Chapter 38
“You played me,” Camila says, throwing the printed-out Deadline article about Hailey at Ingrid. It’s Saturday, and the office is empty except for the two of them.
Ingrid puts her hands up to calm Camila down.
Ingrid had just barely gotten home from the steamy night at Alec’s when Camila texted.
For the last few days, she’s ignored all of Alec’s sexy texts, working overtime to find Camila another project, but unfortunately, everything else skewed too young, and now the actress is in her office, royally pissed.
“Nothing’s been decided yet. Hailey called me to talk about the movie, that’s all,” Ingrid starts to explain. “It’s just talk!”
“Then why’s it on Deadline?”
“I have no idea! Maybe she leaked it! Maybe the studio did, to drum up buzz around the movie.”
“Oh, no no no. Don’t put this on the studio. I’ll make sure you star and get paid every penny of what you deserve. The system’s broken. We’re going to fix it, me and you, you said.” Camila points at her. “Those were your words. And I believed you!”
“You should!”
Camila laughs. “You know, it’s women like you that are so dangerous. You pretend to care, but you’re out for yourself.”
“Why would you say that to me?” Ingrid feels the hurt welling inside her.
She tried everything in her power to help Camila.
And she’s still trying. Isn’t that why she’s been scouring scripts for her?
It’s so dehumanizing to try so hard for someone and be met with such hostility. “I’m your best and only ally!”
“You’re not an ally. An ally is someone who puts their money where their mouth is. But you’re never willing to eat less.”
Ingrid gasps at the horrendous accusation. “I am on your side.”
“But you’re not.” Camila shakes a finger at her.
“Being on my side is being willing to do something about the economic inequalities, the exploitation, the systems of fear and retaliation that do the work of upholding and oppressing, that make it impossible for me to speak up without worrying, without paying a price. Being on my side means not questioning me on whether I’m a team player because I said something.
How does that make you different from a white man? ”
The color drains from Ingrid’s face.
“They at least swear up and down they don’t see it.
There’s no inequality. Pay disparity, what’s that?
But you know it exists, and still you convince yourself it’s because I don’t work as hard.
I’m just not enough of a household name like Hailey Jane Madison.
That it’s luck or talent. It has nothing to do with luck or talent. It’s this right here.”
Camila points at the floor.
“It’s you not wanting to jeopardize what you’ve got—where you’re at, the scraps they’ve tossed you—for me.” She looks Ingrid up and down. “And you want to make a movie about feminism. I guess it’s my fault for trusting you. We aren’t in the same struggle.”
Before Ingrid can utter a single word in her own defense, Camila turns and walks out.
—
Ingrid’s whole body shakes. She can’t move a single limb, can’t even leave her office to go home. All she can do is sit and pant, running through Camila’s words.
They were so aggressive. Violent, almost.
She felt the hairs on her neck standing the whole time, her lunch rising in her stomach, her cheeks throbbing like she’d been slapped.
When, finally, the feeling returns to her limbs, she crawls out of her office.
As she’s sitting in her car, trying to collect her thoughts and shake the ugliness of Camila’s words out of her ears—ugh!
—she gets a notification from her Ring camera.
She taps open the app and sees Maggie standing in her backyard.
Kyle’s showing her where his dreaded ADU is going.
The two of them are both holding burgers, deep in conversation.
Heat crawls up her neck as she watches Maggie laughing at Kyle’s jokes.
What is Maggie doing at her house with her husband?
—
Ingrid races home. She wants to text Kyle to ask what’s going on.
But that would mean opening up her messages and looking at his text to her the night she slept with Alec: where are you?
She didn’t say a word to him about the credit card statement or what she did after she found out.
She convinced herself maybe she never needs to.
Maybe they can just go on living together and occasionally dabbling in meaningless sex.
But now, seeing him and Maggie talking intimately in her backyard, her jaw locks.
Is this Maggie’s way of getting back at her for borrowing her story?
She stomps across her lawn, following the sound of laughter and the sick smell of burgers to her backyard.
“What’s going on?” she asks when she finally arrives poolside.
“Oh hi!” Maggie says, jumping up from the grass. “How was the office?”
“Fine,” she says, annoyed. “What’s all this?”
“Maggie just stopped by. I thought it would be a nice day to barbecue. You want one?” Kyle offers, gesturing to the plate of burgers.
She shakes her head quickly.
“Can we…can we talk?” Maggie points to the inside of the house.
Ingrid leads the way inside. Once in the kitchen, Ingrid pours herself a glass of white wine. Between Camila’s speech and Maggie casually hanging out with her husband, she drinks urgently to steady her nerves.
“I’m sorry. Maybe this is a bad time—” Maggie starts to say.
“It’s a fine time. What do you need?”
“It’s about Summer Rain. I was wondering if I could maybe try out to be the screenwriter? If you guys haven’t settled on one yet?”
Seriously now? Ingrid almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of events today.
“No,” Ingrid blurts out, putting her wineglass down. “You can’t because you’re not a screenwriter.”
Maggie looks down at her feet. Good. Let her be hurt. Maybe if Ingrid had blasted Camila with the cold, hard truth a long time ago instead of pandering to her, she wouldn’t be in this position.
“Not formally. But I just thought, since the movie’s based on my idea and you’re using what happened to me…”
Wow. Ingrid turns and dumps out her wine in the sink.
“The movie is not based on you. That was just one tiny detail. You want me to change it? Fine, I’ll change it! If it bothers you that much—”
“No, you don’t have to change it.” Maggie starts shaking her head. The whole of her seems to be shaking. “But I want the chance to write it.”
Ingrid puts her fingers to her temples. She’s exhausted. “I’m sorry, I can’t make that happen. Contrary to what everyone seems to think, I’m not God. The studio would never go for it—”
“Maybe if you just talk to them—” Maggie says softly.
“What am I supposed to say? Let’s hire this girl who has no credits, no screenwriting experience, nothing to show?
Let’s just roll the dice and let her write this huge movie?
That’s just not how this works. You have to work your way up.
You have to prove yourself, pay your dues!
Like I’ve been telling you from day one, you have to be patient—”
“I don’t have time to be patient,” Maggie blurts out. “I’m aging rapidly here!”
To Ingrid’s alarm, Maggie pulls at the roots of her hair and shoves her head in front of Ingrid. “Do you know I have white hairs now? And I had to get Botox?”
There’s a long spell of silence, during which Kyle walks in, carrying plates.
Maggie lets go of her hair. Ingrid’s pulse thuds. Maggie takes a second to compose herself, then calmly walks over to her purse and gets out a bunch of papers. “I’ve already started coming up with more ideas for Isabella. Just give me a chance—that’s all I’m asking.”
Ingrid glances at the pages. “I’ll share them with the screenwriter the studio hires,” she offers, picking them up from the table. “That’s about the best I can do. And maybe if they like them…maybe your ideas will wind up in the movie.”
Silently, Maggie picks up her purse. She doesn’t say a word to Ingrid, but she thanks Kyle on her way out.
As soon as Maggie leaves, Kyle shoots Ingrid a look. “Was that really necessary? Putting down a young woman?”
Ingrid reaches for a jar of olives inside the cabinet. “Don’t even with me. Not today.”
“She’s just starting out, Ingrid,” Kyle says. “You don’t need to crush her like a walnut. We need her on our side.”
She slams the jar of olives down on the counter so hard she doesn’t hear Cassie walk in. “Yeah? And were you just starting out, too? No, you’ve been at this for a while, haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” Kyle asks, his face reddening.
She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, she just holds his gaze, watching him twist uncomfortably.
“Mom?”
They both turn to see Cassie’s stunned face.