Chapter 51
Unfortunately, Ingrid seems determined to drag out the process.
Everything Maggie writes now is not sharp enough, not witty enough, not specific enough, not universal enough.
Her notes move like a tornado, spinning unpredictably with every hour.
What has promise in the morning is quiet by lunch and feels forced by dinner.
What is this drivel? Get rid of this whole part!
You’re losing me. You’re boring me here.
This scene feels totally contrived!
These characters feel one-note to me! Did you ChatGPT this?
She wouldn’t say that here! Not realistic.
The character arc needs to feel EARNED. How is she getting everything she wants in Europe? Are we trying so hard to be edgy that we’ve completely lost touch with reality?
Maggie bangs her head against the wall, tempted to reply, That’s what I’ve been saying all along! How is she getting everything she wants in Europe? But you said don’t make it realistic and lean into the fantasy!
By now she knows it’s useless arguing with Ingrid.
It only makes her notes more erratic. One night at three a.m., when Ingrid unleashes a particularly harsh string of texts, Maggie goes on Instagram.
Curious to see if there’s any posts on Summer Rain with her name on them, she taps on the Hollywood gossip account.
As she scrolls through all the posts, she stumbles on one that makes her sit up.
Will Ingrid Parker’s deal be her last?
She reads the post:
Anon pls. Here’s the tea on Ingrid Parker. She plays like she cares about writers of color, while making them do endless rewrites for free. Diabolically demanding. Once blamed me for costing her a project because I had too many commas. PSYCHO! Stay away at all costs.
Maggie can hardly breathe. She’d been racking her brain, trying to figure out if Ingrid was being overly harsh or if she herself is just overly sensitive.
And here it is, clear as day. Ingrid abuses her writers, specifically writers of color.
It’s not her inadequate, pathetic words that brought it out.
No! The woman’s just unhinged! She writes a DM to xoxohollywooddd:
Hey, just read the post on Ingrid Parker. I’m a new screenwriter working for her and I really need to contact someone who’s written for her before. Can you put me in touch with anon??
By the morning, when she still hasn’t heard anything back, she can’t stand it anymore and comments directly on the post:
Hey @xoxohollywooddd, new writer here. Please check your DMs!!!
She feels slightly nervous posting publicly, but she reminds herself Ingrid’s not on social media. Plus, the post is from so long ago. Still, she sends a text to Willa:
Hey…I know ur still mad. But I have a situation I need ur help with! Can u call me back? I really really miss u!
When her phone dings half a second later, she hopes it’s xoxohollywooddd, but it’s just her best friend’s auto-reply.
Sorry, I’m driving!
She drops her phone and hugs her knees. She wishes she knew what to do. Should she rewrite the script for the umpteenth time, the way Ingrid wants? Or should she stick to her guns and pen her version?
—
The weekend rolls around, and Maggie’s DMs sit unanswered. She’s starting to become terrified again that if she doesn’t show up to their ninth transfusion with fresh pages that Ingrid likes, she will hurl more insults at her.
She calls her agent.
“Hey! What’s up, kiddo?” Jack answers. “How’s the writing going?”
“It’s…going,” she says, trying to find a diplomatic way to ask him, Is your best client a psychotic bitch?
“Well, we just finished your deal! The studio’s paying you $30,500 for your first draft of your script, and another $11,000 for a rewrite!”
She does the math in her head. $41,500. That’s the most she’s ever gotten paid for her writing. But now the anxiety clogs her throat at the idea that Ingrid will never let her get there. What if she’s permanently stuck in the cycle of endless rewrites, as Anonymous called it?
“You guys making good progress? How’s working with Ingrid?”
“Yeah, actually I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Isn’t Ingrid great? She’s the sharpest there is. And she’s not afraid to get in the weeds with you, which is what you want at this stage in your career!”
“Uh-huh. But have you heard…though…from other writers…how she is to work with?” she asks cautiously.
“What do you mean?”
She has to tread carefully. Jack is also Ingrid’s agent.
“Just in terms of changing her mind all the time about what she wants? Asking for a ton of rewrites?” There’s a long silence.
Maggie starts getting extremely nervous that she said that about Ingrid.
She looks for a way to defuse the situation.
“You know what? Maybe I should just send you the script? I’d love to have your read of it! ”
Jack makes a regretful noise. “If you’re looking for comments from me, that’s not what I’m here for. I get you the deals. You’re back office. I’m front office. But don’t worry, you’re in excellent hands. I would listen to Ingrid and just trust the process!”
Maggie slides down in her chair after they get off the phone. He wouldn’t even look at her words. That’s how much he cares about representing her.
This sad realization brings her straight back to when she was twelve, sitting in Vivian’s kitchen.
Charlotte was doing her homework, so Maggie took out hers, too.
Her teacher had assigned her math word problems. They were hard to understand, so she read them out loud.
She’d barely gotten through the first sentence when Vivian started laughing.
Maggie had mispronounced the word acre as ack-ree.
The mistake was so hysterical, Vivian could not stop laughing.
She kept repeating it over and over again—An ack-ree of land!
—and slapping her knee. With each slap, Maggie’s ears grew hotter—why couldn’t she just tell Maggie how it was pronounced?
Why did she choose to humiliate her instead?
At the memory of this, Maggie sits up at her desk. She refuses to let Ingrid intimidate and humiliate her way to a bad script. A rebellious rush travels through her as she opens up a new file in Final Draft, throws out all of Ingrid’s suggestions, and starts from scratch.
This time, Maggie writes her version of the movie.