Page 25 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
Mom: Got mail for you from Yale. Should I forward? How are those loans?
Kelvin: You know this isn’t right. Can we at least talk about it?
Kelvin: sfsjhgfjadkgdhgd
Kelvin: Sorry. Butt text. Mortified
Mildly amused, Marlowe deleted the last two texts but she stopped there, staring at the familiar, insidious question mark. Half of her brain saidLet go. Delete. Move on. The other half—or, more honestly, the other 51 percent—urged her to have the requested conversation. The bride idea had shaken her up, reminding her how much less alone she’d be now if she’d made another choice back in New York. Minutes ago, she’d signed a contract to act in a massive hit TV show, and in an actual role with a story arc. Sure, it wasn’t the creative pinnacle she’d been striving for. In fact, it terrified her, but it was a big goddamned deal. Now here she was, heading straight back to work as if nothing had happened. If she hadn’t broken up with Kelvin, they’d be on the phone right now, giddily sharing the secret. He’d cheer her on, full of support. He’d make her feel as if she’d accomplished something, even if all she really did was throw on a waitress outfit at an opportune moment. And accidentally cry during a screen test.
Unable to hitdelete, Marlowe left the remaining messages to deal with later. Then she stopped stalling and returned to work. Elaine was busy fitting background actors but Cherry and Babs were sitting in the design office at a pair of opposing desks. Babs picked shredded cheese off what looked like a spinach salad while Cherry typed at a computer, probably skipping lunch entirely to attend to Babs’s latest urgent requests. Both women looked up as Marlowe entered the room.
“Well?” Cherry asked. “What’s the verdict?”
Marlowe bit her lip as she darted a look at Babs. Babs merely blinked, her expression placid, though somehow it also reeked of thinly veiled contempt.
“Three days of shooting,” Marlowe said. “Two on set. One on location. And they’ll hire a replacement PA for the days I’m not working here.”
“But they made the offer,” Cherry clarified. “And you took it?”
Marlowe glanced at Babs again.
“Don’t look at me.” Babs flicked a hand, bangles jangling. “Anyone can cover for you here. What you do in this department is hardly skilled labor. If you want to run off and pretend to be an actress for a few days, who am I to stand in your way?”
“Thanks, I think?” Marlowe turned back to Cherry. “Yeah. It’s all signed.”
“Woohoo!” Cherry pumped her fists into the air. “We get to costume you for real now. Did they tell you what you’d be shooting? More diner stuff in the uniform?”
Yet again Marlowe looked at Babs. Babs’s brows tilted up as though she couldn’t be bothered to shift more than one facial feature for anything Marlowe had to say. Unsure if that would remain the case, Marlowe braced herself against Cherry’s desk.
“Two days in the uniform,” she said. “One in a wedding dress.”
Babs’s chair ground across the floor as she stood and tugged down her jacket.
“Guess I have some calls to make. First an orgy. Now a wedding. Do they think we vomit up clothes in here?” She flashed Cherry and Marlowe a tight smile as she marched out of the room with her percussive heels and bracelets.
Marlowe dropped into a nearby chair, letting the tension in her neck uncoil.
“My character’s a waitress,” she said. “We can get a dress at any chain store.”
Cherry broke into a laugh. “You think she’s mad about thedress? Seriously, Banks?” She continued to chuckle. “I can’t believe you have to marry that jackass.”
“Right. I mean, no. I don’t. I marry someone else. Angus—I mean Jake—gets ditched for another guy. Also… I’m not sure he’s really a jackass.”
Cherry’s laugh cut short. “Pleeeeease tell me you didn’t drink the Gordon Kool-Aid.” She leaned back in her chair, splaying out her slender limbs and going limp. “What is it with straight girls? Toss an unmown square jaw and a six-pack on a guy and you all clamor for smelling salts. I thought you saw past all that.”
“I did. I do.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m not!” Marlowe snatched a wad of tangled paper clips off Cherry’s desk and began extracting one from another. She forced herself to focus on the interlaced curves, but as Cherry stared at her, painted head to toe in disbelief, Marlowe stopped fidgeting. “Okay, so I find him attractive. Trust me when I say I wish I didn’t, but that’s not what I’m talking about. You know the weirdness earlier this week when he suddenly needed jeans? He wanted to explain industry expectations. He even called his agent to negotiate my contract for me. He’s gone out of his way to help me deal with a situation that frankly scares the crap out of me. He also—” She halted before mentioning lunch, and the roses, and the smoothie. They weren’t professional assistance. So what were they?
“He alsowhat?” Cherry prompted, her voice thick with suggestion.
“Nothing. He pushed a shopping cart. Whatever.” Marlowe renewed her focus on the paper clips, certain her blush had returnedand at two or three times its prior heat. “My point is, he’s been nice. And I don’t want to pretend I don’t appreciate his kindness because I’m trying to shut down my physical attraction as fast as possible.”
Cherry narrowed her eyes. “You know he’s back with what’s-her-name? The one with the lips and the hair.” She mimed flicking dense locks off her shoulders the way Tanareve did in her Clairol commercials.
Marlowe ran a hand down her own lifeless ponytail. “Yeah. I know.”
