The Millionaire’s Fake Wedding

Subconsciously, she was.

Fogerty said nothing, only stared. Belle thought there was a tear stuck in his right eye. His face was already half-red, and an outline of Belle’s hand could be distinctly seen on the hit cheek. Belle looked at it and felt happy. Happy and free. The morning had been a roller coaster, but now it was good again.

“Nothing to say, huh? You know, I don’t even want to hear it. I’ll file my papers with the HR, don’t you worry.”

Fogerty didn’t move, just watched her turn around and head out. Belle stopped in the door. “And yeah, Mr. Fogerty? Don’t you ever talk sh*t about my family. Bye now.”

*****

Belle Jameson’s mornings were bad, but they were nothing compared to the kind of living hell that Allen Rodgers had to wake up to.

Ever since that damn hooker had posted those pictures to get some fu*king followers on social media it had been a nightmare for Allen. The scandal was bad for his reputation, sure, but as the saying went: as long as the team wins – all is forgiven. And Allen has stopped winning. All the stress and media harassment that followed the hapless night he got high on coke had caused him performance issues, both in bed and on the court. The lack and the poor quality of s*x was a bummer, but his bad game made the big guys that owned the team very unhappy, and when they were unhappy, they cut his pay. He was still a valuable player, but he could forget about the MVP title this year – nobody would dare give awards to “a spoiled coke-snorting brat” (an actual quote from one of the countless bullsh*t celebrity blogs). And hey, after a few months of this crap Allen started to believe this himself.

At first, like every celebrity (and every human being, for that matter) put in a similar situation, he got defensive in front of other people. He said it was a misstep, he said he was sorry, he said it wasn’t his idea, he said one thing led to another… Some people, fans, turned away, others defended him online and on ESPN. Some used the situation to promote their own agenda – pointing fingers, using it as an example, or even as a precedent. The lawyers got him a good deal – a huge fine and probation. All seemed to be well.

But over the last couple of months Allen grew increasingly depressed. He worked a lot, worked like never before: practice, diets, more practice, and then some more of both. Not much publicity, unless true fans were present, those who wouldn’t sh*t on him for something that had happened seemingly so long ago. Allen believed people were finally getting over it…

This morning he slept in. It was the only free day he had in weeks, and he used it to relax. A phone call snatched him out of sleep, the handset vibrating somewhere on the floor near to the bed. Allen almost fell out of it. He swept his hand in a wide ark on the floor and picked up the phone.

“Rodgers.”

“Are you seeing this?”

Allen wasn’t seeing anything, his eyes shut, still half-asleep. It was Natalie, his PR manager. Ever since you-know-what (you and everyone else that is) Natalie had been barely holding it together. She used to email Allen every online news article she’d found about the scandal, complete with her comments on why it was outrageous and overall bullsh*t. She’d eased off on that with time, but every now and then she would freak out and call him, as she did this morning.

“No, Nat, I’m not seeing this. What’s up?” Allen wasn’t going to start looking for whatever it was Natalie had found, instead opting for rolling on his back and stretching.

“That wh*re Candice is on TV! National fu*king TV, Al! She’s talking all sorts of bullsh*t about you!”

“What else is new?” he said lightheartedly. In the preceding months, it seemed, he had heard it all and from every possible source. There were people who weren’t there and who claimed they were and vice versa, both groups had their share of tales to tell to anyone who’d listen. This got old quick, especially for Allen himself, who wanted nothing more than to forget that night and move on.

“Turn on your TV!” Natalie demanded.

“Nat, relax. I won’t turn on my TV, because you know I don’t care anymore.”

“Oh? I think you better start caring, Al, because this girl just won’t shut up!”

“Good for her.” Allen found he could speak these words with ease these days. He really did not care all that much who said what – everything had been said; all ducks were in a row. “Nat, can I sleep, please?”

She sighed audibly. “Listen. You know I’m doing this for you, right? So maybe there’s a way we can finally turn things around…”

Allen sat up in his bed – he wasn’t sleepy anyway. He said: “What do you have in mind, Nat?”

“Give me just a minute…”

He could hear her pacing around the room on the other end of the line. That was a good sign. Natalie was one of those people who thought well while being engaged in something else. Allen got out of bed and went to the bathroom, yawning and rubbing his eyes, giving his manager all the time she needed.

He was making breakfast a full ten minutes later when Natalie finally said: “You gotta make amends.”

“What, with the hooker?” Allen almost dropped his sandwich on the floor.

“No, with Pope Francis, of course with the hooker!”

“And say what exactly? ‘Hey, sorry I gave you sh*t and called you a sl*t in an interview after you posted those pics online’? Or ‘hey, long time no see. Wanna go again?’ What would I say? She is a hooker, Nat, and all she wants out of this is attention, which I’m not gonna give her, for reasons you are well aware of.”

There was more pacing on the other end, during which Allen got his food and coffee and carried it outside to the balcony table.

“You know what? She wants attention? Let’s give it to her. Make amends, but go a step further – start dating her!”

Now that was just absurd, and Allen communicated as much. “I’m not doing it.”

“No, listen! You make amends, then start dating her, get serious, and who knows? Maybe you’ll be better off that way. It’ll show people that you actually care. That you did care back then, and that Candice was not a wh*re, but in fact your girlfriend.”

Allen took a moment to process that, then he said: “So I’ve had a hooker for a girlfriend? Great thinking!”

“Fu*k off. You got any better ideas?”

“I kinda like the whole family man vibe.”

“That’s right, kiddo, people love that! Having a girlfriend – or better yet a wife – shows stability and social responsibility and all that kind of crap…” Natalie started putting down some notes.

“But please,” Allen said, “can it be anyone other than the wh*re?”

There was silence and the sound of pencil on paper for a while. Then Natalie said: “I have it, Al. I have a plan!”