The Black Chapel

by Marilyn Cruise

  “Tell me your name,” Michael says.

  I look down at him. What should I say? I don’t want to reveal who I am just yet. Maybe he won’t marry me if he knows. “Samantha,” I say, and exit the stage.

  7

  Laila saw it all. “Why don’t you just give him your information?” She follows me back to the dressing room.

  “Because it’s complicated,” I say, pulling off my mask and costume, hurriedly changing into the next one: Snow Angel. After I get into my white, Swarovski sequenced tunic, Laila helps me into my wings.

  “You don’t need to be in a relationship with him. He just wants sex, I’m sure,” Laila says.

  I turn around and face her. “Did he say that or did you just make that up? Besides, I don’t want it either. I’m a stripper, not a whore.”

  Laila huffs. “He’s just got a little crush on you, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “What if he’s like a serial killer or something?” I say. I spray some glitter on my cleavage, arms and hair.

  “He’s not a serial killer. Come on. He’s a mini-celebrity. You’ve heard of him, right?” Laila says.

  “Apparently not,” I say.

  “He is a big supporter of the arts and also the educational program through the Episcopal Church, donating millions each year. I hardly think he has time to be a serial killer.” Laila sounds annoyed.

  “I just don’t want to, okay?” My voice is serious and firm.

  Laila puts her hands on her hips and squeezes her plump lips together. “Fine, but when you want a raise, don’t come begging me for one.” She grabs her clipboard and storms off.

  “You okay?” Anne says, just coming in, her mouth not so numb-looking anymore.

  “Yeah. Things are just beginning to get complicated.” I grab my white faux diamond bedazzled mask and head for the stage.

  My heart is racing even before I get there. I don’t know what Michael will do next. I’m kind of hoping he’s gone, but I’m kind of hoping he’s there, too.

  “Please welcome the Sultry Snow Angel,” Jim says, and Ave Maria with the London Symphony Orchestra starts playing.

  Michael is still in the audience and I see that his eyes light up right as I step onto the stage. He seizes my willpower instantaneously. This dance is a very sensual one, I think, and I suspect Michael will like it very much. He seems to be a guy who likes classical music.

  For this dance, I wear clear platform heels, so it almost looks like I’m floating above the stage floor. I hesitate for a moment when I see Michael. Should I stay away? I should. Should is such a strange concept. Want is so much stronger. I should stay away, but I don’t want to.

  I come down the stage, and make my way to Michael. I just can’t help myself. He smiles at me as he sees I’m coming toward him. I melt; this angel wants him.

  He stands up to greet me and I wrap my arms around his neck. I’m almost too daring. I feel his firm body against mine, and then I feel him hard. I gasp. He’s turned on by me. I feel a deep throb in my lower abdomen as he places his hands on the small of my back. He smells so good and I close my eyes just to take in the highly erotic moment.

  “Please, may I have your number?” he whispers.

  His voice is the voice of a desperate man, and I really like having this effect on him. “No,” I whisper back and then bite his ear. He moans ever so lightly and I pull back. He pulls out and slips a wad of hundred dollar bills into my cleavage.

  “Thank you, Mr. Manning,” I say and head for the stage again. I feel like I’m going to come undone; he has such a powerful effect over me. And I’ve never experienced this kind of complete want to abandon everything I ever promised myself.

  Back stage again I take a deep breath. What a man!

  “Just as long as you keep him coming back, I might just be fine with what you do,” Laila says in passing.

  I smile. But there is a gnawing voice in the back of my mind saying: this isn’t the real you. He’s mesmerized by the wrong me. I feel slightly schizophrenic all of a sudden, having to play so many roles. What should I do about this? Suddenly, everything seems even more complicated than before. He can’t have both women, I think. Because this mysterious stripper woman isn’t real at all. She merely exists in The Black Chapel. She’s not real.

  And then I realize that I have a serious opponent: myself.

  When I get home that night I turn my cell phone on and see that I, the real me, have a text message from Michael, the soon-to-be-husband of the real me.

  Thank you for having breakfast with me. It was great to get to know my new business partner better. Can you meet with my lawyer and myself tomorrow to finalize and sign the contract?

  Michael

  I reply.

  I work at night so the meeting will have to be sometime during the day.

  Scarlett.

  I don’t want to be too nosey, but may I ask where you work?

  Michael

  Crap. Double crap! What should I say? Where would Michael not be allowed to visit me if I indeed worked there?

  I took a temp job as a waitress and I work at different restaurants and pubs in Portland.

  Scarlett.

  Since it’s temporary, I can change it at any time and he’d never be able to catch up with me. I high-five myself.

  Just remember, your working days will soon be over.

  Michael

  He doesn’t know me at all.

  I rather like working, Mr. Manning. Even when we marry, I will want to continue to work. That is, unless you have any other wifely duties for me in mind, Scarlett.

  I hope that wasn’t too flirtatious. I wonder if he’ll reciprocate my playful tone. Two minutes later I’m nervous because he hasn’t responded. I wait another minute and finally he responds.

  Indeed Mrs. Manning. I have no problem with that, as long as it doesn’t involve cleaning cinder from the chimney. Where would you love to work?

  Mr. Manning

  Are you referring to yourself as Prince Charming? I’ve always loved book stores.

  Scarlett.

  He replies right away.

  Only if you insist, dear.

  P. C.

  I laugh.

  No, I don’t insist at all. As a matter of fact, I’d rather you be Superman, Scarlett.

  I have always kind of had a crush on Superman. There’s just something about his humble demeanor and cape.

  Now, Mrs. Manning. Don’t go too far. I do have an airplane, but not a red cape nor tights.

  I’m loving texting with Michael right now. I never knew he had such a sense of humor.

  Tights… hmmm. I’d love to see you in those.

  Scarlett.

  He doesn’t respond. Did I take it too far? Crap, I took it too far.

  I’ll see what I can do about the tights, but for tomorrow, can I pick you up at noon and we can catch lunch and then visit my lawyer?

  Michael

  I relax. Nice transition. He’s smooth as silk this guy.

  Perfect! I’ll be ready.

  Scarlett.

  Oh, and I almost forgot. After the meeting with the lawyer, will you have time to meet my mother?

  Michael

  I gulp. Here we go.

  Yes, of course. Ready as I’ll ever be.

  Scarlett.

  She’s excited to meet you.

  Michael

  And I’m excited to meet her, too. And a little nervous.

  Scarlett.

  Don’t worry. You’ll be perfect. Good night.

  Michael

  I turn my phone on silent and place it on the maple nightstand next to my four-post bed. That last line makes me feel like he chose me just because I’m the “perfect” girl. But he has truly no idea of who I really am, and he’s in for a real surprise.

  8

  Next morning I take a long, hot shower, thinking of what I’ve gotten myself into. I still haven’t signed the contract so there’s still time to change my mind. But I always com
e back to my dad’s chemotherapy. If I could just have enough money for that, I’d be able to figure everything else out in due time. But since time is what I don’t have a lot of when it comes to my dad, I feel I need to accept this deal in order to save his life.

  After the shower, I shave my legs and dry myself off. I straighten my long black hair with a flatiron and put just enough make-up on that says ‘I’m not just a nice girl.’ What does one wear to a meeting with a lawyer and to meet one’s future pretend mother-in-law for the very first time? I try on half a dozen outfits and settle on a white pencil skirt, a shimmery tank and a peach button up cashmere jacket. My chandelier earrings may seem a little over the top, but I decide to keep them.

  I hear a knock downstairs, grab my coat and purse and answer the door.

  “Hi Michael,” I say.

  “You look lovely,” He hugs me, and I wish I could stay in his arms forever. How does he do that to me?

  “Mind if we have lunch at my place?” He says once we’re seated in his black Mercedes.

  “Not at all.” Geez, how many cars does this guy own? A lot more than I can imagine, I‘m sure.

  He takes me all the way across town and pulls into a gated mansion close to the Cascading Mountains. I try not to look too impressed, but it’s hard to keep my mouth from dropping open. This place is huge, and is ridiculously grandiose.

  “Welcome to my home,” Michael says once he has the car parked.

  A man walks out in a black uniform with gold buttons and trim and opens the door for me. “Madame,” he says, and I have to muffle a giggle. I’ve never been called Madame before.

  Michael takes me by the arm and leads me inside. The vestibule is about as big as my parents’ entire house. There is a marble stairwell at the end and a crystal chandelier of titanic proportions hovering high above in the ceiling. The mansion looks like it was built many years ago, but updates have clearly been made throughout.

  “The dining room is this way,” Michael says and I follow him. “I thought it would be best to eat in here. That way we can discuss our story, which we’ll need to keep straight in front of my mother. And since you’ve already been to visit my house, it will make our relationship all the more believable.”

  “Our story?” I ask.

  “What we tell my mother. How we met and such,” he says, looking back at me, giving me a swift smile.

  His playful glance takes me off guard, and I cannot believe I’m actually marrying this god of a guy, even if it is an arranged marriage, destined to end in divorce. “Yes, of course,” I say.

  The far end of the dining table—for the table is very, very long—is set for two. A servant girl pulls my chair out and I have a seat at the end of the shiny dark wood table. She lays a napkin across my lap and pours me a drink.

  “Will white wine suit you Madame?” Another servant with white gloves asks me. I nod and he pours it into my wine glass.

  After our gourmet open-faced sandwiches are brought in, Michael says, “Leave us.” The four servants depart. This lifestyle is very different from what I’m used to.

  “So I thought we might say we met at the Portland Museum. What do you think?” Michael says.

  “That’s a great idea,” I say. I take a bite of my chicken salad open-faced sandwich. It tastes heavenly.

  “Are there any particular artists or paintings you are fond of?” Michael tilts his head and his eyebrows rise.

  “I’m a big fan of Monet, which is fitting, since he’s been displayed now at the museum this last month. How about we met at House of Parliament Sun?” I say.

  He looks at me like he’s thinking something.

  “What?” I say.

  “Monet, huh?” He takes a few bites of his sandwich and washes it down with some wine. “You intrigue me, Scarlett.”

  “Really?” I intrigue him?

  “You have a masters degree from Harvard, you love art, and you are all too lovely to be single.”

  I blush and look down at my plate. “Well, I just haven’t found the right guy, I suppose.”

  “Are you looking?” His blue eyes go intense.

  I nod and I feel the butterflies flurry in my stomach. “Not actively.”

  He squints his eyes. “I’ll hook you up with some of my friends after our deal has ended.”

  My heart sinks. But I don’t want any of your friends. I want you.

  Michael looks at me, his eyes deep in thought. “Let’s try something.” He stands up, reaches his hand out to me, and I take it. Shivers go through my spine when my hand touches his. He pulls me close, so close I can feel his rock solid abs up against me and he looks at me tenderly, almost like he cares, in the eyes. He leans forward and kisses me gently on the lips.

  I feel tingles go through my whole body and I want to do so much more with this man. He presses his lips against mine again and this time his lips begin to move. And as my lips part, he eases his tongue in. Oh, he tastes so good. I hardly dare to, but cannot stop my fingers from running through his cinnamon, messy hair. His hands are now almost on my behind, and I am completely entranced in the moment.

  Michael pulls away, his eyes ablaze. “I just wanted to try it before we had to do it in front of my mother. Not bad, huh?”

  Not bad? I think. Holy hell, the kiss was twenty seconds of pure paradise!

  He sits back down at the table, seeming to have forgotten the passionate kiss in less than two seconds, and bids me to do the same. “Now for the tedious details of our relationship.” We go over all the grueling details, and by the end I’m not sure I can keep all of them straight.

  “It’s not too much to remember. Just be yourself and try to memorize how we met,” Michael says.

  I try to focus as best I can, but all I can think of was how wickedly wonderful that kiss was and how I can’t wait until he kisses me again.

  9

  The lawyer’s office is one of those that look like they’ve won all their cases and then some. Every man in the office is dressed in a suit and tie, every woman, a business skirt suit. I’m glad I’m not a lawyer. Getting dressed in that stuffy attire every day would make me go crazy.

  We sit down around a round glass table inside an intimate conference room and Michael introduces me to Paul, his lawyer. Paul looks like he’s a former NFL football player who has been cleaned up and stuffed in a suit.

  I’m a little nervous because I’m still not one hundred percent sure I want to go through with the deal. I mean, what would I tell other men I meet about my divorce? Suddenly I get a sinking feeling in my gut. This is not a good decision. I almost say something, but the I’m interrupted by my cell phone ringing.

  “I’m sorry,” I say and go to turn it off. But then I see that it’s the Mirabella Assisted Living Facility calling. “I have to take this call. Will you excuse me for a moment?” Both Michael and Paul stand up as I rise.

  Once I step into the hallway, I answer. “Hello?” I hope my father is okay, and I nearly start crying because they’ve never called me before, and this must mean that something is terribly wrong.

  “Hi, Ms. Hansen?” the lady on the other line says.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi. My name is Yvonne, and I’m calling to let you know that your bill is severely past due.”

  “Oh,” I say, relieved to hear that my father’s not dying today, but stressed that I’m behind on the payment.

  “Can you take care of this today?” the woman asks.

  “How much is it?” I ask.

  “Seven thousand six hundred and ninety nine dollars.”

  “How come it’s so much?” I ask. Surely I wasn’t that far behind?

  “This includes all the medication we’ve had to give your father because of his cancer.”

  I know exactly how much is on my bank account and I cringe. I won’t afford the mortgage and my student loans if I pay this bill, and forget about food. I’ll have to empty my savings account—the very one I’ve been working on to save up for my dad’s chemothe
rapy.

  I see Michael through the glass window, speaking with Paul and I decide one hundred percent that I am going to go through with this deal. It’s a heaven sent.

  “I’ll have the payment to you soon. Can I call back in a couple of weeks? I’m just waiting for my paycheck to come through.”

  “Sure. But we’ll have to add late fees, Yvonne says.

  “I understand.” I hang up the phone and join Michael and Paul.

  We go over specifics like what will happen in the event that Michael or I die before the contract has been fulfilled, and that one of us cannot sue the other etc. After two grueling hours, I can’t take it anymore. I excuse myself and head to the lady’s room. When I return, Paul has left and Michael is on his cell phone, clearly upset about something.

  Michael glances at me when I enter. “I’m going to have to call you back.” He hangs up.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says, but it clearly isn’t. “I think we’re done here. Ready to meet my mother?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

  He looks at me, somewhat amused. “Sir?”

  “I mean, honey.” I smile.

  “That’s better.” He smiles, too, his dimples etched into his perfect face and I sigh internally. This deal definitely has its benefits.

  Michael’s mother, Michael explains, is at Providence Portland Medical Center. She’s just there for a few days since the doctors wanted to do some extensive tests on her. He informs me on the way over that her cancer had started as lung cancer but that now it has spread throughout her body. He seems unusually callous, almost business-like when he speaks about it, and I wonder if this man has any tender feelings for his mother at all.