"You're making me feel like a prostitute, C," Effie whispered into the phone, while her hands touched the flowing fabric of the expensive black dress, which for some reason had showed up on her doorstep this morning alongside a bouquet of flowers.
"Well, I think it's only fair, that I get to treat you a little," Caesar said with the always slightly arrogant voice and the upper class Capitol accent hanging so heavily in his speaking pattern that sometimes it was hard to imagine him even touching her with gloves on, much less have a romantic relationship to a simple escort for twelve.
"I can't even afford to wear this anywhere,"
"Of course you can, E. On our little trip tomorrow, does it fit?" Effie knew exactly how he looked when he asked. Caesar was very superficial and he wouldn't even blink while saying she looked too fat or too skinny in something. Just as he expected her to say whenever one of his teeth seemed a bit more yellow than the other or something, though she rarely had anything to say. She liked his honesty, but wished it to extend a little further than her physical appearance. It was good to have him, she liked him very much and cared a lot for him, though the relationship was pretty much doomed from the start, him being so much older, richer and reputed than her. They knew that, the both of them and none of them had even expected it to last this long.
"It fits perfectly. Why don't you come over here and see?" Effie tried being seductive, but it'd never worked for her. Caesar was easy though, but he never liked being in her apartment, so the chance of him actually coming over was pretty slim.
"Why don't you put on a coat and get over here?" Caesar asked back. Resisting was hard, Effie wanted company for tonight, but the 30 minute trip in the cold wasn't really something to look forward to. She didn't own any means of transportation. She replied by not saying anything.
"Alright, I'll send you a car, darling," Caesar laughed and hung up. Shortly after a luxurious car beeped its horn at her from the outside of the shitty apartment complex where she lived.
"Remind me to have Yvette fix you a few wigs for the Games," Caesar took her arm and led her on to the temporary floor of the giant field, where the banquet they attended was held. The fake warmth radiating from it made the cold winter air seem like a lovely summer evening and the flowing black strapless dress, Caesar bought her was actually pretty warm. It was funny though. Caesar wouldn't touch her intimately in the Capitol garments. He wouldn't even kiss her intensively if she was wearing a wig. You're a doll, E. I don't have sex with dolls, I have sex with women and I look at pretty dolls. I dress up pretty dolls. I play with pretty dolls, he'd say to her and she never knew if she were to take it as a compliment or an insult.
"You two!" a woman shrieked loudly and made her way through a few dancing couples to get to them. Caesar was as always the star of the show, Effie stepped behind him a few steps, but the woman insisted on kissing them both on the cheeks and began talking obnoxiously loud about how simply loooovely they were as a couple. Effie did her best to smile and nod, but her patience with these kinds of women rarely lasted long. Caesar could go on for hours, though they still made fun of them when they were alone.
"When are you going to get married, though? I bet all of the Capitol, well all of Panem, really is dying to see you in a wedding dress!" It took Effie a moment to realize that the lady who'd introduced herself as Fleeeeuur, was talking to her. And when she processed the words she blushed deeply and looked down, while Caesar stood generally stiff beside her for once he was, too, lost for words.
"We like to take it slow, miss," Effie said with only a slight shake to her voice. Marriage was out of the question for both of them. It was barely an official relationship yet and neither of them saw themselves sitting in a retirement home next to each other. At least that was what she thought they were mutually agreeing on until Caesar suddenly took the word:
"Well, maybe it's about time I got around to it anyway," Effie watched her life in fastforward, like they describe you'll do when you're close to death. Only she did it as he elegantly put a knee in the wooden, heated floor and looked up at her. A challenge. Would she play yet another game with him?
People had proposed to her before, but not with this much sincerity. She'd of course said yes during the party and with his arm around her in the car on their way to his home, she regretted it, but there was no backing out now. Not unless she wanted to lose every last bit of reputation on the floor. For it would always be her fault, no matter what. The Capitol loved Caesar too much.
"I can't believe you'd do that," she said to him. To demand an explanation for a proposal probably wasn't the best way to start their lives as fiancées and the grin showing up on his face didn't calm her down either.
"Me neither. I guess I was just … In the mood, been thinking it over a few times E." He looked at her too see her reaction, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak and soft for him.
"You're a bastard. You could've warned me or something, given me a sign,"
"Then it would be no fun for the paparazzi, now would it?" Caesar laughed. Their engagement was probably already being beamed through all sorts of communication devices all over the Capitol.
"If you'd asked me privately, I wouldn't have said yes,"
"I know, that's why I asked you … not privately," Caesar just smiled at her. The brilliant, dazzling smile almost competing with the fast moving lights outside from the streetlights.
"What is marriage to you?"
"Can't we talk about that another day?" Caesar squeezed her shoulder. Home. He expected her to come up with him and of course she did. No matter what, she was flattered, confused, but flattered. She never knew she meant this much to him. Well, she didn't even know yet, he might just be acting out some plan.
"Please wear this instead," Caesar threw a black shirt over to her. It wasn't hers and it certainly wasn't his. "I want to talk to the woman and not the doll, right now,"
"Which of them did you ask to marry you?" Effie snapped at him, taking the shirt and leaving to change. The wig had made her hair into a sweaty mess. The make-up had run a bit when she cried her fake tears of joy that were expected of a proper woman getting engaged to a proper man. She washed it of, left the dress on the floor – he didn't want her to use it again anyway – and joined him in the living room.
"You look so clean," he noted and kissed her deeply. His own make-up stayed on. Effie rarely saw him without it and the wig wasn't really a wig, just some wefts sewn into his own hair. She didn't mind. He looked more real than her anyway.
"No, Caesar, I will not marry you," she said and pulled back from the kiss.
"I know," he repeated.
"C. I can't just throw my life away like that, I want to live on my own, I want to be … Something else than just Effie Flickerman," The look in his eyes stopped her. She couldn't say anything more.
"E. I'm sick, alright, I know…" The interviewer who so often had the upper hand on his guests looked so small now that no one in their right mind would say anything to harm him. "I know I should have told you before, it's … Kind of bad, alright," He blinked. She knew he was blinking away tears instantly, though she'd never seen him cry for real. Sometimes he'd do it to enhance a dramatic twist on the stage, but never in front of her alone.
"Sick?" She too felt sick. To her stomach. She looked intensively at every part of his skin uncovered, was he a bit pale where the perfect make-up no longer covered, since he loosened the tie? She couldn't even begin to describe how accurately she suddenly heard his breathing and how over analysing she became listening to it skip a few ques and then return to normal.
"Or old, however you want to put it. I wasn't taking as good care of myself when I was younger, as you are," he said. He had a reputation of having been a party starter. Always drinking, throwing food back up, experimenting with a bit of everything. In his younger days. After he landed the job as host for the games – and only God above knew how he did that – he calmed down.
"Stop it, you have money, you can just …"
"No," he laughed a bit "I do have money. More than I can spend, but what I don't have is the time. If I get one thing fixed another will pop up. You know I don't like surgery, so…"
"How long?" Effie asked frightened to hear the answer.
"A few years, maybe 5, they said," Caesar replied and looked her straight in the eyes.
"What is it, really?"
"Liver, heart, lungs, all giving up. It's the drugs, alcohol, all that…" Caesar said.
"Transplants could give you…"
"I'm too old, Effie. I've lived a long life,"
"So you're marrying me to be married?"
He sighed and touched her cheek and let a finger follow her neatly plucked eyebrows.
"I don't want you to fade away when I do, I want you to be able to be fully in my will,"
"Caesar, please…" Effie could feel the tears forming in her eyes as he touched her.
"Look at you," He laughed again, "and I said we weren't going to talk about marriage. You always get your way, don't you?" Being this sweet wasn't his usual self and it made her a bit uncomfortable.
"You expect me to … " She shook her head.
"Effie Trinket, will you marry me?" he asked and let his hand rest on her cheek, wiping away any escaped tears with his thumb.
"Yes. Okay, Caesar, okay, I'm sorry…" she said all confused.
"Lovely, thank you,"