“Are you okay?” I asked. “We were always friends, Cass. I can help you if you need it . . .”

Cassidy looked at me and smiled. It was so unnatural, so painted on and grotesque, that the doll Soleil held had a more genuine smile on its lips. “I’m fine,” she said, and made her way to the registers. I was so taken aback by the garish grin that I felt rooted to the floor for a beat, but then I followed, tugging Soleil along and picking her up when her short legs were too slow.

“Moooom,” Soleil whined, kicking at me with her little feet. I set her down and pushed up against Cass.

“What’s wrong? What really happened? Can’t you tell me?” The real questions almost hurled themselves out of my mouth: What really happened with Gloss? Why did you just leave without warning?

I was being too aggressive, and I knew it, but this had been eating away at me for what felt like forever. She acted like I wasn’t there, and Soleil began to whine again. “Hold on, honey,” I said, patting her. I tried another tactic, softening my voice. “Who is that for?”

I’d finally annoyed her enough that she answered gruffly. “My sister’s having a baby.” Then she began to walk away quickly. I huffed in irritation and picked up Soleil again, chasing Cassidy to the exit. “Cass!”

Cassidy whirled around on the sidewalk outside, and I knew it was because I’d shouted her name in public. “Why don’t you go ask Rose,” she said gruffly.

“Ask her what? She doesn’t know, either!” I started to cross the parking lot to follow her, but Soleil tugged on my hand, slowing me down. She’d dropped her doll just inside the automatic doors. A loss prevention member looked at the doll and then looked back at me.

“Ma’am,” he said.

“Shit. Sorry.” I went back in to pay, with my gaze over my shoulder, trying to see what car Cassidy was driving. But she was gone. I kicked myself for not abandoning the toy.

Of course I’d asked Rose what Cassidy had meant, but Rose shrugged it off. “No clue.”

As I sipped my coffee, now cold, and heaved myself up off the stool to make a fresh cup, I considered once again what she had been alluding to. Did Cassidy’s reasons for leaving the group—whatever she blamed Rose for, I assumed—have any residual connection with her recent suicide? Everything we do, and everything that has been done to us, can affect us. If I hadn’t stayed late, if I hadn’t accepted extra attention, if I hadn’t been such a goddamn easy target—

My therapist has told me, time and time again, that it was not my fault. Did Cassidy have someone who would say it to her, repeat it to her, make her listen, like I did? The way she looked in that Target, with the ghastly smile that to outsiders might have looked real but to me, someone who knew her, was an obvious forgery, made me think not.

I was starting to consider that my therapist’s suggestion to wait until Soleil was an adult was not going to hold up for the next four years. She’d keep needling. She’d keep subtweeting. She would bring it up over and over and the conversation would go around in circles again and again, an abundance of speculation.

I would keep the fire out of it, though.

Excerpt from Variety Online. June 26, 2002: Exclusive Interview with Sassy Gloss

Cassidy “Sassy Gloss” Holmes is a slip of a girl. She hardly looks like someone who would command the attention of eighty thousand people in a stadium, but it helps that she is one face of four in a pop phenomenon that has taken the world by storm—Gloss, the quartet behind hits such as “Wake Up Morning” and “What Did U Say.” Since their eponymous 2001 album shot straight to number one on the Billboard 200 for seventeen weeks, starting in June of last year, Gloss has consumed Holmes’s life. She looks seventeen but is actually twenty, her vulnerability exacerbated by her recent injury that also captivated America’s interest.

When asked about her broken arm, which she has tended to gently throughout Gloss’s second stadium tour for their second album, Prime (2002), Holmes grows serious. “I know there have been rumors about what happened to my arm,” she says. “People have been terrorizing my ex [university student Alex Hernandez] about hurting me. This couldn’t be further from the truth. He never touched me in any harmful way.”

Her arm now completely mended, Holmes smiles and works her hand methodically, as if to show me that she’s all in one piece. “I’m fine, really. It’s Alex and his family I want to reach out to. I’m so sorry that Alex was implicated and judged for this accident.” She implores the public to stop bothering her ex, who was recently hospitalized for an unrelated car accident. I reached out to the family but they did not respond.

She continues, “He is one of my best friends. I just hope that he can forgive me for taking so long to make a public statement.”

What prompted Holmes to finally address the issue now, after weeks of silence? Her brown eyes grow cold. Holmes, dressed in a gray cashmere sweater and Juicy Couture jeans that hug every curve, wraps her arms around herself even though it’s still a hot summer’s day in Los Angeles. “I sometimes don’t understand why my team instructs us as they do,” she answers hesitantly. “I usually trust their judgment. This time, I think they were wrong.”

30.

July 2002

L.A.

Cassidy

Sassy Cassidy Claims “NO FOUL”

Sassy Gloss Interview: “He’s Innocent”—But Is He?

When Women Cover for Their Abusers: What Are the Reasons? A Psychologist’s Look into This Phenomenon

IF HE’S INNOCENT, WHY WAIT TILL NOW? What Else Is Sassy Gloss Hiding?

It didn’t matter. I’d explicitly stated that Alex wasn’t responsible, yet people didn’t believe me. His family wouldn’t respond to the stories, Alex himself wouldn’t answer my phone calls, and I wondered if it had even been worth going to the press at all. Now the subject had been dredged up again, and even worse, updates were printed, spread thickly in newsprint: Alex Hernandez, once accused of abuse, was likely to never walk again. Even worse, with this permanent mark on his name, Alex would likely never fulfill his dream to serve on the city council or become governor or president. This rumor would follow him around forever.

The whole thing made me sick to my stomach. My insomnia grew more agitated; I had to take several sleeping pills a night to soothe my guilt. My eating grew even more erratic—food tasted like ash and it hurt to swallow.

We played our last concert in Philadelphia, moved on to Kansas City, played Duluth, Charlotte, Nashville, and ended in Chicago. We flew home to Los Angeles, where, I’d hoped, we would have a longer break before finishing the Midwest and the rest of the nation. And all the while, the other girls were angry with me for skipping a show and taking over the piece that was supposed to go into Variety.

THEY TRICKLED INTO the label meeting, loud and already in mid-conversation with one another. I walked in by myself and sat apart from everyone else.

Stephen St. James appeared with Peter, surprising me. My gaze jumped between the two men, wondering why Stephen had shown up at a Gloss meeting. Instead of sitting down immediately, Stephen ambled over to my seat and leaned against the conference table. “Hi, Sassy,” he said, nonchalantly.