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It was a nice thought to have, a reminder of how much she’d liked meeting Katie’s friends on the jet. Cy Newhouse had texted her when they landed and told her to tell him if there was anything she needed, and he’d make it happen.
Wil made herself balance that bright spark of something good against everything she couldn’t seem to keep herself from worrying about.
After they dried off, Katie showed Wil where she could put her clothes, and Wil let her help her unpack, because Katie definitely wanted to do that. They looked around the house for a good spot to put Almond Butter’s fluffy mat, which was where she liked to take naps in the afternoon, and they decided on a spot in the hallway near the conservatory that got a lot of late-afternoon sun but wouldn’t be too hot.
Then there was breakfast, which Katie took out of the fridge and warmed up in a small countertop oven with another app. They drank fresh-squeezed papaya juice and tall glasses of flavored water with crushed ice and ate delicious rice bowls with tempeh and grilled Asian vegetables outside on Katie’s poolside patio near the birdfeeders, where they could watch the birds come and go.
“Do you get used to it?” Wil asked. “Also, if you do get used to it, what’s it like to not have it, to be living in a trailer on a set or sleeping in your parents’ basement?”
Katie smiled and speared a piece of tempeh with her fork. “I don’t know how to answer that. At least not how you mean. Someof this”—she waved her fork around—“is just Los Angeles. If you want a house of a certain size with a certain level of security in Hollywood Hills, you end up with a pool and beautiful landscaping and an indoor avocado tree, all of which are enjoyable to have, but they don’t make me feel any different. It’s more like how, if you go to Chicago, you eat deep-dish pizza.”
Wil shook her head. “It’s got to be more than that.”
Katie put down her fork. “Yes. You’re right,” she agreed. “I don’t mean to make light of it at all, because another whole part of it is about inequality, injustice, and capitalism, and whiteness. My accountability to that is a big part of how I think about what I want to do, how I want to try to make a difference or, if I can, change things for the better.”
“I’d love to hear more about that.” Wil watched a bird with teal feathers land on one of Katie’s feeders. “Especially about whether you’re thinking about breaking the system or making a new one, because, you know, millions of people—notyourlevel of millions, but millions—have been paying attention to me for a year, and all I can think about is the system. Who’s being exploited and who’s doing the exploiting. I askedonequestion about ChapStick, and then I had so many more questions. It made me start thinking that trying to fix everything that’s wrong fromwithinthe same system that made it is the worst kind of whack-a-mole. Not to mention a waste of time.”
Katie took a sip from her juice glass, then looked out at the hills past the pool. “April likes to tell me that Hollywood isn’t agoodplace to make movies, but unfortunately it’s thebestone. But I don’t know, I think a fucking lot more good could be made with a system that didn’t hurt people so much. I’d love to be part of a system that knew what was good in the first place, instead of only what’s at the top of a killing, supremacist hierarchy.” Katie bit the inside of her cheek, and a pink blotch appeared on her throat.
So Wil had understood correctly. Katiehadgotten to the partof her career in Hollywood where she understood she couldn’t fix it from the inside, or at least that trying to do that would be a waste of her time and talent.
Interesting.
Wil was glad to know it.
“The thing is, Katie, for too long, all of this was a thought experiment. But what’s obvious to me now is that I want to start something. I don’t want to whack-a-mole. I want to use the hammer thingy and let all the moles free.”
Katie snort-laughed in surprise, which made Wil laugh. “You’re mixing metaphors pretty freely, here. Like, in this story, the moles are exploited creators who you’re rescuing?”
“Yes. But I think you must want to start something, too, something bigger than just your script, and you haven’t talked to me about it. I’d love to know about that. I want to hear about what part of the making-or-breaking cycle you’re in.”
“What makes you think I’mreallymaking or breaking? Maybe I’m fine with drinking fresh-squeezed juice in my trophy room and running off at the mouth about this town?” But Katie was smiling a very Katie smile.
“I saw your Oscar at your mom’s house, first of all. There is no trophy room. There are a lot of well-organized cat treats. But also, you wereglowingin Chicago, and the only thing that made you dim was that reporter. Ben.”
Katie made a weary gesture.
Wil shook her head. “I’m pretty sure there’s more going on than Ben. You know,” she said carefully, “I’ve noticed that all you’ve done since we’ve reconnected is push me to get whatIwant.”
Katie looked over the pool into the house, where Wil could see Trois pressing herself against the window, staring at the birdfeeder. She sighed. “It’s what you said before. About perfection.And it’s how I got started here, as Ben’s girlfriend.” Katie cleared her throat. “But you’re right, it’s more than that. There’s a lot.”
“That you’re not saying,” Wil guessed.
“That I’ve never done and don’t know if I can do.” Katie wrapped her arms around her middle. “I haven’t figured out how to be a catalyst in my own life. Not without blowing everything up.”
Wil put her hands to her face, which was hot. It wasn’t the sun or a leftover flare from her excitement from talking about what she’d like to do with her life. It was realizing that everything Katie was afraid of, controlled for, protected herself against, was sitting across from her at this breakfast table.
Which wasWil.
Katie was afraid of the kind of life she imagined they could have together, even if she had no idea about the details.
Katie was afraid that what she wanted, what wasgood,would blow everything up.
And it wasn’t that Wil didn’t understand. She did. She’d protected herself, too, telling herself for eight years that she needed to stick close by her mother, that she was happy with her life as an insurance adjuster. Even the Bronco.
“Come here.” It was the only thing Wil could think of to say.
Katie straddled her in the chair, and they put their arms around each other.