Page 8 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“Scalded?”
“The coffee was hot, okay?”
“Like, sunburn hot or cozy-tub-water hot?”
“It was”—his lips twitched as his eyes narrowed—“inconvenient.”
Marlowe forced herself to take a slow breath. People were watching them. That wasn’t good. Especially after what Cherry had said about job security in the industry.
“Generally speaking,” she said, lowering her tone this time, “an apology is considered acceptable recompense for an inconvenience.”
“Generally speaking.” Finally,finallyhis lips tipped up in what could almost be called a smile. The hint of amusement in his eyes had taken so long to emerge it only increased her irritation. He didn’t seemto notice. He just amped up the swagger, crossing his arms and shaking his head at her. “You know, you have a lot of attitude for a PA.”
“Maybe, but I think it’s spot-on for a helper girl.” With that, she turned and walked away, even if it meant an AD had to track her down and put her back in position.
Cherry was right. Arguing with an actor was a dumb idea. Angus’s derisive remarks weren’t even that bad, and Marlowe was no stranger to contempt. Her mom was constantly sending her motivational articles and picking at her for not being more aggressive with her career. Her dad could dole out shame with the best of them as a cancer researcher who liked to remind her that shopping for shoes all day was a hobby, not a job. She’d also heard far worse from Babs. So what if Angus thought she was worthless? But Marlowe had spent the last three years with a guy who made her question her worth and she was really,reallytired of it. She was also tired of all the ways so many guys assumed they had a right to attention, jobs, money, praise, love, respect, and admiration, while most of the women she knew struggled to feel like they’d earned a good burger.
An AD soon wrangled everyone on set. Angus and three of his female costars sat in a corner booth with the dozen or so background players scattered throughout the diner, fake-eating. In the scene, Angus’s character, Jake Hatchet, discussed his numerous failed relationships while his friends teased him about how he was too busy chasing an elusive ideal to accept anything real. He stuck to his principles—a character trademark—declaring he’d know what he wanted when he saw it. Marlowe stepped into frame and poured the coffee, allowing a perfect pause for a few subtext-laden looks between Jake and the girls. Then they carried on with their conversation while she walked away.
The shot took twelve takes to get right. First Angus’s gaze lingered too long on one actress, then on another, with Lex trying to build the perfect amount of suspense about which girl he might pursue over the course of the season. Twelve takes meant Marlowe had to pour his coffee twelve times, which also meant feeling Angus’s eyes on her twelve times, watching her hands as if waiting for an inevitable spill, or watching her face as if still wondering where she’d picked up her “attitude.” She told herself to think of him as a cardboard cutout, to release the resentment she’d built up that morning, to focus on the coffeepot and the quartet of mugs on the table, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze crept to his. As she caught him studying her, weighing her value, she imagined pouring something besides room-temperature soda into his lap. Something that might not create the perfect photo op for his zillions of followers. Something that might sting,justa little.
The scene complete, Marlowe remained on set so she was available for two more quick shots: a menu drop-off that took three takes and an arrival with an order pad that took seven. The number of takes, even for such simple moments, gave her pause. She had it easy. She only had to walk from point A to point B with a designated prop. The cast had to re-create the tension and humor every time, building her respect for them not just as pretty faces and walking fashion plates, but as skilled workers, an assessment she even applied to Angus. He might be a frontrunner for president of the Entitled Egomaniac’s Society, but he was a good actor, and she could give credit where credit was due.
Between setups, Marlowe plowed through Babs’s paperwork, or rather, she tried to get through the paperwork but she was battling a growing awareness that Angus kept staring at her. The attention grated on her nerves. She didn’t understand it. He wasn’t sneakingflirty glances or trying to catch her eye or doing anything to indicate the slightest hint of attraction. Her best guess was that he was sizing her up, using the information to tweak his definition of “someone like you.” God, that was an awful phrase, so innocuous on the surface, and complimentary in the right context, but so biting with even the slightest investigation into its possible meaning. Someone ugly? Awkward? Talentless? Not worth being classified as an individual? Or just someone… less?
The requisite shots finally captured to the director’s content, Marlowe was released while the lead actors remained for close-ups. Babs halted her on her way to the background tent. She offered Marlowe a smattering of praise for her professionalism on set—a nice gesture since she rarely paid a compliment to anyone but the cast. Then she followed it up with a reminder that Marlowe had promised to make up the time she’d lost during her “little acting stint” by taking work home with her that night. With a smile that strained to emerge, Marlowe agreed to have everything ready by morning.
She changed into her own clothes and found Cherry at the wardrobe trailer.
“Looked like it went pretty well from where I was standing,” Cherry said.
“I guess.” Marlowe wilted into a chair, dropping the accordion folder on the counter beside her. “Everyone was really nice. Well, almost everyone.”
Cherry laughed softly. “I noticed some simmering there.”
“I can’t help it. He’s just so”—she balled up her fists—“you know?”
“Yeah. I know.” Cherry stepped up behind Marlowe, wrapping her in a loose embrace. “Don’t worry. I doubt you’ll ever need totalk to him again. I also squared away the other uniforms. They’ll be ready for pickup tomorrow morning.” Cherry straightened up and pinched her lapels, adopting a haughty air. “Miss Banks, we appreciate your commitment to prompt coffee service but consider this your notice of termination from the waitstaff at Heart’s Diner.”
“Thank god.”
Chapter Four
For the next three months, Marlowe kept her head down and did her job. As Cherry had predicted, avoiding Angus took no effort at all. Marlowe was barely on set. Babs always had a long list of errands for her to run: picking up and dropping off loaned samples at fashion houses, liaising between the crew on set and the shop personnel at headquarters, shopping for elusive bits of trimming and notions, and performing an increasing number of personal tasks Marlowe doubted were within her job description.
So far, Marlowe saw no reason to complain. She enjoyed spending a large portion of each day with her car stereo blasting and the ubiquitous L.A. sun pouring through her windshield. She even liked her car, a thirty-year-old hatchback with a mismatched fender and a peeling hood. Whoever had owned it before her had taken great pains to upgrade the sound system and no pains at all to preserve the exterior. It ran and Marlowe could afford it. It was perfect.
In the last week of August, as soon as Marlowe’s episode was streamable, she FaceTimed with her friends in New York. Chloe, Nat, and Heather gathered in their hip repurposed Williamsburg warehouse space while Marlowe stretched out in her shabby Westwoodbasement apartment. The decor was a depressing medley of beiges. The only exceptions were a rusty water stain on her living room ceiling and a chenille sofa the color of moldy pears. The most recent piece of furniture had likely been purchased around 1975 and everything smelled vaguely of feet. However, the apartment was cheap, and it came furnished. It was also across the street from the Los Angeles National Cemetery, so most of the neighbors were quiet. Since Marlowe worked fourteen-hour days and she never invited anyone over—not yet knowing anyone besides her coworkers—the apartment was adequate for her daily needs. If she decided to stay in L.A. past her year’s lease, she’d upgrade to a space with more light. She’d also buy some new furniture. She might even put up art that didn’t feature creepy owls.
With giddy anticipation and plenty of popcorn, Marlowe and her friends settled in to watch her episode, hitting play at the same time to synchronize their viewing. The action on-screen followed three interwoven plotlines. A long-term couple dealt with the aftermath of a brief affair. Another character battled extortion by an ex-lover. Angus’s character, Jake, sought revenge against a scheming woman who’d wronged his father. It was all the usual drama, which the girls accompanied with ample commentary.
When the scene in the diner finally came on, they all went quiet. Marlowe watched, her popcorn bowl tucked in her lap atop her penguin-print pajama bottoms, a gift from Kelvin she hadn’t quite talked herself into giving up. On-screen, Angus/Jake said his line about knowing what he wanted when he saw it. Marlowe stepped into view and poured the coffee. Her friends cheered through her phone but the cheering dropped off when the wide shot was followed by a close-up of Angus looking her way, burning through the screen with his intense amber eyes. Another shot followed ofMarlowe looking back at him, long and direct, the coffeepot raised and waiting. Neither look could accurately be called withering, but the sense of mutual challenge was palpable.
“What wasthat?” Chloe asked, her tone aghast.
“Did you just—?” Nat started.
“She totally did,” Heather interjected.
