When Maya Hansen returned home lugging a large bag of goods, the couple was already there. Jack took one look at the bag and said casually, "Maya, are you heading to visit Tom tomorrow?"
"Yes, it's been over a month," Maya replied, just as naturally.
Maya had told Jack about Tom's situation back when he and Jennifer first got married. He'd taken it remarkably well. In China, a stepfather learning that his adopted daughter still pined for her biological father would feel deeply uncomfortable — and might even start treating the girl coldly. But Jack had actually accompanied Maya to Rikers Island a few times. When Tom met Jack, he'd greeted him like an old acquaintance, no trace of awkwardness whatsoever. Jennifer, on the other hand, had never once gone to see her ex-husband.
"Want me to come with you tomorrow?" Jack asked.
Maya was folding the things she'd prepared for Tom as she answered. "No need. I've made this trip plenty of times — it's routine at this point. Just walk a few blocks, hop the ferry, simple as that. Besides, it's not my first time going alone."
Jack shrugged and let it go. "Fair enough. So if you go in the morning, we can still make that audition in the afternoon."
"Audition? What audition?" Maya set down the jacket she'd been folding and looked up. "Don't tell me — is it that Léon the Professional thing? Luc Besson's film?"
"That's the one," Jack said, as though it were obvious. "I mentioned it before, remember? I'm the original author — I recommended you for the lead."
"But — we already talked about what's in this movie." Maya frowned. She'd been under the impression she and Jack had already reached an understanding on that front.
"I know what you're thinking, Maya. But you don't quite understand how Hollywood works yet. Let me put it this way — even if the Frenchman turns this into the most godawful film ever made, the lead actress doesn't have to worry about the fallout. The critics will go after the director, not her. This is a director-driven film — the director's stamp is all over it, and the new actress is just an innocent newcomer being pushed around by the director's vision. Understand? If the film makes money, it's Luc Besson's money. If it bombs, it'll be Luc Besson's head on the block. If it succeeds, the lead gets famous. If it flops, a young actress this age walks away without a scratch." Jack went on at length, trying to make Maya see his point.
Maya had to admit there was something to it. In those director-driven films, the director was both the one who benefits most — and gets blamed most. Like back in China — when The Promise tanked, the one who took the most heat was Director Chen. Though, hmm, that example wasn't quite right — the leads had actually suffered too. Okay, swap it for Director Zhang then — Nanjing, Nanjing dragged him through the mud, but Christian Bale walked away unscathed. Well, except Bale had already proven himself long before that.
Forget it, I'm going in circles, Maya thought, her mind wandering. She still couldn't quite work out the logic.
Then it hit her — the real-world Mathilda, Natalie Portman. Besson never quite broke Hollywood with Léon, but Portman became a goddess to the whole world. Of course, Maya had no interest in becoming that kind of goddess. She wanted fame, wanted Influence Points, but she also had standards. She had no desire to become the object of anyone's fantasies.
So she refused flat out. "It's fine, Jack. I don't think I'm right for it."
"Maya, think of it as life experience, at least! Besides, I'm going to audition for the mother's role — we can go together. The location is right here in Manhattan."
Jennifer, who'd been holding the baby in silence ever since Tom's name came up, couldn't take it anymore. This kid was seriously turning down a lead role? Jennifer had been scraping around the edges of Hollywood for over ten years and she'd never had an opening like this. She had to step in.
Maya glanced at the baby. Going along to help look after the little one isn't a bad idea, she thought. She nodded. "Alright, we'll all go together. I can see how Hollywood does its casting."
The next day was Sunday. Maya was up just past six. She washed up, didn't wait for Jennifer's breakfast, and slipped out the door with her large paper bag.
Rikers Island was where they kept serious offenders. Maya knew from her future knowledge that it would eventually house some of Marvel's most notorious supervillains. Right now, people like Tom barely qualified to be here. A decade from now, he probably wouldn't even make the cut.
The ferry ride took a few dozen minutes. There were only three passengers on the whole boat — Maya included. The other two were an elderly couple; she guessed they were visiting a son.
The old couple found it strange, this small child hauling a big bag to a prison alone, but said nothing. In a place like this, nobody was here for happy reasons.
Once ashore, the guards ran through the standard inspection of what Maya had brought. Finding nothing prohibited, they showed her to a booth separated by thick, transparent glass and went to fetch Tom.
The first two years, Maya hadn't been allowed to bring food at all. Eventually, once it was clear the case was closed for good and Tom was not a genuine danger to society, they'd waved it through. You might ask — don't inmates get fed by the prison? Sure. But when your mother comes to visit you at boarding school, she still brings a container of home-cooked food. Doesn't mean the cafeteria doesn't exist.
Before long, Tom appeared in an orange prison jumpsuit.
He came striding over, grabbed the phone handset, and grinned ear to ear. "Maya! You came to see me again, haha! In our whole block — dozens of guys — I'm the only one, heh, who has a daughter visiting. You don't know this, but they're all jealous of me. I tell them, "My Maya isn't just a good kid, she's won more awards than I can count. The most outstanding young person in all of America." Tom's face was flushed with excitement.
"They didn't believe me at first, so I went to the reading room and cut out your newspaper clippings and showed them."
He beamed — then abruptly darkened. "But those disgusting maggots — hmph!" Tom's face twisted. "Those assholes took your newspapers and did disgusting things with them."
Maya had been listening quietly. The moment those last words left Tom's mouth, her expression darkened instantly.
She was also utterly speechless that Tom could say something like that — with zero embarrassment — directly to his own daughter's face.
I'm your daughter. I'm sitting right across from you. I can hear everything you're saying. I am deeply, profoundly uncomfortable. I am embarrassed on your behalf.
Maya's inner voice was screaming, her arms flailing.
But her rational mind told her to change the subject — fast — before Tom could say something even worse. There was absolutely no telling what might come out of his mouth next.