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November 30, 2017

Music Mogul Russell Simmons Accused of Rape by Model, Then 17 Years Old; Now Accused by Second Woman

Flashback to a story I didn't post on:
The rape allegedly occurred with Brett Ratner present.

Serendipity.

The model says she begged Ratner, "Help me," when Simmons began to rape her, but then realized they were acting in concert.

Allegedly.

Interestingly, after this news dropped, Terry Crews -- who recently named the agent who groped his penis -- released this email from Simmons, asking Crews to give the groper a "pass:"



Russell Simmons released a statement insisting that the sex was consensual and that also he's totally enlightened or something.

Now Jenny Lumet (daughter of Sydney) tells her own story, in an open letter addressed to Russell Simmons.

I got into the car with you. The driver began to drive. I assumed you knew where I lived, because you had sent me 250 balloons, but I gave the driver my address on 19th Street and 2nd Avenue.

You said to the driver: "No."

I didn't understand, so I said: "Russell?"

I said, again, to the driver: "19th Street."

Again you said to the driver: "No."

Then the car doors locked. It was loud. The noise made me jump.

I didn't recognize you at that moment. It was disorienting. It was disorienting. I say it twice now because you said "No" twice then.

I couldn't open the doors. I couldn't open the windows. The car was moving. The driver did not stop. He did not take me to 19th Street. He took me to your apartment.

I didn't try to kick the windows out. I didn't punch or kick. I didn't say, "What are you doing?" My voice left me after the second "No."

I felt dread and disorientation. I wanted to go home. I said I wanted to go home. I didn't recognize the man next to me. I didn't know if the situation would turn violent. I remember thinking that I must be crazy. I remember hoping that the Russell I knew would return any moment.

The car stopped at the curb. I don't recall the street. I recall the driver opening the door from the outside, and you behind me. I was between the two of you. Not wedged, just in the space between you. I remember exchanging a look with the driver. He was unreadable. It was chilly out. It was me and these two men.

I felt dread. I was tremulous. Off my feet. I felt an intense need to keep both of you calm. Was there a time or a space to run? I have no idea. Would somebody else have run? I have no idea. There were two men. One of whom obeyed the other. It was an overwhelming feeling.

There was no well-lit lobby or doorman at the entrance we used. I would guess it was not the main entrance to the building. I believe there was a door from street level that opened into a space beneath the residential area of the building, in which there was a small back elevator. If I am wrong about the layout, then I am wrong. There were two men, and I was afraid.

You didn't punch me, drag me or verbally threaten me. You used your size to maneuver me, quickly, into the elevator. I said, "Wait. Wait." I felt dread. I was very, very sad. I didn't know if the driver was a further threat, or an ally. I was both relieved and terrified when he did not get into the elevator. Alone in the elevator, you pressed me into the corner with your body, your hands and your mouth.

The elevator did not stop on the way up to your apartment. I was moved very quickly inside. I recall hearing the apartment door closing behind us.

I saw no one else. I recall you were behind me. I was still hoping the Russell I knew would reappear, as I could not recognize the man moving me deeper into the apartment -- the man who had said "No" to his driver. Twice.

You moved me into a bedroom. I said, "Wait." You said nothing.

I made the trade in my mind. I thought, "Just keep him calm, and you'll get home." Maybe another person would have thought differently, or not made the trade.

It was dark but not pitch-dark. You closed the door.

At that point, I simply did what I was told.

There was penetration. At one point you were only semi-erect and appeared frustrated. Angry? I remember being afraid that you would deem that my fault and become violent. I did not know if you were angry, but I was afraid that you were.

Pretty horrifying. Here is part of Simmons' statement about the alleged rape. See if you can see any similarities between this statement and Al Franken's and Matt Lauer's and all the rest of them:

I have been informed with great anguish of Jenny Lumet's recollection about our night together in 1991. I know Jenny and her family and have seen her several times over the years since the evening she described. While her memory of that evening is very different from mine, it is now clear to me that her feelings of fear and intimidation are real.

So once again: I deny your recollection, which differs from my own, but my Crisis Communications adviser tells me to validate your feelings (while calling you either a liar or a delusional hysteric).

A lot of that going on lately.

Russell Simmons has now stepped down from his position as head of his businesses (though I'm sure he'll still draw income from them), as HBO and JC Penny distance themselves from him.

HBO had announced a new "Def Comedy Jam" in association with Russell Simmons even after the first rape allegation. Now it says they'll remove Simmons' name from the show and he won't appear on it -- but they're still doing the show, and Simmons will still get paid.

They claim they don't want to deprive comics of the opportunity. Is it necessary that the show have the Def Comedy Jam imprimatur? Can't HBO just call another black comic, like Kevin Hart, and do a Kevin Hart's New Kings of Comedy or something? The way Rodney Dangerfield used to brand his own shows of young comics?

Not even close to enough, HBO. Not even close.


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posted by Ace at 06:59 PM

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