Season 8, Episode 15
Lana slowly walked into the conference room, her eyes bloodshot and her hair hastily pulled back into a messy ponytail. The sun rays that pierced through the opened blinds made her wince as she slumped into a chair at the far end of the table. She could feel the concerned glances of her coworkers, their whispers barely audible over the pounding in her head.
"Another late night?" Jake, a fellow intern that was stationed with the film crew asked, his tone a mix of amusement and worry.
She managed a weak smile and mumbled something about insomnia, but the lie felt hollow even to her own ears.
As the meeting began, Lana found herself struggling to focus on the producer's words. The room seemed to spin slightly, and she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. The pre-production checklist blurred before her eyes, a jumble of tasks and deadlines that seemed insurmountable in her current state.
With each passing moment, Lana's discomfort grew more apparent. Her leg bounced nervously under the table, and she found herself dabbing at beads of sweat forming on her brow. When the producer finally called for a break, Lana stumbled to her feet, eager to escape. But before she could reach the door, a firm hand grasped her elbow.
"Lana, a word?" It was Cooper, one of the show's executive producers. His voice was low, but there was an edge to it that made Lana's stomach lurch.
He led her to a small office adjacent to the conference room, closing the door behind them with a soft click that seemed to echo in Lana's ears. The room was cramped, filled with stacks of scripts and production schedules. A lone window offered a view of the parking lot, where Lana could see her Honda rental sitting forlornly among the sleek SUVs of her colleagues.
Cooper leaned against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. "Lana, I'm going to be straight with you. This isn't working out."
The words hit her like a physical blow, and she swayed slightly on her feet. "I... I don't understand," she stammered, though deep down, she knew exactly what he meant.
Cooper sighed, adjusting himself in his chair. "This is the third time this week you've shown up…like this. It's affecting your work, it’s affecting others, and we can't have that on set."
Lana opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead, she felt hot tears begin to well up in her eyes.
Cooper’s expression softened slightly. "Look, I know this probably isn’t the experience you expected or wanted and out of respect for Richie, I'm willing to let you resign instead of firing you outright. It'll look better for your future, wherever that ends up.”
At the mention of Richie's name, Lana felt a fresh wave of shame wash over her. He was the only reason she was able to get this internship, despite having no proper experience, and now she was throwing it all away.
…
Malik's fingers moved quickly, sorting through the crumpled bills with practiced ease. He paused, holding up a worn $20 bill to the light. Counterfeit money had been circulating lately, and Snow had made it clear that accepting fake cash would come out of their cut. Satisfied with its authenticity, Malik added it to the growing pile.
The radio crackled in the background, its tinny speakers barely audible over the distant hum of traffic outside. Malik found himself nodding along to the beat, his mind wandering to thoughts of what he'd do with his share of tonight's haul.
As Malik finished counting the money, Snow had pulled up, making his weekly rounds to his various spots throughout the city.
"Y’all niggas in here working?" Snow called out, his voice carrying across the garage.
The mechanics and runners scattered around the shop perked up at his arrival, their postures straightening as if an electric current had run through them. Snow made his way to the far corner of the garage, where a group of guys were working on stripping down a sleek, midnight blue Audi that had come in earlier that evening. The car's panels were already half-removed, exposing its inner workings like a mechanical cadaver.
"Now this," Snow said, running his hand along the car's smooth surface, "This is the type of shit we need coming in and out of here. The bitch so pretty, I feel bad for doing this shit to her. You pushing her out today?”
Ty, his arms elbow-deep in the car's engine compartment, looked up with a nod. "Yeah, we try to get them out same day when they’re like this. Almost too good to be true.”
Snow nodded approvingly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I fuck it.”
Snow's gaze swept across the garage, finally landing on Malik in the corner. He began to saunter over, his fingers trailing along a workbench as he walked. Without breaking stride, he casually picked up a tire iron, weighing it in his hand as if testing its balance.
"Yo, Malik," Snow called out, his voice deceptively light. “What’s that one bad bitch you’ve been fucking? Pretty little thing, she work at Felix’s.”
Malik's brow furrowed in confusion. "Sandra?”
The tire iron whistled through the air, connecting with Malik's shoulder with a sickening thud. Malik stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Before he could regain his balance, Snow swung again, this time catching Malik in the ribs.
The garage fell silent, save for the dull thuds of metal against flesh and Malik's strangled cries. The other workers stood frozen, their faces a mixture of horror and grim acceptance. No one dared to intervene.
Snow's face was a mask of cold fury as he continued his assault. The tire iron rose and fell in a brutal rhythm, each impact punctuated by Malik's increasingly feeble attempts to protect himself. Blood spattered across the concrete floor, mixing with the oil stains in a grotesque abstract pattern.
"Punk ass motherfucker," Snow growled between swings, his words barely audible over the sound of the blows, "Your bitch ass couldn’t even smoke the nigga I asked you to but you wanna bow up on some bitch?!”
Malik's body crumpled to the ground, curling into a protective ball. His fingers clawed weakly at the floor, leaving smears of red in their wake. The pile of money he had so carefully counted earlier lay scattered around him, some bills now stained crimson.
Snow stepped over Malik's motionless body, pausing to wipe a speck of blood from his shoe. "Clean this shit up," he ordered, gesturing vaguely towards Malik. "And get that Audi out of here tonight. I don’t need another one of my spots getting hit.”
…
Cynthia's pencil scratched across her notebook, the sound barely audible over the low hum of air conditioning unit. She glanced up at the clock on the wall, her eyes widening slightly as she realized how late it had gotten. "I should probably use the bathroom before we dive into this next chapter," she said, stretching as she stood up from the couch.
Yassy nodded absently, her attention still fixed on the textbook spread across her lap. As Cynthia disappeared down the hallway, Steven emerged from the kitchen, two glasses of deep red wine in his hands.
"Thought we could use a study break," he said with a lazy smile, offering one of the glasses to Yassy. She hesitated for a moment before accepting it, the cool stem of the glass a stark contrast to the warmth of Steven's fingers as they brushed against hers.
Steven settled onto the couch next to Yassy, closer than he had been before. The leather creaked softly under his weight, and Yassy caught a whiff of his cologne - a spicy, woodsy scent that seemed to fill the space between them.
"I figured it would help you relax," Steven began, his voice low and intentional, "You’re just always so…tight around me, I don’t know. I feel like you’re a fun time, when you want to be.”
Yassy felt her cheeks flush, a mix of discomfort and something else she couldn't quite name. She took a sip of wine, hoping the alcohol would steady her suddenly racing heart. “We’re usually studying, that’s probably w..”
Before she could finish, Steven had leaned in closer. "I just don’t want you to feel weird around me or anything. Obviously Cynthia means the world to me but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, too."
The air in the room seemed to thicken, making it hard for Yassy to breathe. She could hear the faint sound of running water from the bathroom, a reminder of Cynthia's presence just down the hall. She begged for the water to stop and for her to reappear as a lifeline.
"I don’t feel weird around you," Yassy’s voice cracked. She set her glass down on the coffee table with a shaky hand, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
Steven placed his hand on her shoulder, his touch light but unmistakable. "That’s great, I feel like we could be really good friends.”
The sound of a door opening echoed from the hallway, and Steven smoothly withdrew his hand, leaning back on the couch as if nothing had happened. Yassy's heart pounded in her chest, her mind reeling from what had just transpired.
Cynthia reappeared, her face brightening at the sight of the wine. "Ooh, are we taking a study break?" she asked, oblivious to the tension as she joined them, taking a sip from Steven’s wine glass, “This is some good wine, babe.”
