Marnie
We need to talk. Where are you?
The film was premiering tonight, and Ben was well aware of that.
Just like he knew that, once the whole cast was ushered up the steps and into the Grand Théatre Lumière, there wasn’t much for me to do.
I hadn’t even checked whether there might be an empty seat so I could finally see the movie I talked about all day.
I wasn’t here to soak in Cannes. I was here to do my job and snag that promotion Carmen and I had been discussing for weeks.
But Ben needed me and that was that. He was waiting for me on a street bench, about ten minutes’ walk from the Palais des Festivals. As soon as I saw him, the look on his face gave me chills.
“I know you’re working and Carmen’s probably going to call you ten times,” he blurted out right away. “But please, let’s go eat and talk, okay?”
I felt my blood pressure drop. When people want to talk about good things, they just do. They don’t announce it in advance. They don’t warn you or hunt you down during your work day.
Ben had already found a restaurant, correctly guessing that I hadn’t had dinner. He gently pressed against my lower back as we arrived at the cozy terrace. It was tucked under a blue and white striped awning with single sunflowers in tiny vases adorning each table.
We sat down and accepted the menus that were handed to us.
Ben studied the wine selection. “How do you feel about rosé?”
He rolled the R as best as he could, trying to pronounce it the French way.
“Great.” I glanced down at the menu. “Why don’t you just order for us? You know what I like.”
Our server came back and Ben ordered in what sounded like near-perfect French.
For a moment I forgot everything and filled with pride, watching him.
His killer smile always did it for me. I knew very little about the early years of my parents’ relationships, but I couldn’t imagine they’d ever been this good together.
There was no way a solid, loving relationship could crumble to the point of such nasty indifference.
Our rosé arrived and Ben clinked his glass to mine. “To us!”
I followed along, but I was waiting for my life to blow up in my face. The suspense was unbearable.
“So good,” he added after taking a sip, pleased with his choice of wine.
“You said you wanted to talk.”
“Right. First, I’m so proud of you, Marnie.
You’re working on one of the biggest movies of the year.
You have connections to people like Odetta Olson.
I know Carmen rides you hard, but she couldn’t do it without you.
I still can’t believe she didn’t give you those contacts. You asked her weeks ago.”
Did he know already? Maybe he’d bumped into Carmen and the whole thing had come out. And now he was waiting for me to fess up. Our appetizers arrived, a salad of grilled zucchini, confit red peppers and mesclun salad, and sea bass ceviche, to share.
“Carmen’s been so busy preparing for Cannes. I can’t really talk to her about anything right now.”
Ben took a bite, then put his fork down.
“Harper said I should do anything to push things along. It’s such a competitive field and I’ve been trying for so long.”
“I know.”
Ben had waited until three months into our relationship to ask me to read one of his screenplays.
It was a big deal for him; he was opening up a piece of his heart to me.
I saw it as a privilege, and I was so sure I would love his story.
My amazing boyfriend had to have the talent to pursue anything he desired.
After I’d finished the first one, I figured I didn’t know how to recognize a good screenplay.
Maybe it was too out there for me. So I’d asked to read more.
And more. Ben had a whole digital drawer full of them.
And then I downloaded screenplays from other writers, so I could form an educated opinion.
And, well, you know what that opinion turned out to be. Ben was bad. Just plain bad.
“You know I’m never going to give up, right? I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Of course,” I said between mouthfuls.
All along, I’d never stopped longing for the day Ben would come to his senses.
He loved to watch his 401(k) grow and religiously updated the amount in his income spreadsheet, as his father had taught him.
Ben wasn’t an artist. I was pretty sure his parents knew that, which was why his dad had pulled strings to get him that copywriting job.
Ben took a sip of his rosé.
“Shit, why is this so hard?” he muttered under his breath.
“Of course it’s hard,” I started. “Not everybody can handle the artist’s life.”
“That’s not what I mean. What’s hard is that I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to freak out. So here goes. There was a round of layoffs at work. The company is struggling.”
There was an awkward silence as a server came to clear our appetizers and another delivered our mains, grilled salmon over wild rice for me and steak and fries for him. Ben knew my taste well, but I’d lost my appetite.
“When?” I asked.
He wouldn’t look at me. “A month ago.”
My feelings ping-ponged between annoyance and relief, back and forth on an endless loop. This explained a lot. Why Ben had been so aloof recently. Why he could take the time off to come to Cannes at the last minute. I wanted to be mad at him for hiding it from me, but I was not one to talk.
“It’s their loss. You’ll find something else in no time.”
Ben slowly swallowed his last bite.
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to find something else. Now that I’m working with Harper—”
I couldn’t help but raise my voice. “You met her yesterday!”
“This is my big chance. I know you’ll see that one day. You’ll understand.”
I cleared my throat. I already felt like an asshole, and I hadn’t even asked the question burning my lips yet.
“Do your parents know about this? Will they help?”
Ben pushed the side of his cheek with his tongue. “I have some savings, and our rent is doable on your salary, once you get that pay rise.”
He paused, probably because he saw the look of horror on my face.
We’d moved in together over a year ago, and I loved our modern one-bedroom apartment in Venice Beach.
Most of our furniture wasn’t even thrifted.
I was so proud of our little nest, how cozy we’d made it.
It was a lot more than many twenty-somethings could claim.
More than I thought I’d ever have at this age.
And now Ben wanted to throw it all away?
“I don’t think I can support us both financially, even if I get that pay raise. We worked so hard to build the life we have—”
“I’m going to make it, Marnie. This is my moment. Just trust me, okay?”
There was nothing more to say. Ben made a show of putting dinner on his credit card—his treat!
—and suggested we take a detour to walk along the promenade.
My phone had been silent the whole time, and I texted Carmen to check in as we left the restaurant.
There was a Q&A after the movie, which should be happening about now.
Part of me hoped Carmen would summon me back to her so I had an excuse to walk away from whatever had just happened, but she only sent back a thumbs-up emoji.
So Ben and I walked, hand in hand, wind in our hair. He was humming a song that had played at the restaurant. Look at us, young and in love in the South of France.
Inside, I was freaking out. I didn’t care about Ben’s family being well-off.
I would make my own money and live my own life, thank you very much.
But I never expected I’d have to support him.
I thought we wanted the same things. In a few years we might have enough savings for a down payment on a nice little house.
We’d get a large table to host dinner parties and wouldn’t always buy the cheapest wine.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ben said, breaking a long silence.
Seagulls flew overhead. A session of Cinéma Plages on the beach had just ended, and people talked about the film as they filed out onto the promenade.
I managed a weak smile. “What are you thinking?”
“We could honeymoon here.”
It was Ben who’d first brought up talk of marriage a few months ago. His sister was planning her own wedding, so the topic came up naturally. We didn’t want to wait too long. It would be nice to have our first child in our early thirties.
“Yeah, a French honeymoon would be nice.”
Ben wrapped me in his arms and kissed me.
“I’m not asking you to support me for long.”
He hadn’t asked at all.
“Uh-huh.”
“If you think about it, losing my job is the best thing that could happen to me. Now I have all this free time to dedicate myself to my real career.”
I’d encouraged this. I’d lied to him for years, gushing over his talent, swearing I couldn’t wait to see his stories on the big screen. I figured he’d get it out of his system eventually.
I figured I’d do that, too.
Here comes the part about me being a liar and a cheater. Behind my boyfriend’s back, I had also been working on a screenplay. And contrary to him, I was good at it. Really good.
It had started when I’d read his latest script, about two hit men on the run from a third one, with no one really sure who’s supposed to kill whom. Suspense and hilarity ensued. Or at least, they were supposed to.
The plot made no sense and it was deeply unfunny. I’m pretty sure it was his worst effort yet. So of course I gushed about how brilliant he was, and then fought the urge to take a shower so I could wash the greasy betrayal off me.
That night, as I drifted off to sleep, I had the idea of a vengeful mistress who kills her lover and then does everything she can to make him appear still alive to the outside world, devastated by regrets over her rash action.
When I woke up, I was intrigued enough that I wrote about it in my notes app.
It was the first creative thing I’d written since that class where I’d met Ben. Carmen always said I was good at crafting stories, so I was in charge of writing press releases, but I hadn’t done much beyond that.
Over the next few days, I fleshed out my idea.
Just for fun. I caught myself daydreaming about the characters, their goals and motivations.
Scenes started playing out in my head. I told myself I was only trying to understand what Ben was going through.
If I knew firsthand how hard it was to write a good screenplay, I could be even more supportive.
I wrote a few pages, and then more. I couldn’t believe the kick I got out of it, seeing the page number go up on my screen, until I typed THE END.
I was loving it: the process and the finished work.
And I was terrified. This was Ben’s talent.
Ben’s dream. Ben’s lifelong pursuit. He would feel so hurt if he knew what I was doing.
Ben had received yet another round of rejections from agents, and he was so dejected about it. One morning, I heard him crying in the shower. I thought about deleting the file from my computer but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I saved it under a made-up name, in a folder marked Admin.
That was around the time Ben begged me to ask Carmen if she had any contacts who could help. It was a huge favor, but I did what he wanted me to do, because that’s the kind of girlfriend I am. Or was. I never expected Carmen to follow through.
These are old friends and important people, Carmen had said. Tell Golden Boy not to embarrass me.
She’d laughed but the message was clear.
I could have deleted the contacts. I could have done anything but what I actually did, which was to send them my screenplay instead.
I was curious, okay? One of them emailed me back within days: She loved it.
It was the best thing she’d read in a long while and her team agreed.
She wanted to discuss it with me, as soon as possible.
I hadn’t responded to that email or any of the ones that followed, because I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ben that I might achieve, in a few short months, what he’d desperately attempted to for years.
It would break him. He would never forgive me, not even now that this Harper girl swore he was on the cusp of making it. Whatever her deal was, I knew it would end badly. I’d been there every time Ben’s hopes had been crushed, and it wasn’t pretty.
But now, it was a hundred times worse. I’d betrayed my loving boyfriend. I’d lied to him. I’d cheated on him with his first love.
If he found out, it would destroy us.
I understood all of this very clearly.
So I would keep ignoring the producer’s emails. I would make sure Ben never found out I got Carmen’s contacts. I would force myself to stop wondering whether I was throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime.
Because I already had a great life.
What I didn’t see, as Ben kissed me good night, was that it was already collapsing around me. And instead of trying to salvage what I could, I went along on my merry way, screwing it all up for good.