Page 29 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
Now that they were all at the club, Marlowe was glad no onehad wanted her to drive. Dancing might have lost its appeal, but drinking had not. Not that she was much of a drinker. She was a lightweight, but the week had exhausted her, she wasn’t home alone to drink herself into a puddle of extreme loneliness, and she was desperate to loosen the tension that’d coiled up inside her on set. So she grabbed one of the shots and braced for the burn.
Cherry held up her soda glass. “To the waitress!”
Everyone joined in the toast and tipped back their drinks. Marlowe shook off the initial sting and let the warm, jelly-like feeling settle into her joints. Damn, it felt good. As if she’d been gripping the edge of a cliff for days and she could finally let go and fall.
Cherry glanced around the room. “So, who are we looking at?”
Marlowe located her whiskey sour, using it to cut the tequila burn.
“Who are we looking at for what?” she asked.
“Your rebound. He has to be hot enough for you to enjoy gawking at him naked but dull enough to make you want to ditch him once you’re done.”
Marlowe practically spat out her drink. Before she could form a coherent reply, the rest of the group leapt on board, scanning the crowd and pegging three possible targets: a hipster with a waxed moustache and a vest that showed off his fit arms, the tallest member of an oxford-clad quartet that seemed to have arrived straight from the office, and a heavily tattooed guy busting moves on the corner of the dance floor.
Mid-debate about Marlowe’s best plan of attack, Cherry grabbed her arm.
“Holy shit. She showed.”
Marlowe followed Cherry’s gaze to see a short, smiling woman in a rayon dress elbowing her way through the crowd. She worepearl earrings and her dense black curls were twisted up in a red scarf, making her look like she’d stepped out of an old painting.
“She’s cute,” Marlowe said.
“Cute?” Cherry shook her head. “She’s more than cute. Her name is Maria Louisa Sofia Liliana and I want to whisper every last one of those names against her perfect ear.”
With some effort, Maria made it to the table. Everyone introduced themselves while Cherry and Maria exchanged just enough coy looks to suggest Cherry might get her wish, maybe not that night, but in time. The thought filled Marlowe with joy. No matter what happened with her own love life—or lack thereof—Cherry deserved to be happy. From the looks of things so far, that achievement had already been unlocked.
Marlowe purchased the next round of drinks, as promised. By the time she’d emptied her glass, she was ready to surrender to the energetic club vibe. The people. The throbbing music. The adrenaline. The total lack of beige. Patrice let down Marlowe’s ponytail and gave her hair a professional fluff. Cherry helped her apply a fresh coat of red lipstick and rubbed away her smudged mascara. With a chorus of encouragement from the group, Marlowe plunged into the crowd on the dance floor, where she quickly spotted Ravi and the other makeup artists. They welcomed her into their circle with more cheers.
She started off timid, barely moving, but soon she was bouncing along with everyone else, arms swinging, hips swaying, lost in a feeling of pure release. When she accidentally spun into a buff guy in a black dress shirt and he started grinding against her, she didn’t resist. She leaned into the motion. The contact felt good, a strong body pressed against hers. The friction of thighs against thighs. Heat. Sweat. Touch. A hand set low on her back, drawing her close.Her skirt hem inching higher. Bare, wet skin. An unexpected moment of eye contact. A sucked-in breath. A jolt of anticipation.
Hmm, Marlowe thought.Maybe Cherry’s right. A rebound isn’t such a terrible idea.
The music shifted. A heavy downbeat. Machines pumped out smoke. Lights flashed in hot magenta and icy blue. Marlowe felt herself get passed from one guy to another. Someone tall. Lanky. A tousled tuft of black curls. One hand on her waist, the other gripping her hand, spinning her away and drawing her back again, hips against hips. Dark brown eyes. Parted lips, dewy with moisture. A salsa step. Maybe. Face-to-face. Another turn. Backing against him, arms raised as his fingertips skimmed from her wrists to her elbows, carrying on to her waist and hips, igniting a sharp sense of want she’d been trying to bury for months. He held her against him, his breath hot against the side of her neck. He stepped forward, back, and then spun her away again. Only to pull her in.
God, she’d missed this. No wonder her entire body had tingled when Angus brushed past her in her car last week. No matter how many times she’d told herself she didn’t need a man in her life, the days without physical connection added up, hollowing her, leaving her feeling a little less real, a little less solid, until she might as well be a ghost. Now, with every hand on her back, her hip, her neck, she became more herself.
Or so she thought until a leering creep with a toothy grin grabbed her ass.
Marlowe stopped short and shot the guy a violent glare, willing him to wither and vanish. When he continued to hover as though her glare was an indication of her interest rather than her repulsion—seriously, where did men get their confidence?—she decided she had two options: punch him or slip away and go pee.
The restroom was cramped and dark, with black cinderblock walls covered in graffiti and cheaply printed posters. Marlowe caught a glimpse of her reflection as she stepped up to a sink to wash her hands. She’d forgotten about the highlights, lash extensions, and other upgrades she’d received that morning. Admittedly, she liked the changes, even if they were far too glamorous for her character. She felt a little less invisible, in a good way, though maybe she was riding endorphins from the dance floor. And maybe the guy in the black dress shirt was still back there.
“Oh, my god,” came a light, breathy voice behind her. “You’re the waitress.”
Marlowe stiffened as she spun around, madly preparing a lie, but the lie fell away as soon as she saw the woman before her. She was about Marlowe’s age, with an athletic build and flawless tanned skin. Her pink chiffon halter dress was obviously couture and she wore the kind of strappy high heels Marlowe would’ve toppled over in the second she tried to stand. Marlowe might’ve recognized the woman’s face, even in a grungy public restroom, but it was the thick, chestnut hair that cemented her as Tanareve Hughes.
“The waitress, yeah. I guess so.” Marlowe looked down, newly self-conscious of her cheap, sweat-soaked tank top and thrifted cargo skirt. Clearly, the universe hated her. Right when she’d stopped stressing about the day’s events, she had to run into Angus’s girlfriend. Angus’s gorgeous, fit, perfectly coifed, amazingly dressed girlfriend.
Marlowe was about to say she recognized Tanareve, but before she got the words out, Tanareve’s arms circled her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug.
“I knew it! Marlowe, right? I’m Tanareve, or Tan, whichever you prefer. I’m not a creepy stalker fan, I swear. We have some mutualfriends.” She released her hold and took a breath, giving Marlowe a second to appreciate that Tanareve didn’t assume her fame preceded her. “Sorry. I’m a lot. I know. I’m just so excited to meet you! It was your first day today, right? I bet it was crazy. Angus said you did great. A total pro. Didn’t even seem nervous. You must be celebrating. Funny that we all ended up here. The Hollywood club scene is so tiny everyone bumps into everyone else. Am I right?”
“Sure, I guess?” Marlowe faltered, this being her first time in a Hollywood club. Also, what did Tanareve mean bywe ALL ended up here? And Angus saidwhat?
“I’m celebrating just because,” Tanareve continued, speaking so quickly Marlowe had to strain to keep up. “With the right company, anything’s a party. We’re playing Shot in the Dark. Have you played? Idi and Whitman are playing with me. Angus is here, too, but he leaves the drinking games to the rest of us. His body is his temple. It’s amazing I dragged him out tonight. This issonot his scene, but now we can all celebrate together. Youhaveto join us.” She let out a little squeal of excitement as she washed her hands.
Marlowe edged toward the door. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
