Page 84 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
In mid-December, the week before Marlowe’s first official Adelaide episode was scheduled to stream, she paced the well-appointed greenroom ofThe Late Show, fanning her armpits and biting her nails, frustrated she couldn’t do both at the same time. Angus sat on an overstuffed sofa, his arm slung over the back and his feet kicked up, the picture of easy confidence. On his lap was the wire fox terrier they’d recently adopted, both enamored with his resemblance to Asta fromThe Thin Man. Neither of them had paid much attention to the film on first viewing, but it became a mutual favorite in the weeks that followed. Weeks that involved challenging conversations about travel possibilities, aligning schedules for bicoastal video calls, and missed opportunities to share key moments together, none of which was easy. But the weeks also included euphoric reunions, deep discussions about the meanings of art and image, gloriously lazy days spent in bed together, and hysterical negotiations about flying a spoiled terrier first class because leaving him in L.A. while both Marlowe and Angus were in New York was completely out of the question.
“They can edit this if I vomit or pass out, right?” Marlowe asked, still pacing.
Angus offered her a reassuring smile from his seat on the sofa, where he targeted the terrier’s sweet spot with a firm scratch behind the ears.
“Ignore the studio audience. Ignore the cameras. It’s only a conversation.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve done this a zillion times.” She spat out a sliver of fingernail, worried she was being gross, then decided she had enough worries already and let it go. Carpets were easily cleaned. Panic, not so much. “I should’ve said I couldn’t make it. I had last-minute shopping errands or Very Important meetings to attend.”
“At five in the morning?” He chuckled softly while the dog snorted as if equally amused at her suggestions. “It’s a six-minute interview segment. In and out. It’ll go by so fast, you’ll be on your way to the theater before you know it.”
“I should be there now, making sure the costumes are ready for fittings.”
“Everything was ready when you left last night. Your fittings will go great.”
“They’ll at least go better than my first live TV appearance.” Marlowe grabbed a wad of tissues and patted her armpits dry, unable to mirror Angus’s tranquility. Three months after the ambush at their picnic—three months that included regular appointments with Tanareve’s therapist—Marlowe had grown somewhat accustomed to appearing in social media posts, doing online promo forHeart’s Diner, and summoning a credible smile for paparazzi photos with Angus, but live TV provided the opportunity for a whole new level of public humiliation. “Remind me to ask Tanareve which deodorant she uses. Also, breathing exercises. Breakfast suggestions, too, like, top ten nausea-resistant foods. Maybe I should get a secondtherapist. Would that be excessive? That would probably be excessive.” She continued rambling as she tossed the tissues in a nearby wastebasket.
When she renewed her pacing, Angus stood and halted her, enveloping her in his arms with the dog wedged between them. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He simply held her while she relaxed into his embrace, burying her face against his neck.
“This is why we should’ve called him Taco,” she said.
“I still like Kale.”
“I still hope you were kidding about that.”
Angus laughed as he let the terrier lick his face. A common practice.
“Totally kidding,” he said. “This dog was destined to be a Jeeves.”
“Even though he doesn’t bark with a British accent?”
“One more visit to my parents and he’ll be barking in brogue.”
Marlowe joined his quiet laughter, grateful for the release. Over the past few months, Angus’s family had warmly welcomed Marlowe into their fold, never letting her end a visit without an armload of food and a promise to return. Marlowe’s parents had also met Angus, and vaguely disapproved of the relationship.
“Thanks for suggesting we bring him.” She gave Jeeves a scratch under his chin, making his back legs wiggle as though he was pedaling an invisible bicycle. “It helps.”
“I know.” Angus pressed his lips to her forehead, another technique that helped with her anxiety, as though he was sending his love straight to her overactive brain. As predicted, being in the public eye had gotten easier. Also as predicted, that didn’t mean it got easy. The world was full of people trying to tear others down. For anyone but the toughest of the tough, being the target of trollsand toxicity was always going to hurt. But, as Marlowe now understood, attempting to avoid mean people wasn’t an effective solution. Better to focus on not facing those people alone.
“Think they’ll let us take Jeeves on camera?” she asked.
“Probably. If you need him.”
“I didn’t mean for me.”
Angus drew back and gave her a quizzical look. Marlowe smiled as she brushed a copper-penny cowlick off his forehead, a gesture she doubted she’d ever tire of. Reaching toward him had become second nature. And he never seemed to mind.
“I have a theory I want to test,” she said.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“If you appear on national television, cooing over our dog the way you do at home, I bet someone offers you a rom-com by year’s end. A rom-com that might even involve an earnest flower seller who takes in too many stray cats.”
Angus broke into a dazzling grin, one that still took her breath away. Every time.
“I don’t know which I like better,” he said. “Your sincere investment in improving my career options or the way you just called my househome.”
Marlowe grimaced. “Is that okay? You can call my quarter of the Williamsburg apartmenthome, too. Even if I can only offer you a drawer.”
