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“New. I upgraded everything in the kitchen. The old setup was inefficient. I figure if I do it right, I can keep the integrity of the style, but make it so I’m not wasting electricity.”
“Ah yes. The integrity. That’s big for you. Wish everyone was like that.”
When her cheeks flush, I can guess what she’s thinking about.
“How’s the battle for your movie script going?” I ask.
“How do you know about that?”
“I bumped into Roxie at the clinic today. She told me.”
“Ha. That was no accident, I bet.”
“She was picking up your grandfather’s prescription.”
“Yeah,right.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“What, granddad’s thyroid pills, or Roxie’s meddlesome streak?”
“Your movie. Sylvester.”
“Ugh. Okay…but I’m warning you. It’s a sob story.”
I’m already mad at this Sylvester guy for having the nerve to take advantage of Maddison. Anger welled up in me the minute Roxie filled me in, briefly, on the story this afternoon. It kills me that someone would treat Maddison like that, and part of me wants to call the guy up and chew him out myself.
“So, I wrote this movie,” Maddison says. “A comedy. Agoodcomedy, I think. The kind of movie that gets actual laughs… big laughs, even.”
“You always said you’d write humorous films. I have no doubt it was brilliant. Perfect pacing. Zinger jokes. A whopper of an ending.”
“Oh, the ending was the whopper-iest of all whopper endings.”
“That’s always the best part of a movie.”
She nods. “Right. When everyone comes together. The finale. And this one was killer.” Her eyes swivel up to face mine, and they’re so big and green and hurt that my anger at Sylvester spikes again.
“Hestoleit,” she says, quietly. “Blatantly. I mean, he had the file I shared with him and he deleted my name under the title and typed his own in its place, and that was it.Onlyhis name. Not even both names.”
Oh no.
Her eyes glisten with tears.
Maybe she was right about the sob story thing. Only she’s the one who needs tissues, not me.
I get up, retreat to Pansy’s living room, and find a box.
By the time I return and put it down in front of Maddison, she’s composed herself. Her nose is blotchy and red, but no new tears well in her eyes. She grabs a tissue and lifts her glasses up to wipe under her eyes anyway.
“The thing that really gets me is, I should’ve known. I had warning signs. I mean, not about the theft of my script—I mean big picture. I had warning signs abouthim. He treated me like an afterthought the whole time we were together. And, it’s so crazy, but I put up with it. And that means I don’t respect myself as much as I should, right?”
I sit, quietly, listening.
She doesn’t need me to talk right now.
Sheneeds to do the talking.
She pats under her other eye and sniffs again. “It’s like, I put myself second and I put him first, and what does that say aboutme? I thought I was lucky to be with him, because he’s so well-known in the industry. And it really sucks to admit this about myself, but I was proud to be the accessory on his arm at all those parties. People—big names—knew me, too, and they talked to me, and I guess in a sick way I liked the attention.”
