Writer Jenny Lumet Exposes Story of Sexual Violation by Russell Simmons

Writer Jenny Lumet Exposes Story of Sexual Violation by Russell Simmons

Nov 30, 2017, 4:24:43 PM Entertainment

The House of Cards for many Influential Public figures continues to be revealed as a series of mounting allegations of sexual harassment and sexual misconduct come out openly. From Hollywood Producer Harvey Weinstein, House of Cards Actor Kevin Spacey, Today's show anchor Matt Layer to the latest entertainment mongol Russell Simmons the secretive sexual activity dam has broken and many women and men have become increasingly empowered to come forward with their stories of sexual misconduct against established high profile elite figures. 

In the midst of the whirlwind of sexual harassment allegations from Hollywood to Capital Hill the sinister allegations of sexual activity seems to go beyond just sexual harassment into the realms of rape and other unwanted sadistic sexually charged deviant behavior of those in position of power.

Recently reports about TV Producer and Music entertainment Mogul Russell Simmons have surprisingly surfaced with allegations of a aggressive sexual assault claims of rape and sexual exploitation of talent.

Russell Simmons, a prolific music and TV producer and co-founder of Def Jam Recordings, was accused of sexual assault and harassment by model Keri Claussen Khalighi in a Nov. 19 article in the Los Angeles Times. Simmons then denied the incident in a letter published Nov. 22 by The Hollywood Reporter. The letter prompted Jenny Lumet, an award-winning screenwriter (Rachel Getting Married, The Mummy), the daughter of filmmaker Sidney Lumet, and granddaughter of singer/activist Lena Horne, to pen a response detailing her own experience with Simmons.

On Nov. 22, 2017, Russell Simmons wrote:

“I have never committed any acts of aggression or violence in my life.  I would never knowingly cause fear or harm to anyone.”

Dear Russell:

I met you around 1987, through Rick Rubin, who has always been kind to me.  Rick knew my sister through N.Y.U. and asked me, at the upstairs bar in a nightclub called the Palladium, to be in a movie you were producing that Rick was directing, starring RUN DMC. It was, frankly, a lousy movie and I was terrible in it.

Over the next three or four years, I would see you out and about, at a nightclub called Nell’s, mostly. I don’t recall you and I ever just going out to dinner, or having a one-to-one experience; we were always in groups, and we had many, many mutual friends.  You were charming and funny and charismatic and self-deprecating. Not being in the music business made it possible for me to relax around you.  And you were a fan of my grandmother, respected her, and told me so.  You seemed sincere.

You pursued me, lightly, on and off, over a course of years, saying you had a thing for a “little yellow girl” (me).  I rebuffed.  It wasn’t deep, as far as I knew. It was never a big deal.  You had, I assumed, many women in your orbit...

One night circa 1991, when I was around 24, I was at a restaurant called Indochine. I had worked there when I was 17, as the coat check girl, and I enjoyed returning. I still knew some of the staff at this point, and felt quite comfortable there.  I remember I was wearing one of the Azzedine Alaia tops that were everywhere that year. And hoop earrings. I think it was cool enough for a jacket.  Because I remember being glad I had a jacket by the end of that night.

You had a car and a driver that evening. Sometime later, you offered me a ride to my home.  I said, sure. During the making of the RUN DMC movie, I had been in vans with you and other crew members.  I don’t recall having accepted a ride home alone with you before that night.

At no time that night did I say: “Russell, I will go home with you”.  Or, “Come home with me.” Or “I will have sex with you.”  Or “I have the desire to have sex with you.”

I believe it was an SUV, because I recall having to step up into the car. I don’t know about makes or models. I think the driver was already in the car.

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...

Published by Naomi S. Gobern

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