The Facade

Chapter 3

I was an outcast.

At the moment, I knew no one who was in my position. I was probably the only successful colored woman to break through in journalism. No, I wasn't those sleazy journalists asking about who disliked who or who had an affair with the other.

I always covered the lives of the rich and famous in the most respectful way. My favorite way of getting information is through interviews, although few stars are willing to answer to a journalist. There was no reason to be uncomfortable, my questions were always strictly professional, and for the most part that professionalism was reciprocated by the interviewees.

That was until Marlon.

___

1948

I knocked on the door of the apartment in front of me. There was no answer, but I could hear a ruckus on the other side. The music of the radio playing drowned some of it out, but it was definitely two people making the most strange noises. Noises I was barely acquainted too, I was pretty new to being my own in the big city.

Tired of standing there, I lifted my fist to knock again, but before I could the door flung open. There he stood. Tall, muscular, handsome. His brown hair was gelled into Liberace waves. His full lips pressed together as he looked down at my feet, then his eyes scaled up my body. He stood in total confidence.

The feeling he gave off was pure seduction. Finally, to my surprise, I was shocked to see he was only wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants. Yes, we were meeting at his apartment, but at the time this was very unusual. Most men would dress in a full suit if they knew they'd have guest. He was totally casual, as if a long time friend were coming to visit.

"Mr. Brando, my name is Rose Taylor and I've been sent by—" I began to introduce myself, but Marlon's rudeness interrupted.

"The Post." He finishes for me nonchalantly. For a moment, I wanted to reprimand him for that but I knew I was working. There was a silence, the loud radio roaring swing music in the background. With an exhale, I let it pass.

"I'm sure they called you to confirm it." I told him.

"And telegraphed. And wrote." Marlon sighed. "It probably was one of the most annoying interviews I've ever gotten."

His pretentious behavior was beginning to aggravate me. He'd only done a handful of broadway plays in the past, this one was his big hit. How could he possibly be so sure of himself?

"Most annoying interview? I'm surprised to see you've gotten so many to come to that inquiry. It seems that no one knew who Mr. Brando was even last year." I tilted my head. He scowled at my comment, I grinned proudly.

I jumped as Marlon suddenly raised his voice.

"Molly!" Marlon shouted into his apartment. Out came a peroxide girl with platinum hair and black eyebrows. "Get lost, I'm in an interview."

"I didn't even finish. What happened to all that junk about pleasure?" She said, her dress was very ill fitting. It was wrinkled and bunched in the wrong places. She looked to Marlon for an answer, but he only rose a brow at her, putting his hands in his pockets.

"You know what? The others were right. You're a sap!" She shouted out at Marlon. She began making her way to the door, but I stood there. She looked me up and down, then looked behind her.

I stepped aside to give her way to exit, but she turned back around in the apartment as if she was forgetting something. As her back turned toward us, I realized her dress was totally unzipped. It was such a spectacle and the loud music didn't help the tension of the situation. She kneeled down to get her shoes, which were flung to totally different parts of the room. Then, she searched on the small couch where she picked up her underwear.

She walked back toward the door and Marlon blocked the way. "What? I can't keep these?" He teased, pulling at the panties in her hand.

"You're scum!" She shouted out pushing past him into the hall. She didn't even take the time to put her shoes back on.

"Get real, Molly." Marlon furrowed his eyebrows she embarrassingly walked away.

"It's Lucy!" She shouted from down the hall. Although she exited, my eyes were still glued in that direction, I couldn't believe what I just saw.

"Anyway, what's, uh, what's happening with you? Don't you need to ask me something?" Marlon said toward me. My eyes scaled down his body. I noticed his form fitting t-shirt once again showcasing his build.

"Would you like time to change into something more appropriate?" I mumbled.

"Huh?" Marlon tilted his ear toward me, the music still played on.

"Would you like to change your clothing!?" I shouted a little louder, rising on my toes toward his ear.

"Oh, no. This will do fine. You can write about it all you want to, I don't really care what they say." Marlon waved his hand. We stood there for a moment looking at each other. Marlon still stared me down, sizing me up to figure if I could be his next "Molly".

"May I come in?" I asked.

"May you come in!?" Marlon repeated to confirm if he heard correctly. I nodded yes, holding my notebook and pen close to my heart. "Alright, sure! Come in!"

I stepped into his apartment and looked around. The walls were old, the green paint chipping in some places. Bold and risqué photos of women were scattered along the walls. One particular photo of Rita Hayworth in her negligée hung proudly over his bed, which I could see through the doorway of his bedroom.

There were photos of actors and actresses from silent films. The radio glowed on a desk that was filled with papers and mess, he hadn't taken the time to straighten out the place.

He stood behind his couch, then smacked the back of it. I glared at him, he didn't even verbally invite me to sit. As I walked toward that couch to sit, I had to keep reminding myself I was there for a reason and giving him one good sock in the nose wasn't needed.

Finally, Marlon sat next to me in order to begin our interview.