Page 59 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
As the door closed, Marlowe pulled out the Achebe script and thumbed through the pages. Words and phrases flashed by, already embedding themselves in her memory. She grabbed a pen, marking key passages the way she used to when she was preparing for conversations with directors and design teams.A bedraggled hem, torn and knotted over a century of sleepless nights. A deep blue sadness. Plague-pocked. She carries her voice in her hands.The more she read, the more her excitement built. She couldn’t run errands indefinitely, nor could she engage in costume work that prioritized brand recognition over character and story. Not if she could use her voice as a storyteller, telling the sorts of stories that might make fewer girls like her question the value of their desires, their ambitions, and their impulses, defaulting to a position of getting small.
She texted Chloe to let her know she loved the script and she hoped the director would call soon to chat about possibilities. Chloe replied right away with a stream of party emoticons and her usual run of exclamation points. Her excitement was infectious, even in text form, making Marlowe that much more anxious to return to New York.
She was packing up to head home a few minutes later when her phone buzzed.
Angus: You doing ok?
Marlowe: Yeah. Thanks for the support today
Angus: You rocked it. Hardest part’s over now
Marlowe: That’s what people always say before an even bigger challenge arises
Angus: Nah. Next time no one will tell you to kiss me
Marlowe stared at the text, not entirely loving the way it sounded in her mind. Granted, after the first few takes that day, she understood why Angus thought about kissing as basic blocking, nothing more. They shot in quick beats that lacked the emotional build of the longer takes. The cameras and crew felt more present. Fritz’s direction stifled any personal instincts, smothering them with reminders to tilt her head at a certain angle or push away from Angus at a precise moment. And yet…
She could still feel the echo of Angus’s hands gripping her hips, the sheer solidity of his body planted so near hers, the softness of his hair sliding between her fingers, the warmth and pressure of his lips against hers, the sparking sensation when their tongues touched or he let out a little moan of pleasure that made her want to—
Her phone buzzed again.
Angus: You going out to celebrate?
Marlowe: Just me and the owls
Angus: Did you kick out the dead yak?
Marlowe: Forgot about him. Also, I live across the street from dead people
Angus: Ok. Now I’m intrigued
Something fluttered in Marlowe’s gut. Was he fishing for an invite? Did she want to make one? It wouldn’t be a date. Just a bit of friendly companionship. They could order takeout. Watch TV. Make her apartment feel less like a pit of existential dread.
Marlowe: Know any resuscitation spells?
Angus: I once revived a dying houseplant
Marlowe: Would your tactics work on the yak?
Angus: I’m not opposed to trying
Okay. Definitely fishing for an invite…
Marlowe: Think you’d be followed?
Angus: I have a stealth car
Marlowe: Batmobile?
Angus: Super boring ten-year-old gray sedan. Hasn’t been washed in forever. Family decals on the back window. Two moms, three kids, and a dog. Not sure why I picked those. Though I’ve always wanted a dog
Marlowe: You can’t get a dog. You’d feed it spring rolls
Angus: Only when it looked hungry
Marlowe: Exactly
Marlowe stared at the screen, wondering if she was asking for trouble.
