Chapter 17
Maggie can’t get over the invitation to go to New York on a moment’s notice!
Ingrid needs her. She’s not just a medical treatment partner.
She’s a partner partner. Someone whose opinions Ingrid values.
She wants them so much she’s willing to splurge on an extra ticket and hotel room!
She floats out of Ingrid’s study, determined to make herself so indispensable on this trip that when Maggie asks Ingrid if she can help her get an agent, she won’t even hesitate.
Then she sees the tickets Ingrid forwarded: They’re leaving tomorrow.
Ingrid said it was easier for them to leave from her house in the morning, so she invited her over for dinner and to stay the night. Maggie spends the afternoon with Willa, walking around the Century City mall, trying to find the most appropriate gift to bring to dinner.
Willa pushes the flutes away. “You’re going to New York for her. You can’t be acting like she’s doing you some huge favor!”
“But it is a favor. She’s teaching me everything she knows.
Plus, I’m going to be asking her to maybe hook me up with a literary agent.
” Maggie feels her breathing change just saying the words.
She knows it’s a big ask, but seeing Bryce all smug about his new agent lit a fire in her. “You think she’ll be down?”
“ ’Course she’ll be down. Look at everything you’re doing for her. You’re literally giving her your twenties.”
“But I don’t want that to be the reason she recommends me,” Maggie says. “I want her to want to recommend me.”
“Then you can’t act too eager,” Willa says. “Just get her some flowers. Remember, you guys are equals. That’s the only way this works.”
Maggie smiles at Willa, grateful for the reminder.
It’s so spellbinding and intimidating—sitting in that chair next to Ingrid, hanging on to her every word, watching her in her element, commanding the kind of attention Maggie could only dream of one day getting—that it’s easy to forget what Maggie’s giving her.
“First of all, I’m not giving her my twenties.
” She points to her glowy face. “I mean, look at me! But you make a very compelling point. I do have a lot to offer!”
“Yes, you do. If only I can remember that myself sometimes…” Willa adds with a shake of her head.
“What happened?”
Willa hesitates, then tells her that she bombed her audition earlier today.
She was told that the way she emotes doesn’t make anyone want to care.
“It hurt so much, I almost thought about quitting. But then I realized, she’s right.
I haven’t been putting the time into my craft.
That’s on me. I’ve just been so busy camming.
” Hearing Willa say the words, it squeezes Maggie’s heart tight.
It suddenly hits her. She can’t just change her own life. She’s got to help her friend, too.
“You know what? I’m getting $1.1 million in two weeks. I’m going to give $300,000 to you so you can put it into your acting—”
Willa laughs. “I am not taking your money.”
“It’s just one transfusion—” Maggie insists.
“There you go again, dismissing what you’re doing! Will you stop? You worked hard for that money!”
Maggie gives her a look. “Uh, actually, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have. It’s yours!”
Exactly. It’s her money. And she wants to give some to her amazingly talented friend so she can invest in her art, too. But Willa shakes her head adamantly.
“I like camming,” Willa says, giving her a lopsided smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m gonna make it on my own, you’ll see!”
On the drive over to Ingrid’s, Maggie thinks about her best friend and all her mantras.
She has zero doubt that Willa can make it on her own.
Just like she has zero doubt she can get a literary agent eventually on her own…
But it would be nice to get some help. Isn’t that what women helping women is all about?
She arrives at Ingrid’s house and takes a moment to check her skin, lips, and hair in the car.
Nothing is thinning or graying, thank God.
This whole getting older thing, she’s convinced, is bullshit.
She smiles at her reflection, sitting up a little taller.
Does she look like a writer about to jet off to New York to accompany a Golden Globe–winning producer to convince a bestselling author to let her make a movie from her book?
It’s crazy when she thinks about it. No one in her Williams Writers group chat would even believe it if she told them.
It felt good to finally unmute all her old writer friends now that she might finally have something good to report on the horizon. Possibly. If she plays her cards right.
She pops the trunk for her suitcase and gets her bag and the hydrangeas from the passenger seat. Holding the flowers, she walks up and rings the doorbell for the second time today.
Ingrid opens the door. She’s changed into deep-green wide-leg satin pants and a wraparound cashmere sweater, every inch of her oozing that quietly confident look that Maggie cannot stop staring at.
As Ingrid lets Maggie in and thanks her for the flowers, Maggie takes in the view.
Even though she’s been here three times already, the house looks even more beautiful tonight with the sunset.
As the golden light streams in from the dramatic thirty-foot window, casting a glow on Ingrid’s impressive bookshelf, Maggie takes a breath.
What’s it like to be this rich? To know that you can afford this, and keep affording it?
“I can’t get over this view,” Maggie comments. “It’s so beautiful, and I love how the light hits every book on your shelf!”
“I know, I love that, too. Kyle helped design every inch of this house. It’s sort of like his baby…”
They walk inside the airy open kitchen, where her husband is cooking. Ingrid puts the flowers in a vase while Maggie takes a seat at the counter. The glass-paneled wall to the backyard is open, and she looks out at the lit-up pool. “Are we eating outside?” Maggie asks, gazing out at the backyard.
“Not tonight,” Kyle says, handing her a glass of wine and leaning over to give Maggie a kiss on the cheek. “It’s a little chilly out. But you know what we should do? We should have you over for a barbecue sometime! You like smoked brisket?”
Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Don’t get Kyle started with his brisket…” she says with a teasing look.
“You love my brisket!” Kyle protests. He turns to Maggie. “She loves my brisket.”
Maggie smiles. They’re so cute together. “Ingrid said you designed every inch of this house!”
“Well, I told the contractors what to do, but yes. I wanted to make it our dream house!”
“It is a dream house,” Ingrid agrees, smiling at Kyle. “You can see the views of the canyons from every room!”
Maggie gazes out at the gorgeous Santa Monica Mountains, backlit by the sunset. The crooning of Diana Krall flows through the house as Kyle cooks. “Stunning.”
“Thankfully it wasn’t affected by the wildfires,” Kyle says, putting a hand to his heart. “But you should see some of the trails I go hiking on. Are you a hiker?”
Maggie nods, taking a sip of her wine. “I try to go out sometimes with my roommate.”
“That’s great. I love the outdoors,” Kyle says. He taps his glass against Maggie’s, then glances over at his wife. “Ingrid here is convinced there are rattlesnakes.”
“There are!” Ingrid says, taking a glass and sitting on a stool at the counter.
“Well, don’t worry, honey. If I see one, I’ll throw myself in front of it so it can get me first.” Kyle leans over and kisses Ingrid.
Maggie takes slow sips of her wine as she watches them.
She notes how Ingrid tilts her long neck and reaches up to touch her husband’s cheek as she kisses him.
Maggie repositions herself. She tries to sit like Ingrid, leaning in.
Back arched. Legs crossed. She notes the playful way Ingrid dangles her heels, the way she tilts her glass to smell the wine.
Maggie brings her own glass up to her nose and takes a whiff.
Show them you can be a part of this world.
Ingrid smiles at Maggie. “So I spoke to Rebecca’s literary agent, Stella. She said Rebecca’s writing a new book, but she may be able to squeeze us in for a quick breakfast.”
“That’s great!” Maggie says.
“Have you read Summer Rain?” Kyle asks, looking up from the veal.
Maggie flushes. She meant to buy a copy at the mall. “No…but I’d love to! Do you have a copy?”
“We have several!” Kyle nods. He turns off the heat on the stove, wipes his hands on his apron, and goes to grab the book for Maggie.
As Kyle walks down the hall, Ingrid gets up from the stool. “Here, let’s go into the dining room.”
Maggie follows Ingrid down the hall, bringing her purse with her.
The dining room, like the rest of the house, has floor-to-ceiling views of the mountains.
A long white oak table sits squarely in the center, surrounded by soft-gray velvet chairs.
As Maggie takes a seat, she glances at the dizzying array of crystal glasses and plates and silverware, all perfectly set.
She’s so glad she didn’t buy Ingrid those champagne flutes—as expensive as they were, they wouldn’t fit in.
Ingrid has a whole motif going with her glassware, which is mind-boggling to Maggie (she can barely come up with a motif for her manuscript).
“I don’t know where you like to stay in New York, but I booked us rooms right by the park,” Ingrid says.
“That’s exactly where I like to stay,” Maggie lies, thinking about the last time she was there, when the Airbnb turned out to be someone’s walk-in closet in Spanish Harlem.
Kyle walks over with a copy of the book and hands it to Maggie.
“Thank you!” Maggie studies the cover and turns back to Ingrid.
“I meant to ask you. Did you know as soon as you read Summer Rain that you wanted to make it a movie?”
“Immediately,” she says as Kyle disappears back into the kitchen.