Page 34 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
Prickling with curiosity, Marlowe ignored the other texts and clicked on the link. A headline popped into view:IS ON-AGAIN OFF AGAIN FOR ANGUS GORDON AND TANAREVE HUGHES? WAITRESS DELIVERS MORE THAN MENUS AT L.A. NIGHTCLUB.Following the headline were three photos. 1.) Tanareve leaning against the bar with Idi and Whitman while Marlowe and Angus stood nearby, their heads bowed together, probably during the only thirty seconds in which they were speaking to each other. 2.) Marlowe and Angus wrapped around each other on the dance floor, lips parted, eyes locked, lookinglike a sexy still fromDirty Dancing. 3.) Tanareve screaming at Angus, her finger prodding his chest, his hands held up in surrender. A few lines followed, claiming that Tanareve had caught Angus out with “the waitress,” leading to a giant public blowout.
Marlowe read the article over and over, trying to make sense of it. Who had even taken those photos? And hadn’t TanareveencouragedAngus and Marlowe to dance? It was part of the game. Nothing happened. How had it turned into a screaming match?
Also, that photo of Marlowe with Angus was crazy hot. Was that really what they looked like together? No wonderHeart’s Dinerfans had shipped them.
Crap. Scratch that. Back to more important matters…
Marlowe: Was there a fight at the club last night?
Cherry: Thank god you’re up. Put some pants on
Cherry: Also, no. Not while I was there. What did I miss?
Marlowe sent Cherry the link and waited, chewing a fingernail. Then she remembered her nail polish had been carefully chipped to look chewed, and increasing the damage would disrupt continuity. As she lowered her hand, a reply came.
Cherry: THAT’S who you were with when you disappeared last night?
Marlowe: Only for one dance. We did it on a dare. Part of a game his friends were playing. Yes, Tanareve was among those friends
Cherry: And she saw you two together?
Marlowe: Not sure but she’s the one who pushed us to dance
Cherry: Unless you’ve been Photoshopped, that was more than a dance
The screen went blank for another minute. Marlowe sank back into her pillows, or rather, pillow—singular. She didn’t even do much sinking. Her pillow was as flat as a tortilla. She seriously had to invest in some basic comforts. If she was going to stay in L.A. and keep working with Babs and Cherry, she could at least buy decent sheets. Maybe a fork or two that still had all of their tines.
Cherry: Skimmed the article. It’s probably clickbait. But Maria and I left not long after you caught your Lyft. She says hi by the way
Marlowe: Congratulations!
Cherry: Prepare for insane amounts of gushing
Marlowe: Can’t I call in sick? Panic attack imminent
Cherry: Welcome to multitasking. Panic while you shop
Marlowe: I’d rather panic while I panic
Cherry: Let it go. A and T break up more often than mediocre white men get unearned promotions. If they split again it’s not your fault. Even if you dry humped him
Marlowe: I’m only coming in today if you promise never to say dry hump again
Cherry: Dry hump. Dry hump. Dry hump. See you soon!
Marlowe set aside her phone and squinted toward the sunlight. If she did invest in her living space, curtains would come first. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year of sunshine had itsperks, but not when the light felt like an interrogation bulb, amplifying her guilt and anxiety. Itwasonly a dance. Wasn’t it??????
Unable to answer that question with any real conviction, Marlowe dealt with the hedgehog in her mouth and the crusted sweat on her skin. She was out of clean work attire, so she put on a faded Yale T-shirt and smell-checked a pair of cropped jeans she’d worn earlier in the week. Until she had time for laundry, they’d have to do.
Over a strong cup of coffee, she blearily browsed through her mom’s marathon training blog and looked up her dad’s fundraising gala. She could probably attend his event if she really wanted to. Her dad would even pay for the flight and buy her a nice dress, but she didn’t love being surrounded by people who were saving the world when her daily anxieties still included zip code dissociation and combination skin. Though apparently her anxieties now included breaking up Hollywood’s It Couple.
She fired off three texts. One to her mom (Great job! Yep, still running, though not 18 miles), one to her dad (Thanks for the invite. Can’t make it to NY next month. Work), and one to her friends’ group thread (Weird article. Went out with cast and crew last night. Everyone got along great. Headed to work. More later). The final text was a touch on the evasive side, but it was true and it was all she could handle at the moment.
Half an hour later, Marlowe stepped out of her Uber and trudged into the wardrobe office at the studio, still fighting her hangover. Babs and Cherry were conferring over something on Cherry’s computer, while over at Babs’s desk, a sleek Weimaraner sat in a chair, blinking at Marlowe with a distinctly guilt-ridden expression. Marlowe knew that expression well, having picked up and dropped off Edith Head many times over the past fivemonths. The first few times, she swore the dog had done something wrong. Now she knew the lowered snout and upturned eyes were Edith’s default, even when she was seated at a desk as though she ran the place.
“Finally!” Babs threw up her hands. “Edith’s daycare was closed for repairs today and I didn’t know where else to take her. Cherry and I will be in fittings for the next eight hours, but Edith can go with you. Just don’t leave her in the car. She hates that.”
“Okay?” Marlowe glanced back and forth between Babs and the dog. “Where am I going today and will people mind if I bring a dog inside?”
