In the end, Maya waited another ten minutes — long enough to run the Hansen Sage Endurance Method through one full cycle.
The middle-aged Black woman called a girl's name again. Only three or four candidates remained.
Maya stood up and smiled. "Nat — how'd it go? You were in there a while. The director must have liked you."
Natalie replied with cheerful innocence, "Not really. He just had some questions. I hadn't prepared at all — didn't even know the script beforehand. I improvised the whole thing! Whether I get picked—who knows? That's up to him."
The smile on Maya's face stiffened for one full second.
"Is that so." She recovered smoothly. "Well—good luck then." She recovered smoothly. "I should get going — I just wanted to say bye."
"Let's walk out together."
"I'm only a few blocks away, so I'm taking the back exit — it's faster." Maya waved. "See you next time. Bye, Nat!"
She turned and walked away, leaving Natalie standing there with a slightly puzzled expression.
That's weird. Did Maya somehow find out I lied? Natalie thought. She shouldn't have. Luc Besson basically decided before I even walked in — but that was just a short while ago. Nobody could know that yet. She shook her head. Whatever. I'll figure it out later. Mom's waiting. I need to tell her the news.
Maya arrived at the French restaurant on the corner in a somewhat subdued mood. It wasn't a fancy place — decent food, middle-class clientele, nothing to write home about. To be perfectly honest, the Hansen family didn't quite qualify as middle class, which made this something of a stretch.
"What took you so long?" Jennifer asked the moment Maya sat down. "We already finished the escargot. You can't let those sit. Should I order you another serving?"
"No, it's fine. I don't really like snails. Just get me a small steak."
A server arrived shortly with a steak and a glass of orange juice.
Jack and Jennifer were working their way through pasta — some kind of grey-brown sauce, thick and gluey, deeply unappetizing-looking. Maya had no idea why the two of them seemed to be enjoying it so much.
She was halfway through her steak when she felt something shift in her peripheral awareness. She glanced toward the restaurant entrance.
Natalie had just walked in, arm linked with a woman who had to be her mother. Mrs. Portman was impeccably put together — posture straight, hair not a strand out of place, makeup understated and elegant. Every movement carried a kind of refined precision that Upper East Side girls spent years trying to learn.
Under other circumstances, Maya would have stood up without a second thought and called out a hello. Mrs. Portman's cool composure didn't intimidate her. The woman couldn't hold a candle to Tony's mother, or to some of the other formidable women Maya had met.
She'd only met Mrs. Stark a handful of times before 1991. From the outside, the woman had been all grace and untouchable dignity — but the moment you sat down with her, the warmth was immediate, like sinking into a hot spring on a cold afternoon. That was why Maya had tried, in her own quiet way, to warn Howard. Her past life's expertise had given her certain instincts. Howard survived, though badly injured. Maria hadn't been so lucky.
Maya blinked and pulled herself back. She set her fork down quietly and extended her perception across the room.
"Mom, I met a girl at the audition today. I've decided she's going to be my friend."
Mrs. Portman's hand paused mid-gesture as she ordered. She finished with the server and then turned to her daughter. "You must have your reasons. What's special about her?"
"You've actually heard of her." Natalie's expression was earnest.
"Oh? One of the Upper East Side families?"
"No — she's from Hell's Kitchen." She saw her mother's brow furrow and quickly added, "It's Maya Hansen."
Mrs. Portman's expression smoothed out. "Ah. Her. Was she there to audition? Could she be a serious competitor?"
"No. The moment I saw her, I knew she wasn't a threat." Natalie's assessment was calm and precise. "She's pretty, yes. But the way she carries herself — it reminded me of how I look at students who've been held back a grade. Too earnest. Too straightforward. She couldn't play a character as layered as Mathilda. Besides—that French director already gave me the role."
"Interesting." Mrs. Portman tilted her head slightly. "You've always had a particular aversion to Maya Hansen, haven't you? Every time I mention her, you get irritated."
"You're testing me, Mom. I know." Natalie smiled a little. "Yes, I used to dislike her — because everyone kept comparing me to her, and it was exhausting. But I'm not stupid. At school, you don't pick fights with weak kids—and you definitely don't make enemies of the strong ones. If you can't be friends with the strongest kid in the room, at the very least don't end up on their bad side."
She paused, then added simply, "Maya Hansen is the strongest kid in New York. At least in our generation. So the choice is obvious, isn't it?"
Mrs. Portman smiled — a small, genuine one — and clapped lightly a few times. "Well done, Natalie. You've thought this through." Her tone shifted, turning more deliberate. "Since you've set your sights on Hollywood, understand this: you won't find real female friends in that world. Not genuine friendships. If you need that — and every person does — you'll have to look outside the industry."
She picked up her water glass and took a careful sip before continuing. "Maya Hansen is a good candidate. Her future lies on Wall Street, or in Silicon Valley, or chasing a Nobel Prize — somewhere that will never intersect with your professional path. She won't compete with you. She'll complement you."
She set down the glass. "If she were simply a high achiever — a bookworm with good grades — she'd be of limited value. But the information I've gathered suggests she's well beyond 'high achiever.' By any conventional measure, she's already qualified to earn a postgraduate degree from virtually any university in the world. In over a dozen fields simultaneously, at the doctoral level. Why she hasn't simply enrolled in university is a mystery to me. Perhaps that's just how genuine prodigies think."