Page 69 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“Ireallydon’t want to work today.” Marlowe dropped into a chair and plunked her phone on the table. She was wearing the worn-out tank top and knit shorts she’d put on before going to bed. The shorts needed a new drawstring. The straps on the top barely hung on by a thread. Her clothes were embarrassing but the- matically appropriate, which at least appeased her costume designer brain. “Can’t someone else do the shopping?”
“Not someone with your design eye.” Cherry popped the tops off the coffees and set the cups on the table, deliberately putting space between the cups and Marlowe’s phone, as if she sensed that Marlowe’s accident-prone tendencies might be especially acute at present. “You have to rally. A, I’m not letting Babs down when I still need her to recommend me for a design gig. B, that guy has sucked enough of your time and energy. So until I know you’re really okay, I’m going to distract the shit out of you.”
Marlowe tried to laugh but her breath came out as an awkward pant/groan. While she dropped her head into her hands, embracing her lethargy, Cherry swung open the cabinet below the sink and tossed the plastic lids into the recycling bin.
“What happened to your pajamas?” She leaned closer to the trash can. “And why are they covered in syrup?”
“They were a gift from Kelvin. I threw them away last night. Then I worried I’d change my mind. It was either syrup or hot sauce. The syrup was less gruesome.”
“Makes perfect sense.” Cherry sat down across from Marloweand spilled half a dozen muffins onto the table. “I didn’t know what kind you liked so I got one of each.”
“Thanks. You’re a good friend. You know that?”
“Yeah, but it never hurts to hear it.”
Cherry opened the button on her suit jacket and sat back with her coffee. She looked effortlessly stylish, as always, as if she’d tossed on a random tee, jacket, jeans, and pair of chunky boots and they all happened to work great together. Today’s shirt said simplySIT ON THISabove a cartoon drawing of a basic wooden chair. Her sleek black topknot spiked upward in a way that suited her energy. Marlowe’s topknot was also oddly appropriate, drooping sideways as it succumbed to gravity and extreme pathos.
She reached for the least bran-like muffin and picked at it while answering Cherry’s questions about last night’s conversation. Cherry was predictably quick to vilify Kelvin, but Marlowe took a more tempered view of her relationship. She knew her insecurities had played a role in establishing unhealthy patterns, even if Kelvin was at fault for exploiting those insecurities, both knowingly and unknowingly.
“A lot of the time I think I was avoiding criticism,” she said. “I don’t know why it gets to me so badly, or why I let other people’s opinions make me feel like a failure, but the avoidance is a problem. It made me leave my career in New York. It keeps me distant from both of my parents. It didn’t do my last relationship any favors.”It’s also affecting my chance at a new relationship,she thought, but she kept it to herself.
“Everyone hates criticism,” Cherry said. “We find different ways to manage it, but that whole ‘Don’t worry what other people think’ idea is bullshit. If we didn’t care what other people thought, we’d be sociopaths. You know, like Bench Boy.”
Marlowe rolled her eyes but inwardly she appreciated Cherry’s staunch support.
“He’s not a sociopath,” she said. “And his name is Kelvin.”
“Whatever. I’m proud of you for pouring syrup on his pants.” Cherry polished off the last of her coffee as quickly as ever while Marlowe continued waiting for hers to cool. “You know you’re better off without him, right?”
“We’re better off without each other.” Marlowe scooped up the crumbs that now covered the tabletop. She’d decimated her muffin during the conversation, though very little of it found its way to her mouth. “He was predisposed to assume he deserved more. I was predisposed to assume I deserved less. We were doomed from the outset.”
As Marlowe got up and dumped her crumbs into the trash, she thought about all the things she hadn’t said last night, like how much she’d missed Kelvin and how often she thought of him. She didn’t want to give him any mixed messages. Her mixed feelings weren’t as easily controlled. Despite what she’d just said to Cherry, a part of her might always wonder if she and Kelvin could’ve built a healthy relationship if either of them had handled things differently early on. Fortunately it was a small part, and one that seemed likely to continue diminishing in days to come.
“You going to be okay?” Cherry asked from the table.
“Yeah,” Marlowe pushed through a sigh. “I just need some time to shake off the ick factor.” She shut the cabinet door, only now noticing that she’d been staring at the syrup-soaked pajama pants. “I always wanted to be one of those girls who could flick away a problem and strut off with the perfect mic-dropping quip. No mess. No regrets.”
Cherry huffed out a laugh. “That girl doesn’t exist outside themovies. She’s as fake as your padded butt and bra. Merely aspirational. And deeply annoying.”
Marlowe smiled as a warm bubble of gratitude burst in her chest. No matter what happened over the next few months—with her career, location, or love life—she was grateful for her time in L.A. After all, it’d given her one of the best friendships of her life.
As she savored that thought, Cherry’s phone pinged.
“It’s the boss. Adding to the shopping list. Thank god she can’t track this phone.”
Marlowe washed her sticky hands while Cherry manically fired off a text.
“Why do you think she hasn’t recommended you for a design job yet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the right job hasn’t come up.” Cherry pocketed her phone and helped tidy, tossing the extra muffins into their bag. “More likely she’s avoiding competition. You’ve seen how she punishes you whenever Angus dares to spare a smile in your direction, and she clearly has lingering—and understandable—resentment from her divorce. She doesn’t like the idea that anyone else might have something she wants.” Cherry put the muffins in Marlowe’s otherwise-empty fridge, pausing to look deeper into the recesses, as if something besides condimentshadto be in there somewhere.
Marlowe wiped down the table, picturing a less jaded, less self-protective Babs while hoping her own relationship scars wouldn’t harden her to the same degree.
“Resenting someone else’s potential success is kind of sad,” she said.
“Sad but common.” Cherry shut the fridge with a bump of her hip. “This business is rife with territorialism. Everyone’s afraid ofhanding off a job. You never know which one’s going to lead to the next big-budget superhero film or epic period drama. It sucks, but I’d be pissed, too, if my assistant went on to create the next massive fantasy franchise while I was designing my umpteenth season ofHeart’s Kill-Me-Now Diner.”
“Makes sense, I guess. The New York theater scene was the same. I knew designers who’d take on way more work than they could handle, farm it out to an army of assistants, keep the design credits for themselves, and openly boast about how that method kept competition minimal.” Marlowe rinsed out her washcloth while wondering if theater or film was more cutthroat, or if every freelance industry had similar issues. “Speaking of the New York theater scene, I had a job interview yesterday.”
