Page 22 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“Sure. I guess.” Her voice came out suspiciously raspy. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean yes. You can. As long as I can ask you one, too.”
“Totally fair. One for one.” He plunged a foot into the next pair of jeans. “You obviously know what you’re doing. World’s most decisive shoe shopping aside, all that stuff you noticed about the jeans, Babs doesn’t see all that. So why are you only a PA?”
Marlowe sighed as she sank into the chair. She’d enjoyed getting to know Angus over the course of the day, chatting about favorite bands and childhood pets, but he didn’t need to know about her stunted dreams, especially not when this was probably the only time they’d ever talk to each other alone, off set, almost like equals. Almost like friends.
“Gotta start somewhere,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster.
“Bullshit.” He swung open the doors, dressed in faded jeans that sat low on his hips and puddled around his ankles, the hems pre-frayed. “Tell me the truth.”
“Too pale, too baggy, and the outseam is set too far back.”
“I don’t mean about the jeans.”
“I know.” She scratched at a reddish spot on her pants. Hot sauce from lunch, probably. She waited for him to step back into the fitting room but he leaned against the open doorway, arms folded, awaiting her response. Did he really want to know? Did she want to tell him? Then again, did she have a good reasonnotto tell him? Unable to answer that question, she braced herself and met his eyes. “Fear of failure.”
He nodded, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Yet you’re not afraid to move across the country, leave behind your support network, and throw yourself into a new career?”
She pursed her lips, hoping to withhold her next admission, but out it came.
“I can’t truly fail if I’m not chasing what I really want.” She waited for Angus to laugh or call her a coward but the laughter didn’t come. He offered no disapproval, no retorts. He barely even moved, other than to lower his hand and rest it against his chest. The silence was beautiful. It was also torture. “Stupid, right?”
He shook his head. “Refreshingly honest.”
They exchanged another smile, one that was barely there, yet it pierced something inside her. It was the kind of smile that couldn’t be offered. It had to be earned.
Before Marlowe could give that more thought, a pair of middle-aged women scurried over, declaring their undying love for Angus and begging for a photo. Marlowe watched as he posed with them, all swagger and easy charm, like always, but this time she noticed a hint of tightness around his eyes and mouth, and a restless twitch in his shoulders, signs he might not be reveling in the attention after all. If that was true, if she was reading him right, then maybe he wasn’t chasing what he most wanted, either.
Eventually the women left him alone, thanks to the herding prowess of a laconic retail clerk who’d obviously experienced similar circumstances many times. Marlowe helped Angus select three pairs of jeans before driving back to headquarters and parking near the wardrobe building. As the evening sun stretched shadows across the pavement, she unloaded shopping bags and lined them up behind her trunk, counting them out to assess what she could carry and how many trips she’d need to haul everything inside. Angus offered to help but Marlowe suggested parting ways instead. Better not to risk running into Babs while still in his company.
Angus agreed to leave her to it, though he didn’t take off right away. Instead he lingered, helping her load her forearms with bags.
“You’re going to take the role, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’ll depend on what they offer.Ifthey offer. But thanks for talking to me about it first. It’s good to know what I might be signing up for.”
“Least I could do.” He handed off the last of her first load and they stepped apart from one another. “Before you go. I just realized. You never asked your question.”
“My question?”
“One for one. Back at Hardwired.”
“Oh. Right.” She considered her options. Go deep and ask what dream he wasn’t chasing? Go light and ask for a taco stand recommendation? Or take a real risk and go personal? “You probably don’t remember, but that day I played the waitress, you said you were surprised they put ‘someone like me’ on camera. What did you mean?”
“Wow. That was a long time ago.” He squinted toward the setting sun while scratching the back of his neck. “Someone who had things to do, probably. Every time I looked at you, you were pounding at a laptop or making lists or sorting out some issue with Cherry or Babs or Elaine. You seemed like someone other people relied on.” He shrugged, shifted,almostsmiled. “Sorry if what I said came out another way. It wasn’t my best week. I was being kind of a dick to everyone. When I get stressed, I push people away, even people I don’t know. It’s something I need to work on.”
“Guess we all have things to work on.” With a brief smile and a failed attempt to wave, Marlowe said goodbye. Angus nodded, turned, and walked away. She watched him for a moment in case he turned around, but he didn’t, and she felt kind of stupid for thinking he might. Still, as she headed inside, she was a little lighteron her feet despite the weight on her arms. Angus’s answer about “someone like her” meant a lot, even if she wasn’t proud of how long she’d held on to her resentment about his initial comment, or how long she’d let it feed her insecurities. Things to work on, indeed.
She was so lost in her thoughts, she practically crashed into Babs, who was still flustered about the new scenes they were prepping without sufficient lead-time. Elaine and a crew of four other costumers were busy corralling background players. Cherry was darting out of the fitting area to fetch something from the office. Marlowe did her best to stay out of everyone’s way as she unpacked the shoes, lining them up in size order along with the many pairs she’d had delivered. Once her car was emptied and everything was sorted, she found Cherry in the main office, digging through files.
“Know where I can find the order forms from Under Nation?” Cherry asked.
“They’re not in hard copy yet. Only online.” Marlowe opened the office computer and found the file. “Want me to pull them up and print everything off?”
“Yes! You’re a godsend.” Cherry wiped sweat off her forehead. “Babs has been on fire today. She wasnothappy you drove off with her boy toy while we were left trying to convince one actress that no, she didn’t need a body double and another that yes, she was a C cup. What was that even about this morning? Please tell me he didn’t try to get into your pants. And that you ditched him right away. Fuck! What a day.” She finally paused to take a breath, draping herself across the desk. “Oh, and Jerry from catering brought over your smoothie. Thanks for asking if I wanted anything.”
“My smoo—?” Marlowe caught sight of a large plastic cup filled with the greenest, gooiest concoction she’d ever seen. The name on the side readMarlowe, like the detective. The rim was garnished with a perfectly serrated strawberry.
Chapter Ten
