The Marriage Contract (8 page)

              He tilted his head, bringing his thumb towards my face, as though ready to wipe off the fallen tear.

              But as I realized what was happening, I gasped, pulling myself away from him, and suddenly, time continued once more.

              The paparazzi resumed shouting like wild animals fighting for the last piece of banana, while James shook his head, signing his name on the certificate.

              Sitting in the red leather seat of his car, I looked out the window, sighing as the spring air blew past my cheeks. Earlier, I had changed back into my regular outfit of grey t-shirt and blue jeans, while the white gown was tucked in a bag at the back of the car. The radio played some rock song I didn’t recognize, though my fingers tapped along my knees as the beats of the guitar strummed on.

              “So, I want to know something,” he asked, breaking the cold silence. “Why did you cry?”

              I shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter—“

              “Of course it matters,” he insisted.

              I sighed, turning my head towards him.

              “You don’t care,” I stated. “I don’t expect you to—“

              “You’re right, Princess,” he said. “But a guy can be curious about his wife’s precious tears—“

              I groaned. “Wife…that word. Oh, God. I can’t believe the world now thinks that I’m somebody’s wife. I didn’t imagine my married life to be this unromantic. But, it was my decision...for the greater good. Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

              He laughed warmly, shooting me a sly smile, his eyes sparkling in that mischievous way of his.

              “You’re married to a billionaire, Princess,” he said. “What’s there to regret? Sure, we won’t be married long, but after we divorce, you’ll get a good amount of money. Think of it as a gift from me to you.”

              This time, I laughed. I laughed loudly, but it wasn’t an appreciative sort of laugh, but a bitter one. I could taste iron in my mouth, as I stared miserably at him.

              “A gift? Thanks so much,” I said, sarcasm oozing from my tone.

              “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “You know what? Honestly, I’m not even messing around…I would date you for real. You’d be my longest relationship yet—“

              I smiled. “And how long would that be?”

              He winked. “Two weeks.”

              “Two weeks? You haven’t been with anyone longer than two weeks? Oh, that’s just sad—“

              “Hey, don’t judge me,” he argued. “Alright, if my relationship history is so sad, then what was your longest relationship? Go on- spill the beans, little girl.”

              I hesitated.

              My mouth went dry, as I stroked my hair back, and chewed the side of my lip.

              “Well,” I began. “That’s…that’s really none of your…um—“

              The car stopped on a red light, as he turned his head towards me, his eyes widening.

              “Oh, no way.” He spoke slowly, looking me up and down as though I smelled like rotten cheese. “Seriously?—“

              “Just forget it,” I snapped. “It’s not a big deal—“

              The green light flashed, as he zoomed through the sunny street, laughing loudly.

              “So…wait…let me get this straight….I’m your first relationship?—“

              I snapped my head to his- glaring.

              “We aren’t in a relationship, nor will we ever be,” I corrected. “And…ok I haven’t had a boyfriend yet, but it’s not something to laugh about. I just…I haven’t met anyone that’s made me feel a certain way. So, there’s nothing wrong with that—“

              “Alright, that’s fair,” he said. “But tell me something. Are you going to end up as one of those forty year old virgins? Hey, I might not be boyfriend material, but I can definitely help in other aspects, if you know what I mean.”

              I pretended to gag, and slapped his shoulder hard, wanting it to sting. But he merely feigned pain, and continued to laugh, even snorting in the process.

              “You’re a pig,” I snapped. “Don’t talk to me so crudely. I don’t like it, ok? Pervert—“

              “That I am,” he agreed. “So, where am I dropping you off today, Princess?”

              I wished he would stop calling me that, but I knew that even if I told him to stop, he would just continue anyway. I didn’t expect him to listen to me.

              “Rosefield shelter,” I replied. “It’s on 15
th
street, across a Laundromat. You can’t miss it.”

              He stopped the car on the side of the street, right in front of the shelter, which was a short, brown building, with only two floors and a basement. The tall metal door of the shelter, had paint chipping off all sides, and the stairs needed a new coat of color. The windows were cracked, as though someone had thrown a dozen rocks at the stained glass, and the bushes in front of the building, needed trimming.

              It wasn’t a great site to behold, but it was a kind of home for me. I smiled, feeling a bit better knowing that the place wouldn’t have to get shut down.

              As I placed my hand on the car door handle, James’s palm pressed over my other hand which rested on my knee. I pushed my hand back, giving him a disconcerting stare.

              “What is it?” I asked.

              He smiled. “Just hold on a second okay? I want you to see the call I’m about to make—“

              “Now?—“

              “Better sooner than later,” he said.

              Leaning against the seat, he whipped out his smart phone, clicking something on it, and pressing it against his ear. He placed a free hand on his neck, giving me another wink, as he stared lazily out the window, his eyes scanning the shelter.

              “Rhonda, baby!” He suddenly sounded energetic, though it didn’t match with his lazy stance, resting casually against the car seat. “Listen, doll, I need you to do something for me. You’re my number one auction lady, and right now, I’m in the mood to help the poor. Yeah, yeah I know, I’m a man of surprises. Alright, so here’s the thing, doll face, I need you to send a two million dollar donation to Rosefield Shelter. An anonymous kind. It’s the one in Manhattan, across that dirty Laundromat. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. Just google it if you get confused. I need that done right now, alright? Okay. Thanks a bunch. You know you’re my favorite girl. Alright...I’ll leave it to you then.”

              He continued to stare out the window, as he threw the phone in a small compartment in his car.

              “You two seem really close,” I stated, but wasn’t sure why I cared. I didn’t care. I didn’t.

              I felt silly all of a sudden for having said that, for it felt unnecessary for me to know who he was close to and why. I shook my head, placing my hands on my knees, feeling the denim press against my palms.

              “Nah, we aren’t close,” he said, still looking out the window. “She’s just someone I could trust with my finances. If I want to buy something worth a few hundred thousand bucks, I ask her first, and she checks the authenticity. She’s like my…money guardian. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Money guardian. Anyway, don’t worry- she’s turning sixty five next year. She’s not exactly a threat.”

              A threat? Wait, did he think I was being jealous?

              I scoffed, and giggled in a way that was very unlike me, while he turned his head towards me, giving me a small smile.

              “You’re ridiculous,” I said. “I was just asking! I’m not…I’m not jealous. I mean, if I was jealous, that would mean that I feel something towards you, and I definitely, most definitely do not. That’s just ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. And, I’m going to go now, so have a pleasant rest of the day—“

              He sighed. “Calm down. Geez, I never mentioned you were jealous. That seems insane, even to me. All I said was that she’s not a threat. She’s too old to be. I’ve been with enough girls, to know that a woman doesn’t need to feel attached to a man, to see another woman as a threat. You girls are like animals, you know…very territorial—“

              “I’m not territorial,” I objected. “You’re over analyzing.”

              He smiled, and then shrugged.

              Huffing out a deep breath, I got out the car, closing the door, and walking around it. He rested an arm against the side of the open window, putting on a pair of sleek sun glasses, his brow raised in amusement.

              “By the way,” he said. “I need to introduce you to my family tonight. They’ll probably see the paparazzi snapshots by tomorrow, and so I want them to meet you before that. So be ready by 5:30pm. See you later, sweetheart.”

              I gaped at him, giving him a stunned stare, wanting to tell him that it’s too soon for me to meet anybody from his side. But before I could object, he gave me a final grin, and drove past the afternoon sky.

              Marshmallow white clouds floated in the quilt of the pale blue heavens, as passersby   walked with their friends, pets, lovers, or by themselves, enjoying the warm breeze. I watched his car turn the corner, feeling annoyed that he felt the need to tell me about meeting his family on a last minute notice.

              I wasn’t ready to meet anybody in regards to this fake marriage, but then again, this whole charade was what I signed up for.

              The shelter was brighter today than usual, as yellow, blue, and red streamers outlined the walls, like a birthday party decoration. It was a cafeteria style room, with rows and rows of off white tables, slightly stained with food marks at the edge. The place was filled with the usual people, cheering, their backs facing me, as Carla stood at the end of the room, holding a mike in her plump caramel hands.

              “This is unbelievable,” she said, her voice booming through the black mike. “An anonymous donor has just sent us two million dollars! This is true kindness! Let’s all give another cheer for this miracle.”

              My heart warmed, as I looked over everyone’s smiling faces, their eyes tearing from being told that they won’t have to live on the street. Carla’s bright eyes shined, as she wiped the falling drops from her chubby, brown cheeks. She glowed, standing in a yellow summer dress that rested a few inches below her knees, making her brown complexion appear milkier. The light from the windows streamed through, as Carla’s kind stare met mine. I had never seen her so happy before, as she ran towards me, swinging her long arms over my back, and squeezing me into a hug.

              “Did you hear the good news,” she asked, pulling apart. “Rosefield won’t get closed! We’re saved! It’s all thanks to that generous human being. I was beginning to think that there weren’t many good folks left in this world, but my, did that phone call change my mind. It’s a miracle, isn’t it?”

              I nodded- feeling my voice choke in my throat.

              “That’s amazing,” I said, dropping my gaze to the ground.

              I couldn’t meet her eyes, because I knew that if she found out how this donation came, she wouldn’t ever forgive me. Carla was always so good to me, and if she knew that I had married some random guy just to save this place, she would give back the money. She wouldn’t ever want me to give my life up, not for anything in the world, even if it meant saving this shelter.

              “You okay, Dorothy?” Her voice was small, as she placed her hand on my shoulder. “You can come back another day. We’ve got enough people helping out with the food—“

              “No, I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just…I’m….I’m overwhelmed with this good news, that’s all. I’m really happy.”

              Carla’s clear brown eyes searched mine.

              “Is there something you’re not telling’ me, honey? You know you can tell me anything.”

              I shook my head, smiling.

              “I’m alright,” I said. “I’m more than alright actually. I’m happy.”

              She smiled. “Always be.”

              “Dory!” A familiar squeak perked my ears, as two tiny arms found their way around my waist.

              Little Gabriella Johnson skipped around me, standing before me with her black curly head held high. She gave me a toothless grin, her olive skin shining against the streaming light of the window, making her appear nothing short of a Princess.

              “I missed you, Dory! It’s been five whole days since you played with me.”

              I bent down, so I was standing on my knees, eye level to her.

              “School and work has kept me busy,” I explained. “But I promise, I’ll visit more often.”

              “Do you want to see what I made at school today? It’s amazing!”

              I stood, ruffling the top of her head.

              “Show me!” I said. “I can’t wait to see it.”