Chapter 44
On the morning of their fifth transfusion, a bouquet of flowers arrives at Ingrid’s house from Camila.
Saw the article on Deadline and your nice comments in the recent interviews on Uncharted. Have to admit, you surprised me. For what it’s worth, I am still open to working with you, too.—C
Ingrid smiles, then tells Dolores to set the flowers up somewhere she can’t see them.
She reaches for her phone and starts executing part two of her plan.
She’s still on the phone with Sophie Halloway, Camila’s Uncharted costar, when Teresa and Maggie walk into her study.
She holds up a finger for them to give her a second.
“I agree, it was terrible of her to just throw you under the bus like that. And she didn’t even call you after? But listen, you can’t just wall yourself off. You have to get out there again. We need you for the movie!”
Ingrid holds her breath, hoping Sophie will agree to what she has to propose.
“You want me to do press?” Sophie lets out a long sigh. “No, Ingrid. I can’t. It’s too soon. They’re going to ask me about the whole Camila thing. I’m going to get butchered out there—”
“Not if you reclaim the narrative,” Ingrid says. “It’s your movie, too. You did a killer job, and you deserve every penny of what you got paid. In what version of feminism is that not worth celebrating?”
There’s a long pause. Ingrid can feel Sophie’s persistence waning. Stars, in her experience, can only sit on the sidelines for so long before craving the spotlight again. “What do you say to doing a sit-down profile piece for Vanity Fair?”
“A profile piece in Vanity Fair?” Sophie’s voice suddenly changes. “I’ve always wanted to do Vanity Fair!”
Ingrid smiles. She knew it would work. “And we could get Alexa Newton to photograph—she’s fabulous.” She’s already texting the famous photographer. “I’ll make some calls and set it up. I’m proud of you, Sophie. This is a good move.”
“Thanks, Ingrid!” Sophie says.
Ingrid gets off and turns her attention to Maggie.
“Who was that?” the girl asks.
She looks over, stumped for a second and wondering what she did to make this girl think they’ve been colleagues for twenty years and she has the right to stick her nose in all her business.
She’ll have to evaluate that later. Today she has business to take care of.
She pushes a smile onto her face and presents Maggie with Jack’s card.
“This is my agent. He’s waiting for your call.”
The girl looks speechless. She should be. Jack’s not just an agent. He’s a partner and the head of the entire movie department at one of the biggest agencies in all of LA.
“For what?” Maggie asks, looking almost terrified.
“You want the screenwriting job, don’t you?” Ingrid asks.
Maggie nods but still looks confused.
“To represent you.” Ingrid rolls her eyes.
Maggie’s eyes turn to the size of marbles. “Me? Really? Thank you! This is unbelievable. Does he know?”
“That he’s going to represent you?” Ingrid asks with a chuckle. “I think he has an idea. I talked to him.”
She tries to hug Ingrid, but Ingrid immediately points to the IV lines between them and warns her with her eyes, Don’t.
“Well, thank you,” Maggie says, awkwardly pulling her arms back. “This means the world.”
“Good. Because it costs the world.”
Ingrid lets her words sink in before turning her attention back to arranging Sophie’s interview.
—
After Maggie leaves, Ingrid changes into a sexy black-lace bustier she picked up for herself at Alexander McQueen.
She heads up the Pacific Coast Highway toward Alec’s house.
After the tense last few days at her house, she could use a pick-me-up.
She’s been ignoring Alec’s texts all week, which she knows he isn’t thrilled about, but she really was busy.
The Camila situation has been tricky to figure out, but now she’s back in the driver’s seat.
A smile plays at her lips as she instructs Siri to text him.
Hey you…sorry I’ve been swamped at work. Had a major deal that almost fell apart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either.
She pictures the two of them making love in his beautiful beach house while the waves crash below them. Her ring slips off easily, and she sets it in one of her cupholders, making a mental note not to forget to put it back on her finger later. Alec writes back:
U had me worried when I didn’t hear back. U are definitely going to get it when u see me.
Can’t wait.
I’m sitting here thinking about how u taste.
The texts are so racy, Ingrid has to pull over.
If it makes you feel any better, I’m wearing a black lace bustier right now.
PIC NOW.
Ingrid snaps a selfie and sends it to him.
I’m touching myself looking at ur smokin hot bod.
Actually headed up PCH to look at a house in your area now. Should I stop by?
Right now?
Ingrid waits. Three dots appear. Then stop. Then appear again.
I’m sort of sick right now. Rain check?
Ingrid stares at the text, stumped. One minute he’s touching himself, and the next minute he’s sick?
Of course…are you ok?
Yeah just a cold probably. It’s been chilly out here. All alone. On my bed that smells like you.
Awwww. Poor Alec. Now she feels even worse for not texting him back all week.
Should she at least get him some food? She thinks of Connor, who always appreciates when she picks him up some chicken soup from Fromin’s when he’s sick.
There’s a restaurant not too far from here, Taverna Tony, a popular Greek place in Malibu.
Maybe she can get Alec some soup from there.
She waits twenty minutes for the chicken soup at Tony’s, then drives the rest of the way to Alec’s house.
As she rings the doorbell, she hears music playing inside.
She waits, imagining the look of surprise on Alec’s face as he opens the door, his mouth melting into hers as he pulls her in for a hug. Ingrid’s knees weaken at the thought.
But when the door opens, it’s a girl standing there. She looks about twenty-two, and she’s dressed in a bikini top and cutoff shorts. She’s mid-laugh, holding a bag of tortilla chips.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“Who are you?” Ingrid asks.
“Babe, there’s a lady here to see you,” the girl calls out.
Babe? Ingrid freezes. Alec rushes down the stairs, naked, with a towel around his hips, holding a beer. He’s not sick. He’s with some other chick. God, this is embarrassing. Ingrid turns and starts walking back to her car, hugging her soup.
“Ingrid?” he calls out, following her. “Wait! What are you doing here?”
“I…I thought you were sick.” She speed-walks.
He points. “Wait, is that…soup?” he asks, glancing at the plastic to-go container in her hand.
The girl in the bikini cackles. This is clearly hysterical to her.
She’s probably wondering, What is this old hag thinking?
What was she thinking, Ingrid wonders. Alec was just supposed to be a fling.
And what did she do? She showed up with soup, like his fucking mom.
She suddenly misses Kyle. Her stable bodega cat, who, for all his faults, at least never let her stand outside his door while a girl laughed at her.
Ingrid runs back to her car, soup splashing everywhere, cursing herself for ever dropping her keys at Erewhon.