Chapter 16
A storm is playing out on Ingrid’s face as she watches Camila’s video.
She and Kyle are back at intimacy counseling with Geneva.
It’s just days after their roadside lovemaking, and Kyle’s gleefully reporting their progress, but Ingrid can’t hear a word.
Her face is scarlet as she reads the captions on the video.
Even though I was number one on the call sheet, I made a QUARTER of what my white cast members, for whom this is their first movie, made.
I’m just so tired of working so hard, having to prove myself over and over again, and getting paid a fraction of what everybody else is making.
Don’t get me wrong, I love this movie. Please, please, everyone go see it.
But it is ironic to me that a movie about the exploitation of a Latina woman is… well, doing exactly that.
“Ingrid? Are you OK?” Geneva asks.
“Sorry,” she says, jumping. She throws Kyle an apologetic look. “I’ve got something…blowing up.”
“Go.” Kyle nods.
As she heads to the door, she hears Geneva complimenting Kyle. “I’m so happy to hear that things are flowing, but it’s important to keep the momentum! Always be surprising your partner—”
Outside, Ingrid speed-dials her assistant.
“Where did you get this?” she asks Roxanne. “And how many people have seen it?”
“She posted it on her Instagram this morning,” Roxanne says. “And it’s all over main. Even my friends who aren’t in the industry are talking about it.”
Ingrid closes her eyes.
“Get Camila on the phone,” she instructs Roxanne. “If any publications email for comment, don’t respond. We don’t want them to run that we refused to comment.”
“Got it. Getting Camila for you,” Roxanne says. “Oh, and Charlie called. He urgently needs to speak to you.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! How is this happening? They were doing so great! The movie was finally getting buzz!
She glances once more at Geneva’s office, then heads for the elevator.
—
“Camila,” Ingrid says on the phone when the star answers. She’s in her office at work. “I saw your video. Thank you so much for speaking up about the pay disparity in Hollywood—it’s so important.”
“I’m just so gutted, Ingrid,” Camila says. “I was number one on that call sheet! And I was paid a quarter of what Sophie got!”
Sophie Halloway, the daughter of Chris Halloway, had played Meredith in Uncharted.
So that’s who she was talking about. She knew the two were close—TMZ reported them being at a club together recently—but not close enough to share salary details—Jesus!
She sighs, trying to figure out how to explain it.
It had indeed been Sophie’s first movie, compared to Camila’s fifth.
But Sophie’s father is Chris Halloway, one of the biggest action actors working, and the studio needed Chris for Blake’s movies. Not that bringing that up would help.
“Did you know about this?” Camila asks.
“Of course not!” Ingrid swears up and down it was all Business Affairs’ doing. “I told them to make you a good deal. My next call is to the studio. Honestly, Camila, if I had known, I would have offered to make it up with my own cut—”
“I don’t want your cut. I want my cut, don’t you understand? I want to be paid fairly. What I’m worth—from the beginning!”
“And you’re going to get it. On your next movie!”
“No,” Camila says. “It doesn’t work like that. Not for me. That’s what people don’t understand. It doesn’t matter how well Uncharted does. The white actresses, they climb with every movie. But I fall back to base. You know how exhausting that is?”
Ingrid can hear the pain in Camila’s voice. “I will make sure that doesn’t happen with your next movie,” she promises.
“Just like you made sure that didn’t happen here?”
Every hair on Ingrid’s neck jolts up. She supposes she deserves that. But it terrifies her that Camila is saying this about her. Can say this about her.
“I’m just sick of trying to make this thing work.
You know I have to sell eye shadow on TikTok to survive?
I’m tired of getting on that thing and telling people to buy my goddamn eye shadow.
I’m an actress! Not a makeup artist! And if it takes me going on Drew Barrymore and Fallon to let people know the truth, I will! ”
“Please don’t go on Drew Barrymore,” Ingrid begs. She can just see Drew clinging to Camila, holding hands, being one with her as she asks her to describe the pain of being a woman of color in Hollywood. “Let me fix this.”
“How?” Camila asks.
Ingrid takes a breath. She can’t think of any other option. She’s gotta do it.
“I have a new movie that’s perfect for you,” Ingrid says. “Summer Rain. The studio’s crazy for it. I’ll make sure you star and get paid every penny of what you deserve.”
Camila doesn’t say anything right away.
“This isn’t just one movie. The system’s broken.”
“I know. But we’re going to fix it. Me and you.”
She waits on pins and needles as she imagines the horror of the headlines if Camila goes on every talk show in the country.
Producer Ingrid Parker to Blame for Pay Disparity?
and Ingrid Parker Under Fire for Treatment of Latina Actors.
Or worse, Camila Veracruz Rips “Performative Feminist” Producer Ingrid Parker.
Finally Camila answers, “Let me talk to my agent.”
Cold relief washes over Ingrid. She can fix this. No sooner does Ingrid get off with Camila than her phone rings again. It’s Dr. Hayes calling. She glances up and closes the door so her associate producer and Roxanne can’t hear.
“Now’s not a good time…” Ingrid answers, putting her earbuds in. She scrolls on her phone, pulling up xoxohollywooddd’s Instagram. Just as she predicted, there’s already a Story about whether Ingrid knew of the enormous pay disparity between Camila and Sophie on Uncharted. Shit.
“Just calling with some good news,” he says. “But I can call back.”
“No. I can use some good news. What is it?” Ingrid says, switching over to the industry trades.
“Your blood results after the first transfusion came back. Biomarkers are looking good!”
Ingrid stops looking herself up for a second. “Oh thank God! Are the…” She lowers her voice. “Are the signals still there?”
“It’s too early to repeat the PREM test. But your biomarkers look promising. And I talked with my team. We can absolutely send the machine to your home or your office and have a nurse administer the transfusions for you guys there.”
“Home,” Ingrid blurts out, glancing through the glass at everyone looking over at her in her office. Why do they keep looking at her? She lowers her head. The last thing she needs is her health situation getting out. Her office landline rings. It’s Charlie calling. “I gotta go. That sounds great.”
She takes a deep breath and takes out her earbuds. “Hey, Charlie…” she answers.
“What the fuck, Ingrid!” Charlie says. “I just approved more marketing ads for Uncharted!”
“I know, I know,” Ingrid says, pacing around her office. “She’s not gonna go on Fallon or anything crazy. But she’s pissed, and rightfully so. Jesus, Charlie, was she really paid a quarter of what Sophie Halloway got?”
“You knew about this!” Charlie answers. Ingrid closes her eyes.
“I didn’t know it was that bad!” Ingrid says.
As a producer, she was kept abreast of all the negotiations, but Ingrid usually tries to stay out of it unless there’s a problem.
In this case there hadn’t been a problem.
Camila had accepted her role. Sophie had accepted her role.
Who was Ingrid to make a problem when there wasn’t any?
“Sophie’s furious, by the way. Livid,” Charlie says. “We can forget about doing any more press to help this movie. None of the cast is going to want to talk about it anymore.”
Ingrid lets out a deep sigh.
“Hope Camila’s happy—torpedoing her first big movie! Just when it was finally getting buzz!” Charlie vents.
“She can’t eat buzz, Charlie! She’s out there pushing eye shadow to survive!”
“And is this going to make anything better? We gave her a great role! We took a chance on her! Now everyone who was thinking about seeing the movie is going to watch something else instead. How’s that going to get her to a higher fee?”
“I agree,” Ingrid says. Camila could have handled it in so many other ways. She could have come to her. Ingrid would have helped her work out a bonus. This could have been resolved without any drama.
“Now I’ve got The Hollywood Reporter on our ass—I’ve got to figure out what kind of statement to make as a studio—”
Ingrid suddenly senses an opportunity. “I’ve got a statement for you. How about this? Camila Veracruz is absolutely right. The pay disparity in Hollywood is atrocious, and FYC Studios is taking the lead to fix it, starting with Summer Rain, which Camila Veracruz will star in.”
Silence.
“Ingrid, c’mon.”
“Unless you want her all over late night talking about this.”
“Putting that wonderful threat aside for a second, you honestly think she can carry that movie?” Charlie says.
“You think people will turn off their Netflix, get in their cars, brave a hurricane, and pay a movie theater to see her? No. People don’t go to the movies to see Camila Veracruz. They barely go to the movies, period.”
“That’s because there’s nothing original anymore! It’s all reboots, prequels, and sequels!”
“And that’s what you’ll be up against opening weekend. You need someone big.”
“I can get there with Camila. I just need a big director and writer,” Ingrid insists.
“How are you going to get that, mired in this bullshit?”
Ingrid contorts her face. It’s a good question. Still, she insists, with as much conviction as she can, “I’ll get there.”
—
As Camila’s video makes the rounds, Ingrid and her agent put in calls to every major A-list writer and director. None of them return.