by Jo Watson
“Shit!” Chris suddenly said loudly.
“What?” I got a fright as he said it.
“We don’t have cigarettes to smoke.”
And with that we were laughing again. “I wish we had that wedding cake, though,” I said, feeling a sudden craving for sugar.
“Your wish is my command.” Chris got up and walked over to the phone and punched some numbers in.
“Yes, reception…hi, my wife and I”—he really emphasized the word wife and winked at me—“my wife and I left our wedding cake on the beach. Would it be possible to get someone to bring it? Thank you.”
He put the phone down, jumped back onto the bed, and wrapped his arms around me in a tight bear hug.
“You meant what you said, right?” he asked. “Being in love?”
God, he was cute when he was insecure and vulnerable. “I meant every word, Chris,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.
About ten minutes later there was a knock on the door, and the ridiculous three-tiered red velvet monstrosity was wheeled in. I couldn’t help it, but as I saw it, I burst out laughing. It was so over-the-top, it was madness. What were we going to do with it?
“Come here.” Chris was standing next to the cake holding the knife. “I believe we’re supposed to cut it together.”
We held the knife and looked at each other before sliding it through the cake. Everything about this moment felt real again, and it was this time.
Chris cut a slice. “Shall we do that corny thing where we feed it to each other and then one of us smooshes it into the other person’s face?”
“No thanks.” I whipped the slice away and sank into the couch eating it.
Chris joined me. We were both still naked and I felt so comfortable with him. Usually I would have gotten a towel by now, or wrapped myself up in the sheet, for fear that when a guy saw me standing up (it’s much more flattering lying down) he may notice that a few things weren’t as gravity defiant as they should be.
We sat side by side devouring our wedding cake and holding hands.
The sugar crash was intense, and after too many slices of cake we eventually melted together onto the couch and closed our eyes. Just as I was falling into a happy madly in-love sleep, Chris whispered, “Do you want to stay fake married to me, Annie?”
I opened my eyes and looked at my hand. “We’ll have to get each other real rings then.”
“That is real.”
“What?” I popped my head up and looked at him in shock. “I mean…it’s huge. Why?”
He smiled a little smile at me as he ran his finger down my nose. “I took a chance, I guess.”
My heart burst at the realization. Chris loved me. He’d fallen for me as much as I had for him…
I was his forever girl, and I had the massive ring to prove it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I woke up the next morning and for a second, thought that everything that had transpired yesterday was some strange, bizarre dream.
But then I felt a pain in my cheek and looked down to see that I’d slept on my hand and my ring had pressed into the side of my face. I took a second to admire the ring again, knowing now that it was the real thing. It was incredible. Just so utterly different—and perfect. And beautiful.
I got up and went to the mirror, where I noted that I now had a large red heart-shaped indentation in my face, and laughed to myself.
Chris was gone and had left a little note on the table.
Dear Mrs. Christophersen,
I’ve just gone to make a phone call and I didn’t want to disturb you.
I’ll be back soon, and then I think we should have some more wild sex and cake.
Your husband, Chris
PS—You look really pretty when you sleep.
PPS—I kind of think that maybe perhaps and sort of that I might still be in love with you this morning. Or whatever!
I beamed to myself. Of all the strange and wonderful things that could have happened to me, this was right up there. To find love when I least expected it. To fall in love with the guy I was pretending to love—a guy I would never have imagined falling in love with, if I think back to that scruffy, bearded man on the beach that first day. But most of all, the strangest and most wonderful thing that could have happened to me, was to finally be the girl—the first girl—to make him fall. My mouth was dry and I was dying for a glass of water.
I walked over to the bar fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. There was another veranda attached to the room that I’d never been onto; it led into a little courtyard with an open-air shower and small garden. Oh, the many perks of the presidential suite! I walked outside. It was hot, but there was a slight breeze in the air that cooled me down.
Across the yard was a sheltered area with a table and chairs, which I made a beeline for. Chris’s laptop was on the table and I saw the familiar collection of coffee cups around it. He must have been up early writing.
Curiosity took over. We were “married” now, after all. I was sure he wouldn’t mind me looking. I opened the laptop and the screen came to life. I scrolled to the top and started reading.
My heart sank.
It plummeted.
It fell to my feet and I dropped my bottle of water.
SCENE 1
INT. BEDROOM–MORNING
We open on AMY—25, redhead, attractive—she is walking up a flight of stairs slowly, holding an expensive-looking shoe and a knife. She looks worried, frightened. We hear noises coming from the top of the stairs. AMY creeps toward the door and opens it slowly. She gasps as she sees her boyfriend TAYLOR and another woman TAMARA—25, gorgeous, Megan Fox look-alike—having sex, the kinky kind. AMY looks nauseous as she notices that he is wearing nipple clamps. The woman looks up from the sweaty sex and screams.
TAMARA: (Shocked) Oh my God. Amy.
Her boyfriend TAYLOR looks up—also shocked and frightened.
TAYLOR: (Frightened) Amy, please. Think about what you’re doing. I know it looks bad, but this isn’t the way.
AMY looks at them both, confused. Suddenly POLICE rush in and TAYLOR screams out to them.
TAYLOR: (Screaming, pointing) She’s got a knife. She’s going to kill us.
AMY looks at her hand and realizes she’s still holding the knife. She is about to open her mouth when the POLICE tackle her to the floor. The shoe breaks as she is being handcuffed.
With shaking hands, I continued to scroll down the page.
SCENE 3
INT. PRISON WAITING ROOM–DAY
AMY is pleading with TAYLOR now as he stands looking nonchalant.
AMY: But you’re supposed to be marrying me.
TAYLOR: (Confused) Um…sorry, what?
AMY: I found the receipt for the jewelry store, and we’re having dinner at our favorite restaurant tonight. You bought roses! You’re going to ask me to marry you.
TAYLOR: Oh, this is embarrassing. That receipt wasn’t for something I bought for you, and I was taking you out tonight to tell you about Tamara and me.
AMY: (Shaking head in disbelief) No you’re not. We’re getting engaged tonight.
TAYLOR: We’re not.
AMY: But…but…you’re meant to marry me. Why won’t you marry me?
My blood ran icy cold. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I had trusted Chris with one of the most embarrassing moments of my life and he’d written it down as if it was nothing. He’d used my painful story for his own gain.
I put the computer down and moved away from it. I couldn’t read another word. I knew if I did, the hurt I was feeling now would only get worse. I paced the small courtyard, passing the computer every few seconds. Who was I kidding? Of course I was going to read it.
INT. SEX SHOP–DAY
AMY is scrambling on the floor trying to pick up the vibrators that she’s knocked over. They are a strange-looking, colorful bunch. One has flashing pink lights and another is playing a reggae tune. She chases after one that seems to be crawling across th
e floor by itself.
EXT. TAYLOR HOUSE–NIGHT
AMY is staring into the kitchen window watching TAYLOR and TAMARA eating dinner together. They are laughing and flirting. Tears start streaming down AMY’S face and she falls to the ground and starts crying. She falls straight down into the rosebushes and
I stopped as bile rose up in my mouth. I hadn’t told anyone that story before. Not even my friends, and he’d taken one of the worst moments of my life and put it in a script.
SCENE 10
INT. HOTEL LOBBY–MORNING
AMY looks around nervously. She looks like she’s trying to disappear into the furniture.
CHAD: Are you sure it’s them?
AMY: No, I’m not sure. I can’t see them.
CHAD: Okay, wait here, I’ll take a photo of them.
CHAD walks off and takes photos of his surroundings. He whistles as he goes, trying to look casual. He finally gets it and returns to AMY. He shows her the picture.
AMY: (Horror) Holy crapping hell balls—it’s them. Oh my God, shit!
CHAD looks at AMY, amused. He bursts out laughing.
AMY: (Cross) Hey, this isn’t funny.
SCENE 11
INT. MASSAGE ROOM–EVENING
CHAD and AMY stand opposite each other awkwardly. They look around the room trying to avoid eye contact and CHAD clears his throat. AMY walks over to the window and looks out, before picking up a candle and smelling it. She gives a little, “Mmmm.”
CHAD: Well, this is awkward. (Beat) Okay, let’s both turn around at the same time and take them off. I won’t look. Promise.
AMY: Are you crazy? I’m not going to get half-naked with you in the same room.
CHAD: Even if I am ridiculously good-looking?
AMY looks at CHAD and rolls her eyes and then shakes her head.
CHAD: Okay, so what do you suggest then?
AMY looks at him and sighs. There is no other choice; they need to go through with this.
AMY: Fine, but if you look I swear I’m going to—
AMY stops talking; she is searching for the word.
CHAD: Going to do what?
AMY: I don’t know. But I promise you it will be painful. And hard.
I could feel the sweat starting to form on my forehead and the nausea rushing up. I felt sick. And my head was pounding. I continued to scroll down, reading snippets from the various scenes.
SCENE 13
EXT. STREET WALL–NIGHT
AMY is pressed up into a wall and CHAD is
I stopped reading again and skipped ahead. It was just too painful to see some of the moments of my life written like this.
SCENE 15
EXT. BEACH–EVENING
AMY stands at the top of the aisle, dressed in a beautiful vintage wedding dress. She smiles up at CHAD.
TAYLOR glares at them as a string quartet appears out of nowhere and starts playing the wedding march.
CHAD and AMY exchange amused looks; they look pleased and CHAD winks at AMY.
TAMARA walks out and gasps. Her eyes fixate on AMY. Hatred and jealousy flare in them and she seems to challenge AMY to a wedding march walk-off.
TAMARA starts walking up the aisle glaring at her.
AMY starts walking, too. With each step the women become more and more competitive, until TAMARA is practically running up the aisle. AMY starts running, too.
Caught up in the absurdity of the competition, both women throw themselves at the men and begin to kiss them. Each one trying to outdo the other with a more over-the-top spectacular kiss.
I heard a buzzing in my ears as all my senses sharpened and then became dull as if my internal switch has been flicked off. I could feel the warm, wet tears beginning to stream down my face. I couldn’t believe this. He didn’t love me, he didn’t care. I was just a story to him. He was just using me to write a story.
He’d turned the wedding into a farce. He’d taken something that had meant a lot to me and turned it into a big fat joke.
This scene made me out to be a mad, competitive crazy person. Was that really what he thought of me? I could see there was one more page and I was dreading it. Had he written about the sex, and about us saying we loved each other? My heart was thumping and I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I did. I scrolled down, one more page…
SCENE 16
INT. HOTEL ROOM–NIGHT
AMY and CHAD throw themselves at each other like crazy people. They come barreling through the door and knock over a vase as they go. CHAD picks her up and tries to push her against the wall, but she keeps slipping down. Her dress is a slippery satin material.
CHAD: Shit!
CHAD grabs at her dress and tries to open it. Get it off her. But he can’t. He tugs on it comically but cannot find his way in.
AMY: (Breathless) Zip. Back. Now.
CHAD flips her over and unzips her, they scramble to the couch, clawing their way up onto it, clothes are flying.
They are rolling around so much that they tumble off the couch. CHAD is trying to undo her bra but is struggling.
Clearly the sex hadn’t meant anything, either. He’d turned the whole thing into a slapstick comedy—he might as well have added a banana peel to the mix. It was obvious he just didn’t care—and it hurt. It hurt so deeply that I could feel a pain in my rib cage as it seemed to tighten…
I heard a noise and looked up.
Chris was standing there wide-eyed. He had a look of absolute shock plastered across his face.
“Annie, I can explain.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Explain how?” My voice was shrill and wild and I had no control over it.
Chris looked at me blankly for a moment or two. His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish that had been taken out of water. I was so angry that if I was capable of moving, I would have walked right over to him and smacked him across the face. Better yet, I could go and grab a knife and give him another comical scene to write about. When I finally spoke, I spat the words out at him—which almost had the same effect as slapping him in the face.
“Did you or did you not write this?”
“Yes.”
“Did you or did you not steal my story without my permission, take the personal things I told you, and put them in a fucking script. For people to laugh at, I might add?”
*Mental slap*
“Yes, I did but—”
“Did you or did you not manipulate the situation for your own gain? Did you or did you not play me from the moment we met, just to extract some story out of me? And the fake wedding? Did you only come up with that idea because you thought it would be a good plot for your story?”
*Mental backhanded slap*
“Yes, but—”
“So what the fuck is there to explain, Chris? It all seems pretty straightforward to me.”
*Knockout*
I glared at him for a moment or two before feeling like I couldn’t bear to look at his face for a second longer. I felt sick to my stomach at the mere sight of him. “And here I thought Trevv was the bad guy.”
“I’m not a bad guy, Annie. I wasn’t going to use it. I just phoned my producer and told him that I wasn’t going to make the deadline, that I didn’t have a story. I swear to you—I wasn’t going to use it.”
“How the hell do you expect me to believe that? After you’ve done nothing but lie to me this whole time?”
Chris looked defeated now and ran his hands through his hair before walking in a pointless circle. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Annie.”
“You didn’t mean to hurt me?” The sarcasm in my tone was unmistakable and I repeated again for added emphasis, “You didn’t mean to hurt me!” God, that statement made me furious. “So when you wrote this…you didn’t think there was any possibility that it would hurt me?”
I opened the laptop angrily again and started randomly scrolling. I was fuming now and started reading out loud.
AMY is sitting at home alone on a Satur
day night. She is clearly feeling bad and mopes around in her pajamas looking disheveled. She flops on the couch and reads a self-help book while drinking cheap wine. She is miserable and lonely.
I carried on scrolling and reading, my hands trembling so much that it was hard to control the cursor.
AMY is at a restaurant with her friend. It is clear she has been crying; her mascara is runny and her hair is a mess.
AMY: I can’t help thinking that maybe, maybe…
AMY looks like she’s about to burst into tears.
JENNY: What, sweetie?
AMY: Maybe I’m bad in bed or something. Maybe he finds me boring because I wouldn’t let him hit me with the spatula?
MAGGIE looks at AMY conspiratorially.
MAGGIE: Well, if you’re looking for some sex tips, you should consider renting a porno.
“Should I go on, Chris? Should I continue reading your romantic revenge comedy featuring the pathetic, sad, insecure Amy with runny mascara and no life who is in crazed competition with Tamara as she tries to beat her down the aisle?”
“Shit!” Chris stopped his circular walk—which was really starting to piss me off.
“The least you could have done was change the first letters of all the names!”
“Shit,” he repeated.
“Is that all you have to say? After writing thousands of words about my life? Is ‘shit’ the only thing you can say?”
The rage I was feeling was starting to dissipate, giving way to something else. Pain. Despair. I could feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes again, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it, I couldn’t stop them.