Page 3 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“So, are you staying in touch because you’re friends or because you feel bad?”
“Both, I guess?” Marlowe’s voice came out small and meek. She hated that.
“Just be careful.” Cherry spun around and leaned back on the counter, drumming the edge with her turquoise lacquered fingernails. “Make sure he’s adding something positive to your life, like actively making an effort to see that you’re happy. If he’s only making you unhappy, call People Disposal Services, stat.”
Cherry’s words hit home, calling into question Marlowe’s inability to let go and move on. She shifted on her feet as her phonepressed into her backside, demanding her attention. Scrambling for a distraction, she tidied stacks of socks. She’d barely begun when Cherry grabbed her by the arms and pivoted her toward the mirror.
“What do you see?” she asked.
Marlowe blinked at her reflection. Before her stood an awkward girl/woman, tall and angular with a reedy figure, a too-long neck, a too-sharp nose, and lank brown hair that fell almost to her waist as though it’d tried to do something more interesting but gave up in despair. She slouched, a habit she hadn’t shaken since she outgrew most of her classmates at age thirteen, even though she topped out at five-ten while a lot of the boys kept growing. She had a few lingering acne scars and she hadn’t yet succumbed to L.A. staples like eyebrow waxing and chemical peels. Also, she was clearly indoors-y.
“I don’t know what I see,” she said. “Someone still trying to figure it all out?”
“Fair.” Cherry stepped to her side. “But I bet you just logged ten things you hate about yourself instead of ten things you like.”
Marlowe cringed. “Maybe? How did you know?”
“It’s kind of your trademark. Also, it’s what the world teaches women to do. Take in the negative and ignore the positive. It’s bullshit, but no one can tune outallthe noise. Besides, I think Kevin—”
“Kelvin.”
“Whatever. Bench Boy. I think he doesn’t help matters.” Cherry swept Marlowe’s hair off her shoulders and started loosely plaiting it. “I know you loved him but he sounds like an emotional predator. Didn’t he say you’d never find someone as good as him?”
“I shouldn’t have told you that. He was angry and upset. He didn’t mean it.”
“You sure about that?”
Marlowe opened her mouth to argue the point but nothing came out. Those awful words still haunted her.You’ll never find someone else as good as me.Whether or not Kelvin meant them, he knew she’d take them to heart. He always knew. He’d never physically harmed her, but he had a knack for making her feel… what? Diminished? Small? Unworthy? Grateful for every attention? Still, he was smart, funny, talented, attractive. He cheered on her artistic aspirations. He was generous with little gifts that said, “I’m thinking of you.” She fit perfectly in the crook of his arm when they slept together. What if Marlowe never did find someone better? What if she’d made the wrong choice when she booked her flight and gave back the ring? What if she wasn’t worth more?
Cherry yanked a rubber band off her wrist, untangling it from several others. She met Marlowe’s gaze in the mirror as she bound the end of the braid.
“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he kept making you feel lucky to be with him. Don’t you want to be with someone who feels lucky to be with you?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. You are hereby ordered to accept nothing less.” Cherry gave her a militant nod before turning to the far corner of the trailer. “Now help me get all of these shoeboxes over to background before Babs returns and catches us idling.”
Marlowe and Cherry stacked up as many shoes at they could carry: brand-name sandals and sneakers in every size, ready to replace whatever flip-flops the background actors arrived in. Babs’s attention to “style and glamor” included every stud earring, every belt buckle, and every last piece of footwear that would end up on the cutting room floor.
“You’re right,” Marlowe said as she stepped out of the trailer.
“I’m always right.” Cherry flashed her a smile. “But what am I right about now?”
“Icando better. I loved Kelvin as a person but I didn’t love how he made me feel as part of a couple. I wasn’t his partner. He was always in the driver’s seat, making the decisions. I was like”—she searched for the right extension of her metaphor. Navigator? Copilot? Floor mat?—“his sidecar passenger, one who lost more of myself with every ride.” She adjusted her hold on the shoes, rethinking how many she could carry.
“Damned straight you can do better,” Cherry said, her boxes perfectly stacked.
“No more narcissists. No more emotional predators. No more men who expect a woman to revolve around them. I just have to hold out until I find a guy who—” She slammed into what was either a brick wall or a broad chest, halting her thoughts. Her shoeboxes scattered, spilling out sparkly sandals and tissue paper. With a hasty apology, she knelt to gather everything, eye level with the worn-out knees in a pair of faded jeans.
“Walk much?” a low, angry voice barked above her.
“I’msosorry, I…” Her eyes trailed up.
Low-slung jeans, cinched by a weathered leather belt. A plain white T-shirt soaked with what looked like coffee, forcing the folds against a Michelangelo-level sculpted chest. A sharply chiseled jaw speckled with warm stubble. Full lips turned into a frown. Wide-set amber eyes, curtained with pale lashes and brimming with irritation.
As recognition dawned, Marlowe scrambled for a proper apology but other words emerged instead.
“Oh, shit.”
