The Facade

Prologue*

*Warning: There's sensitive topics in this and heavy cheek clapping so read at your own discretion

The party roared outside of the door, everyone peeked in to get a glimpse of the two of us. Joan held her champagne glass elegantly, smiling at the sight of the two of us. James wore a dapper tux, he stood a little far back in the crowd. After taking a drag of his cigarette, he blew out and pushed threw the crowd to exit the room.

Natalie smiled at the sight of us as she stood between Marilyn and Ava. Ava being the oldest didn't seem as excited as the rest of us, but she still was intrigued at the sight of us. Rita stared with a risen brow, she was practically green with jealousy. Paul pushed through the crowd as he held a bottle of champagne by the neck.

Rita was shocked as the champagne was suddenly pressed against her bosom. "Here, can you hold this, beautiful?" Paul slurred.

Suddenly, Paul smiled as he extended his arms toward each knob of the open french doors. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned half way, showing his chest that was red and irritated from drunkenness. The apples of his cheeks were risen as he smiled from ear to ear, they were reddish under his glassy eyes.

"And now, to leave the bride and the groom to their own privacy." Paul Newman smiled as he stood in the opulent doorway of the bedroom. "I'll file people out so you can get to what you're doing."

Before I could speak up, Paul's blue eyes gave us a wink before shutting the French doors to Marlon's bedroom. Well— our bedroom now. I could barely keep eye contact with Marlon. It was hard to figure out exactly what we were supposed to do now that we were left to our own devices.

I walked in front of the vanity in Marlon's room, looking at my reflection. I truly looked like a bride, my brown skin glowed in the dim light of the bedroom. My hair was pinned up in an updo, two curls trickled down on either side of my ears. My dress was a form fitting one, almost similar to a silk slip that you wear as negligée.

We didn't have time to get me a proper dress.

I looked to the side of me in the mirror, I could see Marlon's dominant figure a few feet away. He wasn't turned toward me either, however he didn't seem half as nervous. This marriage occurred on Marlon's terms.

The studio thought it was improper that he was now 30 years old without a wife. In a threat to break his contract, they kindly asked for him to settle down. In retaliation to their "request", he got one of the most controversial wives he could find.

Marlon's full lips were parted as his fingers twisted his cufflinks. After he succeeded in getting them off carefully, his next action contradicted his previous one as he threw them across the room. The metal & gemstone cufflinks scattered away from each other as they slid across the wooden floor like metal jacks.

He furrowed his eyebrows in that smug expression he usually displayed on his face, his chin was lowered as he looked toward me. His hands were at either side of him, his arms looked muscular under his white dress shirt. It was hard not to be attracted to Marlon, but I kept on reminding myself that this marriage was a favor, it wasn't real.

My eyes darted away from him as he began tugging at his black bow tie around his neck. I pursed my lips together as I looked at the objects along his vanity. Cologne, a brush, a dirty magazine. Jayne Mansfield was on the cover in a pink undershirt. Interesting.

When I looked up, I felt a jolt in my body to see that Marlon was now buttoning his shirt. With every button revealed more of his toned torso. His jaw clenched as he removed his shirt, then flung it onto the couch that sat in front of his bed.