Chapter 47
“Are those Louboutins?” Ingrid asks. Maggie blushes and tries to hide her distinctive red soles by planting her heels firmly on the carpet in Ingrid’s study.
“No. They look fine,” Ingrid says, turning her eyes back to her phone. “Just surprised, that’s all.”
“Anyway, did you get a chance to read my email with my thoughts on Summer Rain?” Maggie asks, changing the subject.
“Yes, but I don’t think you should get into the specifics of what you’re planning on writing. You and I can discuss all that later, after you get the job.”
“But what if he asks—”
“By the way, what were you doing here the other day?” Ingrid interjects.
“Oh yeah!” Maggie smiles. “I came over to thank you for introducing me to Jack and the team! But you weren’t home.”
“Why were you upstairs?”
“Cassie and I were talking about screenwriting.”
Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “Cassie?”
Why does Ingrid look like she doesn’t believe her? “She asked for my help with a script.”
“But you don’t know how to write a script.”
She says it so casually, like bananas are yellow.
Or the sky is blue. You, Maggie, don’t know how to write a script.
It takes a minute for the embarrassment to hit.
When it does, Maggie’s toes suddenly feel hot and sticky inside her shoes.
Is this Ingrid’s way of testing her? Right before the meeting?
“I think you’ll be surprised.” Maggie smiles, trying to brush it off.
Thankfully, Ingrid’s phone saves them. She answers it on the second ring.
“Slow down, Camila…” Ingrid says. “No! ’Course I had no idea. I was just as shocked as you. I agree, it’s not a good look for anyone.”
Maggie wishes the machine would be silent for a second so she could hear.
Is that Camila Veracruz? She’s seen all the drama about Camila and Sophie Halloway and their pay spat, of course.
She was rooting for Camila. It took massive guts to talk about the pay disparity in Hollywood—and how else can one talk about that without bringing up, well, said disparity?
“I know it feels terrible right now. But you will get through it. I’m going to tell you exactly how to play this. You ready?”
Maggie leans in closer.
“You need to do something to change the narrative,” Ingrid says.
“Summer Rain’s not it. It’s just going to add fuel to the fire.
Do a play on Broadway. Something that shows people you’re a serious actress.
You’re not in it for the money. You’re in it for the art.
And most of all, you support other women. ”
The hairs on Maggie’s neck stand up straight. Did Ingrid seriously just suggest to Camila she should quit Summer Rain and do a play for art, all over an interview?
“It’s your decision. If I were you, that’s what I would do. As much as I’d die to have you in Summer Rain, this is not about one movie. It’s about your career.”
Ingrid gets off the phone. She turns to Maggie, whose mouth is hanging open, as the machine beeps. Ingrid calls out to Teresa that they’re done. Reaching for her jacket, she smiles at Maggie, making no attempt to explain what that call was all about.
“You ready to go to lunch?” she asks.