by Sierra Rose
“I was working.”
“Of course. You always are.”
“Oh, no. Don’t you start too.”
“You’re in Mexico! Fuck work. Go enjoy yourself. Work will be waiting for you when you get back. I wanna know one thing. How did you get someone that hot to be your pretend wife?”
“Why by my charm and dashing good looks, of course.”
He laughed. “Or how about your money?”
“Marj isn’t a golddigger. Trust me, I know the type. Been there, done that.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have found a gold digger? She’d follow the rules and leave when she’s supposed too. She’d be in it for strictly the money, and not for you. It could’ve been a simple business arrangement with no strings attached.”
“What are you saying, Paul?”
“Marj is not going to leave when it’s time. Because she’s fallen in love with you. And dealing with a rejected, scorned woman is no fun. Trust me, I’ve had for ex-wives. If you put a ring on a woman’s finger, be prepared to lose half your stuff.”
“Maybe you should stay single until you’re sure it’s the right woman.”
“Or maybe next time, I’ll have them sign a long ass prenup.”
“You’re a lawyer…”
“But they bat their eyes and tell me it’s forever. And I believe it every time. And I don’t want you to have to deal with a crazy ex like me. Trust me, it’s not fun.”
“I won’t have that problem.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“She knew the rules.”
“Why didn’t you just take the woman I found for you? Sure, she wasn’t as hot, but come on. She wouldn’t have latched onto you the way Marj has. You wouldn’t be dealing with some woman demanding you come home after work.”
“She wants me home because she honestly wants to spend time with me. She wants my time more than she wants my money. And she just wants to be with me. Now I find that very refreshing.”
“Sure, you find it refreshing. But you don’t have the time to give her. And that’s why you needed a hired wife. Real marriage will end your freedom,” he said. “And you told me you never wanted that.”
“I didn’t. But it’s fun to enjoy life with someone special. I didn’t know this fake marriage was going to turn into a real one. But it just kind of happened. And it’s nice having somebody greet me when I get home and ask how my day was.”
“You don’t want a real marriage. Trust me on that. When the times comes, you need to dump the wifey and go back to your old lifestyle. You know, the one you used to love so much. Because she’s kind of cramping your style. The one where you’re able to do whatever you please whenever you like without having to answer to anyone.”
“I think I have it way better than the single guys.”
“What? Did my ears just deceive me? Is she casting a spell on you? Because it’s against your nature to be committed to one person for the rest of your life.”
“Maybe I’m growing up.”
“Are you looking for something more serious than a casual fling or a one-night romp? Or should I say a ‘six month to one year’ romp?”
“I go back and forth, Paul. Part of me doesn’t want a relationship. But the other part is finding out it does.”
“C’mon, Brandon. Don’t be driven by your dick. Women give sex to get love. Men give love to get sex.”
“No, what we have, it’s more than sex. Marj is something special. I enjoy her company more than anything else.”
“You mean, minus work. Work is first. She’s second.”
“I wish the company didn’t take so much of my time. I want to make Marj first in my life. I’m crazy about her. I really am. I want to be committed to my wife. And I’m trying. But I’m pretty lousy at it.”
“Is this going to last?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But I know I’m not ready to lose her.”
“You’re falling for her hard.”
“I’m falling in love with her.”
“And I thought no woman could ever tame you.”
Brandon laughed. “I’m still a wild beast. I’m just not presently on the prowl.”
“Well, after seeing your wife in that bikini, I can understand why.”
Chapter 6
After the spray tan, a very patient Indian woman came into the aesthetician’s room, instructed Brandon to lie back in a chair and proceeded to spend forty-five minutes threading his eyebrows…and learning every curse word he’d ever picked up in prep school. He emerged looking flawless, more alert and if possible more gorgeous than before. Unfortunately, he also felt like he’d wasted an afternoon and should probably have to give up all claim to alpha-male status. It was hard to believe that other executives did this, devoted entire half days to grooming, to getting their nails shaped and buffed, their suits tailored. It seemed so trivial. And yet he knew that, across town, Marj was going through something similar if not worse.
The stylist told her to think of it as pampering, as rejuvenation. There was nothing about the Brazilian bikini wax that felt refreshing. In fact, it hurt like hell. Then when Helga the technician got out the long tweezers to finish the job, Marj started muttering curses. She’d already had her underarms, legs, and upper lip waxed. The eyebrows had been painful, her eyes tearing up now at just the memory of that hot wax being yanked off tender skin. Then the exfoliation and the mud wrap, which was appallingly too warm and much more like being imprisoned in a Domino’s pizza hot-bag than any sort of spa treatment.
Shimmery highlights ranging from caramel (to match Brandon’s) to champagne blond were woven through her normally darker hair. She sat for four hours getting a Japanese hair straightening treatment that made the entire salon smell like the carcasses of dead fish being devoured in vats of foul acid. Still, it was the pin-straight Kate Middleton slash post-break-up Kourtney Kardashian look that the stylists insisted was most sympathetic and enviable. And by lightening her hair a few shades, it looked less suspiciously like copycatting famous women and their hairstyles.
Her teeth were professionally whitened, and she was forbidden to consume coffee, dark soda or wine until after the photo session. She had to be gleaming white. Any suggestion that she consumed caffeine or alcohol and stained her teeth might permanently alienate all the Power Regions stockholders, apparently.
Sierra, the stylist who was coordinating Marj’s magazine debut, took her though a personal shopping gambit at a high-end department store and narrowed the selection down to three contenders. Marj’s hopes of choosing something that she loved, something that was really ‘her’, dwindled to embers at the sight of the trio of wannabe Princess Kate frocks. Silk dresses all, in royal blue, emerald green and, worst of all, a cotton candy pink, hung in a row on the pegs of the fitting room. They all had sleeves. They all covered her fiercely toned thighs all the way to the knee. They were each one the epitome of designer elegance, cut simply and beautifully and without the slightest touch of personality or flair. They were expensive and unassuming—just as Marj was supposed to be in the interview. In the end, Marj let the stylist choose and didn’t put up the slightest protest at the green silk jersey day dress that would have been perfectly at home on a local dignitary at a Shamrock festival. In fact, she pictured bagpipes, a tweedy coat and a close fitting dapper hat to complete the ensemble…if she’d been inspecting sheep and the royal guards in Ireland, perhaps. As it was, a single strand of matched pearls and tiny gold studs were all the accessories she was granted.
As much time as it had taken to groom her body, the preparation of her personality was even more exhaustive. She had to speak first with an articulation specialist to polish her pronunciation of a few words that showed her ‘working class background’ and her public education. Her vowels were too nasal; her g’s had a tendency to drop off entirely if she was talking too fast. And she talked way too fast. And too flippantly. Her vocabulary was full of slang, of pop culture references and plenty of sub-par factors. She h
ad to eliminate anything too casual, too crude. Vulgar, Sierra had assured her, meant ‘common’ and no mere commoner could possibly hold her own in this interview.
The reporter was used to visiting the country manors of the old money aristocracy and talking to the brides about their dressage horses and charity work. Not about whether Ryan Gosling was hotter than Bradley Cooper or if the sequel Magic Mike XXL was better than the original (two topics Marj brought up during the training session). Mandy Manners, Marj’s nickname for Ms. Reising the etiquette expert, nearly fainted dead away at the mention of male strippers. This was supposed to be a civilized conversation, an interview about their whirlwind romance and timeless love story. No one, but no one was to mention the dangly man parts of Channing Tatum and company, original or sequel! Ms. Reising had cleared her throat after that and thrown back what looked suspiciously like straight gin before proceeding.
She coached Marj to talk about the specialness of becoming part of Brandon’s world, and how she was coming to fully appreciate the opportunity it gave her to become very active and influential in a charitable way. She could talk about the after school program she’d helped, and how inspiring it was. She could discuss ways they collaborated to make the world a better place. And she could talk about their romantic time together in Dubai and Mexico and how his work schedule just made all their time together seem like an extended honeymoon. She was not to complain about how many hours he worked or how online shopping got boring, and she couldn’t really relate to the rich women in the corporate circle because she was used to being a middle management drone. She could spin it as the chance to seek really fulfilling and original consulting work instead. There was a great deal of, ‘no, do not say that!’ for about an hour before they came to understand each other.
At that point, Marj made drinks for them both, and they toasted to lying smoothly and beautifully. Marj also made a mental note to send Ms. Reising the DVD’s of the Magic Mike series so she could loosen up a bit. As it was, they concluded that the interview would likely be a successful one-time event. Anyone, Ms. Reising said with resignation, could control themselves for a single afternoon. Surely Marj wouldn’t say anything shocking. Just to reassure herself, she ran through the questions one more time.
“Now, Mrs. Cates, the reporter will ask you what you love most about Brandon. How will you answer?”
“The first time I met him, I noticed he has incredibly thick wrists. You know, there’s really nothing to that adage about a man’s thumb and finger length in proportion to his dick, but a thick wrist will always tell the truth. A man with skinny wrists will have a scrawny, useless erection that—“
“Stop!” Ms. Reising squealed with a laugh, “you really mustn’t sport with me so. I know you wouldn’t say such a thing in the interview, so please don’t kid around like that.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Just trying to break the ice. The truth is, Brandon is very thoughtful, Ms. Reising. I will tell them about the mocha cake he ordered the night we got married and how he didn’t even want any of it. This is just a world away from my old life, so it’s more comfortable to make a joke of it than to admit that it’s actually important. I know what I say carries weight in this interview. It was my idea, in fact, and I’m taking a great deal of expert advice, yours included, to make a success of it. Because the bottom line is that what’s important to my husband is important to me.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Reising said and took her leave. Marj had liked having fun with her and being shocking, but she did respect the specialist’s skill…even if it was all posing and spouting platitudes. It wasn’t about being original, it was about being accepted and approved, she reminded herself. The interview was about saving Brandon and his company, which is what she set out to do half-drunk in Las Vegas and she meant to see it through.
At home that night, when she got the predictable text message from her husband not to wait up because he had work to do after spending all afternoon being groomed, she decided to go to bed early. She’d need her wits about her the next day and every minute of beauty sleep to save those PhotoShoppers some effort. That being said, she did drag herself up at the last moment before sleep to slather on three different face and undereye creams that she’d promised faithfully to use. And she set out the toner for in the morning. There was way more to natural beauty than she’d ever been aware of before. She thought natural beauty was like her friend, the flawless Britt, who was just extraordinarily gorgeous but lacked confidence. Fact was, for the kind of people like Marj, who were attractive but not knockout hot, there was a hell of a lot of working out and spray tanning and expensive skin care required to take it up to the next level.
Chapter 7
She slept pretty well, considering the fact that she was initially distracted by the competing aromas of her face creams. The undereye one had orange essence, and the serum seemed to be lavender and eucalyptus, and the deep moisturizing one frankly smelled like pickles. So she figured once she got used to breathing out of her mouth to block out the mingling stink. She knew her skin would be both dewy and savory from all those herbs and spices. When she woke up, she could taste mint even though she hadn’t eaten anything remotely minty.
Clearly, it was something from her new skin regime. She couldn’t blast her face with the hot shower like she usually did because the facialist had told her scary things about broken capillaries and how crappy she’d look in photos if she did. She had been ordered to massage cleanser into her face, blot it off with a soft towel and then use toner to firm and depuff. No creams, nothing greasy and absolutely no hot water. She just hoped the toner didn’t smell. But it did. Like grapes. Apparently, there was something rejuvenating about grapes or their skin or oil or something, and that meant that her face needed to smell like underage wine that needed a few more months in the barrel.
She applied her makeup—all those new, department store counter cosmetics—with the assortment of natural bristle brushes and sea sponges. Everything came in layers. Primer, foundation, concealer, contour and bronzer and highlighter.
By the time she was putting on eyeliner, she felt like she’d been putting on makeup for days. Her real face started miles beneath the flawless mask she was building. She probably wouldn’t recognize herself in the magazine pictures since she could barely make out her own identity in the magnifying mirror even now. She had asked if she shouldn’t have a professional makeup artist and hair stylist but the publicity team felt it was important for her to appear down to earth in a do it yourself manner. So the finishing touches of powder and gloss would be done under the official photographer’s lighting, but the bulk of the blowout touch-ups and smoky eye (subtle, not dark) fell to Marj herself. She Snapchatted Britt shamelessly as she went along, first the bare face, then with each successive addition. It kept them both laughing and made the process a little less bizarre of a transformation for Marj.
She was dressed and lint brushed and camera ready when Brandon arrived five minutes ahead of schedule. He looked astonishing in his new suit, his artfully mussed hair ever so subtly highlighted to blend with hers. She wanted to bite her lip but, of course, she might rupture a capillary and ruin the photos.
“You look incredibly handsome,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“And you look sun-kissed. Now, baby, were you out surfing without me?”
He grinned. “It’s spray tan. Don’t get me started. All I know is this publicity team had better be legitimately the best in the game and not some bullshit YouTube pranksters. I had to have my eyebrows done.”
“Two words: Brazilian wax. What exactly are they taking pictures of that my landing strip would’ve interfered with?” she hissed, and they both laughed.
They lounged on a tufted sofa in the recently staged sitting room as the photography assistant held a light meter to Brandon’s bronzed cheek for a reading. “Middle gray’s looking a little orange from here,” Marj teased, and Brandon leaned in as if threatening to kiss her. She drew back in moc
k horror and informed him that her delicate makeup was not made to withstand the pawing of uncultured brutes. The reporter, they saw, was tapping notes into a tablet.
“Just to get started off with introductions here, I’m Dayna Shaw, and I’ll be the one interviewing the pair of you. Your office has vetted the questions, and I had a rather lengthy discussion with your legal team earlier, so you can rest assure that you’ll be made comfortable.”
“Oh, Dayna, all that’s on my account. I’m nervous. It’s the first time I’ve ever been interviewed for anything but the senior profiles in my high school newspaper. I’m not used to all this attention,” Marj said as warmly as she could, playing the hometown girl card flawlessly.
“Indeed, Dayna, we’re confident in your reporting talents. I’m just being protective of my new bride. For such a gorgeous girl, she doesn’t have much confidence about public image.”
“Well, truth is I never had to have a public image before!” Marj said airily, “Although I see the benefit to it now, of course.”
“Before we get to that, give us an idea of how the two of you met,” Dayna prompted.
“She worked for me. I didn’t realize it then. Marjorie here was sent to Las Vegas as part of the marketing team set to spin the Power Regions takeover as a merger instead of, well, what it was. An acquisition. We were actually supposed to meet at the reception dinner at a wine bar in the resort, but I was held up on business, so I missed the dinner. We met up, as fate would have it, over drinks at a dance club in the hotel later that night. I was instantly drawn to her. She’s so open and warm and vivacious,” he smiled at her, then slipped his phone out of his pocket and read an email. Marj kept the benevolent smile on her face despite the desire to slap the phone out of his hand. He was actively talking to a reporter in a live interview and was checking his phone. It didn’t make him look like the devoted husband in the script. Marj smiled indulgently and took up the thread of the narrative.