Thou Shalt Not(104)

“Only the finest,” Marco said, opening the box.

Inside were individually wrapped Cuban cigars. On top of them was one of those cigar cutters that looked like it could be used as a guillotine for lizards.

Two cigars were unwrapped, cut, and lit in less than a minute.

“Wow,” I said, breathing in the first bit of Cuban smoke.

I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a Cuban cigar or a candy one, but I could tell Marco took great pride in them. So, it was amazing.

“Only the best,” he said.

We stood there for a few moments, inhaling and exhaling, neither of us saying a word.

I assumed he would say something when he was ready; I was too busy enjoying my first Cuban cigar.

In the 11th grade, my English class had a substitute teacher for a week. He had been an Amish looking fellow, but he had no problem casually swearing in front of all the students. None of us complained because we all liked him and weren’t used to having a teacher who wasn’t stuffy or crotchety. One day, he stopped in the middle of the lesson and said “Guys, there are three things in life you all need to do. One: go out of the country at least once. Two: drink expensive scotch. And three: smoke a Cuban cigar.”

Wherever you are, Mr. Albers, this puff is for you.

“So, Luke,” Marco finally said. “How long have you been sleeping with my wife?”

I thought about giving him a smartass answer like “I don’t believe I’ve ever said I slept with your wife.” But, I think he expected me to back down, to be afraid or to make excuses. That wasn’t going to happen.

“Since Monday night,” I said, as casually as I would tell someone my grocery list.

I could tell he didn’t expect a direct answer, but he oddly seemed to approve of my forthrightness.

“My agent, Phillip, takes many would-be clients to Bern’s. His motto is ‘Wine them, dine them, and hope to sign them.’ And Bern’s is the best place to do that.”

“It’s a great restaurant,” I said. “I was there just the other night.”

Marco obviously knew I had been there, no use beating around the bush. I was simply trying to stay one step ahead of him. And so far, it was working.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied. “Philip called to tell me that he was watching April have dinner with a man who was not me. I asked for a picture. He sent one.”

Because he had probably rehearsed this in his head, he pulled out his phone to show me the picture. I figured he probably would have used it as evidence if I had denied what he was accusing me of. But now, it was little more than show and tell.

He flipped through his phone to the picture and showed me.

“That’s a pretty clear picture,” I said. “No mistaking either of us.”

“No, there isn’t.”

Marco put the phone back in his pocket.

“She thinks I came up here to support her for this dinner. But I don’t care about this fucking little party. Or her job.”

“Or her. From the sound of things,” I said. It was risky to say that to a man in this situation. But, I did.

“Oh, did she tell you that?”

“Showed me too. She came over the night you hit her.”

“Really?” he said, actually laughing. “She told me she was out driving around.”

“Technically that was true.”

“I don’t make a habit of hitting my wife, Luke.”

“I tend to think once is too many times,” I said. “But I might believe you if I hadn’t followed your career all these years.”

He took in a long drag and exhaled a perfect ring. In any other situation, I would have expressed how impressed I was, and asked how he had done that.

“Because you’ve seen me get angry on the field, you think that means I abuse my wife?”

“It certainly seems to point to a problem with controlling your temper, yeah.”

“Do you have any idea,” he said, stepping closer to me and lowering his voice, “how much pussy I get because of the shit I do on the field? The ladies, they love it, man. I don’t have to ask them, they come to me. Everywhere I go. It’s fucking crazy.”

“If that’s true, then why fly all the way back here to confront me? You get it everywhere you go, and you worry she might be having an affair with someone, so you drop everything and fly home?”

“She’s mine,” he said, his voice deepening and becoming more aggressive. “No one takes her from me.”

His eyes were burning into mine. There was no doubt that Marco was now very serious.

At that moment, I heard a sound behind me and turned. It was April.

“What’s going on here?” she asked. I could sense fear. She still didn’t think Marco knew.