Disclaimer: ...don't own any of the Sailor Moon characters... T-T
Author's note: Yes, I'm updating this too. This is so much easier to write than Arabian Knights... Formerly 'Marriage of Convenience'... Hope you like the changes... and the new title!

Taking a long drag, he casually crushed the remains of the cigarette under his heel. His parents both dying from lung cancer, his father from cigars and his mother from the second-hand fumes, he preferred not to smoke, but his current predicament warranted the exception. Shuffling his feet out of habit, he leaned back against the brick wall of the alley.

"James!"

The voice registered in his head, and, his heart skipping, he turned slowly to see his wife-turned-lesbian slipping into the gap between the bank and the flower shop. Tall, blonde… she was beautiful, even in baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt that made her look like an adolescent boy. He realized that she had cut off her thick waist-length hair, opting for a style similar to his own.

"Hey, James." Her voice was faint to his ears.

"Helen."

Her smile faltered slightly at his cool tone, and she glanced down at her sneakers. They were asking for a wash. "I-I just want to say that… I'm sorry."

His icy façade wavered for a moment. She sounded so small and pathetic and… uncharacteristic, and it made him uncomfortable that such a proud spirit was reduced to this when around him. He reached for her. "Helen…"

She held up a hand. "It's all right, James, I'm bad at this too." She bit her lip. "I just want to say that, I'm sorry you've had to be… to be married to a lie for the last two years."

Shocked, he blurted out, "A lie? Helen, is that want you think? No! I mean, I'm really glad to have known you. I don't regret anything." Apart from the fact that you are…

She seemed to let out the breath she had been holding. "Thank god. I honestly didn't mean to hurt you. I mean, I thought it was just a phase. Then you found out before I could tell you and everything just got in such a mess…"

She was babbling again. Breathing deeply, he forced a smile. She seemed so happy and relieved that he couldn't even pretend to be angry. Quietly, he felt a little jealous that she could be so carefree when she was with Michelle, but never, really, when with him. He must have been staring into space, for Helen stuck her hand in front his face, as she always did when he drifted off. "James?"

The gold band on her finger caught his eye. Swallowing, he grasped her hand, tugging at the ring. "I guess I'll be taking this then."

It slid off easily, and she smiled, a little embarrassed. Leaning forward, she kissed him gently. He tasted the farewell on her lips, and a sorrowful regret she couldn't quite voice. He returned it hungrily.

Then she gone, off on her trip to the Greek Islands with her girlfriend, and he was once more became the outsider, gazing in on a perfect world that would never include him.

Stepping into his agent's floor, James Curran, known professionally as Jadeite, knew, by the vibes alone, that something wasn't right. For one, his agent, the greatest sweet-tooth to have conquered the known world (but still surprising slender), the Zeke Larence, was drinking black coffee. Another, that timid mouse of a secretary was wearing a… thong? He checked again – the computer nerd had finally proposed to the brunette bimbo, who'd shockingly agreed; the pervert wasn't downloading porn or hitting on the ladies; and both the vending machine and the water cooler weren't out of order. Something was very decidedly wrong.

Zeke glanced up as he strode in, his green eyes dead serious and his face deadpan. Dropping his newspaper and folding his hands together, he asked in a quiet, very un-Zeke-like voice – "Where have you been?"

James stared, finally losing it. "What the heck? Where the he- Where's Zeke?" He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. "I leave you guys for a month and this is what happens? Have you all gone insane?"

His copper-haired agent arched an eyebrow. "Was that Italian vineyard of yours so far in the country that you don't even receive the 'NYWhisper'?" He wondered out loud, referring to the tabloid notorious for its scandalous and often true stories regarding the famous of the famous of the famous around the country.

He ignored the derogatory remark. "It's a French vineyard, for the ninety-eighth time. And it's not mine, it's my sister's."

He threw up his hands in reflex, just in time to catch the wad of glossy paper hurtling towards his face. For a seemingly complete dimwit, Zeke had a killer aim. "No wonder I couldn't find you. Damn… so it was France was it?" He bent down to rummage through his filing cabinets. "Your sister's married name is… van Dyk? You never told me your sister married a Dutch? Those people are so nationalistic… What's she doing in France anyway?"

"W-What's… this?"

Zeke peered innocently at him from under the table. "What's what?"

"This." He jabbed a finger at the cover story. Featured prominently was a blown up photo of his farewell kiss to Helen. He let out a long suppressed growl of frustration. "Gods, no one can get any damn privacy anymore, can they? I kiss my divorced wife-turned-lesbian goodbye and the godforsaken media manages to twist it into a cover story featuring me as gay?"

His agent replied slowly, as if addressing a child, "James dear, you're a celebrity. Celebrities never have any privacy." He waves a dismissive hand at the magazine. "That happens all the time, by the way. Get over yourself."

Cerulean eyes narrowed in irritation. "When's the press conference?"

Zeke blinked. "Oh, I cancelled that." He ducked under the table again for his documents, but also mainly for the preservation of his head from his client's ash-inducing glare. "What are you glaring at me for? This came out three and a half weeks ago, I could hardly wait around for you to appear; anyway, the media's already moved on, to Blanche Chalette's thirteenth wedding, in fact. Anyhow, it's good publicity."

James collapsed into a nearby chair in unadulterated shock. "Good publicity? Good publicity?Don't you understand? I have a reputation to consider!"

"A reputation? For heaven's sake James, grow up; you're an actor, not a pageant queen. Not that you would win, even if you did enter a pageant," he muttered, mostly to himself as he dropped back in his seat. "Being gay's not that much of a big deal anymore, so you might as well live with it." He eyed the blonde's prone form. "Besides, it's not as if you'll be celibate for the rest of your life. The public will catch on soon. Now go back to that penthouse of yours and get some sleep."

Stiffly, James stood, his face blank (as in, brain-washed blank…), making for the door and instinctively, as far away from the madman he'd paid to control his affairs as physically possible.

"Oh, I almost forgot!"

The actor paused again. "What now?"

"You get an extended break from movies, for now." Zeke opened his paper again. "You failed the auditions for White Snake and A Day in the Life of a Heterosexual."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Weren't those parts written for me?"

Nonchalantly, Zeke sipped his coffee, "Well yes… But the female leads, whose parts were written for them too, happened to be Catholic and Jewish respectively."

He whirled around, frustrated. "I thought you said this rumour was for good publicity."

"Well… They did wait a few days for the press conference announcing your straightness… but you didn't turn up so… they assumed the rumours were true. It is the NYWhisper, you know."

Satisfied, Zeke turned the page, frowning at the rainy forecast for Monday, and settled deeply into his chair.

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