Wedding of the Century 3 (Patreon)

Mary Jane forked a bite of wedding cake—mostly frosting—into her mouth. The sugary starburst gave her a small thrill, but it was quickly gone. For such an institution, wedding cake really didn’t taste so good.

All in all, she wished she hadn’t accepted the proposal. She could’ve just bought a really big cake. She didn’t know why it wasn’t more socially acceptable to buy huge cakes. They seemed to only come around at weddings or as stripper hiding places.

She took another mouthful. This time a clump of cake matter fell off the tines and tumbled over her chest, marking a brief trail over the wedding gown she still wore. Sal, her publicist, muttered something distressing and wetted a napkin to come wipe her off. Mary Jane halted him with a palm and took the napkin to clean herself off. Even though he was her longest held business relationship, there were some limits.

“I realize you’re coping,” he said, “but couldn’t you cope with celery sticks instead? Or maybe change out of your dress? We could still get top dollar for it.”

“Who’d want it?” Mary Jane asked. “Planet Hollywood?”

“Think of it this way: this is Hollywood history. One more break-up, make-up, that’s old hat. But being left on the altar? This could be big. We could parlay it into something.”

Mary Jane speared her wedding cake again. “I’m not thinking of it that way.”

“Well, obviously, now isn’t the best time to think these things over—in the fullness of, uh, err—“

“Why am I talking to you about this?” Mary Jane asked, jabbing the full fork at him. “Of course you’re not going to support me… it’s not your job to support me… or it is… I’m an actress to you, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. I’m not a person to you. I wasn’t a person to Paul either, just some… I don’t even know.”

“I’m your friend,” Sal insisted.

“I’m your job,” Mary Jane said with another shake of the fork. “It’s alright. I’m an industry. I have a person for my hair, for my make-up, for my clothes, for my social media.”

She looked at the wedding cake, knowing there was no way another bite of it would taste even as good as the last one. All empty calories.

“I’m like some weird Howard Hughes billionaire—I don’t talk to anyone I don’t employ. My longest conversations are when I’m giving an interview. Everything I do is either for a movie or for a tweet or an Instagram or a Tiktok so I can get a movie role so I can keep paying people to be my friends!”

“You don’t pay people to be your friends,” Sal assured her. “You work with people you like and get along with—let me tell you, I’d love being friends with everyone at my office. Hell, I love working with you. You know how many people at my firm would love to spend a couple hours with the Amazing Mary Jane?”

“Sal, I’ve been engaged to a gay guy for seven months. Clearly I’m the Queen of Shallowness. Completely superficial. Just a great figure, a cute smile, and one badass shade of red.”

Sal went cross-eyed looking at the fork she had pointed at him. “Do you want me to eat that?”

Mary Jane vindictively stuck it in her mouth.

“Maybe that’s why I’m a good actress. There’s no real me to get in the way of the character. The director just shoves his hand in me and works me like a puppet. Oh, yeah, I’m a real joy to work with.”

Sal pursed his lips. Took out his phone. “I’ll just book a quick sesh with your therapist for tomorrow.”

Mary Jane fixed him with a stare. “This is not something to massage away, alright? I get it, I lead a charmed life. I’ve got a penthouse apartment. I have a helicopter on speed-dial. I actually own one of those bras with diamonds in it… If I have all that and I’m not happy, there must be something wrong with me, right? Something I have to change?”

Sal closed his phone. “Maybe we should cancel the press conference. Tell everyone that you’ve decided to start work on your next project early and you’re in seclusion, researching your character… I’ll give a statement, it’ll be fine.”

“Oh yeah, what statement? That you’re happy for Paul? That he’s ‘living his truth’ or some crap like that?”

“What would you prefer?” Sal asked her, a little acidity creeping into his tone. “That he’s a no-good cheater who strung you along because he saw you as a status symbol instead of a person, until he decided he could get a better return on his investment being out and proud?”

“Yes!” Mary Jane snarled out. “Anything that sounds like it’s from the heart, not run through an algorithm! Something messy and real—that’s been felt instead of workshopped!”

She flung her fork at the wedding cake, managing to hit the uppermost tier. She’d long since taken down the figurine of the groom and thrown it against the wall. Now the impact dislodged the little bride, which tumbled down from the parapets of the wedding cake.

Sal lowered his voice. “As good as that must sound to you right now, you pay me not to let you do things like that.”

“Yeah. I’m too big to fail,” Mary Jane said bitterly. “I stop making twenty mil a picture, my sushi chef goes on the unemployment line…” She took a deep breath. “Call the press conference. I promise I’ll be civil. Believe me, I’ve gotten good at taking shit with a smile over the years. But I’m not hiding.”

She wiped her eyes of the venomous tears assaulting her mascara.

“Paul did this over the phone. I’m going to stand up, in front of every camera the city of New York can point at me, and I’m going to be the Amazing Mary Jane. I’ll remind everyone why they fell in love with me—leave them thinking that Paul must be a goddamn idiot to jilt me!”

“He is a homosexual,” Sal pointed out.

Mary Jane shot him a look with her green eyes fully radiant. “Then he should’ve thanked his lucky stars he came within spitting distance of me being his beard.”