Page 32 of Married in Michigan
He suppresses a smirk. “A hundred and…well, now a hundred and fourteen days from today, we get married in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan. Everyone who’s anyone will be there—senators and congressmen, A-list actors, famous musicians, ex-presidents and first ladies. The reception will be worse, or better, depending on your viewpoint. Elbow to elbow with the wealthiest and most famous humans on the planet. A private jet will whisk us away to, oh, I don’t even know, Fiji maybe, or somewhere like that, for a month or so of nothing at all.” He eyes me speculatively, gauging my response, which I keep restrained. “Then we move in together. You’ll have to give up this place, which…I’m sure you’ll be heartbroken, palatial as it is. I live in DC most of the year, or at least while Congress is in session. When it’s not, I’m all over the place. Here, California, New York, Europe. You’ll quit your job, of course, but if you’re bored while I’m working we can find you things to keep you occupied, and before you get all up in arms, I don’t mean shit like tea parties and fundraisers. Housekeeping at a hotel is fine if your only goal is making ends meet, but as my wife, even fake and temporary, you’ll need an occupation that fits your station. You can go to school, and we can get you in pretty much wherever you want, you can take up photography, or horse riding, or…god, I don’t know. It’s up to you for the most part.” He pauses again. “There will be events, of course, and these are a big part of the reason this whole thing is happening in the first case. They’ll mean a designer measuring you, fitting you into a dress, and then a glam squad to do your hair and makeup. We’ll arrive in a limo, be introduced when we enter, and it’ll be a couple hours of mix and mingle. Depending on the event, I’ll either have to make the rounds alone and do my networking that way, or you’ll have to hang on my arm and look pretty and interested and maybe put in your two cents here and there if you want, but mostly just sort of support me by being there and make me look good. Chauvinistic perhaps, but that’s the gig. Then the dinner, desserts, more drinks.”
He tilts his head at me, thinking.
“You know,” he says, “There’s a lot more to this than I thought, now that I explain it all. Parties are hard, I guess. You have to be able to always have a drink in your hand, but never be drunk. That’s a big one. If you get labeled as a lush, or get a reputation of being someone who gets drunk too quickly, or as a loud annoying drunk, or someone who disrupts parties, you never get rid of that rep. So handling your booze is super important.”
Yikes.
“Being good at conversation is important. Have something to say, know when to listen, know when to just let me talk and when to rescue me from awkward situations. The mix and mingle of a party is an art. It’s never just a party; it’s always politics, always business. They’ll remember what you say, and chances are someone is either recording or will report what you say and how you act.”
“So, no pressure,” I quip, droll.
“You said you needed details.” He shrugs. “I’m giving you details.”
“How long will this last?”
He frowns. “I don’t know exactly. We’ll have to play it by ear.”
I sigh. “I don’t know how long I can play the game, to be totally honest. I’m not an actress, and I’m not very good at hiding my feelings.”
“If you can play the part during public events, the personal, private stuff is less important. Family get-togethers are always awkward, and there is always some combination of people arguing or fighting about something, so the fact that you and I may not be actually in love with each other will not be noticed. I mean, shit, a good portion of the marriages in my family aren’trealeither, assuming you even believe in love and real marriage to begin with.”
“And what about…” I sigh, not knowing how to put it.
“Finances?” Paxton suggests. “I’m going to go ahead and assume you’re not looking for a payout, per se, because you just don’t seem like that type.”
“Good assumption,” I say.
“You’d just be…my wife. The resources of my family would be at your disposal, no questions asked. Want a car? Buy a car. Want a house for your mom? Buy a house for your mom. Shopping trip to Beverly Hills with your girlfriends? We’ve got a fleet of jets on standby and expense accounts galore. You’ll get a credit card with unlimited access, and as long as you don’t raise any eyebrows, you’re free to do pretty much whatever you want.”
“What would raise eyebrows?” I ask.
Paxton shrugs, tilts his head. “Um. I mean, don’t go out and buy a hundred-million-dollar mega yacht without talking to me.”
I cackle helplessly. “I don’t even know what that is or what I would do with it, Paxton.”
He tilts his head. “What’s your idea of a big purchase?”
I roll a shoulder. “Um…Taco Bell?”
He blinks at me, waiting for the laugh. “Come on, for real.”
“Every once in a while, me and a few of the girls from the hotel will go out for a few drinks. Usually I drink well liquor but sometimes, like I said when we were drinking your fancy scotch, sometimes I’ll spring for Johnnie Walker Red Label.”
“What about, like, purses and shoes and shit?”
I snort, jerk my chin toward my bedroom. “Go look at my closet if you want.”
He blinks at me, and then takes me up on my offer. Heads into my room, peeks in the closet, which I use mainly to store coats, which I have to tilt sideways and finagle the door closed over them. He glances at me, standing in the doorway watching him. “Where are your clothes?”
I point at the bed. “Look underneath.”
He crouches, peering under my bedframe—yanks out the four clear plastic tubs, pops the top on one and flips through my stack of thrift store skirts and T-shirts, cutoff jeans handed down from a friend of a co-worker, a second tub containing my work khakis for waiting tables, logo work T-shirts from the cafe and pub, a third full of my hotel uniforms—black dresses, white aprons, black stockings—and a fourth tub of underwear, T-shirts, workout clothes, and pajamas.
He frowns up at me. “This is it?”
I shrug. “I’ve got a pair of work shoes, a pair of gym shoes, and a pair of heels for going out. What else am I supposed to have?”
“Purses? Jewelry?”
