by B. B. Hamel
I frown as I unfold it. “What’s this?”
“Just read it,” he says.
“I wouldn’t take anything from him,” Calvin cuts in. “Probably poisoned.”
“Oh, shut up, you railroad spike.”
“Railroad spike? Funny coming from a toadstool.”
I’m ignoring the two bickering camera guys as I scan the paper, my eyes going wider by the second. When I’m finished, I look at Eric, the beginnings of laughter starting and dying in my chest. I’m not sure if I should be horrified or excited. Probably both.
“Is this fucking real?”
“It’s real,” he confirms. “Bribed the registrar myself, and she signed it.”
I look back at the marriage license and yeah, sure enough, Piper signed it. “How?”
“She never pays attention to what she signs,” Eric says, shrugging. “I worked with her on Edmont High, this stupid high school drama show that bombed real hard, but anyway, she never looked at whatever she was supposed to sign back then, either.”
“So you just give her a damn marriage license, told her to sign it… and she did?”
He shrugs, grinning huge. “She was particularly distracted.” He points to the empty line under my printed name. “Just needs your John Hancock and you two are officially husband and wife.”
I stare at the paper, eyes roaming it, trying to find some flaw, but I can’t. It’s a real marriage license, no bullshit, signed and witnessed by Elvis himself. I can’t imagine how much Eric had to spend to bribe these people.
“Why would you do this?” I ask him.
“It’s fucking hilarious!” he says.
Calvin rolls his eyes. “He always does something stupid like this to start a production cycle.”
“Pranks bring groups together,” Eric says, and it sounds like a mantra.
“I feel really close to you guys now,” I say, staring at the page. “And way too close to her.”
I go to hand the paper back to him, but he shakes his head. “No way, boss. You gotta show it to her.”
“I don’t think so. She hates me enough as it is.”
Eric raises an eyebrow. “Hate’s a strong word?”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Calvin says.
“She does.” I shrug a little bit. “We have a past.”
“She doesn’t, as much as I hate to agree with that violin bow,” Eric says, cutting in. “The girl doesn’t look at you like she hates you.”
I frown a little bit, looking between the two feuding camera guys before turning to Grant. He’s happily watching a woman contort herself against a pole, fake breasts exposed to the world, two nipple rings clanging up against the metal. “What do you think?”
He slowly looks at me, cocks his head, and gives me a thumbs-up. I wait for him to elaborate but he looks away, back to the stripper.
I look down at the paper and back at the camera guys. They’re already bickering about something else, the prank all but forgotten. I rub the paper between my fingers and it’s thick, heavier than normal paper stock. The seals all look official and I’m trying to find some kind of flaw, some proof that this isn’t real, but I can’t.
I get up and nod at the guys. “I’ll see you folks later.” I give them my best smile. “I should be getting back to my wife.”
Eric cheers and Calvin just rolls his eyes. I don’t think Grant heard me, or if he did, he doesn’t care. I leave the strip club, slipping the marriage license into my pocket.
I remember Piper. I know that doesn’t seem like much, but here’s something I’m not proud of. For most of my life, starting around my senior year of high school and right through college, I was pretty much always fucked up. Drunk or high or whatever, I had something in my system. I only lasted for one year of college before I dropped out and became a chef where my drinking and drugging and fucking didn’t really stand out at all, and I made a damn good career of it. Climbed high and fast and ended up getting headhunted for a little cooking segment on local TV. From there it was more phone calls, more segments, and finally my own show.
And then that afternoon, the heroin slipping into my veins, the instant recognition that fuck I took too much and the world going black before waking up again, groggy and alone in a hospital bed.
So I was fucked up a lot of the time, and the truth is, I don’t remember a lot of the women I’ve slept with. I’m not proud of that fact but I’ve tasted a lot of pussy and a lot of it wasn’t worth remembering.
But I remember Piper. She was quieter back then, less sure of herself, but still Piper. She’s always been beautiful, fucking drop-dead gorgeous, with thick, auburn hair, a slim frame, full breasts, and an ass that goes on for fucking miles. I want to run my tongue down her hips and I wouldn’t be upset if she shoved her asshole against my nose.
Unfortunately we never slept together. I don’t remember why, but I can probably guess. She wanted a real relationship and all I wanted to do was fuck her. Well, I found someone more willing and moved on, but I never forgot about Piper. She’s whip smart and funny as hell. We used to talk about her dream of becoming a writer for TV. I’d tell her she’s hot enough to be on-camera, but she’d just laugh at me. I still think she’s easily gorgeous enough to be an actress, but clearly that’s not her thing.
Well, now she’s stuck with me. I’m not sure how it happened, but when she showed up at pre-production one morning, I had to go to the bathroom to calm myself down. I recognized her right away, even if it has been years since I last saw her. I wanted her right away, but as soon as I found out she was going to be my producer, I knew she’d be off limits.
This little fake wedding thing, or well, this real wedding thing, maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I smile to myself in the back of the cab, watching as the city ticks by. Piper only agreed to get in front of the camera today because the actress we planned on using dropped out at the last minute. Always the consummate professional, I suggested she step up, and she did it. Now though, we might actually be married, which I’m betting she didn’t plan on.
I get out at the hotel and head inside. I notice a few people glancing in my direction, but I ignore them and get in the elevator. That’s the downside of who I’ve become. I can’t walk through a lobby, into a restaurant, down the fucking street without someone recognizing me and saying something. I’m always nice and gracious because these people are the reason I’m alive and working, but it gets old. It gets real fucking old.
I get out on our floor and head down the hall, eyes on the doors as they flip past. I stop in front of Piper’s door and for a second, I wonder if maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t fuck with her. Maybe I should just go to my room, burn this marriage license, and go to sleep. I don’t have to push her buttons. For once in my life, I can be a decent guy.
I knock. She answers a second later wearing a big sweater and a pair of cotton shorts, her hair a little messy.
“Were you asleep?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Working. What time is it?”
“A little after midnight.”
“Shit.” She bites her lip. “Is this a booty call? Because seriously Jace, I’m not interested. I just want to go to—”
I laugh at her, leaning up against the wall. “Not a booty call,” I interrupt. “Not at all. Look at you, Miss Conceited.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re acting like that’s such a huge stretch, like you wouldn’t fuck anything that moved.”
“Fair point.” I smirk at her, leaning closer. “I’ve gotten a little more discerning in this last year, though.”
“Good for you.” She crosses her arms, steel strong, whip smart. I’m half-hard already and wondering what she looks like under that big sweater. “What do you want?”
“I need to show you something.” I arch an eyebrow. “It’s important.”
She hesitates. “Work related?”
“Work related,” I confirm.
“Fine. Come in.”
I follow her i
nto the room. She kicks aside a pile of clothes and shoves a pair of panties under the bed as I pull a beer from the mini bar.
“The show isn’t paying for that,” she grumbles, but I just ignore her and unfold the paper from my pocket. I put the beer down at the top to hold it in place as I find a pen.
She looks over curiously and I beckon her closer. She hesitates but creeps over, clearly her curiosity is wining out over her common sense. “What is that?” she asks.
“Our marriage license,” I say simply.
She stares at me, eyes narrowed. “Good joke. Seriously, is that why you’re here?”
I grin at her and let her get a better look. She stares for a second before letting out a little huff.
“It’s real,” I confirm. “You signed it.”
“That’s not…” She trails off. “Shit, that is my signature. I don’t remember signing this.”
“Eric tricked you into it,” I say.
“That bastard,” she grumbles, but doesn’t seem surprised. I’m betting she’s used to his shit already since they worked together. “He has to cut this crap out.”
“It’s real,” I say again. “Googled the names on it and the signatures, and they all look legit. The paper itself is legit. Eric said he bribed them to get it done but… it’s done.”
She looks up at me. “You haven’t signed.”
“No, I haven’t.” I cross my arms, head cocked. “Give me a reason not to.”
She gapes at me. “A reason not… to sign? Our marriage license?”
“Yep. Give me a reason.” I uncross my arms and move my hand toward the paper. “And quick. I’m feeling very monogamous tonight.”
“We’re practically strangers, for one,” she says.
“We’re not strangers,” I say. “We’ve kissed.”
“That didn’t count.”
“Before today.”
She groans. “You don’t love me. I don’t love you!”
“True,” I conceded. “But marriage doesn’t always involve love.”
“This is insane. I don’t want to be married to you. Seriously, you better not sign that.”
I bite my lip and look at her. “Would being married to me really be that bad?”
She stares at me for a second, her face screwing up. She’s so damn pretty it almost hurts. I remember one night, a few days after we met, lying on the grass behind the business building, holding hands. She talked a lot about getting into this industry, about her hopes and dreams, and I just listened.
I thought back then it was because I liked the sound of her voice, and that’s true. But now I realize I had no hopes and dreams.
I reach down to the license. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not empty, I can’t be. I can’t just be some empty womanizing asshole. I’m trying to get my life turned around.
“Jace, don’t,” she warns. “This is so messed up.”
I sign my name. When I’m done, I stare at the paper for a second before she lunges for it.
I grab her wrist and pull her away, wrapping her up into my arms. I pull her tight against me. “When does the honeymoon start, wifey?” I whisper in her ear.
“Get off me,” she says, and I laugh as I let her go. I snatch up the license before she can grab it.
“Well, it’s official,” I say. “In some cultures, you’d be my property now.” I don’t know why I say it, but I’m trying to get a rise from her.
It works. “You asshole.” She comes at me, snatching at the paper. I hold it up, out of her reach. I’m over six feet and she’s barely five-three, so it’s not really a fair fight. “Let me have that. I’m going to destroy it.”
“Nope. I’m going to have it filed with the county, make it really official.”
“God damn it, Jace.” She stops jumping and steps away, arms crossed over her chest like she’s hugging herself. “I thought you were getting better.”
“I am better, wifey,” I say. “But when I’m given an opportunity to make a woman like you all mine, well, I guess I can’t help myself.”
She shakes her head, clearly annoyed. “We have to shoot early tomorrow,” she says softly. “You should get out of here.”
“What, you don’t want to consummate this?” I cock my head, still smirking. “Let me strip that sweater off, wifey. I’ll make you more than happy to be all mine.”
She looks away, biting her lip, and for a second I think she might take me up on it. “Get out, Jace,” she says. “I can’t take this shit right now.”
I shrug and walk toward the door. “Your loss, I guess.” I pull it open and hesitate there on the threshold to her room. I don’t know why I did that, why I signed it right in front of her and pushed her buttons the way I did.
But then she looks up at me again. “Still the same old Jace,” she says, and turns away again.
I let the door swing shut. That’s why I did it. I’m still the same old Jace, empty and alone and fucking pathetic. All those drugs, all that pussy, all this fame, none of it fills the hole.
Maybe I think she can fix it for me, but I know she can’t. I know nothing can. This little marriage thing is just another in a long line of bad fucking ideas.
But I guess if I’m making a bad choice, I might as well go all the way. Piper’s my wife now, and she’s going to stay my wife until we’re finished shooting this show. Maybe then I’ll give her an annulment.
Assuming she still wants one. If all goes well though, she’ll be begging me to let her stay my wife, and I just might let her.
3
Piper
That cocky, insane, inconsiderate, immature, stupid asshole.
I’m livid. I know I’m supposed to be professional and should keep my feelings to myself, but I can’t help it. The next day, as we go to start shooting the next scene, my anger spills over in everything I’m doing.
“We need you right here, Jace,” I say, stomping on the spot I need him.
He smirks as he saunters over. “Am I holding up production?”
“Yes,” I say, glaring at him. “Now, this is the roulette scene. You know what to do?”
“I’m the professional, after all.” He winks at me and takes his place.
I storm away, back behind the camera guys. I catch Eric grinning and I give him a little jab to the back.
“Focus up,” I say to him. He just nods and turns back to his work.
Jace looks handsome and charming as hell, like always. His blue, rainwater eyes are practically shining overtop his scruffy face and slicked-back hair. He’s a big guy and he practically dwarfs the female roulette dealer as they talk about the game and play through a few mock hands. He’s charming and outgoing and has the dealer laughing almost right away.
This is why he has his own television show. I hate to admit it, but Jace could make even the most boring thing seem exciting. I don’t know how much of this footage we’re going to use, but I can at least guarantee people would be entertained if I just put it all in the episode, totally uncut.
He’s that magnetic. I can see why he’s being given this chance, despite all the shit he did in the past. I remember reading about him online, about his decline and his rock bottom and all the women he fucked on the way. And then he disappeared for over a year, and I guess I lost track of him.
I’m not proud that I’ve been following his career, but it’s hard not to stalk a guy you had a little thing with back in college, especially when he’s as famous as he is. Plus, we’re both in the same business, so it just makes sense to keep track of him.
“How’s it looking, wifey?” Jace asks me after the first take. I’m leaning up against a table, frowning down at my laptop like usual.
“Fine,” I say, not looking up. “We’re going to run through it again.”
“Sure, whatever you want. Happy wife, happy life, right?”
I wince but I refuse to be baited. He laughs as he stalks off and Calvin sidles up next to me.
“It wasn’t my idea,” he says softly.
>
I glance at the tall, thin man’s face. “What wasn’t?” I ask him pointedly.
He just shrugs. “We all know. I mean, you can pretend like we don’t, whatever, that’s fine. It’s just, it wasn’t my idea. That little weasel Eric did it all.”
“Thanks, Calvin,” I say. “Your tattling is really appreciated.”
He winces a little bit and shrugs, giving me a half-hearted smile. “Just looking out for you, boss.” He strolls off, back to his camera, and gets into position.
I glance over at Eric and he smiles back at me serenely. I brought him onto this project because he’s good at what he does, but I know he has a prank-filled past. That sort of shit used to go over better back before men were held accountable for being total assholes, but unfortunately for him and fortunately for everyone else, the world is changing.
But I’m not going to punish him for this. No, that won’t get me what I want. I won’t forget, but I won’t punish him. Not yet, anyway.
This prank went too far, but I might be able to use it to my advantage down the line. I might as well be freaking smart about this, since Jace is being a jerk about everything else.
We go through the shot a few more times with different games. Jace is charming and indefatigable the whole time, practically a fountain of energy. They switch out the dealer twice but Jace never misses a beat as we move from blackjack to craps to stud poker.
The day drags on. This kind of shooting can be draining and boring, and by the time we’re getting close to the end, I can tell the camera guys are getting frustrated.
Eric crosses toward the side of the shot, his camera trained on Jace, trying to catch his expression as the attractive host checks his card. As he moves, Eric strays into Calvin’s shot.
“Hey, amateur, get the hell outta my shot.”
I freeze. Eric looks up, anger in his eyes. “What did you say?”
“I said, you’re in my shot,” Calvin says. Jace and the dealer both stop what they’re doing and watch. “I thought you were good at this.”