Screen Queens

by Lori Goldstein

  The tasting menu and wines had been preselected by Ryan.

  No one carded her.

  “A toast.” Ryan held up his glass of champagne. “To my newest Pulse-tern.”

  His what? Lucy tried to cover her delight at being Ryan Thompson’s favorite by reaching for her glass. “I mean, sure, historically, doing so well in the beta test increases our chances, but Demo Day has at least four judges and—”

  “And yet I’m the one funding the program. Don’t tell me you’re surprised. Though you’re way too pretty to be in tech, you are. You know how this game is played.”

  Lucy sat back in her seat, waiting for the ripple of excitement at Ryan basically telling her she was going to win ValleyStart to roll into something greater because this is what she wanted, what she needed, for Stanford, her mom, Delia and Maddie—for herself. Winning ValleyStart. She wanted it. But when she sipped her drink, the bubbles slid uneasily down her throat.

  Ryan asked for more details about the beta test, and Lucy obliged, transitioning into the business persona she’d seen in her mom her entire life. She extracted her notebook from her bag and flipped through, detailing her strategy and how it had played out, emphasizing all she’d done to ensure success. Ryan nodded intently as she spoke, his fingertips touching and forming a triangle in front of his mouth.

  Aside from a few hmms and a couple of good thinkings, though, he didn’t say much.

  Was she boring him?

  The server appeared with their pre-appetizer, “the amuse-bouche”—a shot glass of soup she described as essence of tom yum goong.

  Ryan swirled the glass like it was wine. “Hmm . . . Maybe we should’ve invited your teammates. The one could have translated for us.”

  Lucy’s brow creased, and then it hit her. “Maddie? She’s Chinese American, not Thai.”

  Ryan shrugged indifference and downed his soup in one long gulp, and bile rocketed up Lucy’s throat.

  She tried a polite sip of the soup, but the burn persisted.

  “Speaking of, I think you should drop them—your teammates,” Ryan said, flatly, like he was talking about changing his shirt.

  Drop Maddie and Delia?

  Her throat tightened, and she twisted the napkin in her lap, groping for the right words, the right way to respond to Ryan Thompson, Pulse founder, ValleyStart funder, Silicon Valley icon, who wanted to take her product to market.

  She forced a smile. “Too bad ValleyStart’s a team program, right?” She gave a soft laugh. “We’ll be fine, though—great—you’ll see when—”

  He raised his hand in the air, turning away from Lucy to signal the server, then watched as the woman poured him a refill of his champagne even though the bottle was right beside him. Eyeing Lucy’s barely touched glass, he said, “And let’s get this little lady something more to her liking. Lucy, what’s your poison?”

  “No, I’m fine. It’s fine.” She took a sip. “Great.”

  Ryan wrapped his hand around the server’s forearm. “Bring her the Montrachet.”

  Lucy started to protest but let it go.

  Once the server left, Ryan stared at Lucy. “Did you know I grew up here?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “Not with a water view.” His smile was thin, strained. “But I have one now. The Marina District would suit you too, Lucy, I can tell.”

  Another gentle nod as Lucy’s mind spun, trying to figure out how to transition the conversation toward her Stanford recommendation.

  “Getting there,” Ryan added, “getting Lit to be on the tip of everyone’s tongue, will require sacrifices. Offerings to the tech gods—otherwise known as VCs.” He laughed. “Yours are your teammates. Complete the program, have your Demo Day together, but when it comes to business—our business—Pulse-Lit only has room for two pretty faces on its founder’s page. Yours and mine.” He lifted his glass, and Lucy knew he was waiting for her to do the same. She did. “It’s not the journey, Lucy, it’s the destination. Know your endgame and do whatever it takes to get there. That’s how I’m here. Surrounded by water views.”

  He clinked his glass against hers. “To the endgame.”

  She raised her champagne to her lips. When Ryan tipped his back, downing more than half in one swallow, she poured some of hers into her water glass.

  With the moonlight sparkling on the Pacific, the Bay Bridge soaring above them, the restaurant full of servers waiting to please and customers whispering in awe, this should be the best night of her life. It wasn’t. Because she was here with Ryan Thompson.

  And Ryan Thompson was an ass.

  * * *

  * * *

  When the ninth and final course was cleared, Lucy stood.

  “We should get going.” Not wanting to come across as rude, she added, “Thank you, this was amazing, truly.” Less so was hearing all about the computer Ryan built himself when he was—supposedly—five; listening to the tale of his first unrequited love who he’d sent a dozen black roses to when Pulse went public; and sitting through the call where he scolded the curator for bringing art pieces under a hundred thousand dollars to his home. “But Delia and Maddie are waiting for me.”

  Lines etched into his brow at the mention of her teammates, and Lucy silently cursed herself. She still hadn’t found a Stanford opening, and this wasn’t going to help.

  She grabbed her notebook off the table, slung her purse over her shoulder, and plastered on a fake smile. “We have the whole car ride together, though.” The whole, hour-long car ride. Awesome. But this was business. Business didn’t care if Ryan Thompson was an ass. Neither did Stanford.

  “Maybe we can get back to your ideas for getting Lit off the ground?” she said.

  “Focused on the endgame. I like it.”

  Ryan wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his chair back. Immediately the server and hostess were at his side, thanking him, packing up the three unfinished bottles of wine he’d had served, and discreetly acknowledging his account would be billed.

  On their way to the convertible, which they found waiting with the ignition running and a valet on either side, each holding a door open, Ryan’s hand brushed against Lucy’s arm.

  “Goose bumps,” he said. “I get them too when something this exciting is about to happen.”

  Lucy groaned inwardly and rubbed her upper arm before putting on her jacket. She hugged it closed, tightly against her chest, as she sat in the passenger seat, wondering what bizarre universe she’d entered.

  They drove down the Embarcadero, the long avenue that bordered the water, where restaurants brimming with people intermingled with working ports and, eventually, tourist attractions like the sea lions at Pier 39, the aquarium and wax museum at Fisherman’s Wharf, and the shops at Ghirardelli Square. She kept her head turned, trying to at least appreciate the view. And then Ryan started talking. Again.

  “It was my mother who inspired Pulse,” he said. “Not directly, of course, as she was a librarian and even now can barely log in to her Pulse account without help.” He snickered, and Lucy recoiled in her seat. “But she always wanted this, to live by the water, so much that she made it my goal as well. Fortunately I had an excellent role model in my father.”

  The extended silence meant Lucy had to say something in response. The notebook in her lap wouldn’t help—she’d not come across anything about Ryan’s father in her research. Finally she said, “He was in tech?”

  Ryan grimaced. “He wanted to be. My dad was a serial entrepreneur, tossing spaghetti to the wall, trying to find something that would stick. Nothing ever did, and his failures sent us from crappy neighborhood to shitty neighborhood until we were out of the city and in Oakland with my mom commuting for hours each day and me changing schools in eighth grade. Not fun.” He faced Lucy with a half smile before turning back to the road. “She never forgave him for not just getting a damn job. Even at h
is funeral, all she could say was what a waste his life had been. He never accomplished anything.” Ryan ran his hands along the sides of the steering wheel, gripping it tight. “But she was wrong. Because everything I learned, I learned from him. My life is the opposite of his. My life is this.”

  Ryan flicked on the blinker.

  Lucy swiveled her head and realized where they were. The Marina District. On the other side of the city from where they needed to be to get back to Mountain View.

  “Uh, Ryan . . .” She laced her fingers together in her lap, listening to the tick, tick of the blinker, hoping with each beat he was simply turning around. “Doing a U-turn? Need an extra set of eyes?”

  The instant the back bumper of the approaching car on the other side of the road passed, Ryan whipped the wheel and the Tesla tore across at such speed that it flung Lucy into the back of her seat—hard. The seat belt pulled taut, compressing her chest, and her purse flew to the floor.

  “I’m all good. This baby never disappoints.” Ryan stroked the dash. “You know what else doesn’t disappoint?”

  Lucy struggled against the constricting seat belt.

  “The view from my living room.” He tilted his head back and gestured to the three-story white mansion in front of them. “You said you loved the water, and this is the way to see it.”

  A chill shivered Lucy’s spine, and she tried not to show it. “I’m sure it’s lovely, it’s just that I’m awfully tired.” She gave a half laugh. “Food coma, and the rest of me wants to follow, so maybe we should just—”

  A hand

  Flattened

  Against

  Her

  Thigh.

  A hand

  Not

  Belonging

  To

  Her.

  His.

  It was his.

  Ryan’s hand.

  Touching her.

  Not by accident.

  “Tired? But the night is young,” he said, the pressure of his palm deepening.

  She froze everywhere but her heart, which beat, thudded, thumped, throbbed, raced, pounded, hammered her chest, and all Lucy wanted was to hit restart on this night and be in the dorm room watching Maddie inhale zucchini-flour pancakes and Delia deny she was falling for Eric Shaw.

  Instead she was here, with Ryan Thompson, Pulse founder, ValleyStart funder, Silicon Valley icon, who wanted to take her product to market.

  Ryan leaned in close. “The hot tub on the roof’s always fired up.”

  But that wasn’t all he wanted.

  “I—I can’t,” Lucy said. This is why he asked me to dinner? Not because of her ideas or abilities or how well Lit was doing . . . She felt like a fool. “It’s just, Maddie and Delia—”

  “Will forgive you. Well, maybe not after you Zuckerberg them, but for this, for tonight, they’ll understand.” The pressure of Ryan’s hand lifted, and Lucy began to shift in her seat when the pressure returned, only now, higher.

  “You’re Crushing It,” he said. “Be nice to stay that way.”

  “I . . . what?” Lucy couldn’t act, couldn’t think. And then Ryan’s hand began to move, and she kicked into gear, shoving him off and flattening her back against the passenger side door. “Maddie and Delia are waiting for me, and I’m not betraying them, and you need to take me home. Now.”

  Ryan’s eyebrow lifted. “Aw, Lucy, you don’t mean that. I thought you wanted Pulse-Lit. I thought you were all ready to get in bed together. Professionally speaking, of course.” He grinned like this was funny.

  This isn’t funny! Nothing about this is funny!

  “But synergy in all aspects can only lead to a better relationship, don’t you agree? From those drinks we shared, it certainly seemed like you did. Besides, you let those nerds at the club put their hands all over you for nothing.” Ryan reached across the center console. “At least mine come with, oh, how does two commas sound to start? A cool mil?”

  And then one hand hit the button beside the rearview mirror and the other seized Lucy by her waist. The garage door began to lift, Ryan nudged the car into drive, and Lucy dug her Rescue Me Red nails into the skin on the back of his hand.

  “Fuck!” Ryan cried.

  Lucy grabbed her purse off the floor and jerked the door handle, spilling out onto the herringbone-tiled driveway as the car rolled forward and disappeared behind the garage door.

  Scrambling to her feet, Lucy tore off her heels and sprinted, not pausing until she reached the crowds of Ghirardelli Square, twenty minutes later. Sweat glued her hair to her forehead as she ducked inside the ice cream shop, more than half full at almost eleven at night thanks to the summer tourists. She fell into a seat at one of the round tables in the center of the room, not realizing until she reached into her purse that the seam securing the wrap of her dress was torn. She pulled her jacket tighter around her.

  A tremble commanded her hands, but she managed to open the app and request a rideshare. And then she opened her contacts and made one more call.

  * * *

  * * *

  She told Maddie and Delia what happened while she stood outside the ice cream shop waiting for her ride. They stayed on the phone the entire trip, while the balls of Lucy’s feet stung from the slap against the sidewalk, while tears rolled down her cheeks from the slap of reality of who Ryan was, of what could have happened, and of what did.

  Delia distracted her by repeating textbook definitions of coding she’d had memorized for years, and when it bored all three of them sufficiently, Maddie took over, telling a story she’d made up for her little brother about a family of pterodactyls who lived on Martha’s Vineyard. Then, in the Boston accent that no longer bothered Lucy, Maddie revealed what she claimed was the original ending to the first Gumberoo book.

  It wasn’t until Lucy heard Maddie’s and Delia’s voices echoing in her ear from inside their dorm room that they all hung up. The door opened, and tears she couldn’t stop blurred Lucy’s vision. She fell into Delia’s open arms. Delia squeezed her with more strength than Lucy realized she had. Instinctually, Lucy reached for Maddie, who stood to the side, watching. Lucy’s hand latched on to Maddie’s wrist, and Maddie stepped forward, inching closer, tentatively, and then she became the core that held them all as one.

  “No more fighting,” Delia said, sniffing back her own tears.

  “We stick together,” Maddie said. “We’re a team.”

  “We’re much more than that,” Lucy said.

  The room only had the beds and one desk chair. So they simply stood. Together.

  TWENTY

  CO-INVEST • When multiple investors fund a business on similar terms

  WHEN MADDIE WOKE, SHE reached under her pillow for her phone, not surprised to see it was after eleven. They’d been up until four.

  They’d sat in a circle on the shag rug as Lucy recounted the story again and again. Maddie and Delia simply listened, prepared to keep listening for as many retellings as it took. Turned out, that was three. Three times, each one with more detail, less fear, and increasing waves of anger—from all of them.

  Maddie set her phone down and hung her head over the side of the bunk. Delia was still buried under her covers. Lucy too.

  Good.

  After shutting her ringer off, Maddie propped her pillow behind her and logged in to Pulse. Comatose, Level 1, which made sense considering Maddie’s meager social media presence. Except Maddie wasn’t looking at her profile. She was looking at Lucy’s.

  Her fists clenched.

  Pompous, arrogant, predatory ass.

  Maddie didn’t have to like Pulse to know what it meant to Lucy. She was Crushing It just yesterday. In one day, she’d become Comatose. Without being arrested.

  In one day. One day where Ryan Thompson put his hands where they had no right to go. He’d been rebuffed. He must have be
en angry. Humiliated. Vengeful.

  And stupid.

  Very, very stupid.

  Maddie pumped her clenched fist in the air.

  Got him.

  * * *

  * * *

  An hour later, Maddie saved the graph she’d made of Lucy and Emma’s trajectories on Pulse, cross-referenced with their encounters with Ryan, as best she could estimate. Not courtroom proof, but paired with Lucy’s story, enough to cast some serious suspicion.

  Just as she was checking Nishi’s office hours, a boom jarred Delia awake.

  “Are we under attack?” Delia cried.

  Maddie shifted to the edge of her bed to see out the window. “Only from jackasses looking to lose a hand. Illegal fireworks. Though considering our proximity, maybe we should duck.”

  Delia yawned. “Right, it’s July Fourth.”

  “Which means Nishi’s not here until after the holiday weekend.” Maddie climbed down and perched herself on the desk. Her foot hit a ball of black fabric crammed into the trash can underneath. Lucy’s torn dress. She pulled it out and turned to Delia. “We could try the Head of House though.”

  Delia sat up. “For what?”

  “For reporting Ryan.”

  “Does she want to?” Delia whispered, pointing to the lump in Lucy’s bed.

  The lump that should have moved when the explosion went off. Maddie dropped the dress back into the trash and gently touched the comforter, which had zero resistance. It was soft, but not that soft. She pulled it back. Lucy was gone.

  * * *

  * * *

  They found her in the common room surrounded by vitamin waters, kale chips, a stack of zucchini-flour pancakes, and half a dozen cashew cheese Hot Pockets. The light from a projector traversed the room, and on the screen at the front was a slide with the words “Lit: We Hook You Up” above the logo Maddie had designed.

  “Finally!” Lucy cried. “Sleepyheads. If it weren’t for me nudging Marty to shoot off one of his pop rockets a bit early you’d both still be in bed! Now, grab some sustenance and let’s get moving. I reserved the common room for the full day, and we’re going to need every hour of it to go over the beta test and start practicing for Demo Day.”