Chapter 16 #2
By the day of the second transfusion, she’s sweating.
Camila’s agent has called twice to talk specifics about Camila’s role in Summer Rain.
Charlie continues to insist he can’t think about the movie without the right take.
Meanwhile, the option on Summer Rain is expiring in mere days.
The only silver lining is that Camila hasn’t gone on any late-night shows or posted any more weeping videos, though Ingrid doesn’t know how much longer she can hold that off without giving the girl something concrete.
Ingrid arranges a space for her and Maggie in her study. She’s relieved not to have to go into Dr. Hayes’s office.
The doorbell rings. Dolores walks in with Dr. Hayes a few minutes later. He’s got the machine with him, which he pushes inside.
“Where do you want me to set this up?” he asks, wheeling the thing into her study.
“Over there.” Ingrid points to a spot between the two armchairs in her study. She’s been looking forward to the transfusion. Hopefully getting that electrifying shot of youth will make her think of a solution to her Summer Rain debacle.
As Dr. Hayes sets up the machine, Maggie walks in. She’s in shorts today and a yellow shirt with tiny palm trees.
“Hi!” Maggie greets her. They hug and both sit down.
Dolores gets them some tea, which Ingrid reaches gratefully for.
She’s glad she kept Dolores on even after the kids left for college.
She had been thinking about talking to Dolores about possibly working for another family part-time—they didn’t really need her full-time—but she’s glad that she didn’t.
With Kyle interviewing (hopefully) and landing a job soon, she’s grateful to have someone at the house to help her during her treatments.
“It’s been a week,” Ingrid says. She’s sure the girl has seen all the press on Camila by now.
She wonders what she thinks about it. Ingrid holds out her arm for Dr. Hayes.
He finds a vein and dabs the alcohol wipe over it.
As Dr. Hayes works, Ingrid glances at her phone.
She sees an email from Charlie marked URGENT.
Hey,
Any chance u can talk now? I’m on Zoom now (link).
She looks over at Maggie and Dr. Hayes.
“Can you give us a minute?” Ingrid asks. “I have to hop on this Zoom.”
“Sure! I’ll just get the machine going, then my nurse Teresa will be here soon. She can help you with getting the needles out once the transfusion is over.”
“Great!” Ingrid tells Dolores to expect Teresa, adding, “Just have her wait in the living room.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dolores says.
As Dr. Hayes and Dolores exit the room, Ingrid turns to Maggie and points to the Zoom link on her phone. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.”
Maggie scoots out of the frame, her hands reaching into her purse. “I’ll just put in my AirPods.”
“That’s OK. You can listen. It’s with Charlie Cooper, he heads development at my studio.”
“Really?” Maggie asks, her eyes widening. “You sure?”
“You want to learn, don’t you?” Ingrid asks, tapping on Join. Maggie might as well know her side of the whole Camila mess and the challenges of making art by committee. Ingrid positions the camera so the machine and Maggie are both out of the frame.
Charlie’s in his office, sipping a coffee.
“Hey, Ingrid! Thanks for jumping on. I know you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place on this Summer Rain option, with no writer and the whole Camila thing. I think I’ve thought up a solution.”
“What’s the solution?” Ingrid reaches for a notebook and a pen.
“I was at brunch with Tasha Collins. And she came up with a great take! Like, right on the spot. Just, boom, instant gold—”
Ingrid puts her pen down. “I am not coproducing this with Tasha, if that’s the idea.”
The silence stretches out, filling the room. “Ingrid, you don’t have very many choices here. The option’s expiring in less than a week, and I hear Netflix is circling.”
“Who over at Netflix? They know we have the option, right?” Ingrid scribbles NETFLIX? on her notepad.
“Not if the author doesn’t agree to extend it. Given all the bad press over this Camila thing, I wouldn’t be surprised if she says no. Have you even heard from Rebecca?” Charlie asks.
Ingrid purses her lips. She’d sent Rebecca Thomas’s agent two emails and left one voicemail. No response.
“This is a good opportunity. Tasha has a great take—it’s funny. Think Bridesmaids. We can put the movie in development. She’ll write the script while you find the director. You always told me the only thing that matters to you is getting the book made.”
Yeah, but not like this! Not hijacked from me!
Her heart races as she considers the chain of events.
Is this why Charlie’s been shooting down every take?
So he can give this to Tasha? Maybe that was the plan all along.
Of course he likes Tasha better. She’s younger than Ingrid.
Funnier than her. She could see the two of them at brunch, gossiping about whatever it is young people talk about at brunch.
Ugh. And here she’d thought she had an in with him.
God, it’s so embarrassing that Maggie’s watching all this.
She wills herself to stay calm. She can’t get hysterical, because then she’ll be labeled, well, hysterical.
“Bridesmaids would be the entirely wrong tone to take with this movie,” she says, her tone flat and even.
“And why’s that?”
“Summer Rain’s about the deepest, most vulnerable questions for women…
What do intimacy and connection really mean if we disentangle our identity and self-worth from a man’s?
It’s an empowering, uplifting movie about the next chapter of feminism,” she says.
“And Bridesmaids…it’s funny, but it’s not a serious movie. ”
“I think it’s a serious movie!”
“There’s a woman shitting in a sink in the movie.”
“OK…so maybe not Bridesmaids. But you and Tasha’ll cook up something else. I just thought, since she’s a writing producer, and she also loves the book so much, maybe…”
“Maybe not,” Ingrid says with as sweet a smile as she can force.
“Well, the other reason I brought it up is…” Charlie pauses a beat.
“Tasha Collins has a massive fan base online. She has eight million followers on TikTok and another three million on Instagram. These are devoted fans. She’s especially popular among young women ages thirteen to twenty-four.
That’s a great demographic for Summer Rain. ”
It hurts her soul that this is where society’s at. That because Tasha Collins is willing to plaster herself on TikTok, it makes her the authority on young women, and Ingrid, by virtue of just making movies, is nothing but a charcoaled mothball.
“I’ll get that demographic,” she assures him.
“Ingrid, I’m trying to help you. You don’t have a script.
You’ve promised the lead to a loose cannon.
The option’s expiring in five days. This may not be your favorite move, but it’s a move.
This way, you can tell Rebecca we’ve got a writer attached, she’ll renew the option, and then we can figure it out. ”
Ingrid’s done playing nice.
“You know, when I recommended you for the job, I thought you and I both wanted the same thing.”
He stiffens at the mention of his job. Yes, she went there.
“Which is to tell the best story that can be told. Not the easiest version. Not the one with the biggest built-in audience. But the best one. The one that will stand the test of time. Which is the only reason Tasha even wants anything to do with Summer Rain. Because it’s a classic.
You know why Rebecca gave me the option in the first place?
Because I understand that. She trusts me.
And I’m not going to rape her beautiful book for eyeballs! ”
She lets her words sink in. Maggie doesn’t say a word, but they’re sitting so close, Ingrid can feel the heat coming off her skin.
Charlie pushes himself out of the frame for a second.
As Ingrid waits for him to come back on, all sorts of terrible thoughts jab at her.
She’s offended him. He’s going to pull her whole deal early.
She can’t even bring herself to look at Maggie.
What does she even say to her? What is there possibly to teach from this mortifying moment?
Charlie comes back a second later. When he speaks, his tone is a lot more deferential.
“Of course,” he says. “I’m absolutely here to support you in telling the best story you can. I’ll tell Tasha you’re not interested. But there’s still the issue of the option deadline…”
“I’m well aware,” Ingrid says, tapping on End Call.
Ingrid almost slides off her chair when it’s over. Her whole back’s a swimming pool.
Maggie asks softly, “Are you OK?”
“I am so sorry,” Ingrid says, reaching for the tea.
“Please! Don’t apologize,” Maggie says, sitting up and helping to move the wires out of the way. Ingrid drinks thirstily, her throat parched.
“Tasha Collins has eight million followers on TikTok!” she says, practically gagging as she mimics Charlie’s voice. “And what am I, chopped liver? Because I’m not on social media?”
“ ’Course not!” Maggie offers, putting a hand on her arm.
“It didn’t used to be like this,” Ingrid mutters.
“There was a time when it wasn’t just about appeasing Wall Street and making the cheapest disposable garbage.
When it used to be about actual art.” The teacup rattles in her hands.
“That’s why I worked and worked for twenty-eight years and gave everything to my job. ”
Her throat threatens to close in on itself as she thinks of all the sacrifices she’s ever made for her career.
“You know, I was the only mom who brought my laptop into the delivery room—while pushing out Cassie—so I could give notes on scripts.” Ingrid points at the pictures on her wall of her on set.
She shakes her head. All those trips, all that time away from her kids—and for what?
“You’re amazing,” Maggie offers.
“No.” Ingrid laughs. “Stupid. For not seeing I would be just as disposable to them one day…”
“You’re not disposable. You did it for the art, like you said. And art’s forever.”
Ingrid takes another sip, then nods. “That was the hope, that people would watch it, and maybe for a brief moment we’d all feel connected.
But these days…it’s almost too big of an ask!
Expect people to put down their phones and watch something together?
” Ingrid puts a hand to her chest, faux-gasping.
She flips a few pages in her notebook and shows Maggie notes on a television show her associate producer’s been trying to sell.
“Look at this. The studio’s asking for the plot to be less engaging so people can scroll their phones while they watch the show. That’s what we’ve come to. Stories are just background noise.”
Maggie leans in toward the notebook. “Are you kidding me?”
“There’s even a term for it. Second-screen show.” She exhales. Of the many, many changes in the industry she’s witnessed in her career, this has got to be one of the saddest.
“That is not OK.” Maggie starts shaking her head vigorously. “We’re not doing that. You’re not second-screen energy.” Thrusting a finger at a poster of the cast of Fam in Ingrid’s study, Maggie declares, “You’re main character energy!”
Maggie points to one thing after another, repeating that Ingrid is the main and only screen. With each declaration, Ingrid can feel her adrenaline jolting through her bloodstream. Suddenly a wild idea pops up. “I should go to New York! Talk to Rebecca in person!”
“Yes!” Maggie agrees.
“Will you come with me?”
Ingrid knows it’s crazy. There’s no medical reason for them to go together. But this inexplicable burst of power she feels whenever Maggie is around—call it main character energy or just the determination of someone who’s not jaded yet—whatever it is, she needs it.
“Absolutely!”
Ingrid squeezes Maggie’s hand in hers as she smiles.
Maybe it’s not the transfusions that are making her feel better. Maybe it’s just…Maggie.