Page 50 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“I went straight to her place after work Saturday night. I couldn’t stay away. Yesterday we lounged around in bed most of the day. Soapy binging on Netflix. Ice cream.Lotsof fooling around. Total heaven.” Cherry stumbled again and paused to check her clothes for coffee damage. She was in her usual skinny black jeans and black designer jacket, but her baby-blue T-shirt added a pop of color. Puffy letters readUNICORNS ONLY POOP RAINBOWS IF THEY EAT LEPRECHAUNS.It was one of Marlowe’s favorites, though she couldn’t say why. “What did you do on your day off?”
“Um…” Marlowe sniffed her coffee, buying a second to decide how much to divulge. Cherry had always been so anti-Angus, and Marlowe didn’t really want to get into it. “Nothing exciting. Laundry, of course. I finally got my landlord to fix the broken plumbing. And I had the usualYes, Mom and Dad, I’m failing as an adulttalks.”
“Do they know about your role on the show?”
“God, no.” Marlowe snorted out a laugh as she pictured the conversation. “Even if I hadn’t signed an NDA, my mom would leap to inquiries about income management or how the choice might impact potential progress with my career. My dad would question the societal value of the enterprise. I was lucky he even fit me in yesterday. He had to squeeze me between a meeting with his lab and a conference call with development teams in France and India. At least he only had fifteen minutes to question my life choices. My mom ran the full gamut. Career. Health. Finances. Social life. Love life.”
“Guess that means she didn’t see the dirt about you and Red MacMuscles.”
Marlowe felt a prickle of defensiveness for Angus but she shook it off.
“My parents don’t follow celebrity gossip,” she said. “Their intellectual elitism often annoys me, but this week, it’s helpful. What they don’t know can’t hurt me.”
“Boy, I know that feeling.” Cherry edged out of the way of two girls wheeling a rack of coveralls and a guy driving a golf cart full of plastic flamingos. As the sidewalk cleared, she elbowed Marlowe. “That club photo, though? Smoking. You should send it to Bench Boy. Hashtag yes I can do better, you presumptuous toad.”
“Presumptuous toad?”
“I kind of ran out of steam there, but you get my point.” Cherry tossed back a long gulp of coffee. Marlowe never knew how she did it. The coffee was always scalding for at least ten minutes. “Seriously. You got shat on by the Tanagus fan club this weekend. Might as well use the prime gloat-to-your-ex material you got handed.”
Marlowe considered the idea, but not for long.
“I can’t,” she said. “It feels weird. If I’m worth missing, I’m worth it when I’m on my own. Not because someone famous is willing to smile at me.”
“More than smile at you.” Cherry waggled her slender brows. “If you can bring that much heat to the diner, Wes will write you into more than a weepy wedding scene.” She laughed as if both impressed and amused, but Marlowe trudged along, unsmiling.
Did Angus really ask me out?she thought again.Did I really say no?
“Do you think Babs saw the article?” she asked.
“We’ll know soon enough.” Cherry tipped her chin toward the nearby parking lot. Between two rows of rust-free convertibles and SUVs, Babs flung out an arm to lock her car while marching toward the wardrobe building, her arms laden with shopping bags. “The militant stride says yes, but she’s not stress-eating yet, so maybe not?”
Marlowe and Cherry gave Babs a solid head start before they followed her to the main wardrobe office. Elaine was calmly typing away at her computer, dressed in an orange shirt so vivid even a crossing guard would’ve squinted. On the other side of the room, wearing an immaculate silk pantsuit, Babs crunched her way through a packet of sunflower seeds while manically flipping magazine pages on a gently faded sofa. Each page snapped as she turned it. Then she licked her thumb and yanked the next one over. Judging by the number of sunflower seed shells that were already accumulating, Babs had seen—or at least gotten wind of—the gossip about Marlowe and Angus.
She looked up and spotted the girls entering. With a momentary arch of an ebony eyebrow, she continued torturing the magazine. Marlowe exchanged a wary look with Cherry before easing into “How was your weekend” small talk with Elaine. While Elaine recounted a cute story about her kids, Cherry joined Babs on the sofa.
“How soon do fittings start?” she asked. “Are we still prepping the classroom scenes this morning or did they shift the shoot schedule again?”
“We’re on schedule,” Elaine called over from her desk. “But we got the script changes for next week. I’m running fittings today. You three have a more exciting task.”
Babs quietly harrumphed as she thwacked another page into position.
Cherry cautiously peered over Babs’s shoulder. “Wedding gowns?”
“Given more notice, we could’ve set up appointments at Dior, Givenchy, Vera Wang, Elie Saab. Better yet, we could’ve ordered something custom. Mask all those figure flaws.” Babs flapped animpatient hand at Marlowe. “With this new church scene shooting next week, we should probably cut our losses and head straight to Hattie’s.”
Cherry grinned at Marlowe, her lash extensions fluttering with excitement.
“Hattie’s?” Marlowe gasped out, knowing it to be one of the most expensive and exclusive bridal outlets in town. “Are you sure that’s necessary? For a waitress?”
Babs lowered the magazine, glaring at Marlowe the way someone might peer over the top rim of their glasses, only Babs didn’t wear glasses. Just pure annoyance.
“It’s the season finale, for heaven’s sake, possibly the end of the entire run. Your little character may be a virtually nameless plot device, but audiences will tune in by the droves to find out about Jake. I can’t toss you into a polyester meringue with a scrap of cheap tat at the neckline.” She pursed her lips and puffed out a breath through her nose. “If we get the look right, everyone will talk about it, cover it, copy it. You’re no Meghan Markle, but I’ll work with what I’ve got.” She bit into another sunflower seed and extracted the shell with her deep maroon fingernails. When Marlowe continued to gape, newly freaked out about how much attention her scene could get, Babs nudged a nearby shopping bag with her toe. “No point just standing there. You might as well get these clothes hung up. But don’t assume you’re getting paid as a PA for today.”
An hour later, Marlowe was parked on a plush loveseat at Hattie’s, sorting Babs’s latest receipts and staying out of the way while Cherry trailed Babs through the boutique, closely shadowed by a trio of impeccably polite saleswomen. Cherry mostly served as asounding board for Babs’s opinions, displaying a shrewd ability to gauge when her input might or might not be welcome. She also had a good eye for fit and proportion. She really did deserve a chance to be a designer in her own right, rather than continuing on as Babs’s assistant year after year, but the more Marlowe learned about the workings of the film industry, the less likely it seemed that Babs would be the source of Cherry’s big break. It wasn’t impossible, but giving an assistant a leg up turned that assistant into direct competition. Thus far Babs hadn’t demonstrated much patience for competitors.
As she made her selections, the saleswomen carried them into a large and elegantly decorated fitting room. Marlowe tried to focus on the paperwork Babs had dumped in her lap, but she kept getting distracted by passing swaths of white and ivory. Since audiences wouldn’t get a glimpse of the wedding, Babs had to pack the spectacle into a single gown. It was the sort of design challenge Marlowe used to love. How could she tell a full story with a single costume? What did the dress say about the world behind the church doors? About the bride? About the groom the audience would never meet? About the life that lay behind the couple, and the one that lay ahead? Babs didn’t seem to be asking these questions. She wanted something enviably stylish with a lot of “wow factor.” Even better if the label could lead to promotional opportunities.
With the first round of selections made, a saleswoman hooked Marlowe into a corset-like bustier. She assessed the fit before handing off four silicone pouches disgustingly but appropriately referred to in the industry as chicken cutlets. Marlowe had always been thin—not surprising since she’d been raised to not actually enjoy food—but the bustier reduced her figure to a size two. Everyone but her seemed elated about this fact, especially once she installedher fake boobs. Yet again, she questioned the notion of staying in L.A. any longer than necessary. Of course, New York had its own pressures about appearances, but at least she could hide her lack of muscle definition in baggy sweaters nine months out of the year. She could also order from menus that weren’t half vegan.
