CHAPTER THIRTEEN
One Month Later
Stan lay in bed with Marle in the plush tropical suite of the exotic hotel of her honeymoon dreams. He looked at her as she slept and thought to himself that it sucked to be married. But at least he had been forced to marry someone cute, especially when she was asleep and not talking. The peaceful thought only lasted a couple of seconds longer.
"Good morning, Mr. Peters," Marle said lovingly as she opened her eyes. She kissed Stan's muscular chest and gazed happily at the twelve-carat diamond on her finger. It was so big Stan had to bill it to three different projects.
"Good morning, Mrs. Peters," Stan answered back lovingly but with considerable stress in his voice.
"What's wrong?" asked Marle.
"Nothing's wrong," Stan said not so convincingly. He wondered how women could detect even the slightest vibration that might not be one of complete goodwill and generosity toward them. He looked at the top of her head wondering if there weren't some type of antenna at work.
"I can hear it in your voice something's wrong." She paused. "And stop looking at me like I've got horns coming out of my head."
Antenna like an insect, not horns. Although the devil has horns.
"It's just this whole marriage thing. It's so demanding, I mean I really never imagined that it was this much work."
She propped herself up slightly so she could look him in the face. "You shmuck, I can't believe you just said that."
Stan gave a resigned smile. "Of course you don't understand, you're a woman."
"We got married yesterday," Marle said to him with no sympathy for his situation. "Twelve hours! We've been married twelve hours."
"I don't think I can do this," Stan said out loud but also silently begging for help. There was none coming.
Marle's eyes became slits like they always did when she was determined to get her way. "Oh you're going to do this all right. You're going to do this for the rest of your life. Every day, forever and ever. I love you. But if you even think of pulling that scummy Hollywood producer shit on me, I'll rat you out to the Rabbis, the Teamsters, the drug cartels, and the Pope. And the Pope is already mad at you."
Stan smiled, acknowledging that he did love her. She smiled back as he rolled over on top of her and began kissing her neck.
"Get off of me you animal!" she said unconvincingly.
"Are you guys fighting already?" asked Marle's three-year-old daughter Taylor as she climbed on top of Stan, who was on top of Marle.
Stan slid off to the side, grabbed Taylor and held her above him like he was bench-pressing her. "Well, it is after nine," he said looking into the beautiful laughing face of the precocious three-year-old. Stan couldn't help but think that kids might just make getting married partially worth all the trouble.
"You shouldn't fight on your honeymoon," Taylor said matter-of-factly.
"Well we weren't exactly fighting. Your mom was just in the middle of blackmailing me."
Taylor pointed at him. "She learned from the best."
Stan smiled, amazed that at three she already knew how to flatter someone. "She certainly did," he agreed.
"Can I have a puppy?" she asked, knowing that the words "the best" could get just about anything out of her new daddy.
"Sure. Anything else?" Stan asked happily, lowering her down so she was now sitting to his right while her mom regained her perch on his chest.
Taylor nodded. "I want to star in your next movie and I want my own trailer."
Stan looked at Marle. "This is forever?"
Marle smiled. "And ever and ever."
Stan turned his head back to Taylor. "Alright, one movie and that's it. Then you're going to school like other kids?Unless it's a really big hit. If it is, we'll have to talk."
Taylor jumped on top of Stan and gave him a big hug. "Thank you!" She sat back up. Her expression was very serious. "And I want my own clothing line."
Stan looked back to Marle. "Well this morning is off to a hell of a start."
"You don't know the half of it!" shouted Ray from the doorway.
Stan raised his head from the pillow and stared at the bizarre image of Ray and Iren walking into the room still partially dressed as Hasidic Jews, and completely tanked from a hard night of partying. Ray held up The Hollywood Reporter.
Iren took a swig of Scotch from the bottle of Blue Label he had in his hand. "Wait until you hear this," he said holding the bottle toward Stan who sat up in bed with his new, mandatory two billion dollar family.
Stan took the bottle, held it to his lips, and took a large gulp. He cleared his burning throat. "It better be good news."
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