The Black Chapel (6 page)

I bite my lip and look away.

“It’sh going to leave you heart broken,” Anne says.

She might be right, but I say, “I think it could work.”

“It could, but I don’t think any guy who proposhesh shomething this indechent is looking for love with you. And not that you’re not worth it, becaushe you are like the most gorgeoush creature to walk the earth,” she says grabbing my elbow. “I jusht don’t want you shee you hurt.”

I understand. But I don’t agree. I’m going to do this. I hug Anne and thank her for her advice. We head back to the dressing room and rush to get ready for the evening.

My first costume is
Santa’s Little Helper
and I put my green sparkly mask on. I’m soon off to the stage.

“Please welcome Santa’s Little Helper,” Jim says and Santa Baby starts playing over the speaker system.

I step onto the stage and the audience is about halfway full, which isn’t bad for a Tuesday night. I get into my character and swing myself around the pole at the center of the stage. Up here I’m someone else completely. And though I hate my job with a passion, there are a few benefits to it. Like up here I’m free from my financial woes for the moment, and free from the pain I still feel from the loss of my mother. And up here I can be anyone I want to be. I am able to let go and to explore a side of me that I never really express in my real life.

Suddenly I feel like I’m being watched. Well, of course I’m being watched, but I feel like I’m being observed and coveted by someone in the audience. I turn around and in the audience I see Michael’s blue eyes on me. Blood immediately rushes to my face and I have to force myself to continue as if nothing has affected me.

Him being here excites me. For a moment I think maybe he knows who I am, but then I look in his eyes, and I see a man so different from the man I had breakfast with earlier today. His eyes are lustful, and he wants me. I instinctively move toward him and then I get down on all fours. Crawling in his direction, my eyes lock with his, and I feel oh—so sexy.

Michael smiles like he notices the connection between us.

Why wasn’t it like this last night or at lunch? I wonder, still crawling. I get into a squatting position and move my hands up and down my body, still not taking my eyes off him. I am so turned on by this; I can hardly stand it.

His eyes, smoldering now, scan my body and I delight in him watching me move. I really want this man. The music ends all too soon, and our much too brief thrall has been broken. I get up and notice him get up with me. As I near the wing, he approaches the stage.

“Tell me your name,” Michael says.

I look down at him. What should I say? I don’t want to reveal who I am just yet. Maybe he won’t marry me if he knows. “Samantha,” I say, and exit the stage.

Laila saw it all. “Why don’t you just give him your information?” She follows me back to the dressing room.

“Because it’s complicated,” I say, pulling off my mask and costume, hurriedly changing into the next one:
Snow Angel
. After I get into my white, Swarovski sequenced tunic, Laila helps me into my wings.

“You don’t need to be in a relationship with him. He just wants sex, I’m sure,” Laila says.

I turn around and face her. “Did
he
say that or did
you
just make that up? Besides, I don’t want it either. I’m a stripper, not a whore.”

Laila huffs. “He’s just got a little crush on you, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that.”

“What if he’s like a serial killer or something?” I say. I spray some glitter on my cleavage, arms and hair.

“He’s not a serial killer. Come on. He’s a mini-celebrity. You’ve heard of him, right?” Laila says.

“Apparently not,” I say.

“He is a big supporter of the arts and also the educational program through the Episcopal Church, donating millions each year. I hardly think he has time to be a serial killer.” Laila sounds annoyed.

“I just don’t want to, okay?” My voice is serious and firm.

Laila puts her hands on her hips and squeezes her plump lips together. “Fine, but when you want a raise, don’t come begging me for one.” She grabs her clipboard and storms off.

“You okay?” Anne says, just coming in, her mouth not so numb-looking anymore.

“Yeah. Things are just beginning to get complicated.” I grab my white faux diamond bedazzled mask and head for the stage.

My heart is racing even before I get there. I don’t know what Michael will do next. I’m kind of hoping he’s gone, but I’m kind of hoping he’s there, too.

“Please welcome the Sultry Snow Angel,” Jim says, and Ave Maria with the London Symphony Orchestra starts playing.

Michael is still in the audience and I see that his eyes light up right as I step onto the stage. He seizes my willpower instantaneously. This dance is a very sensual one, I think, and I suspect Michael will like it very much. He seems to be a guy who likes classical music.

For this dance, I wear clear platform heels, so it almost looks like I’m floating above the stage floor. I hesitate for a moment when I see Michael. Should I stay away? I should. Should is such a strange concept. Want is so much stronger. I should stay away, but I don’t want to.

I come down the stage, and make my way to Michael. I just can’t help myself. He smiles at me as he sees I’m coming toward him. I melt; this angel wants him.

He stands up to greet me and I wrap my arms around his neck. I’m almost too daring. I feel his firm body against mine, and then I feel him hard. I gasp. He’s turned on by me. I feel a deep throb in my lower abdomen as he places his hands on the small of my back. He smells so good and I close my eyes just to take in the highly erotic moment.

“Please, may I have your number?” he whispers.

His voice is the voice of a desperate man, and I really like having this effect on him. “No,” I whisper back and then bite his ear. He moans ever so lightly and I pull back. He pulls out and slips a wad of hundred dollar bills into my cleavage.

“Thank you, Mr. Manning,” I say and head for the stage again. I feel like I’m going to come undone; he has such a powerful effect over me. And I’ve never experienced this kind of complete want to abandon everything I ever promised myself.

Back stage again I take a deep breath.
What a man!

“Just as long as you keep him coming back, I might just be fine with what you do,” Laila says in passing.

I smile. But there is a gnawing voice in the back of my mind saying: this isn’t the real you. He’s mesmerized by the wrong me. I feel slightly schizophrenic all of a sudden, having to play so many roles. What should I do about this? Suddenly, everything seems even more complicated than before. He can’t have both women, I think. Because this mysterious stripper woman isn’t real at all. She merely exists in The Black Chapel. She’s not real.

And then I realize that I have a serious opponent: myself.

When I get home that night I turn my cell phone on and see that I, the real me, have a text message from Michael, the soon-to-be-husband of the real me.

Thank you for having breakfast with me. It was great to get to know my new business partner better. Can you meet with my lawyer and myself tomorrow to finalize and sign the contract?

Michael

I reply.

I work at night so the meeting will have to be sometime during the day.

Scarlett.

I don’t want to be too nosey, but may I ask where you work?

Michael

Crap. Double crap! What should I say? Where would Michael not be allowed to visit me if I indeed worked there?

I took a temp job as a waitress and I work at different restaurants and pubs in Portland.

Scarlett.

Since it’s temporary, I can change it at any time and he’d never be able to catch up with me. I high-five myself.

Just remember, your working days will soon be over.

Michael

He doesn’t know me at all.

I rather like working, Mr. Manning. Even when we marry, I will want to continue to work. That is, unless you have any other wifely duties for me in mind,
Scarlett.

I hope that wasn’t too flirtatious. I wonder if he’ll reciprocate my playful tone. Two minutes later I’m nervous because he hasn’t responded. I wait another minute and finally he responds.

Indeed Mrs. Manning. I have no problem with that, as long as it doesn’t involve cleaning cinder from the chimney. Where would you love to work?

Mr. Manning

Are you referring to yourself as Prince Charming? I’ve always loved book stores.

Scarlett.

He replies right away.

Only if you insist, dear.

P. C.

I laugh.

No, I don’t insist at all. As a matter of fact, I’d rather you be Superman,
Scarlett.

I have always kind of had a crush on Superman. There’s just something about his humble demeanor and cape.

Now, Mrs. Manning. Don’t go too far. I do have an airplane, but not a red cape nor tights.

I’m loving texting with Michael right now. I never knew he had such a sense of humor.

Tights… hmmm. I’d love to see you in those.

Scarlett.

He doesn’t respond. Did I take it too far? Crap, I took it too far.

I’ll see what I can do about the tights, but for tomorrow, can I pick you up at noon and we can catch lunch and then visit my lawyer?

Michael

I relax. Nice transition. He’s smooth as silk this guy.

Perfect! I’ll be ready.

Scarlett.

Oh, and I almost forgot. After the meeting with the lawyer, will you have time to meet my mother?

Michael

I gulp. Here we go.

Yes, of course. Ready as I’ll ever be.

Scarlett.

She’s excited to meet you.

Michael

And I’m excited to meet her, too. And a little nervous.

Scarlett.

Don’t worry. You’ll be perfect. Good night.

Michael

I turn my phone on silent and place it on the maple nightstand next to my four-post bed. That last line makes me feel like he chose me just because I’m the “perfect” girl. But he has truly no idea of who I really am, and he’s in for a real surprise.

Next morning I take a long, hot shower, thinking of what I’ve gotten myself into. I still haven’t signed the contract so there’s still time to change my mind. But I always come back to my dad’s chemotherapy. If I could just have enough money for that, I’d be able to figure everything else out in due time. But since time is what I don’t have a lot of when it comes to my dad, I feel I need to accept this deal in order to save his life.

After the shower, I shave my legs and dry myself off. I straighten my long black hair with a flatiron and put just enough make-up on that says ‘I’m not
just
a nice girl.’ What does one wear to a meeting with a lawyer and to meet one’s future pretend mother-in-law for the very first time? I try on half a dozen outfits and settle on a white pencil skirt, a shimmery tank and a peach button up cashmere jacket. My chandelier earrings may seem a little over the top, but I decide to keep them.

I hear a knock downstairs, grab my coat and purse and answer the door.

“Hi Michael,” I say.

“You look lovely,” He hugs me, and I wish I could stay in his arms forever. How does he do that to me?

“Mind if we have lunch at my place?” He says once we’re seated in his black Mercedes.

“Not at all.” Geez, how many cars does this guy own? A lot more than I can imagine, I‘m sure.

He takes me all the way across town and pulls into a gated mansion close to the Cascading Mountains. I try not to look too impressed, but it’s hard to keep my mouth from dropping open. This place is huge, and is ridiculously grandiose.

“Welcome to my home,” Michael says once he has the car parked.

A man walks out in a black uniform with gold buttons and trim and opens the door for me. “Madame,” he says, and I have to muffle a giggle. I’ve never been called Madame before.

Michael takes me by the arm and leads me inside. The vestibule is about as big as my parents’ entire house. There is a marble stairwell at the end and a crystal chandelier of titanic proportions hovering high above in the ceiling. The mansion looks like it was built many years ago, but updates have clearly been made throughout.

“The dining room is this way,” Michael says and I follow him. “I thought it would be best to eat in here. That way we can discuss our story, which we’ll need to keep straight in front of my mother. And since you’ve already been to visit my house, it will make our relationship all the more believable.”

“Our story?” I ask.

“What we tell my mother. How we met and such,” he says, looking back at me, giving me a swift smile.

His playful glance takes me off guard, and I cannot believe I’m actually marrying this god of a guy, even if it is an
arranged
marriage, destined to end in divorce. “Yes, of course,” I say.

The far end of the dining table—for the table is very, very long—is set for two. A servant girl pulls my chair out and I have a seat at the end of the shiny dark wood table. She lays a napkin across my lap and pours me a drink.

“Will white wine suit you Madame?” Another servant with white gloves asks me. I nod and he pours it into my wine glass.