-up. Afterwards, we went dancing at a place downtown that was big, dark and loud. Back at his apartment, he gave me more wine that was too sweet and which I felt obliged to drink. I had only been drunk on beer once before at a high school party, and I didn’t even understand that wine could make you drunk like beer. It seemed too fancy to make you behave the way I understood drunk behavior – graceless, sloppy, stupid.
He only turned on one light in the living room, and the TV, and then asked me to come sit with him on the couch – or better yet, he suggested, we could sit together on the floor, “I’ll give you a massage,” he said, smiling. He put a large pillow down on the floor between the couch and the TV, where I sat down, with him behind me. His hands felt clunky and enormous on my small shoulders. The screen flickered and, after the wine, things became blurry as he rubbed my back, my arms. I had on a loose-fitting top, and a bra. For a moment, I felt like I had at my 11th birthday party, slow dancing with a boy for the first time – so aware of the placement of somebody else’s hands, arms, feet, body, and so aware of my own. There had been a giddiness, a mystery, a secret about it. But on Bill’s pillow, on Bill’s floor, that feeling disappeared almost immediately.He only turned on one light in the living room, and the TV, and then asked me to come sit with him on the couch – or better yet, he suggested, we could sit together on the floor, “I’ll give you a massage,” he said, smiling. He put a large pillow down on the floor between the couch and the TV, where I sat down, with him behind me. His hands felt clunky and enormous on my small shoulders. The screen flickered and, after the wine, things became blurry as he rubbed my back, my arms. I had on a loose-fitting top, and a bra. For a moment, I felt like I had at my 11th birthday party, slow dancing with a boy for the first time – so aware of the placement of somebody else’s hands, arms, feet, body, and so aware of my own. There had been a giddiness, a mystery, a secret about it. But on Bill’s pillow, on Bill’s floor, that feeling disappeared almost immediately.
I felt his hands on my bare skin slip under my shirt, over my breasts, then under my bra, and I froze. I tried to remember what my birthmother had told me what to say, but all I could think about was how disappointed she would be that I’d let it get this far. I tried to shift my body a little to give him an out, hoping against hope maybe his hands had just accidentally fallen inside of my shirt and under my bra. But he kept his hands where they were and started to rub a little harder. I could hear his breath getting heavier, and I started to feel slightly sick, dizzy and very worried. It struck me that I was alone in the apartment of a man twice my age, in New York City, hundreds of miles away from home. Who would hear me scream even if I could get the noise out? I thought. Why hadn’t someone protected me from this terrible decision? How was I go to get out of this safely? Would I ever get a job as a broadcast journalist?I felt his hands on my bare skin slip under my shirt, over my breasts, then under my bra, and I froze. I tried to remember what my birthmother had told me what to say, but all I could think about was how disappointed she would be that I’d let it get this far. I tried to shift my body a little to give him an out, hoping against hope maybe his hands had just accidentally fallen inside of my shirt and under my bra. But he kept his hands where they were and started to rub a little harder. I could hear his breath getting heavier, and I started to feel slightly sick, dizzy and very worried. It struck me that I was alone in the apartment of a man twice my age, in New York City, hundreds of miles away from home. Who would hear me scream even if I could get the noise out? I thought. Why hadn’t someone protected me from this terrible decision? How was I go to get out of this safely? Would I ever get a job as a broadcast journalist?
“Don’t worry.” he said, still pawing at my breasts. “This is great. You’re great. So pretty. Wait until everyone meets you at the network tomorrow.” I took the opportunity of him bringing up the internship to twist around abruptly, his hands still up my shirt, to say, “Thanks! I’m really excited!”“Don’t worry.” he said, still pawing at my breasts. “This is great. You’re great. So pretty. Wait until everyone meets you at the network tomorrow.” I took the opportunity of him bringing up the internship to twist around abruptly, his hands still up my shirt, to say, “Thanks! I’m really excited!”
Somehow, that killed his buzz. He pulled his hands out of my shirt, stood up and turned off the TV, leaving me in the near-dark. He disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a pillow and a blanket that he wordlessly threw on the couch.Somehow, that killed his buzz. He pulled his hands out of my shirt, stood up and turned off the TV, leaving me in the near-dark. He disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a pillow and a blanket that he wordlessly threw on the couch.
The next morning, I pretended to be asleep as he woke up and then left. His note on the table this time included instructions on where to pick up and then deliver his dry cleaning, an offer to “come by and meet some people” at the network, and a plane ticket home.The next morning, I pretended to be asleep as he woke up and then left. His note on the table this time included instructions on where to pick up and then deliver his dry cleaning, an offer to “come by and meet some people” at the network, and a plane ticket home.
I took both – and discovered that there was no internship, no interview and nobody I could tell without hearing “You should’ve known.”I took both – and discovered that there was no internship, no interview and nobody I could tell without hearing “You should’ve known.”
This discussion is premoderated.This discussion is premoderated.