Someone wanted to write my autobiography. Someone else wanted me to do a tell-all on Oprah. For every day I didn’t tell the story myself, the world told it on my behalf. I wished Ma were around. I wanted to ask her: Is this what you wanted? Despite having been watched by the whole world, I felt invisible. I felt written over by everyone else’s stories of me.
I was sitting in the parlor with the other Bunnies; we were drinking Pink and scrolling through news stories, reading the odd line aloud, when Betty pointed at one of the TV screens.
“Your commercial hasn’t always been like that, has it, Lady?” is what she said. All of us Bunnies sat and waited for the loop to finish, for my ad to come back around, and when it did, I saw what Betty was talking about. The commercial used the security footage of me, talking, talking, and X, his face blurred, touching himself. Even the tagline was different; now it said: Lady Lane: THE HOP’S VERY OWN WILLA JORDAN LOOKALIKE.
We watched the loop a couple more times. Dakota eventually said what we were all thinking. “He wouldn’t have leaked it on purpose, right? Not while there’s a serial killer out there targeting us.”