Page 46 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
She stepped onto the patio to find Angus already seated, ankles stacked, hands laced behind his neck, gazing out past a tranquil pool to the sunlit hills. His outdoor space was as tidy as his indoor space, defined by spare décor, clean lines, and earthy textures like dark stones and polished wood. His environment was comfortable but purposeful. Every piece of furniture was carefully selected for efficient use and high-quality craftsmanship. Except, perhaps, for the books. There, content triumphed.
“It’s a lot warmer outside than inside,” Marlowe said, already sweating.
Angus straightened up as he turned toward her. “Welcome to L.A.”
“I’ve lost track of seasons since I moved here.” She sat down opposite him, folding her legs beneath her, a habit she’d retained from childhood when she used to worry about taking up too much space. “Does L.A. even have seasons? Ones that have nothing to do with film awards or TV listings?”
“Tired of the sunshine already?”
“I shouldn’t complain. My friends in New York are hauling out warmer clothes even though we’re barely into September.” Her voice caught as her mind jolted into overdrive.September. The month printed on two hundred wedding invitations that never got sent. A canceled reservation. A simple dress in ivory organza. A rich chocolate cake, tasted but never ordered.
“Question for a question?” Angus asked, jarring Marlowe from her thoughts.
“Yes, the food smells amazing, even with the green stuff.”
“Not what I was going to ask.” He picked up his fork but he didn’t put it to use. “What happened with your fiancé? Or was he your husband?”
She flinched so sharply she almost fell off her chair.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“You play with your ring finger a lot. I’m betting it wasn’t always naked.”
Marlowe glanced down to find one hand wrapped around the other, while she did exactly what he’d said she was doing. She shook out both hands and took a drink of her orange juice. Slowly. Really,reallyslowly. When Angus was still watching her as she set down her glass, she decided there was no point evading the question. He didn’t seem like he’d judge her and she was obviously preoccupied.
“We were together for three years, engaged for two months. When he proposed, I didn’t even have to think about it. I said yes and I meant it. We loved each other. We also knew each other.Everything else was so uncertain. Launching careers. Moving into the city. Meeting new people. Trying to make ends meet. Amid the chaos, we had each other. That mattered.”
Angus lowered his fork, leaning forward with interest. “But?”
“That’s a big question. Might require a big answer.”
“I have big ears.” He flicked at his freckled earlobe. “Perfect for big listening.”
“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
While they ate, Marlowe told Angus about the parties Kelvin insisted they attend together, only so he could vanish right away to hang with his friends, leaving her at sea in a room full of strangers. If she asked to leave before he was ready, he criticized her for not letting him have more fun, or for not trying to have more fun herself. Everything was on his terms. Leaving separately was unacceptable. It would make people think they were having problems. They needed to appear to be together, even if they spent the entire night in separate rooms. Then there were the date nights he hijacked by inviting friends along without asking her first. If she got even the slightest bit upset about it, he called her needy (one of her least favorite words), selfish, or insecure. Did she have issues with sharing? Why shouldn’t they hang out with friends? In public he was all smiles and sweet affection, but when they were alone, he was full of criticism about her behavior, her choices, her work, her personality. Her way of approaching things was always wrong, his was right, and there was no room for compromise. Eventually Marlowe realized that to Kelvin, the appearance of a relationship was more important than the relationship itself.
“Every date was organized around who saw us together, not who we were with each other,” she said as she wound melted cheese around her fork. “I think I always knew it was a problem, but wewere good together in other ways, so I convinced myself the bad parts didn’t matter. Until I realized they did.”
“Because you got engaged?”
“I think so.” She used the melted cheese to pick up bits of basil and oregano, smiling to herself at Angus’s sly gambit with the inclusion of green ingredients, ones she was actually enjoying. “Once the engagement ring was on, I started picturing myself at thirty, forty, fifty, fake-smiling through parties and acting like everything was fine while growing more and more ashamed of wanting anything for myself. And then being ashamed for being ashamed since I was complicit in silencing myself.”
Angus struggled to spear a slice of tomato. The effort was cute, and it made her feel less like the one who was always dropping and spilling things around him.
“So you left?” he asked as he finally managed his task.
“I did everything at once before I could talk myself out of it. Found the apartment online, set up job interviews, and bought a plane ticket. As soon as all that was locked in, I gave back the ring and had the worst conversation of my life.ThenI left.”
They ate quietly for a moment while Marlowe realized how long she’d been talking about herself, and to a guy she didn’t even know very well.
“I can’t believe I just told you all that,” she said.
“I asked.” He scraped up the last of his omelet, unceremoniously using a finger to jam a mushroom onto his fork. “I’m getting to know who Marlowe Like the Detective is. You’re getting to know Angus Not Like the Beef. Next time we shoot a scene together, maybe we won’t look like we want to throttle each other. Besides, no one actually enjoys small talk about the weather, especially in L.A. Seventy-two and sunny. Done.”
Marlowe scanned the desert hills and the elegant mansions that perched on each outcropping, glinting in the smog-filtered sun. Angus was right. Small talk was boring. Also, having someone besides Cherry to talk to—toreallytalk to—was nice. Cherry was amazing but she was so quick to vilify Kelvin, which often made Marlowe want to defend him. The worse he seemed, the worse she felt about staying with him for so long. If Angus judged her, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even default to problem-solving or offering unsolicited advice like so many guys Marlowe knew. He simply listened.
“My turn to learn more about you,” she said. “You know, to help with that throttling problem you mentioned.”
