Page 10 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“That’s the power of social media for you.” Cherry leaned back in her chair, absently patting the molded plastic arms. “I don’t know if anything will come of it, but the producers are always looking for a hook to bring in more viewers. If they can fan the flames of the Twitter storm, you might get asked to do a cameo.”
Marlowe kept scrolling, unable to look away. “But I don’t act.”
“You wouldn’t have to do much. They’d give you a couple of lines. SomeYou broke my heart, Jakebullshit, just enough to get audiences to tune in. Jake would brood, overcome with guilt for how he treated you, like we haven’t seen that scene a thousand times already. Then he’d ride off on his motorcycle, you’d leave town with one last, longing look out the back of a bus, and things would carry on as already scripted.”
Marlowe finally handed the phone back. “They wouldn’t.”
“They might.”
“They can’t.”
“They can. You wouldn’t have to say yes, but considering the pay gap between on-screen and off, you might at least give it some thought.”
“Ifthey ask.”
“Exactly.Ifthey ask.” Cherry offered her a sympathetic smile.
Marlowe dropped her head in her hands, wishing she could delete the entire Twitter thread, and anything else that used that stomach-turning hashtag. She supposed she should be flattered, but she wanted no part in a publicity stunt. L.A. was supposed to hide her, make her invisible, provide an escape from the reviews and criticism that’d eroded her confidence in New York. Now total strangers were talking about her, judging her, deciding whether or not she was worth being paired up with some guy, not even a real guy, and not even the real her. They were including her in their fantasy of what they thought a relationship should feel like, or at least look like. The idea was ridiculous. She was the last person who should exemplify romantic love. She couldn’t even ignore a question mark or throw away a pair of pajama pants. And, okay, so this wasn’t about her. It was about the waitress, but who the hell was the waitress? And why did people care?
“It was only a look,” Marlowe muttered into her hands.
“Yeah,” Cherry said, “but it was a hell of a look.”
Before either of them could say more, Babs flung open the door and marched in, lips pursed, heels clicking. She flashed the girls a palm, jangling her bangles.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped. “The only tags I want to hear about are the ones sewn into the Prada clothes you’ll pick up at ten, or the Dolce samples that’ll be ready by eleven. That big party scene’s coming up in episode seventeen and everyone has to look fabulous.” She thrust a folded piece of paper at Marlowe.“This should keep you busy while all that Twitter nonsense runs its course.”
Marlowe unfolded the paper to read a sharply scribbled list of tasks that included stops at a dozen fashion houses, a pickup at the florist (not for the show), another at the dry cleaners (also not for the show), an appointment for Edith Head at the dog groomer, and several specialty food stores that purveyed meats, cheeses, liquor, and desserts for a party Babs was hosting tomorrow. The number of locations implied three days of work, not one, and only half of the stops were related to the costume needs forHeart’s Diner.
She held up the list. “I’m not sure the food stuff—”
“If you do those errands, I’ll have the time and energy to get my work done here, so yes, they all matter, and yes, they’re part of your job, and for god’s sake don’t tell me you can’t pick up a few flowers.” Babs dropped into the desk chair and turned her attention to the computer, jabbing at the keyboard in a way that implied the conversation was over.
Marlowe looked to Cherry for guidance. Cherry inched up a tiny shrug and waggled her thumbs over her phone while mouthingI’ll text you.
“Check in later,” she said aloud. “If you’re running behind, I’ll see if we can get a shopper to do some of the pickups.”
“Or she can finish the work tomorrow,” Babs tossed off without looking up.
Marlowe prickled with annoyance. “Tomorrow’s my day off.”
“Then you’d better get going.” Babs shooed her away with a flick of the hand.
Marlowe exchanged one last look with Cherry before slipping out the door, fighting the urge to slam it. Babs had been short-tempered with Marlowe ever since the day she donned that stupiduniform. She dropped little jabs about how nice everyone was to let Marlowe go on camera, as though they were doing her a favor that day rather than the other way around. She amped up her criticism of Marlowe’s eating habits, noting that they weren’t doing her figure or complexion any favors. She shut down even the slightest hint of creative input as though entertaining it would be a gross waste of everyone’s time. She also kept Marlowe off set. Marlowe had been assuming Babs was punishing her for her divided attention the day of the shoot, but maybeherattention wasn’t the issue at all.
She grabbed a coffee from craft services and sat down to plan her route, punching the destinations into her map app. As she entered the last store, a text came through.
Cherry: Sorry about that. I think it’s a jealousy thing
Marlowe: So something IS going on between them?
Cherry: Doubt it. But she sure as hell wishes there was
Marlowe: She has nothing to be jealous about
Cherry: Tell that to The Look
Marlowe: It was nothing!!!!
