Chapter 57
All day, Maggie and Prisha trade DMs. Prisha tells her that she used to write for Ingrid, too.
Ingrid met her at a comedy club. Like Maggie, Prisha thought Ingrid was a total dream producer who made all these important feminist movies.
She said she was going to build her up, make Prisha the next Mindy Kaling.
But as soon as Prisha started putting her own spin on the project, Ingrid got mad.
She would make her rewrite drafts with only three hours’ notice.
It got to the point where I couldn’t sleep! I couldn’t eat! All I could do was think about Ingrid. I even changed my ringtone for her, I think.
What was your ringtone??
The Jaws theme.
Maggie cackles. That’s perfect. She taps on Ingrid in her contacts and changes her ringtone to the Jaws theme, too. She then presses Call on IG, desperate to hear Prisha’s voice. But Prisha rejects the call.
Can’t. I’m at work.
Maggie glances out her window at the pink morning light. It’s eight the next morning.
Where are you?
I’m in Scotland.
Maybe Prisha went on a vacation after Ingrid? She can see her roaming around the castles of Scotland, sitting in cafés, writing away on her computer.
Wow! That’s cool!
No, it’s not. It’s cold, there’s zero diversity, and I work at a museum all day, giving old ladies tours of stolen shit from ancient Egypt.
Maggie doesn’t know what to say.
So why did you leave LA?
Why do you think?
Maggie inhales sharply. Her mind immediately flashes back to the call she overheard, when Ingrid basically told Camila to leave town. Did Ingrid destroy Prisha’s life so completely that she had to move to a whole other country?
Nooooooooo. Because of Ingrid??
She made sure I couldn’t get any work after that post. No studio would touch me. I couldn’t even get a gig writing for LinkedIn. Had I known she was going to incinerate my career, I would have never sent in that anonymous tip.
Maggie feels almost sick reading the words.
I am SO sorry! So what are you going to do?
There’s nothing to do. I just have to wait it out and hope people forget. I’m telling you this as a warning—do not cross her. It’s not worth it, trust me.
Maggie’s fingers tap madly, telling Prisha about her script.
I don’t know what to do. I just want this job to be over with so I can get back to my book.
I only took it so she wouldn’t steal parts of my life!
But now I don’t know which version of the script I should turn in.
She pauses and adds, Her husband said I should just go with my version.
Her husband?
Yeah…I was over at her house earlier. You won’t believe this. She made me write in front of her.
Wait, like physically write ur script? In front of her?
Maggie nods to herself, feeling nauseous all over again.
Literally sit in her office and write while she looked over my shoulder. And every time I wrote something she didn’t like, she’d make this little hissing noise with her teeth.
That’s actually violent.
I wanted to die.
Did u leave?
Yeah, but not until after I had a long talk with her husband. Maggie suddenly hopes Prisha doesn’t think she has a thing for Kyle. He was just there. But he told me to turn in my version to the studio.
No reply. Maggie starts to think maybe Prisha had to go on one of her tours. Then three dots appear.
So he told you to go behind Ingrid’s back? Interesting.
Maggie’s typing a response when she hears the front door unlock.
“Maggie?” Willa calls out.
Maggie throws her phone down and jumps out of bed. She runs over to hug Willa. “Oh, thank God you’re back,” she says, grabbing Willa’s carry-on suitcase and dragging it inside. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“I’ve missed you, too. And I’m sorry for what I said,” Willa says. “I shouldn’t have said at least I don’t sell my organs—that was messed up.”
“It’s OK. Where’d you go?”
“Vegas.”
Maggie gives Willa an odd look. That’s the last place she’d ever expect Willa to go, especially without her.
“I was there for a reality TV open casting call.”
“Did you get it?” Maggie asks excitedly.
Willa makes a face, No. “But while I was there, I walked around. I saw the apartment buildings just like in your book. I tried to find Vivian’s house, and the McDonald’s, too.”
“You tried to find Vivian’s house?” Maggie asks, surprised.
“I was trying to understand why you would send me those Visa cards.”
At the mention of the cards, the guilt seeps in. “Willa, I—”
“Just listen,” Willa says. “I think I finally get it. You didn’t want me to look at you the way you looked at Vivian. Like she was better than you because she had all this money.”
Maggie nods, deeply moved that her friend took the time to walk all over Las Vegas so she could understand her. She tells her friend to sit down. She fills Willa in on the last few weeks with Ingrid.
“Maggie…that’s fucked-up.”
“I know.”
“I agree with Kyle. I think you should just turn it in and be done with it.”
Maggie chews her lip. She tells Willa about Prisha and how Ingrid got her banished all the way to Scotland. “She’s going to be so pissed if I turn in my version. But I hate her version. Maybe I should just quit. Just tell the studio it’s not working out?”
“It’s your first writing job! You can’t quit—”
“You don’t know her…”
“I know you.” Willa puts her hands on her shoulders.
“Maggie, the whole time I was in Vegas, I was thinking about your book. Your words. Your story convinced me not to give up on us. Don’t you see?
That’s the kind of writer you are. You can’t give up now.
Just get in there and turn in your script!
Don’t let her hold all this power over you! ”
Fuck it. Willa’s right. Maggie reaches over to hug her. “Thanks. Sorry again for the whole thing with the gift cards. I’ll never mess up like that again.”
Willa hugs her back. “I know you won’t. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Maggie whispers.
—
Later, Maggie sits down in front of her computer and writes an email to Charlie:
Dear Charlie,
Submitting my first draft of my screenplay to you. Hope you enjoy the read. Looking forward to your notes! x
Fondly,
Maggie
She’s about to attach her version of the script when the eerie sound of Jaws interrupts her. She jumps. She forgot she’d programmed it for Ingrid on Prisha’s genius suggestion. She lets it go to voicemail.
When she presses Play, Ingrid’s words make her stomach flip.
Hey, Maggie…it’s Ingrid. Just checking in on you to see how you’re doing.
Are you feeling better? Unfortunately, I spoke to my doctor, and he says we’ll have to do the transfusion again, since we stopped midway. See you at my house on Tuesday?
There’s no apology for the way she treated her.
All she cares about is her damn transfusion.
At the same time, Maggie asks herself, does she really want to cross someone that self-centered?
Is it worth it to her? She pictures herself in Scotland giving tours of colonial loot with Prisha.
And what about her book? Is she ready to give up on it?
Because that’s what’s going to happen if she sends her version of the script directly to the studio.
Ingrid will make sure she never gets published.
She moves her cursor over to Cancel, closing her eyes and resigning herself to not sending anything in.
Then she remembers throwing up in Ingrid’s bathroom.
The hot shame on her face as Ingrid spit out the words You’re not leaving here until you produce something good.
Her throat bunched tight as she read Ingrid’s texts at all hours, directions that changed daily.
Who knows how long it’ll go on? She just needs another set of eyes, another person in the mix, so it’s not just her and Ingrid playing psychological warfare by themselves.
As the sky turns inky black, she makes herself stay up and finish writing Ingrid’s version of the script.
She works feverishly for the next few days.
When it’s done, she doesn’t email it to Ingrid.
She sends it straight to Charlie.