Page 27 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
With an odd sense of nostalgia for the old uniform, Marlowe sat down to complete the outfit with white ankle socks and canvas sneakers.
“At least Babs didn’t put me in heels,” she said.
“Only because you’re tall. You think the hourglass myth is prevalent? I dare you to name a single hetero on-screen couple where the guy’s shorter than the girl.”
Marlowe thought about it as she laced up the sneakers. Such couples had to exist, but Cherry was right, she couldn’t name a single one off the top of her head.
“Oh, shit!” Cherry dug through an accessory bag. “I almost forgot. Babs would kill me if she found you on set without this.” She pulled out a silver chain linked through an impressive rhinestone ring. “That fiancé of yours is quite the big spender.”
Marlowe slipped the chain over her neck. The ring was cold, hard, and sharp against her chest. Though it bore little resemblance to the simple engraved band Kelvin had given her, it stirred up enough feelings to make it seem like an exact replica.
Cherry set a hand on her arm. “You’re thinking about Bench Boy, aren’t you?”
“If I was a real actress, I’d say no and you might actually believe me.” Marlowe pressed the ring against her breastbone. Still cold. Still hard. Still sharp.
“Youarea real actress. They made you audition. You earned the role.” Cherry drew Marlowe’s hand away from the ring. “This calls for an intervention. Since we have the weekend off and we can sleep in as late as we want tomorrow, let’s go out dancing tonight. We’ll celebrate your first day as a ‘real actress.’ We can even work on that rebound plan. I’ll gather a group.”
“Anyone particular in that group?” Marlowe hinted, already knowing the answer.
“Oh, just some of the girls from the costume shop. Ravi and Patrice will probably be game. But if the new script supervisor alsohappensto make an appearance, I won’t complain.”
“If she shows, the first round of drinks is on me.”
One of the ADs led Marlowe into the diner when they were ready for her. Introductions were made with the other actors who were part of the scene, including Angus, Idi, Kamala, Janie, Meg, and Whitman. Together the six of them made up the core cast, playing a group of lifelong friends who fought and loved each other in equal measure. Some of the cast recalled Marlowe from fittings or other costume-related business. Others mentioned the #IShipTheWaitress tweets and videos while she tried to hide her embarrassment, cringing at every reenacted punch line.
Angus stayed notably quiet through it all, standing to the side in dark jeans, a thin gray T-shirt, and Jake’s trademark leather jacket. His costume was similar to his personal wardrobe but the fit was tighter. The colors were darker. The textures were dirty and gritty. Everything had hard edges, from the sculpted jacket to the square-toed motorcycle boots to the gelled-back hairstyle that held on to the grooves from a comb. The differences added up, made even more noticeable by his unexpected remove. Marlowe might’ve questioned his lack of friendliness, but Lex—the same director who was on Marlowe’s earlier episode—wandered over and called the group to order.
As the six leads tucked into their corner booth, surrounded by lights, sound equipment, cameras, and crew, Lex talked Marlowe through the action. The dialogue would unfold in the booth. Marlowe would drop off pie or beverages on cue. Angus wouldtrack her movement, building a sense of recognition as the scene transpired.
“You know who Jake is,” Lex told Marlowe. “But you hope he doesn’t know who you are. You’re curious, anxious. You’re about to be married. You don’t want to ruin your relationship by holding on to what-ifs about some other guy. But also”—he tipped his chin at Angus, who was listening from his seat at the edge of the booth—“you want to tear off Jake’s clothes. That sense of desire has to reach straight through the camera.”
Marlowe’s face ignited. She risked a glance at Angus, who made no attempt to hide an amused smirk. TheYou know you want melook was back. Ironically, it was the look that made her want nothing to do with him at all.
For the next two hours, Lex and his crew shot the scene he’d described, capturing take after take with slight variations and careful attention to continuity. Marlowe played her role as instructed, acting more by instinct than by an ability to embrace and express everything Lex had asked of her. Curious and anxious? No problem. Not wanting to get involved with the hot guy in the leather jacket? Check. Wanting to tear his clothes off anyway? Harder, but not a complete stretch of the imagination.
It wasn’t his toned body or his pretty face that drew her in. It was the way he looked at her, studying her as though he wouldn’t be content until he understood some key secret about her. Three months ago, that look had made her uncomfortable. It was too intense. Too direct. Too long and unwavering. Now that she’d seen Angus study severed threads and marabou slippers in a similar way, his stare was no longer intimidating. He wasn’t judging. He just wanted to know. And maybe, buried under umpteen layers of defense mechanisms, she wanted to be known.
When the crew took their first break, Marlowe headed outside and tucked herself behind the diner where she could escape into her phone. Her friends in New York had a group text going about a trashy but entertaining reality show they were all watching, one Marlowe hadn’t found time for past the pilot episode. She hadn’t found time to read Chloe’s script, either. She usually got home with just enough time to eat, sleep, and get up to return to work. Days off were about laundry and groceries and tracking down the landlord so he’d fix the pipes or whatever else had broken. Besides, her friends were all watching the show together. She’d be watching it alone. Like everything else she did.
With that thought, she pulled up another text that tugged at her heart.
Kelvin: You know this isn’t right. Can we at least talk about it?
The text wasstillhaunting her. She shouldn’t let it. He was doing what he always did: telling her what she should think rather than asking. She’d said it was over. She’d said she was sure. So why couldn’t she delete the text and block him already?
“If I give you my number, will you quit ignoring me?” a deep voice asked to her left. It was Angus, walking toward her, rubbing at his chin in that already familiar way. Maybe he was drawn to the stubble. It was probably softer than it looked and it made him want to pet himself, though that thought conjured another image entirely.
Marlowe pocketed her phone, stuck between one conundrum and another.
“I’m supposed to ignore you,” she said. “Lex told me Adelaide—”
“I’m not talking about Adelaide.” He stopped a few feet away and leaned a shoulder against the pebbled wall. “I thought you might let me know you took the role. I had to hear about your meeting from Sanaya. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Right. Sorry. Thank you. Getting her to help with my contract was amazing. Beyond amazing. I should’ve said something. But how would I even—?”
He cut her off with a look. One that said she knew damned well how. They worked on the same lot. She got a call sheet every day. She knew where he’d be and when. She could’ve knocked on his trailer, swung by the set, or left a note with his security guard. She could’ve passed a message through Cherry or Elaine, who attended most of his fittings while Babs kept Marlowe as far away as possible. She could’ve sent him a massive order of serrated strawberries. It would’ve reached him.
“I had a good time the other day,” he said. “It was a nice break from all of this.” He flapped a hand toward the front of the diner, roughly indicating the milling crew and vast sprawl of electrical equipment. “It felt normal, in a good way, even though you bought, like, four hundred pairs of shoes. I guess I didn’t realize that was it.”
