Chapter 14 #2
“In here?” Something slams outside hard enough to shake the floorboards. “Suit yourself,” I say, then nod toward the craft services table. “Grab something if you get hungry. Just don’t get your hopes up.”
I leave Maggie parked on a barstool and head to the stage, where I’m met with Artie’s back and Gabi’s smirk.
“She’s certainly taller than Helga,” Gabi says, rising on her Louboutins to kiss my cheek.
“Yep.”
“Just yep?” She cocks her head at me. “Am I sensing trouble in paradise?”
“Trouble?” I feign a gasp. “I thought we were doing better today.” My gaze wanders to Maggie, bent over her phone, hair falling around her like a curtain. “We’re fine. She’s just nervous about Barrett.”
Artie grunts. “With good reason.”
“I think it’s adorable you want to defend her,” Gabi says, and I wait for the dramatic flutter of lashes that—yep, there it is.
I narrow my eyes. “Defend her?”
“What did you say, Artie? If Barrett so much as raises his voice to her, Holden would what?”
“Artie has a big mouth.” I toss a glare at my director. “It’s not about defending Maggie. It’s about putting that little prick in his place.”
He claps a hand on my back. “You just keep telling yourself that, kid.”
The door bangs open, and the rest of the crew pours in: grips hauling cable, carts rattling across the floor, voices echoing off the walls. I glance at Maggie. She doesn’t budge.
“Guess that’s our cue.” Artie follows my gaze. “You want to get her?”
I shake my head. “She’ll be fine.”
He steers us toward the door. “Scene fifty-two’s changed. Let’s go over it before Barrett gets here.”
We walk through it a few times in the parking lot where it’s set to be filmed. Then Gabi and I head backstage to run the new lines. At a quarter past eight, Artie pokes his head in.
“I’ve tried Barrett twice,” he says. “Don’t think he’s coming.”
“Poor Maggie,” Gabi says. “Where is she?”
“Lucky Maggie,” I say. “Last I checked, she was chatting it up with Neve. I’ll go tell her.”
By now the hall’s in full transition, a far cry from the empty space I left, but there’s no Maggie. I hop down from the stage, dodging cables and stray gear as I make for the bar.
Neve, our production designer-slash-art director, flags me down, paint smudging her cheek, a roll of blue tape hanging from her wrist. “You seen Artie?”
“Backstage with Gabi.”
She makes a face. “Barrett’s here.”
“Where?”
“In the office.”
I duck behind the bar for my backpack and stuff the new pages inside. “What about Maggie?”
“She followed Barrett.”
“Shit. How long ago?”
“I don’t know. Five minutes?” Neve jumps back as I tear past her. “Good luck. He’s in one of his moods.”
I stop at the door, resisting the urge to open it. Maggie’s a big girl. A fan, I remind myself. Maybe he’ll go easy on her.
“So that’s it? Just…no?” Her voice carries through, small and brittle. My stomach drops. Maybe not.
“It’s garbage, Ms. Calhoun. Trite, uninspired garbage. If your life is truly as dull as this…this crap, you don’t need me. You need a shrink.”
That motherfucker.
I dig my nails into the frame to keep from storming in.
Maggie clears her throat. “Okay. Thank—thank you for your time.”
“Tell me something,” Barrett says. “The loss of your mother takes center stage in your life, yet in your essay, she’s practically a side character. You talk more about your aunt, enough to make the reader assume you were closer to her. But that’s not it, is it? You did it because she’s safe.”
Laughter echoes from the hall, jarring against the silence on the other side of the door.
“You said you’ve written three books that are, as you put it, ‘missing something,’” Barrett continues. “You needn’t look any further than this essay to figure out what, but unless they’re leagues better than this mess, I wouldn’t bother.”
“Okay.”
“And what’s with all the numbers? Six-year dry spell, nine months later, seven minutes after that. Fifteen, four, four, three… Is this an essay or a timeline?”
No response.
Rage swells in my chest, and it takes everything I have not to rip the door off the hinges. “Come on, Maggie,” I whisper. “Clap back.”
She doesn’t. Not that I can hear, anyway.
Barrett’s bored sigh breaks the silence, setting my teeth on edge. “Now be a doll and fetch Artie for me?”
That’s when my patience runs out. I yank open the door at the same time Maggie pushes through it. We collide.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing her shoulders to steady her.
Her eyes are vacant, lips parted and trembling.
“Magnolia…”
Metal crashes somewhere on the set. Maggie flinches, then pulls away. “Excuse me.”
I drop my hands and let her pass.
“You mind?” Barrett says.
“Mind what?”
“The door. Think you can close it? I have a deadline.”
“Yeah, I’ll close it,” I mutter, stepping inside before I do. The noise from the hall dampens, leaving only the sound of Barrett’s typing and the low whir of his laptop fan.
The man isn’t tall. He doesn’t hold a candle to my six-five, and looming over him while he sits at a desk doesn’t seem to faze him in the least.
“Mr. Shaw,” he says without looking up, fingers still tapping at the keys. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“What the fuck’s your problem? Where do you get off talking to her like that?”
“She your girlfriend?”
“She’s your biggest fan.”
He leans back, slips off his glasses, and polishes them on the hem of his untucked button-down.
“Probably not anymore.” His smirk makes me want to punch him through the wall.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” he says, finally sparing me a glance, “she wasn’t here as a fan. She was a contestant. And she lost.”
“Then why not show a little grace instead of ripping into her like that?”
“Showing her grace won’t do her any favors.” He goes back to his laptop. “What your girlfriend needs is a life. I can’t give her that. Can you?”
I grip the desk and lean forward, muscles tight, ready to snap. “You’ve been a world-class dick since day one. If this were my movie—”
He barks a laugh. “But it isn’t, is it, kid? It’s my movie. You’re just acting in it.”
“Actually,” Artie says, voice cutting through the clatter of the crew as he steps inside, “it’s my movie, and that kid is the only reason it stands to make a profit.” He nudges my arm. “Maggie left her cooler. See if you can catch her, will you?”
I nod and walk out, slamming the door shut behind me.