Chapter 59
Maggie barely looks at the texts from Ingrid.
Have you lost your mind?? WHY did you send the script to Charlie?
Please call me back!
***
I was SO specific with you—I will submit the script when it’s ready. Not you!
Maggie, we need to meet.
Calmly, Maggie replies:
I think it’s best that we correspond via email from now on.
Five minutes later, she gets an email.
Maggie,
Fine. Per your contractual obligations, I would like to remind you that you have your 9th transfusion with me on Tuesday at my home.
—Ingrid
Maggie’s breathing hitches at the mention of contractual obligations. She writes back:
I’ll be there.
—
Stepping into Ingrid’s house, Maggie reminds herself there’s nothing to be scared of.
The script’s in. She just has to get through two more transfusions, and Teresa will be there both times.
Once Charlie has read the script, which hopefully he’ll love, Ingrid will have cooled down.
Even if he doesn’t love it, he’ll give Maggie his notes, which will be professional and reasonable, and she’ll be able to talk to another person about it and not just be siloed with Ingrid.
Then she’ll go off and rewrite the script, and when that’s done, she can finally go back to writing her book.
She’d asked Prisha for advice on her book.
I don’t even want her stupid option anymore.
You could probably still use it to get a publishing deal, Prisha had messaged.
I don’t want to use her for anything anymore. I’m done. The thought of this sick, selfish, racist white woman clinging to her last inch of relevancy making my book into a movie is so disturbing! My book is so personal!
A cold sweat breaks out as she thinks of all the voice memos of her parents on Ingrid’s phone.
The embarrassing, private confessions they shared about Vivian.
She shouldn’t have let her mom confess all that stuff about letting her stay locked up in the McDonald’s bathroom.
Now Ingrid can make her parents out to be monsters!
Why had she trusted Ingrid so completely?
Looking back, there were so many little signs.
The way she took credit for Maggie’s idea in New York and told her it was necessary if she wanted to be great.
The way she berated her for trying to find an agent for herself.
The way she casually plopped Maggie’s story into her movie. Didn’t even bat an eye when Maggie asked her about it.
The way she drove Camila out of Hollywood.
The way she reminded Maggie at every turn that she hasn’t “paid her dues.” Every single piece of wisdom Ingrid ever doled out worked to uphold the status quo.
To keep Maggie down. Unknown. All to herself.
To maintain the uneven distribution of power from which she benefited, to ensure she was always on top.
Why did Maggie not see it earlier?
She sees Ingrid lying by the pool. The swirls of light dancing on the water’s surface make her think of Vivian’s house.
The realization hits her: Ingrid is Vivian.
Once again, Maggie fell for the same trap.
She wanted this powerful white lady who had everything to like her.
To save her. To fix all her problems. Just as she had when she was a child.
But this time, Maggie’s not going to walk out in tears. She’s going to come out on top, even if it kills her.
“Thought we’d do our transfusion out here today,” Ingrid says.
She’s in a white bathing suit, her tanned, youthful body glowing in the sun.
Maggie notes her taut abs, her lush hair.
It’s been weeks since Maggie let herself look at her own naked body.
She’s been terrified ever since she glanced in the mirror at Saks and saw her ass was noticeably flatter.
Ingrid does not have this problem. As she gets up and reaches for the extension cord for the transfusion machine with one long, toned arm, she gestures for Maggie to sit next to her.
Maggie takes a seat on the lounge chair.
Teresa walks over and helps her roll up her sleeves.
As Teresa gets the transfusion machine cranking, Ingrid sits there, snacking on a bowl of strawberries.
The way she makes eye contact with Maggie as she eats each strawberry makes Maggie want to crawl out of her skin.
Is Ingrid trying to re-create the scene from her childhood when Charlotte tortured her? Is this her sick way of punishing her for emailing Charlie?
Maggie closes her eyes. Don’t react. Don’t get sucked in.
She digs her nails into her palms during the whole transfusion.
With every lip smack and swallow of the strawberries, Maggie feels the rage build inside her.
When at last the machine beeps, her fists are so tight, it takes effort to straighten out her hand.
As Teresa unhooks them from the machine, Maggie bolts for the house.
She’s walking through the living room when she hears Cassie call her from upstairs.
“Maggie!” Cassie says cheerfully. “You’re never going to believe this, but Charlie Cooper—you know, the head of my mom’s studio?”
“Uh-huh!” Maggie says, her chest rising and falling at the mention of Charlie. She’s been obsessively checking her email, hoping he’d read her script quickly.
“He wants to buy my screenplay! You think I should do it?”
“That’s great!” she congratulates Cassie.
“The only thing is I’d have to work with my mom…” Cassie says, slightly disappointed. “But maybe that’s not so bad.”
Maggie debates whether to warn Cassie. She reminds herself that Ingrid wouldn’t treat her own daughter like that. Then again, would she ever give her daughter the credit she deserves? Maggie glances out the window at Ingrid by the pool. Ingrid would kill her if she knew what she was about to say.
“Remember what you said back in screenwriting class?” Maggie asks. “About wanting to live authentically?”
Cassie nods slowly.
“I think you gotta be the architect of your own life, Cassie.”
Before Cassie can ask her any more, Maggie turns and slips out the front door.