Page 23 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
Marlowe sat in a small reception area in the main office building on the studio lot. A curvy blonde in a perfectly fitted sheath dress perched at a glass desk, answering calls on a headset. Beyond the desk were the offices of the show’s producers. Marlowe wasn’t sure which producer she was here to see, but she’d been summoned from wardrobe and here she sat, jittery, restless, and generating underarm sweat at an astonishing rate.
She’d expected the call, thanks to yesterday’s conversation with Angus, but now that the role was closer to becoming a reality, his warnings about packaging and publicity rang in her ears. She also nursed a growing unease about the criticism that would come her way if she appeared on-screen again, and this time, not just as a nameless background player. Her only immediate diversion was the latest issue ofPeoplewith a photo of Angus and Tanareve on the front under the bold yellow headlineREUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD. They were arm in arm, strolling down a busy sidewalk, laughing to themselves as though someone just happened to be walking in front of them and snapped the photo.
Marlowe picked up the magazine. Then she set it down again.She didn’t want to read about Angus’s relationship. It did nothing to ease her current anxieties. Instead, it seemed to amplify them. It shouldn’t. He was happy. End of story. It had nothing to do with her. But why couldn’t someone else have spent the day shopping with her? Made her laugh? Listened? Cared? Stolen her spinach? Sent her a nauseating smoothie that melted her heart even though she could only manage a single sip without retching?
“Marlowe Banks?”
She looked up to see a woman in a sharp black suit standing on the other side of the coffee table. The woman’s dark brown hair was swept into a tidy twist, her silver and stone accessories were understated, and she had the ultra-fit physique so common among L.A. residents. She looked like a runway model, though her tailored clothes and soft briefcase indicated she’d be equally at home in an office or a courtroom.
“My name’s Sanaya Baqri. I’m Angus Gordon’s agent.” She held out a hand.
Marlowe glanced around. “He’s in today, too?”
“Actually, I’m here for you.” She shook Marlowe’s hand and took a seat, smoothing her pencil skirt over her thighs. “Angus was in this morning. He got a sense of what was coming down the pipeline. He wanted to make sure someone was present who could explain the contract to you. I hope you don’t mind the intervention?”
“It’s amazing. Thank you.” Marlowe flipped thePeoplemagazine upside down, lest Angus’s image incite feelings she didn’t want to entertain at present, or ever. An intense swell of gratitude was unavoidable. Anything else had to be shut down. Stat.
Marlowe and Sanaya chatted for a few minutes, but the receptionist soon ushered them down the hall to Greg’s office, where Wes and Alejandra were also waiting. Greg sat behind a formidabledesk, his tie askew and his TV awards covering the wall behind him. Wes stood by the door with his blond tufts winging out under his Oakland A’s cap. Alejandra leaned against a windowsill on the far wall, leaving the chairs in front of the desk for Marlowe and Sanaya. After a round of introductions, Wes stepped forward.
“The writers’ room convened yesterday and we have a plan.” He began to pace, all fidgety excitement as he rubbed his hands and his chunky work boots clomped across the floorboards. “For five seasons we’ve hinted that Jake wouldn’t commit to any of the women he’s slept with because he’d invented an ideal girl and no one could live up to her image. We’ve never explained what that ideal is, but now we can. With me so far?”
“I think so?” Marlowe scanned the faces around her. Greg nodded thoughtfully while Alejandra and Sanaya were unmoving, postures rigid and expressions guarded.
“The waitress will be Jake’s first love,” Wes continued. “The two met on his family vacation when the kids were twelve or thirteen. A beach. Seagulls. Plenty of sun.”
“As long as there aren’t plenty of people,” Greg interjected.
“No background, as promised. We’ll do a one-day shoot with a small second unit crew in Malibu. Won’t break the bank. Now. Picture it.” Wes framed an imaginary shot with his thumbs and forefingers. “Two cute kids run through the waves, collect shells, watch a sunset, share cotton candy, hold hands, whatever tugs on the heartstrings. It’ll be crazy adorable until Adelaide departs without warning, leaving Jake with abandonment issues.” Wes flapped a hand at Marlowe. “Adelaide’s you. Think sweet, wholesome, all-American girl. Gingham. Apple pie. Kittens. The whole nine.”
Alejandra rolled her eyes. “More like the whole cliché.”
“The day people stop tuning in for clichés, I’ll stop writingthem.” Wes shot her a gentle dare-you-to-contradict-me look before making his frame again. “So. The kids. We’ll watch a car pull away with Little Adelaide looking out the back window. Squirt tears in her eyes. Underscore the shit out of it. Violins. Cellos. Give it all the feels. Then Little Jake shows up at their usual spot on the beach to find her gone. Little Jake gets superimposed against Big Jake, sitting in the diner, seeing you again after all these years. The audience will eat. It. Up.” He blew out a breath as though he’d just sprinted a mile.
“Okay?” Marlowe blinked toward him, still trying to picture everything. “So all I have to do is stand there for a moment of recognition in the diner?”
“At first. We still want three episodes. Number one.” Wes held up a finger. “Jake sees you at the diner. You make a signature gesture we repeat with the kids, like tucking your hair over your ear in a notable way or chewing on your pinky. He says, ‘Itisyou.’ You react. He reacts. End of episode. Perfect cliffhanger. Number two.” A second finger shot up. “Jake convinces Adelaide to have a conversation. They catch up on years gone by. She hasn’t forgotten him, either. All that potential torn away! So tragic!” Wes’s palm flew to his chest, landing with a loudthunkthat made Marlowe flinch. “Shared longing. Flirtation. Coy looks. Potential reignited. Blah, blah, blah. As soon as we think they might kiss, she pulls out an engagement ring she wears around her neck.”
“She wears the ring around her neck?” Marlowe rubbed at the finger that still felt uncomfortably naked, even after all these months.
“She’s engaged,” Wes said as though confused by the question. “It’s why Jake and Adelaide can’t get together. But we can’t know until after they want each other.”
“I get that, but why doesshechoose to wear the ring around her neck?”
Greg chuckled behind his desk. “Already becoming an actress. Good for you.”
Marlowe stiffened at his patronizing tone. “I’m not an actress. I’m a costume designer. The ring tells a story about who Adelaide is, what she cares about, and why. Her character would have a reason for how she wears it.”
Wes waved her off. “We’ll figure it out later. What matters is we can film what we need. Fast. Cheap. Two locations, inside the diner and behind it. And we can fit the scenes between everything else that’s already scripted.” He perched on the corner of the desk, eliciting subtle looks of disapproval from Greg and Alejandra. “Still with me?”
Marlowe nodded, though the conversation unsettled her. So much of it focused on shooting schedules, budget considerations, and manipulating the audience. So little was about meaningful story and characters, the elements that initially drew her to her design career. It made her crave one of her “little Chekhov plays,” as Babs called them. Chloe’s show came to mind, but thoughts about Marlowe’s design career would have to wait.
“And number three?” she asked warily.
“Number three.” Greg flung up a third finger. “Jake almost gets it on with his neighbor, a means of distraction, but he changes his mind at the last minute, says he has to be somewhere, jumps on his motorcycle, and speeds to the church.”
Marlowe went wide-eyed. “The church where Adelaide’s getting married?”
“Audiences will love it. TotalGraduatecallback.” Wes caught Greg opening his mouth as if to speak, halting him with a flash ofhis palm. “No wedding. Don’t worry. Just a shot in front of a crappy little church. Adelaide’s about to head inside with her bridesmaids.”
