Chapter 58
“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” Ingrid says, shaking her head as she opens up Charlie’s forwarded email.
Maggie turned in the script without running it by her?
She immediately clicks on the attachment.
At least it’s the version she wanted. But still!
It’s not ready! She hasn’t even had a chance to read the whole thing and give her notes.
How could Maggie just cut her out like this?
She calls the girl. Again, it goes to voicemail. Great sign of maturity!
Ingrid jumps on text with Charlie:
Don’t read it. It’s not ready. I didn’t know she was sending it to you—
Charlie texts back:
Too late. Already opened it!
Shit! She texts Maggie:
WHY did you send the script to Charlie? It’s NOT READY!
No response. Ingrid gets out of bed and goes downstairs to find Kyle. He’s in the home gym, cycling on the Peloton.
She confronts him. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?”
“What?” he asks, taking off his headphones.
She holds up the screenshot of their hug on the Ring cam. “Maggie just turned in her script to Charlie. What exactly happened here after I left?”
“Nothing,” Kyle says, cycling faster.
Ingrid puts a hand over his Peloton screen to get his attention. He stops cycling.
“OK, we talked.”
Ingrid takes a step back. No. She doesn’t want to believe it. Why would he sabotage her like this?
“She was crying, Ingrid. She was like a wounded animal! I don’t know why you had to torture the poor girl!”
“So you told her to go around me and turn her script in?” she cries.
“I told her to follow her heart as a writer!”
She can’t look at him. Can’t begin to process the magnitude of this betrayal. On top of so many others. She starts walking out.
Kyle hops off the bike.
“Ingrid, the girl fainted,” he says, following her to the kitchen.
“And now I’m about to have a fucking stroke from hiring a no-name screenwriter to pen a dud script on the last picture of my deal!” Ingrid says, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and pouring herself some water. She gulps it down.
“She told me about you making her write while you guys were doing the transfusion…”
Ingrid shoves her glass to the ice maker in the fridge, trying to drown out his voice. The ice cubes fall all over the floor.
“Why would you be so cruel?” Kyle asks.
“Cruel?” she asks. “You want to talk about cruel? Me having to watch you fawn over her—that’s cruel. Oh, Maggie, here, have a ginger shot! Have another chickpea quinoa burger! Please, stay for dinner! Wanna hear some horribly embarrassing story about my wife?”
“I was just trying to be nice!” Kyle says, turning bright red. Ingrid wants to grab the ice cubes and shove them in his mouth. She’s so sick of his nice-guy schtick.
“Yeah, you’re so nice, you stuck it in multiple escorts across two continents,” Ingrid hurls at him. Kyle’s pupils contract. She rams a finger to her chest. “I found the statements. Do you know what that’s like? To know that you didn’t give a shit about me, over and over again?”
Kyle takes a step back, bumping into the fridge.
A few of the refrigerator magnets of all the cities they’ve visited together fall on the floor.
He tries to grab her hand, but she jerks it away.
He takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry about what I did.
Truly, I am. But whatever our issues, this isn’t about Maggie. ”
She wants to laugh. “You’re such an idiot,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. “Why do you think I’m doing the transfusions? I’m doing them for you! I thought, maybe if I wind back my age, my husband won’t stray anymore. Instead, all I did was give you another target!”
Kyle is shaking now. “I’m not interested in Maggie! I showed her kindness—there’s a difference. I feel for her. I know what it’s like to be in the doghouse with you. And I didn’t want her to hate you.”
Ingrid drops to the floor, pretending to pick up the ice cubes so he can’t see her face. What he really wanted to say was I didn’t want her to hate you, too.
“Please, just let the stupid script go,” Kyle urges. “Who cares? It’s just a movie. But this is your health. That’s why I suggested she turn it in. I just thought…somebody has to be the good cop with her!”
The freezing cubes stick to her hot fingers. She shakes her head at him, her dumb, stupid husband, who has a pathological need to convince himself he’s a hero.
“You’re not a good cop, Kyle,” she tells him as she stands up.
Her hands wrap tightly around the shards of ice as she tries to find the perfect words to hurt him back.
She glances at the collection of memories on her fridge.
“You’re a weak refrigerator magnet that will stick to anyone who gives it attention. ”
Kyle’s face burns. For a second, Ingrid thinks he’s going to take the glass of water in her hand and throw it at her. But he just walks away, leaving her standing there, dripping, broken, her hands purple.