The Millionaire’s Fake Wedding

*****

“So,” she said, when they were on the way out of the suburban area, heading back to town, “where to?”

It was already getting dark, and they were both tired – they’d had a tough couple of days, both of them.

Allen said, “How do you feel about a drink or two? There is a nice quiet bar not far from home.”

“Home. I like the sound of that. Sure, let’s hit a bar.”

Half an hour later they stopped in front of a small pub with a green neon sign, which was too elaborate and bright to tell what it said. Allen put a baseball cap and sunglasses before stepping out of the car, even though the sun was still there.

“You know that only draws more attention to you, right?” she asked.

“Only if you look closely. And I don’t expect to be close to anyone but you tonight.”

“You’re sweet, Al. Let’s go?”

There were no annoying security guys here, so Allen opened the door for her and followed her inside. The place was nice and quiet, as advertised, the kind of a pub that had signed dollar bills under the ceiling, and pictures all over the walls, as well as countless neon beer signs. Belle dug it. The flat screens on the walls broadcast news on mute, and there weren’t many people around. They walked to the bar and ordered two beers.

“I have to thank you, Allen. It was really brave, what you did.”

“Nonsense! You are the brave one. I’m sorry you had to go through this ordeal.”

“That was my own fault, Allen, forget it! Let’s just enjoy the evening. Leave the bad things in the past.”

“Amen to that, girl!”

They clinked their bottles and drank, taking long swallows. They talked for over an hour, really getting to know each other, but leaving out the touchy subjects for now. Past relationships were off the table – they didn’t want or need that kind of baggage – as well as Allen’s ‘accident’ and the circumstances of Belle quitting her previous job. That night they focused only on the positives: the movies they liked and the music they listened to. They had a lot of similar childhood memories, as far as pop culture went, and interrupted each other to share more details and impressions. It was a wonderful night. They didn’t get drunk, but the bartender still took away Allen’s key and called for a Scooter Driver – one of the funny guys who came over on a razor scooter, folded it and drove you home.

To kill the waiting time they ordered another beer each, and those did get them mildly drunk. Allen took off his cap and the glasses, because it was getting hot. He looked around, checking if anyone recognized him, but everyone in the place seemed to be minding his or her own business. Allen, meanwhile, got chatty.

“I like your dad, Belle. He’s a good man. Doing stuff around the house and all. My hands were never good for anything but handling that ball.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Can’t say I have!”

From somewhere in the bar they heard someone say: “Hey, I think it’s that asshole from TV.”

Both Allen and Belle stopped talking, staring at each other. Allen suddenly looked two thirds tired and one third angry. Belle put her hand on his knee.

“Don’t mind them, Al. Come on.”

“Yeah, I know, Bells.”

Their beers arrived, and Belle passed him his bottle. “Here. To the wonderful day!”

“To the-”

“Upgraded from hookers to black chicks! Wasting no time, are you Rodgers.”

The look on Allen’s face was something to be afraid of. He put the bottle on the counter, and took Belle’s hand off his knee.

“I can’t let that slide, can I? I can’t.”

“Al, please.”

“I’m sorry.”

The assholes in the corner at the back kept exchanging racist remarks and cackling like a bunch of pigs. Allen walked up to the biggest guy, who looked like a sweaty trucker.

“What did you just say?” Allen repeated in the most civilized tone. “I couldn’t here from over there.”

All of them were obviously drunk. The big guy replied, “I said that black pu*sy is a fine upgrade from that skinny wh*re I saw on TV. Good job, man!”

Belle was at Allen’s side now, holding onto his arm. She said, “Allen, don’t. Let’s just get out of here.”

“You better listen to your chick, friend. Scram.”

There were people filming on their phones now, and in the corner of her eye Belle saw the bartender pick up the phone, probably to call the cops. Belle looked at him and waved, signaling that everything was under control. She trusted in Allen, trusted that he was man enough to let this go.

Allen’s face, however, was dark with rage. He was taking quick breaths and staring at the big idiot five feet away. The fight was about to break out – this Doomsday Clock was showing 11:59, and the smallest hand was ticking. Desperate, Belle stood between Allen and the group of drunks, facing her man, her back to said drunks, who wasted no time spitting out new offensive comments.

She held Allen’s face and said, “Al, honey, look at me.”

He did, focusing his eyes on hers and calming down. Belle whispered, so that only he could hear. “Look at me. Let’s go, get out of here. Don’t waste your time. People are looking. Let’s just go.”

Still he hesitated, so Belle used her last weapon. A weapon that was in every woman’s arsenal, and which worked ten time out of ten. She stood on her toes, turned his head slightly, and whispered into his ear. “Your fighting for me really turns me on, Al. What do you say we go home and finish what we shoulda finished last night?”

Something must have clicked inside his head, because Allen turned his head to look at her, and both of them forgot there was a world around them. He picked her up, holding her by the small of her back, and kissed her, ignoring the group of pigs behind her, and all the people with their phones pointed at them. They kissed hard, both of them turned on. Finally they let go of each other, and got out of the place without looking back.

Outside, they kissed in the car, feeling each other, restraining themselves from tearing the clothes off of each other and doing it right there. Thankfully, the Scooter Driver arrived, rolling down the street with the loud sound of wheels on the pavement. He stopped beside the driver’s door.

“Evening, folks. I’ll be right with ya.” He went inside the bar, and returned a moment later, playing with the car keys.

Belle climbed in the back even though there was scarcely any space, only enough to sit sideways, and Allen took the passenger seat. He told the driver where to take them, and they took off. The whole way home Allen was half-turned in his seat, looking at Belle, holding her hand, and stealing kisses. The driver took no notice of that, which was nice of him.