Page 24 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“Bridesmaid, singular,” Greg amended.
“Fine. Whatever.” Wes sent him a light sneer before snapping back into high-drama mode. “Jake pulls up on his bike. He pleads with his eyes. You falter, step toward him, torn. He steps toward you, but no! It’s too late! Do you? Don’t you? You don’t! You gather your conviction and head inside, leaving Jake shattered all over again, staring at the church doors. All is lost. The perfect season finale.” He practically slid off the desk in his excitement but he righted himself at the last second with a quiet chuckle.
As the energy of his speech ebbed, the room went quiet. Wes adjusted his ball cap. Greg drummed his fingers on a thick stack of papers. Sanaya folded her hands, the picture of patience, while over by the window, Alejandra offered Marlowe a kind smile and a light shrug. Marlowe felt them all waiting for her to say something, but what was she supposed to say?A couple of lines, Cherry had told her.Just enough to get audiences to tune in. A little sparring and a little flirting, Wes had said last week. No one had suggested an entire character arc or a heart-wrenching season finale.
“Be thankful,” Alejandra said, breaking the silence. “Wes’s first idea was that you were a stripper. Why every ‘wholesome, all-American girl’ also has to be a stripper is beyond me. God, I can’t wait until we have more women in the writers’ room.”
Wes got defensive and Greg jumped in to clarify the gender breakdown of the writing staff. Like a contentious but loving family, the trio worked out their differences with a few gentle jibes, leaving Marlowe to process the more immediate matter at hand.
“Three scenes?” she clarified. “And I only have to talk in one of them?”
“Piece of cake.” Wes tapped Greg’s stack of papers. Greg slid it forward.
Marlowe scooted her chair next to Sanaya’s so they could peruse what turned out to be over twenty pages of dense legalese. No wonder Angus had called in help.
“This is the fee scale for a standard day player,” Sanaya noted, flipping pages much faster than Marlowe could follow along. “From what you’ve described, you’re asking Miss Banks to play a character who’s pivotal to the storyline of the entire series.”
“In theory.” Greg shifted behind his desk. “But in a tangential kind of way.”
“Didn’t sound tangential to me.” Sanaya stood and tucked the contract into her briefcase. “I’m going to review this with Miss Banks. I understand time is of the essence so we’ll get back to you by end of day with an acceptance, rejection, or any proposed amendments. However”—she looked Greg square in the eye—“if this idea is to be considered, expect to come up with ten thousand or your contract is basically kindling.”
With a round of handshakes, Marlowe headed out of the building with Sanaya, squinting against the late-morning sun. They grabbed coffee at the little shop on the studio lot. Under the welcome shade of an umbrella, they talked through the contract until Marlowe grasped the terms, which included clauses about nudity, the suggestion of nudity, and the potential for a stand-in’s nudity. Sanaya assured her they were standard and she needn’t worry. She should pay more attention to the nondisclosure section, which dictated hefty fines for leaking storylines. Marlowe wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about her role until the PR department released the information. She swiftly convinced Sanaya this wouldn’t be a problem. Sure, she might be tempted to tell her friends in New York,but the idea of surprising them later held more appeal. And since she didn’t know anyone in L.A. who wasn’t on the show, pressure to mention her role would be minimal.
“Then I think we’ve covered everything.” Sanaya crossed out$3,000and wrote in$10,000while Marlowe tried not to gape. “You’ll lose a third of that in taxes but you deserve better than cab fare for what they’re asking of you. Filming might only be three days, but since this is a PR grab, you can expect some public interface.”
Marlowe thought back to her conversation with Angus.
“You mean promoting the show?” she asked.
“A bit, sure, but these days it’s not the official PR you have to worry about.”
Right,Marlowe thought.The Twitter storm. The talk show jokes. The uninformed judgments.The sinking feeling that people are laughing at me. All because of a look.
While Marlowe’s thoughts swam, Sanaya patted the contract.
“We made sure the essentials are in here,” she said. “They can’t ask you to take off your clothes, perform stunts, alter your weight or appearance, or do anything else that dramatically changes your requirements. Well, they can ask, but then you could renegotiate for more money, or you could simply say no.” She held out a pen. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, not if Angus is keeping an eye on you. He can be a bit hard-edged sometimes, but he’s one of the good ones, you know?”
Marlowe eked out an uncertain smile as she took the pen. She didn’t know Angus well enough to rate him good, bad, or indifferent, but he’d shown signs that he was less like Jake Hatchet than she’d once believed. And while she didn’t buy into the whole man-as-protector idea, she wasn’t about to turn away help when it was offered, especially in an area where she was way out of her depth.
She looked through the contract again, surprised she hadn’t already declined the offer and returned to the wardrobe building. But $10,000 stared up at her, willing her to sign. Admittedly, she also knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It was a risk, but risks brought excitement, and she’d had precious little excitement recently. So, with a few deep breaths and a prayer to the patron saint of the introverted—whoever that might be—she signed the contract and initialed Sanaya’s changes. And just like that, she’d agreed to become all-American Adelaide: waitress, heartbreaker, bride.
Wait… bride?
As the word sank into Marlowe’s brain, her eyes drifted eastward and another choice flashed through her memory. In rapid-fire snapshots, she relived conversations about guest lists, cake flavors, reception halls, flower arrangements, and invitations that’d been printed but not sent. A ring returned. A dress selected but never purchased. A date, not far from today. A parallel life not lived.
Funny the way the universe worked sometimes. As it turned out, saying a few lines on camera might end up being the least of her concerns.
Chapter Eleven
Marlowe tucked herself against the shaded side of the wardrobe building, stalling for time. The second she stepped inside, she’d be bombarded with questions about her meeting with the producers. Cherry and Elaine would be enthusiastic but Babs would be unbearable. She wouldn’t fire Marlowe or openly punish her for taking the role. Such gestures would make her look ungracious, but the impossible tasks would pile up. The disdain would sharpen. One way or another, Babs would ensure Marlowe knew her place.
Marlowe bought herself a few extra minutes by checking her messages.
Nat: I met Tony Kushner! Call me tonight. My turn to gush
Chloe: Sent you the script. LMK what you think
Heather: My sister confirmed. Moving out by Halloween. Come back!!!!!
