Chapter 33
Across town, Maggie’s fingers are pounding out her novel, sending each chapter to Ingrid as she finishes it.
It feels amazing and cathartic, taking her life experiences and wringing out every drop of emotion into art!
Ingrid writes back with gushing feedback and detailed, specific, and thoughtful notes.
It’s enough to make Maggie never want to sleep, never do anything besides write.
What’s real life, filled with mundane, silly tasks like getting groceries, when she can stay cocooned in her bedroom with words, letting her imagination fly, and finally doing the thing she was put on this earth to do?
By Saturday, she’s finished two more chapters and has sent them off to Ingrid when Willa walks into her room to borrow her belt.
“Maggie! When’s the last time you ate?”
Maggie confesses she’s been subsisting on popcorn and Sprite. “But it doesn’t matter! Just read!” She turns and gives her laptop to Willa.
“Dude.” Willa looks up when she’s done reading, her eyes teary. She puts a hand to her heart.
“Really?”
Willa nods sincerely. “It’s so raw. The way you described Vivian’s house. How you wanted everything they had but hated yourself for wanting it? Maggie, it’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.” Willa hugs her. “New York Times bestseller list, we’re coming for you. But first, you gotta eat.”
“I know,” Maggie says, getting up from her bed and cleaning up all the popcorn bags.
Willa reaches for her phone, tapping and searching. “Maybe we can go somewhere after my class?” Willa’s having her first class at the new acting studio she signed up at. Maggie’s so pleased her little gift cards are already making a difference.
“No, we’ll go somewhere nice next week, after I get my $1.1 million for the fourth transfusion.” Maggie sucks in a breath. It’s an astounding amount of money, and they’re not even halfway through.
Willa’s face changes as she’s looking at her phone. “What’s wrong?”
Maggie leans over and sees Willa’s reading an Instagram Story from some Hollywood insider account. As Maggie reads the text on the screen, her face goes white.
Update on Summer Rain! Plot is kept tightly under wraps but here’s what’s known: Insiders say the rumored spin on the rom-com genre is about a troubled young woman who goes on an epic journey to find friendship, companionship, and self-love after a traumatic childhood including being shipped off at a young age to live with an abusive family her parents knew from church.
“Dude…isn’t this…?” Willa asks.
“What is xoxohollywooddd?” Maggie takes the phone.
“It’s a secret industry gossip account,” Willa says. “I check it for audition news. You don’t think Ingrid…”
“No!” Maggie blurts out immediately. She’s shaking her head fiercely at the insinuation, protecting Ingrid.
She can’t possibly have. But there’s no question that that’s Maggie’s story.
The details are too specific. Church? Abusive family?
There’s no way that’s a coincidence. Heart pounding, she screenshots it and sends the image to herself.
Willa glances at her watch. “You know what, forget my class, I’m going to stay—”
“No.” Maggie shakes her head. She’s touched by the offer, but it’s Willa’s first class. She hands Willa back her phone. “You should go.”
“But if she took your story and put it in her other movie—” Willa starts to say.
“No.” She flat-out refuses to believe. “That can’t be it. There has to be another explanation. Maybe someone at her office got the two projects confused. I don’t know!”
“But if she did…” Willa continues to say.
The idea is so horrific, Maggie practically pushes Willa out of her room, wishing her good luck in her class. She slides to the floor, back leaning against her door. Silently, she finishes Willa’s sentence. If she did, Ingrid just stole her writing.
—
That night, she works on an entirely different piece: a WTF email to Ingrid.
The first five drafts she has to discard because they sound too pissed.
But she is pissed. How could this have happened?
Her book isn’t out yet! What if someone reads the Story on the gossip account and steals the idea and publishes their book first?
Then she would be accused of plagiarism.
She tries to write the email as succinctly and cordially as she can:
Dear Ingrid,
I saw the post on xoxohollywooddd about the Summer Rain plot. I can’t help but notice the similarities between the plot for the movie and my book. Can we talk?
Best,
Maggie
It’s short and to the point. Nonconfrontational, but also not soft. But as she’s about to press Send, her finger trembles.
What if Ingrid didn’t do it, but when she reads this email she gets mad and cancels the option?
She’s already gotten mad at Maggie once over the agent thing.
Maggie thinks of Ingrid’s words: Did you honestly think that I would just let you cold query when it’s all done and not help you get an agent?
A shot of terror runs through Maggie at the idea that she might lose Ingrid’s trust. Her option.
All of it. Then where would her writing be?
On the other hand, what if she did do it?
How awkward will it be to sit through seven more transfusions with someone who’s plagiarized from you, knowing they’re taking your ideas and your blood?
She could sue, of course. She’ll have money for a lawyer, especially after her next transfusion.
But would this even count as plagiarism?
Ideas are taken all the time, aren’t they?
Isn’t that why there are so many tropes?
She doesn’t send the email that night. Sometime between eleven p.m. and midnight, Willa comes home.
Maggie leaps off the bed to talk to her best friend, but Willa’s with a guy.
Between their loud lovemaking and the even louder questions in her head, Maggie doesn’t sleep a wink.
Instead, her fingers rub the needle marks on the inside of her arm as she wonders, How much can one person take from another?
—
“Willa?” Maggie calls, knocking on her roommate’s door in the morning. It’s nine a.m. She’s waited about as long as she can handle. She really needs to talk to her friend.
A guy opens the door. He’s a good-looking, ripped guy their age, clean-shaven. And he’s naked except for his socks. Maggie immediately looks away. “Sorry!”
“Willa’s sleeping, what’s up?” He tiptoes out, closing Willa’s door behind him. “You her roommate?”
She puts a hand up to shield her eyes. “Can you…uh…please put some clothes on?”
“My bad!” He quickly walks over to the kitchen and grabs a tissue box. He puts it in front of his junk, like that sufficiently counts as getting dressed in his opinion. “I’m Billy,” he says, extending his free hand.
Maggie does not take it.
“I’m an actor,” he continues. Maggie watches as he pours himself some coffee. Is he actually serious? Does he not see how uncomfortable she is? “It’s too bad you couldn’t come out with us last night. You could have met my buddy Joe. He has a real thing for your type.”
“I’m sorry, and what type is that?” Maggie asks, crossing her arms.
“You know, Asian lady in her thirties!” he says with a smile. “Could use a little help relaxing.”
Maggie’s about to let him have it, but the thirties takes her out for a second. She dashes to the bathroom mirror. That’s when she sees it—a single bright white strand in the middle of her lush black hair. She plucks it immediately as Willa walks out.
“I’m sorry, was I off by a lot?” Billy asks apologetically. “I mean, you look amazing—”
“All right, you’re done here!” Willa says, throwing him his pants. A minute later, joining Maggie in the bathroom, she asks, “So what happened last night? You talked to Ingrid yet?”
“Not yet,” Maggie replies.
Right now, she has bigger issues. Namely, her hair’s turning white. Her normally dewy skin is now dull and flaky. There are tiny lines around her eyes and around the corners of her mouth. There’s officially no denying it.
She’s getting older.