Page 39 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“I can ask you anything and you’ll answer without an evasion?”
“I’ll do my best.” He propped an elbow on his thigh and rested his cheek on a loose fist, watching her sideways. His posture waswonderfully ordinary, slightly slouched and lacking bravado. He was just a guy, having a chat. Then again, maybe his posture was irrelevant. Maybe he looked like “just a guy” because Marlowe was finally doing what he’d asked her to do back on set: seeing him as a person instead of as an idea.
“Favorite color?” she asked.
“Gray. Dark gray. Like pebbles in a riverbed. How badly do you hate your job?”
Marlowe flinched. “That’syour first question?”
“I only get five. I don’t give a shit about your favorite color.”
“I was being polite.”
“Your loss.” His smile quirked up again, not a lot, but enough to call it a smile.
Marlowe drew Edith Head to her side and made her sit. Edith grumbled and shifted, much preferring chairs, but her fussing bought Marlowe time to form a thought.
“I’m learning a lot,” she said. “It’s… eye-opening.”
“You’re setting the ‘no evasions’ bar pretty low there.”
“Fine.” Marlowe glanced in all directions to ensure they were alone. “I despise my job. Most of the tasks could be accomplished by anyone with a car and a credit card. The tasks that do require my skills also require me to ensure my boss thinks they only requireherskills. I’m not telling an inspiring story. I’m not making interesting art. But at least the job’s temporary, and it’ll lead to the next gig, which might be better.” She grimaced at that, unsure that a film with Babs would be less painful than a TV series with Babs. Of course, Chloe’s script was still waiting to be read, but the offer was a long shot. Even if Marlowe did get the design, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. And speaking of things she wasn’t sure she could handle… “How many women have you had sex with?”
Angus burst into nervous laughter that took a long time to dissipate.
“Okay. Not so polite then.” He scratched at his neck while his eyes darted left, right, and everywhere in between. “Wow. Right. Um… more than ten, less than twenty.”
Marlowe almost fell off the railroad tie. “That’s all?”
He laughed again, still breathy and unsure. “Why? What’s your number?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No way. I told you mine.”
“I thought it would be a lot higher.” She draped an arm over Edith, anchoring her attention to the less complicated of her current companions. The dog was soft, warm, and cozy, even though she never sat still. While Marlowe snuggled in closer, Angus plucked a blade from a spiky shrub near his shoulder. He twisted and toyed with it as though maybe he also needed an anchor for his attention.
“I know what people think,” he said. “They’re not shy about saying so. It’s part of why I left social. Truth is, I’ve tried casual. It has its perks, but only if it’s what both people want. Otherwise it leads to disappointment and resentment.”
“So the women you slept with got attached too quickly?”
He shook his head as he ran the blade between his thumb and forefinger. She watched him, baffled at how far off the mark some of her assumptions had been. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then he gave her a little nudge with his knee.
“Right. My turn.” She sent a fuck-my-life look toward the hazy night sky. “Three.” She waited for a burst of astonishment but it didn’t come. “My adolescence wasn’t marked by attention the way yours was. I was awkward. Quiet. Friend to many, love interest to none. College was no easier. I spent most of it studying or at asewing machine, envying beautiful, fun, outgoing girls practically every guy had a crush on.”
“I’ve dated that girl. It’s exhausting.” He let the blade fall, toeing at it with his white Converse.
Marlowe pictured him sitting across the bar from Tanareve last night, with their polar-opposite energies. Most of Marlowe’s dating attempts had ended with some iteration of her not being “fun enough.” The few times she’d logged onto a dating site, that was the word that punctuated every profile.Looking for someone fun. Just want to have fun. Must be fun.Even Kelvin had criticized her for wanting to stay in and cuddle sometimes instead of seeking out a grand adventure together. The evidence had seemed pretty clear. Guys wanted girls who didn’t get sad, or angry, or struggle, or need to retreat from the world. They wanted smiles and effervescence. But maybe not all guys.
As the quiet stretched on, Angus tipped his chin at Marlowe’s T-shirt.
“You went to Yale?” he asked.
“Yeah. Grad school. Best three years of my life. You? Where was college?”
“Nowhere. I stopped going to school when I was fourteen. Everything past that was private tutoring or reading whatever books I picked up on my own.” He glanced sideways at her as though he was waiting for her judgment, but she didn’t have any to offer. He shifted and toed at the greenery bits anyway, a quieter, smaller version of the guy she’d seen strutting around set for the past few months. “This industry’s tough. The hours and travel make it hard to have a normal life, not that I need to tell you that since you’re at work at nineP.M.on a Saturday with a dog and a takeout bag.”
“Maybe this is how I like to spend my Saturday nights.”
