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Madeline sees the photo. Of course she does. It is the first post that shows up on her Instagram feed. And with it comes a sensation akin to being hit by a bus.
It has (already, only) been almost ten years since they were together. Madeline had hoped, perhaps naively, that after all this time, she would have built up a higher tolerance to seeing her.
Madeline stares at her phone. Helen Sharp stares back, eyes coyly aimed at the camera, a smirk playing at her lips. She looks different from the last time Madeline had seen her in person; god, when was that - seven, eight years ago? She looks older. But, then again, Madeline probably does too.
Helen’s hair is shorter, reaching just to her shoulders and a bit darker than Madeline remembers, maybe a fresh dye job? Regardless, it suits her, framing Helen’s face in soft waves. Her makeup is subtle and she is wearing a very fashionable pair of oversized wire-framed glasses.
Madeline’s heart clenches. She looks lovely.
Madeline wishes she could ignore the other person in the photo: the blonde actress who has an arm around Helen’s shoulders, pressing a playful kiss to her cheek. They are sitting so close. It makes Madeline’s fingers itch.
She does not want to read the caption, but Madeline is apparently some kind of masochist when it comes to Helen Sharp.
LindzMonty: Please forgive my screaming. I’m just beyond excited to get to work with this amazing woman and bring her beautiful words to life on the big screen. Doesn’t hurt that she’s a stone cold fox either 😘
Helen is tagged in the photo, otherwise it might not have shown up on Madeline’s feed right away. She does not follow many accounts, and certainly not younger actresses who seem to be winning more and more of the roles that Madeline herself used to land.
So: sounds like Helen has a new screenplay. She must be pretty excited. Her last Hollywood project was a few years ago now - not that Madeline has been keeping tabs on her career. But, a major motion picture with a certified A-list star like Lindsay Montgomery - that is a huge get for Helen.
Madeline ricochets like an emotional pinball. She feels a beam of bright happiness, with a hint of pride, over this latest success for Helen. Then, there is the nosedive of sickening jealousy over this new collaborator.
And lastly: the tiny, beating part of Madeline that she tries to keep boxed away and buried under a decade’s worth of other memories. The quiet corner of her heart that aches knowing it will never be her in these photos, at Helen’s side.
Madeline herself had done a bang-up job making sure of that.
January, 2010
Madeline did not make good choices when she was heartbroken. Like a wounded animal, she would lash out at anyone who dared to approach. It was a constant push-and-pull of the warring needs within her: 'stay back' versus 'don’t leave me'.
All it really did was make sure that no one ever got too close, after Helen.
They had been broken up for almost two years. That should have been more than enough time to get over someone like Helen Sharp. She was Madeline Ashton, damn it: one-time Oscar nominee, with an opportunity this year to turn that one into two.
And after everything she had been through, Madeline figured that a nomination was the very least that the universe owed her.
Because if she didn’t have Helen, well, at least she had her fucking career, right? That would keep her warm at night. Right?
Madeline was at the after-party for the Golden Globes. As soon as she had seen the list of nominees, she should have instead planned a trip to Sydney, or tried to catch some infectious disease, or joined a convent. She should have known that the evening would only end one way.
Helen received a Best Motion Picture Screenplay nomination for her work on Chosen. It was good work. Madeline had watched the film and could hear Helen’s voice lacing through the dialogue. But she wasn’t going to win; the screenplay category was stacked with too many other heavy-hitters.
Madeline herself had snagged a nomination for Best Supporting Actress in the remake of Rebecca. The role of The Second Mrs. de Winter obviously had more screen time, but no one could deny that Madeline Ashton’s performance as the titular Rebecca had been anything other than mesmerizing. She had a fairly decent shot at winning.
Until she didn’t. She lost and forced a polite smile on for the cameras. It was just the crap icing on top of an already shitty cake.
The night had not been a total failure, however. Madeline had made it through the ceremony successfully avoiding Helen. Madeline knew where she was seated, of course, but the actors were always placed in the front of the room, and everyone else was shoved in the back. Served Helen right.
The after-party at the Chateau Marmont was different. There, it was a free-for-all: no seating arrangements, no telling who would run into whom. And Madeline was drunk.
She only realized this fact when she nearly collided with Helen as she was leaving the bar. If Madeline had been sober, or only moderately tipsy, she wouldn’t have almost lost her footing in surprise.
“Hi,” Helen said, eyebrows raised. Going by the judgmental look on her beautiful face, Helen was also aware that she was drunk.
“Oh,” Madeline brushed a hand through her hair, praying the gesture read as aloof. “Hello.”
“Enjoying the party?”
Madeline stared at her. Small talk? “Why are you even here, Helen?”
“I was nominated too, you ass.”
“I didn’t mean - oh, whatever.” What had she meant, exactly? Why was Helen still haunting Madeline? Why couldn’t Madeline seem to forget her?
Helen frowned. Madeline recognized that concerned face, she had seen it many times before. Inexplicably, she suddenly felt like crying. She needed to get some water. Helen asked, “Are you all right?”
“Hmm,” Madeline raised her glass in a faux-toast, “I’m always all right.”
“I’m sorry you lost.”
Madeline barked out a harsh laugh, “Yeah. Ditto.”
“Mad-” Helen stopped short, then shook her head. “Never mind. Enjoy the rest of your night.” She turned to leave.
Madeline reached out to grab Helen’s wrist. “No, wait. What-” she started, desperate. Then she realized that she was touching Helen, for the first time in almost two years. Madeline dropped her wrist like it was on fire. “What were you going to say?”
Helen sighed, evidently deliberating her response. “I was going to say that I hope, maybe at some point, we can be friends. Again.”
“You want to be my friend.” Uh-oh. Bad, bad, bad. Walk away, Madeline.
“We were friends once,” Helen shrugged and gave her a small, sincere smile. “I miss you.”
“You miss me.” Madeline felt that familiar slow flame spreading through her veins. And not the thrilling kind; this was the ugly heat that always preempted her poor decisions.
Helen seemed to realize her mistake. The smile disappeared.
Madeline’s voice was hard enough to shatter glass, “Am I misremembering, Helen, or were you not the one who broke up with me?”
Helen glanced around them and held up a hand. “Okay-”
Yeah, right: Madeline was not stopping now. “You were the one who didn’t want to be with me because it would ruin your career, isn’t that right, Helen?” A rhetorical question. Madeline did not wait for an answer. “What, suddenly I’m no longer a pariah to you? You want to be my friend?” Her voice turned high and mocking, echoing Helen’s earlier words.
“Mad, please-”
“Do not call me that,” Madeline was not shouting, but it was close. Other partygoers in their immediate vicinity turned to stare at them.
“I’m not your friend, Helen. I want nothing to do with you.” Madeline almost choked on the lie, but her anger swallowed it down.
Helen took a breath, eyes narrowing. She tilted her head, projecting a calmness in obvious contrast with Madeline’s barely-contained rage. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said evenly.
Oh, like Helen was doing Madeline some big fucking favor, by wanting to be friends?
Even when they had been friends, so many years ago, they weren’t. Not really.
“You absolute cunt,” Madeline gritted out. “Get away from me, Helen.”
A man appeared beside them. He looked familiar. If Madeline wasn’t busy seeing red, maybe she would have recognized him as the evening’s host. He asked, “Is everything okay here, ladies?”
Helen turned and offered him an apologetic smile. “Yes. I was just leaving.” She walked away; Madeline left standing, seething. Helen did not look back.
Madeline swipes over to Lindsay Montgomery’s profile, quickly scrolling through her grid of photos.
If Madeline was feeling a little more secure, she would call out this woman for being a watered-down version of herself. But her armor has been sufficiently pierced, just from that one photo of Hel, and her typical levels of pride are flagging. All Madeline can see is everything that is captivating about this woman. She’s striking, with sharp, bright features that Madeline hates to admit would be beguiling on or off the screen.
Madeline can just imagine all the other ways that they differ.
And Helen is working with this woman. Helen apparently wants to take flirty photos with her and have them posted publicly for all the world to see. Even if it is simply for promotional reasons, even if there is nothing between them beyond a professional relationship - the fact that Helen agreed to it chafes at her the most.
Madeline had wanted the same thing with Helen, too, all those years ago.
February, 2008
For days, they had been going around in circles, rehashing the same argument.
Madeline was exhausted and she knew Helen was too. She didn’t want to fight, but she needed to find a way for Helen to actually, finally hear her.
“I want them to know about you,” Madeline said to Helen, trying to be as plain as possible. “I don’t care if I lose out on a couple of roles.”
“Please don’t lie to me. You don’t care?” Helen scoffed, shaking her head. “If you - if we go public, you will lose more than ‘a couple’ of roles. Can you imagine what that would be like, just for a second?”
Madeline did, and her stomach felt like it was on spin-cycle. She imagined the headlines and the blog posts, the segments on Access Hollywood and TMZ. She imagined silence from her agent on the other end of the phone.
Helen continued: “And it will affect us, this,” she gestured between them. “You know it will. I won’t have that happen, Mad.”
“Don’t I get a say?” Madeline snapped, “It’s my life, Helen. My career.”
“It’s mine, too. You get that, right?” Helen said. “And I won’t let you do this.”
Madeline said nothing, just continued her pacing. They were in the living room of her apartment. Helen was seated on the couch, hunched over with her elbows resting on her knees. She watched as Madeline walked back and forth.
“I know you, Madeline, don’t act like I don’t. You’re too proud for something like this. You will actively resent me if coming out kills your career.”
Madeline felt like tearing her hair out. “Goddammit, Helen. You can’t predict every outcome!” Madeline didn’t want to yell, but she couldn’t stop it, the words just spilled out of her. “I know you wish you could. That way you can avoid ever getting hurt because, hey, at least you can say you saw it coming - right? But why can’t you give me a chance to prove you wrong?” Madeline’s voice broke, and she grew still.
How many times did they have to go through this?
Helen’s jaw tightened. “And can you understand, Mad, that I don’t want to watch you grow to hate me?” Helen was crying. Madeline felt like something worse than scum.
Why couldn’t she get through to Helen?
They had been together for almost three years, and Madeline had tossed out the idea of coming out. Maybe not completely, or to the entire world, not right away. But she loved Helen, and she wanted other people to know that. Helen, for her part, thought it was a mistake. She could only see how such a decision could go poorly.
How, after all this time, did Helen still think so little of her?
“So, then what?” Madeline asked, utterly deflated by all of this. “If you don’t want me to come out, if no one can know that we’re together,” she threw her hands up in surrender, “what do we do, Hel?”
Helen said nothing.
“Oh,” Madeline said, realization dawning. “Oh. You don’t actually want to do this anymore.” Her arms dropped like lead at her sides, a cold weight in her gut.
It had been a long time since Madeline had felt brokenhearted; this overwhelming numbness, is that what it always felt like?
“It’s not that I don’t want to, Madeline. I love you,” Helen’s tone was imploring, “I just don’t see how we can keep going.” The tears had stopped, but remnant streaks were plain on her face.
Helen looked devastated, but there was a firm edge in her eyes. She had made up her mind. And that hurt the most.
“That’s your solution. You’re breaking up with me,” Madeline said.
Helen closed her eyes. “I’m doing this for-”
“Don’t,” Madeline cut her off, voice fracturing. “Don’t you dare say it.”
Helen had been right, of course. At that time, Madeline Ashton publicly declaring to be in a committed relationship with another woman would have been the end. It was the mid-aughts, when they were together, and the pendulum of public opinion had not yet swung in their favor. Madeline’s career likely would have been dead-on-arrival if she had come out then. Game over.
It is a bitter sting to admit that Helen had a point. Madeline had been young, and selfish, and she’s still not altogether sure how she would have coped with a fading career at that point in her life.
But didn’t Madeline have a point too? Couldn’t Helen have trusted her, just a little, to not let the negativity affect them? Couldn’t they have at least tried?
But no. Helen had made her decision before they even had that final conversation. She alone had weighed the pros and cons of their relationship, and made a unilateral judgement call. Nothing Madeline could say would have convinced her otherwise.
Madeline shakes her head at herself, tossing her phone aside. Maybe she should go out tonight. Maybe she should try to meet someone to distract her. Why, oh why is she going down this rabbit-hole again?
Right, because it’s Helen. The bad times between them had been awful. But the good times?
Oh, they had been so good.
December, 2005
Helen was in the middle of cooking dinner when Madeline arrived at her apartment, unannounced.
“I’m sorry,” Madeline said sheepishly when Helen opened the front door with a paring knife in hand, “I should have called first.” It was still new, this thing between them - friendship that had turned into romance - and Madeline was unsure how much was too much. She was always too much.
Although, maybe Helen did not see her that way. “You don’t have to call,” Helen smiled, waving the knife a little. “Come on in.” She opened the door wider, and stepped back. There was a warm glow of light inside the apartment, and Madeline felt properly beckoned.
“I like this outfit,” Madeline said, only slightly teasing, as she followed Helen to the kitchen. Helen was wearing black yoga pants and a navy crewneck sweatshirt, emblazoned with ‘NANTUCKET’ in white lettering. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her glasses were perched on top of her head.
Madeline rarely saw Helen look so casual. It was utterly enchanting.
“I am sorry for just dropping by, Hel,” Madeline repeated. “You can always tell me to go. I was thinking about you earlier and,” she palmed the back of her neck, feeling a blush creeping up her face, “I just wanted to see you.”
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Helen blurted out. She looked a little surprised, as if she had not meant to say that.
“Yes,” Madeline said.
Helen opened a bottle of wine, then, and continued her preparations in kitchen. They chatted about everything and nothing. Madeline lingered, her hip resting against the countertop, and watched Helen cook. They laughed, and Helen casually touched Madeline as she moved around her. A hand on her shoulder blade, fingers at her waist. Just fleeting touches.
They had only been dating for a few months, but that absolutely did not matter. Madeline was in love with her. She had not said it to Helen yet, but Madeline could feel the words waiting just beneath her tongue, chomping at the bit.
Helen was standing in front of the stove, sauteing a medley of chopped vegetables and occasionally sipping her wine. Madeline decided she had had enough of this polite distance. She put down her glass, and sidled up behind Helen. She slowly crept her hands onto Helen’s waist, then around to her stomach to wrap her in an embrace.
“Careful,” Helen said, voice low, “I don’t want you to get burned.” Madeline swept Helen’s hair over one shoulder.
“Worth it,” she said, her lips pressed against the nape of Helen’s neck. Helen leaned her body back into Madeline’s, who played with the hem of her sweatshirt. Madeline felt a twinge of guilt over distracting Helen, but she quite simply could not help herself.
Helen switched off the burner and turned around. Madeline maneuvered them away from the stove, in front of the adjacent counterspace. Madeline kissed her, then; soft, the faint taste of wine on their tongues. Helen’s hands came up to frame her face. Hel’s fingers were always so cold and Madeline shivered. She felt Helen’s lips break out into a smile under her own.
Madeline pressed her lips to the corner of Helen’s mouth, wishing she could trace every freckle on her face. “I can’t kiss you,” Madeline said, “if you keep smiling.”
“Stop making me smile, then,” Helen parried.
A terrible thought. “Never mind. You win,” Madeline told her, as she hid her own smiling face in the curve of Helen’s neck. Her quiet laugh seemed to echo in Madeline’s ears.
Madeline’s hand slid down the side of Helen’s body, to the back of her thigh. She gave it a little pull and Helen seemed to take the hint as she hooked her leg over Madeline’s body. Madeline used this new leverage to lift Helen so she was sitting on the counter. A surprised gasp slipped from Helen’s mouth, her legs immediately coming to wrap around Madeline’s hips to draw her even closer. She was still grinning as she tugged Madeline in to kiss her again.
It was just a lazy kitchen make-out on a Thursday night. Gun to her head, Madeline could not have come up with a time when she had ever felt happier.
Helen broke the kiss, and laid her lips once on Madeline’s cheek, lingering there for a moment.
“Do you want to eat?” Madeline quietly asked, her hands skimming along the outside of Helen’s legs.
Helen stared at her. She took a breath as if to say something, but then stopped herself.
Madeline brushed her nose gently against Helen’s, prompting. “What?”
“I love you, Madeline,” Helen said.
Madeline bit her lip in an attempt to not blind Helen with her smile. A futile effort, apparently, from the pleased look on Helen’s face.
Madeline hummed, trying to play it cool. “Not exactly what I asked, Helen,” Madeline said, leaning in to kiss her again. Helen’s arms wrapped around Madeline’s shoulders, seemingly unable to get close enough.
“But,” Madeline pulled back and gave Helen her best, brightest smile, “I love you too.”
Madeline does go out that night.
She goes to a bar on the other side of the city. She’s been here a few times before, but not enough to be considered a regular. It’s dark, almost club-like, with heavy music blaring and cheap alcohol.
Madeline finds someone. That has never been an issue. She knows how to use her voice, her eyes, her body to charm strangers into her bed. Always strangers, and only ever for the night.
This woman is tall, and she’s young. Madeline doesn’t want to think about the years between them. But she watches Madeline with a hooded gaze, and the desire in her eyes is exactly what Madeline needs tonight.
Before they leave to go to this stranger’s home, Madeline insists on one more drink. While they linger at the bar, Madeline asks, “Do you mind if I take a photo?” If it is a strange request, this woman does not seem to care. She lets Madeline tangle their hands together over the bar, two sets of manicured nails; a contrast of Madeline’s pale polish and hers, a dark metallic. Madeline takes a photo of their hands.
She posts it to her story, then slips the phone away and says, “Let’s get out of here.”
April, 2004
They met, of course, on a movie set.
Madeline was twenty-eight and starring in a new sci-fi feature from Fox. She was not thrilled with the role, and the script was lackluster. But a leading role for a major studio action film was nothing to sniff at. Madeline wanted to keep climbing the ladder, and this type of picture would show off her versatility as an actor.
She had heard that the studio was bringing in another screenwriter, to assist with some rewrites. Madeline was hoping to catch him alone, maybe drop some hints on character adjustments that would make her sound like less of a dolt. A girl could dream.
Madeline had not expected the screenwriter to be a woman. She felt a prick of guilt for her own assumptions. But, more so, she was distracted by this unfamiliar redhead, currently seated alone in the writers’ circle adjacent to the director’s chair. She was jotting down notes onto a legal pad.
The woman was quite attractive, and perhaps a similar age to Madeline. Not that she could ever truly act on any of this - repression had become Madeline’s best friend since she started making a name for herself in Hollywood. But a little flirting never hurt anyone.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Madeline said mysteriously, approaching this stranger.
The woman blinked up at her. “Do what?”
“Sit there,” Madeline pointed at the group of chairs. “David usually sits here, and he’ll just use it as an excuse to try out some horrible come-ons with you as his guinea pig. He does it with every woman on set.”
The woman blinked at her again, then snorted. Madeline found it oddly charming.
“You mean I’m not special?” She asked, tone dripping with sarcasm. She stood and picked up her bag. “Thanks for the warning,” she said to Madeline with a polite smile.
“You could sit over here, if you want?” Madeline gestured towards an empty chair adjacent to her own.
The woman looked unsure. “I should probably stay close to the cameras,” she hedged.
“Sure, sure.” Madeline nodded. “That’s very practical. Or, here’s an idea: you could sit with the lead of the film and let her talk your ear off.” Madeline sighed with exaggeration. “I’ve heard that she’s dying to have another woman to talk to, around here.”
The woman smirked. “And will that be any better than suffering through David’s supposedly horrible pick-up-lines?” she asked.
Madeline raised a brow at her, gaze direct. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, but a tiny smile pulled at her mouth. “You’re very bold,” she stated. She did not seem offended, which Madeline took as an encouraging sign. Maybe she could have a friend on set? That would be nice. She didn’t have many friends.
Madeline grinned back. “So I’ve been told.” She stuck out her right hand, and said, “I’m Madeline.”
She had a sense that eye-rolls were a signature response for this woman. Said eyes were very green behind her glasses. “I know.” She took Madeline’s hand in hers. Her hand was cool. “I’m Helen Sharp.”
When she arrives home in the morning, Madeline doesn’t even pretend like she is not looking for it. Why bother? There is no one here but her and the four walls of this too-large house.
She constantly refreshes the app on her phone, scrolling through all the likes and ignoring all the comments on her story from last night, searching.
Hours later, she gets what she wanted: a simple ❤️ on the story from user sharpwrites
Madeline takes a deep breath.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
She throws her phone at the wall.