Marilyn Dominque Marlo

Marilyn Dominique Marlo strode down the busy newyork sidewalk, away from the small building on the corner of St.James boulevard, away from the apartment numbered Room 17 in gold plated lettering, away from the man probably still sitting at his yellow linolium kitchen table, munching on eggs, -sunnyside up- and sipping coffee, black with three cubes of sugar, cause thats how she knew he liked it. Away from any chance she had ever had at a happy ending. 1

Marilyn Domique Marlo was 44 years old. Yes, thats right, 44, 45 in three months now. And she still had yet to find the 'one'. Ah yes, the illusive 'one'. Now you see where this story is headed. She believed this man, the one in the apartment enjoying, or perhaps rather not enjoying, his morning breakfast, she believed this man could have been the 'one'. That 'one' that all women looked for. A year her senior, actually, with faded caramel skin and graying chocolate hair, and brown eyes that could make a woman melt. 2

Marilyn Dominque Marlo walked faster through the mid-morning crowd, black high-heels clacking with a determined fury against the cracked concrete. Or perhaps with more of a sort of heavy sense of being defeated. Maybe she was just trying to get away from that silly little apartment on the corner or St.James Boulevard, away from the memory of the man who was now at this moment finishing his eggs and moving on to the buttered toast, perhaps more moist than toast should be, but delicious all the same. Away from the words that popped from his lips "We need to talk". 3

Marilyn Dominque Marlo had wanted to leave right then and there. Any sort of idiot could see what was coming. And Marilyn Dominque Marlo wasnt any sort of idiot: the leading president of a advertising corporation, a Yale graduate in the top three percentile of her year, and a single middle-aged mexican woman at the peak of her success. But that was the thing. She certainly WAS very happy with her buisness life. But she had to admit that she sacrificed that homey family life she had always longed for, in exchange for big bills and corner offices. Marilyn was getting on in child-bearing years, and she had never wanted to be that old woman on the television, 60 years of age, proudly holding up a newborn infant in her arms. Uh-uh, no thanks, she'd like to actually be alive for her childs graduation thank youvery much. 4

Marilyn Domique Marlo shifted her navy buisness suit in mid-stride, refusing to stop for even a moment, even to adjust her dark windblown hair. Everything had gone so well lately. Its hard to believe that the man, who had just finished his toast and was throwing the fine china his mother had left him in her will (when she died of a heart attack three years ago) in the dishwasher, had so suddenly ended it. Well, no, that wasnt right. She supposed it wasnt that much of a surprise. After all, it wasnt the first time something of this sort had popped up and slapped Marilyn in the face. And how could she expect to keep a man in NewYork city? With all the hot young woman running rampant throught the steel streets and parading themselves through the concrete jungle, making all the apes grunt and swoon and wave their big meaty fists in the air. So when the man ,who was now lacing up his expensive black shoes, announced he had cheated on her, it didnt really shock her that much. Of course at first it caused a ripple, a echo, of surprise, but that settled quickly as she calmly accepted defeat. 5

Marilyn Dominque Marlo didnt buy the mans speech about how he wasnt good enough for her. That he didnt deserve to be with her any longer after he had betrayed her in such a horrid, extreme way. That he had broken the trust absolutely nessicary for a relationship. She knew the truth. That she was quite unappetizing compared to the blonde, tan, trim tennis instructor he was now sleeping with. Her wrinkles and aging muscles were no match for that other girls toned arms and sculpted thighs. 6

Marilyn Dominque Marlo didnt feel anger. All she felt was exhaustion. Tired. Weary. But most of all, she accepted what had happened. She came to terms with it as soon as his lips formed around the words. In the end, every prince charming was a frog in disguise who yearned for another princess's fuck, and happy endings only existed in disney movies and chick flicks. Besides, who needed LOVE anyway?