Chapter 8
For the record, it was never supposed to be an ad to find the blood partner for Ingrid.
It was only supposed to be the listing to find the assistant who would find her the partner.
(Given the discreet, delicate nature, Ingrid can’t trust bless up Roxanne to handle it.
And since they’re spending Kyle’s settlement, Kyle can’t do it.
He’ll need to find a new job.) After Dr. Hayes called confirming he was able to secure the state-of-the-art blood machine for Ingrid, she started posting the ad.
As résumés start flooding into Ingrid’s newly created Gmail inbox, Ingrid and Kyle sift through them.
Ingrid loves how sweet Kyle’s been. Since finding out about her diagnosis, he’s been so much more attentive, getting up early to make her breakfast and going on swims with her in their pool. He even personally called up Dr. Hayes to thank him for getting his wife the machine.
“How about this girl? Three years waitressing at Soho House in Malibu. You know she’s got patience.”
Soho House is a members-only private club in LA, one that thankfully allows women. It’s a hot spot among celebs. Ingrid and Kyle are members, but they rarely go, opting instead for the more unassuming neighborhood places in Santa Monica.
“You know how much I love hospitality exposure,” Ingrid says.
Ingrid doesn’t just love hospitality exposure.
She’s obsessed with it. In fact, she really should add it to her list of turn-ons for Geneva.
Good hospitality exposure screams to Ingrid, I’m not from money.
I understand hard work. I’m willing to grind.
It’s the first thing she looks for on a résumé.
The cheesier the establishment, the more impressed she is, her personal favorite being Applebee’s.
But in the case of this particular role, she wonders, “Is she going to have the management skills to really handle this person? Make sure they show up for the transfusions, take care of themselves, aren’t hungover or, God forbid, high?”
“Absolutely no drugs,” Kyle says emphatically. “We’ll put all that in the contract. By the way, how’s that going?”
“Excellent!” Ingrid reports. “All the NDAs are ready to go!”
Kyle puts the résumés down. “Then I think we should start interviewing. We’ll know the right person when we meet them.”
—
A parade of candidates cycles through the Parker residence over the next week.
It’s amazing what people think is acceptable interview attire these days.
No fewer than four candidates show up in crop tops.
One girl looks like she just rolled up from a strip club.
Kyle sat right up for that interview. Almost all of them balked when they heard the job description.
“Um, I’m sorry, medical what?” one girl in baggy pants asks.
A guy in a scoop-neck tank leans in, whispering, “Like organ trafficking?”
“No, not like organ trafficking!” Ingrid immediately says. “You’d be helping with a medical breakthrough.”
“I can’t be responsible for medical breakthroughs. I’m sorry,” says a girl with rhinestone nails. “That’s just way too much pressure.”
“Would I get to keep some of the blood? Like, in a jar?” a guy in black eye shadow asks, looking a little too excited.
Ingrid sinks her face in her hands after the tenth person walks out. She hasn’t struck out this bad since trying to cast for Outer Space Losers.
“Have faith. There’s still one more person,” Kyle says. “Her name is Maggie. Doesn’t look like she has any industry experience, but she is a writer.”
“What kind of writer?” Ingrid asks, sitting up, intrigued.
The doorbell rings before Kyle can answer.
He walks to the door and opens it. Ingrid looks over as a young Asian woman walks inside.
She has long black hair, a heart-shaped face, and a warm smile.
Pretty, but in a shy, discreet way. Ingrid notes that she’s wearing real shoes, not sneakers or flip-flops.
Her crisp white shirt is not too tight nor too low-cut.
But the thing that impresses Ingrid the most is she’s hugging her laptop in her arms.
None of the other candidates had brought a laptop or even a pen and notepad.
“Hi, I’m Maggie,” the young woman says, extending a hand.
“I’m Ingrid.” Ingrid gets up and shakes her hand. “Come, sit.”
Ingrid instructs Dolores, their housekeeper, to bring Maggie some water.
Maggie takes a seat across from Ingrid. “Ms. Parker, I just want to say…it’s such an honor. I love your work. Your film Fam is one of my favorites. I went to college far away from my family, and I just related so much to finding your chosen fam.”
Ingrid smiles, flattered. “Where did you go to college?”
“Williams.”
Ingrid is impressed. Williams is small enough that students can’t slack under the radar. They have to work.
Ingrid herself worked for her college professor.
Professor Vogel. He refused to call her by her correct name for six months, not until she came up with something publishable for him.
For six long months, she walked his dog, picked up his wife after her facelift surgery, and even accompanied his extremely grabby son to his prom, a record low point.
Was it humiliating? Yes. But it made her work harder.
He made her relentless. She wouldn’t be where she is now without Professor Vogel.
“And where did you grow up?” Ingrid asks.
“Las Vegas,” Maggie says.
“Vegas, really?” Kyle asks excitedly.
Ingrid tosses him a glance.
“My parents worked for the big hotels.”
“As what?” Ingrid asks.
“My mom worked in the spa, and my dad worked in the restaurant,” she says. “One of them was always hungry. The other one was always achy.”
Kyle laughs at the joke.
“And who took care of you?” Ingrid asks.
Maggie blushes. “I…sort of took care of myself.”
Ingrid sits up. A girl who pulled herself up by her bootstraps from the Vegas Strip and somehow managed to get into Williams? Ingrid might just have found the one soul left in this generation who knows the value of hard work.
“What did you major in at Williams?” Ingrid asks as Kyle hands her Maggie’s résumé. She notes that her last job was at RightNowPassport Agency. Interesting gig. She must be working on a novel or screenplay on the side.
“English literature,” Maggie says. “Right now I’m trying to get my MFA at North Pacifica. Or I was. I don’t know. I might take a break? I’m a writer…or at least trying to be.”
Ingrid is struck by her humbleness. Everyone and their grandmother in LA would chew her ear off about their writing at the first opportunity. And here Maggie is, guarding her passion. Being honest. She likes that.
“Well, you’re the only person who’s brought their laptop to the interview,” Ingrid says, pointing at her computer.
Maggie smiles, opening it up. “So what exactly are you guys looking for?” she asks, preparing to take notes.
Ingrid exchanges a look with Kyle.
“I’m looking for a project manager, if you will,” Ingrid says. “To supervise a medical procedure I’m going to get done. It’s somewhat of an embarrassing procedure.”
Maggie pauses typing and gazes at Ingrid. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed. I help my parents out with all their medical issues. I’ve heard everything. There’s nothing embarrassing about needing medical help.”
It’s such a small-but-mighty sentence, and Ingrid damn near cries.
“That’s a relief to hear,” Kyle says. “There’s no easy way to say it, which is why we asked you to sign the NDA. What we’re about to tell you is strictly confidential. But Ingrid here…”
He pauses, reaching for her hand.
Ingrid opens her mouth. Time stops for a full five seconds as she considers whether or not to tell this nice girl about her cancer signals.
She’d felt strongly before they started interviewing that she should keep her health details private.
But now, looking at the girl, she yearns to give her the full picture.
She knows that if it were her, she’d want to know.
But she also wants to stay alive. Badly.
And she knows that as good as NDAs are, they’re not foolproof.
The last thing she needs is for her diagnosis to get out.
And so she says, “I’m just sick of being old. ”
Maggie looks up, surprised.
Ingrid speaks as honestly as she can from the deepest pit of her stomach.
“Tired of waking up and feeling invisible. Watching people dismiss and reduce everything I’ve built and talk about me like I’m already gone.
Gathering dust, along with those.” Ingrid gestures at the Golden Globes on her mantel.
“I’ll admit I had a good run. But I refuse to believe that just because I’m fifty-three, it’s game over for me.
I know it sounds terribly privileged of me, but I refuse to be cast aside. I want to try another way.”
Maggie immediately nods. “No, that’s not privileged. So what is this new way?”
“It’s this new medical procedure they’ve been doing in Silicon Valley…
” Ingrid says, glancing over at Kyle. He seems to be waiting for her to say more about her condition.
But Ingrid just smiles at Maggie. “Basically, it involves a young person who is willing to do blood transfusions with me with this special machine for a few hours a session and a minimum of ten sessions.”
Unlike all the other candidates before, Maggie does not flinch at blood transfusion. Doesn’t slam her laptop down or scream like she’s about to get shipped off to Squid Game. She simply nods and types it on her laptop.
“And they’d be paid handsomely, of course,” Kyle adds. “Three million dollars.”
Maggie’s eyes pop. “Three million dollars?”
Kyle nods. “Why? You think that’s too little?”
“No! I think that’s incredibly generous!” Maggie blurts out.
Relief washes through Ingrid. She exchanges another glance with Kyle.
“Well, it’s an experimental procedure,” Kyle says. “And we want to make sure the person doing it is well compensated for any risks that can come up.”
Maggie nods. “Have you found this person yet?”