Maggie slid into the backseat of Dad’s black Jaguar. After she greeted the driver, Dad touched her knee to get her attention. “How did you get here today?”
“The bus,” she answered, a small smile on her lips.
“Nick Dawson’s only daughter is taking the bus?”
“Well, when you make four grand a year, bus is your only option.”
“Why are you doing this to yourself? You used to make more than thirty thousand a month when you worked with me.”
“Dad, you of all people know it’s never about money with me. It’s about—”
“Passion,” he interrupted. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that speech so many times before. I never want to hear it again.”
The direction of the conversation was taking a wrong turn, so she swallowed her resentment in light of more pressing issues. “Speaking of passion, I’m gonna make a movie.”
Dad’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “What?”
“I co-wrote a script for a short film with a friend of mine, and I’m gonna direct it.”
“Okay. Um… I’m not sure I understand. I thought you quit working with me because you wanted to write…books.”
“Yeah. I…thought so, too.” A sigh escaped her mouth. “But I wanna try directing now.”
He nodded, his brows pulling together. “Have you directed anything before, Mags?”
She stared at him for a moment and shook her head. “I did an internship and helped a few friends who go to film school with their projects. They loved my work.”
“I don’t think that’s enough.”
“I know. That’s why I’m making this movie. I wanna show the world what I can do. It’s like when actors have showcases.” She clenched her teeth. “Only a little more expensive.”
“How expensive?”
“Ten grand?” She bit her fingernail.
His lashes fluttered. “What?”
She held up a hand. “I know it’s a bit much.”
“A bit?”
“Okay, it’s a lot,” she admitted. “But not to you. Like you said, it’s only one third of what you used to pay me a month.”
“If you want to make movies, why don’t you ask your mother to help you? She can network you—”
A surge of anger ran through her. “Please don’t ever say that again. You know I’d die before I’d ask her for help.”
He set his jaw, his eyes sad.
“Dad, I know it’s a lot to ask for since I don’t make you money anymore, but consider it a loan. An investment. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“With what? The revenues of your blockbuster?”
“Please don’t make fun of me. I just told you it’s a showcase. There’s no money there.”
He combed his fingers through his gray hair. “How about you come work with me again, just for a few weeks? Consider it a mutual investment.”
More like a trap. She was wrong. This was the ambush.
She squinted at him as if he’d asked her to sell her soul to the devil. “You want me to design rich people’s houses again?”
“Well, you have the degree for it.” He smiled. “And the talent.”
“And I hated every minute of it. Dad…I thought you supported my decision to quit.”
“I did. I just hate to see you waste another year doing something you’ll eventually get bored with…again.”
Ouch. She expected that attitude from Andrea, but coming from him hurt like a slap on the face. The only reason she’d asked him for help and not anyone else was that she thought he believed in her. It turned out he was only indulging his spoiled baby girl’s whims until she’d come back to her senses. “You don’t think I’m gonna make it in the movie business.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, baby. Only what you think matters.”
She gazed at him, pursing her lips. Then she inhaled and asked the driver to stop the car.
“Maggie, don’t—”
“Good to see you, Dad.”
“Maggie,” he called after her as she shut the door behind her. “The money will be in your account by the end of the day.” His voice trailed behind her.
“Don’t bother. I’m a bad investment.” She stalked away, her fists shoved in the pockets of her jacket.
Her phone buzzed with an email alert. She swiped the screen and glanced at the subject line: Results of our short story competition - Congratulations!
Her eyebrows hooked as she opened the email.
Dear Maggie,
I'm delighted to tell you that your short story, Shreds, was in the top five in this quarter's competition - congratulations!
We'd like to publish your piece in the next anthology, which we're hoping to bring out in mid-November. If you're happy to be a part of the collection, just get back to us and let us know before Wednesday 25th October so that we can announce the winning entries, then we'll send you a check with your $1,000 prize.
Congratulations once again!
Stephen
Maggie froze for a moment, and then she lifted her head to the bright sky, tears burning her eyes. This was neither the first time she had won a writing contest, nor did she care much about writing now, but winning at this particular moment meant the world to her. It was all the validation she needed after her most important supporter told her she was doing nothing but wasting her life.
She would make her movie. At any cost. She just had to figure out how to come up with nine more thousand dollars.
Writing a few more pieces here and there wasn’t going to cut it. It barely paid for groceries.
The phone buzzed again in her hand, this time with a text message alert. She wiped her face when she saw the name on the screen. Mike. The text read: “Morning, Kiddo. Back from Berlin. Scheduled 4 photo shoots till 3. Call me when u r up. TC.”
She sniffled as she tapped the dial icon, and then she placed the phone on her ear, expecting voicemail.
“Carolina, how’re you doing?” Mike answered, his voice cheerful. “Why are you up so early?”
The way his Italian accent popped as his rugged voice said her middle name warmed her cheeks. “Um… I haven’t slept yet.” She ran her finger across her eyebrow. “What’re you doing answering your phone? I thought they were getting you dolled up for pictures.”
He laughed. “They will…in thirty minutes.”
“Okay. How was Berlin?”
“Was all right. Shoot. Promote. Fest. Same old stuff. Anyway, what’s up with you, Kiddo?”
“I’m not a fucking Kiddo.”
He chuckled. “Missed your potty mouth.”
“Really?” She rolled her eyes.
His laughter continued. “No, not really.” He paused for a couple of seconds. “But I sure missed you.”
“I missed you too, Superstar.”
“So what are you up to?”
She took a long breath. “Guess what? One of my short pieces of shit’s just won an award.”
“First, don’t call your stories that. Second, get the fuck out of here! That’s awesome.”
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“Have you told your parents yet?”
“Nope. You’re the first one I told.” Her voice cracked.
“Maggie, you’re all right?”
“Yeah,” she lied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why do you sound so upset? You gotta celebrate, not brood.”
“Sure. The award comes with a social media party and everything.”
“Not your kinda party, I know. But I’m sure you won’t have a problem stumbling on one that matches your taste.”
“You know me too well, Superstar.” She puckered her lips. “Any chance I’m gonna see you soon?”
“Er… Yeah. I haven’t seen you in like what, eight months now? Let’s meet at your parents’ place. I have something very important to discuss with Andrea this week anyway.”
What the fuck? “Whatever.”
“Listen, I gotta run now. I’ll text you the day. Take care, Kiddo.”
“Fuck you.”
He cackled. “Love you.”