Page 53 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“What if I can’t make the words sound real?”
“Just do your best. No one expects perfection on the first take, and editors can work wonders, though don’t tell them I told you to rely on their mastery.” He touched up a smudged spot at the corner of her eye before immersing her in a mist of setting spray.
Cherry came by a few minutes later to ensure Marlowe was in costume and ready to go. Babs even peeked in this time and double-checked everything: the lapel line on the uniform, the roll of the ankle socks, the length of the chain that held the wedding ring, the placement of the freckle on Marlowe’s ear. In true form, once she’d approved Marlowe’s look, she noted that Marloweshould start the next round of returns first thing tomorrow morning. The invoices were also stacking up and Elaine needed a hand organizing next week’s background costumes. And by the way, the wedding gown would be ready to pick up next Tuesday. Marlowe might’ve imagined it, but she swore Babs hid a smile as she doled out this last errand. The fitting at Hattie’s had lasted for over eight hours. Marlowe had tried on more than thirty gowns, but when she exited the dressing room in the right one, everybody knew. Andeverybodysmiled. Even Babs. Even Marlowe.
While she waited to be called to set, she checked her phone. Thankfully, Kelvin hadn’t replied. The only new text was on the group thread with her friends. It readTell your new boyfriend hi from us, along with a link to a YouTube montage of shots in which Jake Hatchet took off his shirt, dropped his jeans, or otherwise stripped down during one of his many sex scenes. Marlowe had forgotten how often Angus took off his clothes for the show, though he never went full frontal. She inched her thumb toward the exit button but she decided the video was useful as research. If another director asked her to imagine tearing off Angus’s clothes, she should make that image as vivid as possible. Also…
Did he really ask me out?she thought for the millionth time now.And did I really say no?
Angus was already on set when Marlowe was finally escorted there by one of the ADs. The crew had captured the necessary interior shots last week, including a quick interchange in which Adelaide responded to Jake’s recognition by scurrying out of the building. Today they were filming the exterior behind the diner. Angus was chatting with Fritz, the episode director, a guy in his midforties with a soul patch and an unruly mop of black hair. While Fritz made a series of sharp gesticulations, Angus ran a handover his chin and nodded. His hair looked brighter than usual today, painted by morning sunshine that flickered through nearby palm fronds. In some moments, his hair looked more like caramel. In others it was closer to cinnamon, though neither descriptor seemed accurate.
Marlowe gave up speculating when Fritz beckoned her over. She approached cautiously, uncertain if the weekend had created any awkwardness. To her relief, Angus greeted her warmly while Fritz barely snuck in ahellobefore leaping straight to business.
“We’re going to try shooting the scene in order. Give you a chance to build a connection. Wes’s idea, since you’re new to all this.” He tipped his chin at a group of people clustered around the monitors, deeply immersed in conversation. Among those present was Wes, in his flannel shirt and Oakland A’s cap. While Fritz was responsible for directing the episode, the show was and always had been Wes’s baby. “Once we have a full take that works, we’ll break the scene into smaller sections and also reset for alternate angles.” He looked to Marlowe.
She nodded, tucking her hands into her pockets so she wouldn’t chew on her nails and ruin the continuity. Ten seconds on set and she was already sweating buckets. As if sensing her anxiety, Angus set a calming hand on her lower back.
Fritz clapped his hands together in response. “Oh, good. You’re already comfortable with each other. That’ll help. Should we do a dry run?”
Marlowe nodded as she glanced around at the flurry of activity that surrounded her: camera operators, sound guys, grips, Maria with her script in hand, ADs in headsets, Babs, Wes and his colleagues, hair and makeup people, set decorators. The list went on and on, and every person present would be waiting for her to getthe scene right. The scale of it all gave her a whole new respect for the actors. The pressure was insane.
Fritz led Marlowe to a stack of milk crates that’d been carefully painted to look dingy. Trash and cigarette butts speckled the ground while an upturned oil drum served as a side table with a rolled-up magazine and the leftovers from someone’s fake lunch.
“Adelaide, you’re already here, having escaped the diner after realizing that Jake recognized you.” Fritz gestured at the crates. Marlowe took a seat and faced the direction he indicated. “Also, if you sit, we don’t have to put Angus on an apple box.”
“What’s an apple box?” Marlowe asked.
Angus laughed as he sauntered over. “I’m too short to fit the acceptable model of manhood. Bane of my career. They like to give me something to stand on.”
Marlowe couldn’t help but smile at that. With the height of her perch, she was about eye level with Angus’s chin, a clever way to make him appear taller than she was on screen, especially in close-ups. What a weird world, where she couldn’t be filmed without hours of plucking and padding, and where he needed a booster box or a deliberately seated costar.
Fritz framed the two of them, making L shapes with his thumbs and forefingers.
“Remember, Adelaide, your goal is to get through this conversation without becoming attached. You want to put your tie to Jake behind you. Jake, you’ve been waiting for this moment for over a decade. You’ll do anything for another chance. You’re both private people, so you don’t come out and say all of that, but we have to feel it.” Fritz talked through the blocking, including the path of Jake’s entrance at the start of the scene and Adelaide’s exit at the end. They discussed a few nuances in the dialogue. Then Fritz left the pair alone for a moment as he checked in with his crew.
Angus stepped in front of Marlowe, gripping her gently by the shoulders.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“If one step away from a panic attack is considered okay.”
“It’s better than no steps.” He massaged her shoulders as she tried to exhale her stress. “The trick is to forget all of these people. Use whatever feels real for you. Pretend I’m your ex if it helps. Or think of me as the asshole who opened your life up to a media frenzy because he didn’t keep his hands off you at a club.”
She smiled a little at the memory of their dance, but her joy quickly faded, smothered by the disappointment that their dance wouldn’t lead to anything more, though that disappointment was smothered by the near-panic that kept creeping in.
“What will you be thinking?” she asked.
“Exactly what Fritz said. That I’ll do anything for another chance.” He snuck her a hint of a smile before moving his hands to the back of her neck.
She let her head drop forward to give him more room. His thumbs pressed along either side of her spine, slow and deliberate. He was such a calming presence, so solid and steady and confident. Also, his dark jeans fit him really well, slung low on his hips with a thin gray T-shirt that barely lapped the waistband. She shouldn’t be staring at his jeans from this particular angle, but that video montage was fresh in her mind. Then again, so was the LACMA benefit she wouldn’t attend with him, and the feel of vanilla shake sliding down her face and neck, and all of those ugly words…
Her thoughts broke off as Fritz started the rehearsal. They ran the scene while he observed, consulting with Wes and making adjustments before running it again. When they had a shape everyone was happy with, the crew set up to record.
“Remember,” Angus said as he gave Marlowe’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Forget all of these people. No one else is here. Just you and me. Fighting over that second chance.” He waited for her nod. Then he returned it and ducked out of sight.
Despite his advice about forgetting the people, a parade of preparation ensued. A makeup assistant powdered Marlowe’s face. Patrice from the hair department adjusted Marlowe’s ponytail and combed every last flyaway into place, with the exception of two tendrils that awaited a well-timed tuck behind her ear. Elaine checked the necklace and plucked a speck of fuzz off Marlowe’s shoulder. The director of photography held a little device in front of her face, testing light quality or something else Marlowe didn’t fully understand. Sound guys did a volume check and discussed ambient noise. A continuity monitor shifted the magazine on the oil drum. By the time everyone was ready to roll, at least thirty people had fussed with something in Marlowe’s vicinity.
Just you and me,she recited to herself.Just you and me.
