The Ticket Out Read Free Page A

terrible—but I want you to do it anyway.”
    â€œWhat I really need is a break from movies. I’m going in tomorrow and demand a vacation.”
    Mark pointed his beer bottle at me. “Don’t.”
    â€œBut I’m burned out—I need a rest.”
    Vivian said, “Don’t do it, Ann.”
    Mark nodded. “This is a bad time to leave the paper. Barry’s in a mood, as we know, and I’m concerned because he’s always been such a booster of yours, and now he’s having problems with your stuff. I think we should do what he wants until he sees that this ‘mainstream’ idea is nonsense.”
    I said, “Which is why you’re going along with Tom Cruise.”
    â€œWhich is why I’m going along with Tom Cruise.”
    A knock at the door interrupted us. We all looked up: it was the grim blond from earlier. She stood in the doorway and she was staring straight at me. She said, “I want to speak to you.”
    I sat up and patted the floor between me and Mark. The woman shook her head. “I want to speak to you
alone.”
    Her manner was very bizarre. I looked at Vivian and Mark for an opinion. They just shrugged, so I got up and walked over to the door.
    The woman backed into the hallway, signaling me to follow. Up close her looks were amazing. She was beautiful. She had green eyes, perfect skin, and ash-blond hair twisted up in a messy knot. She might have been an actress, but there was nothing selfconscious or artificial about her. She had a locked-down ferocity that suggested something else.
    She said, “You can’t give up.”
    Her voice was low and gravelly; any actress would be thrilled to have that voice. I waited for her to go on.
    She jabbed her finger in my chest. “You’re ready to give up. But
I
didn’t give up, and I won’t let
you.”
    I stepped back from the finger, noticing other details. Her clothes were too casual for the party: she wore a tight T-shirt and bell-bottom jeans. The hair around her face was damp, and her T-shirt had fresh water spots, like she’d just washed up in the powder room. But there was dirt under her fingernails and I could smell stale sweat.
    She said,
“Thelma & Louise
is ten years old this year. Why didn’t you write an anniversary article?”
    â€œI_”
    She grabbed my arm. “It’s the most important movie Hollywood ever made about women! It took a subject no one wants to hear about—female freedom—stuck it in a traditionally male genre, the road movie, and hit big. It proved that the American public is ready for the truth about the condition of women,
if you present it entertainingly!”
    She dug her nails in hard, and the emotion in her eyes was weird.
She
was weird. I pulled my arm free.
    She said, “All we have these days is kicking feet and talking vaginas,
Lara Croft—Tomb Raider
or
What Women Want.
But
Thelma & Louise—”
    I cut in on her. “Why don’t you do a piece for us? It’s a perfect time with Callie Khouri directing
Ya-Ya Sisterhood.
I can introduce you to my editor right now.”
    â€œI’m not a critic—I’m a filmmaker. I’ve just sold a screenplay that starts where
Thelma & Louise
left off.”
    I smiled. “They hit a trampoline in the Grand Canyon and bounce back alive?”
    The woman was beyond humor. She said, “I’ll send you a copy of the script when we close with the studio. I’m going to direct it.”
    I caught a whiff of stale body. I said, “Really? Direct?”
    She leaned close and clenched her fist in my face.
“I will beat the System.”
    The body odor got more distinct, then she spun around and ran down the hall. I pinched my nose, waved the smell away, and walked back into the library.
    Mark said, “She looks like a Swedish ingénue.”
    Vivian nodded. “Fabulous collarbones. What’s up?”
    I rubbed the