“I’m not going to fight the guy, Mike.”
“Yeah, I know, but he doesn’t know that. You think he’s going to be comfortable seeing you? You don’t think it’s going to be awkward for him? Make it awkward for him.”
“How do you mean?”
“Be confident when you arrive, exude motherfucking confidence, and take your time before meeting him. When you do, walk over to him deliberately. You’re just going to shake his hand, but for all he knows you’re going to clock him one right in the face.”
“OK,” I said.
“Be cool and calm, but walk over deliberately, and make him think you might just punch him out.”
“There’s no way I’m going to punch him.”
“You’re not getting what I’m saying. Make him think anything is possible. You might punch him or you might just shake his hand. But give him no satisfaction—zero. The guy means nothing to you.”
“OK, I get it,” I replied.
“You’re David fucking Martens,” Mike said. “Remember that! You have a kick-ass powerful job and a hot wife, and you’re miles above the petty bullshit. This Jim Murta dickhead ain’t going to be with your wife ever again. She sleeps in your bed every night. Shake his hand and smile, and when you do, be thinking, ‘Go fuck yourself loser.’ ”
“That’s fucking good, Mike.”
“Well if that’s not enough. I’ll show up there if you want.”
“What?” I said.
“I will kick this little prick’s ass for you.”
“Are you serious?”
“What, you don’t think I could?”
“I’m just not looking for that.”
“I understand Dave. I just don’t like the position you’ve been put in, and I’d wingman you or anything else you wanted Friday night, because like I said, I consider you a friend.”
“I appreciate that, Mike.”
“You’re going to be fine, bro,” he said. “Don’t fucking sweat it. You’re not walking in and meeting the guy who fucked your wife, you’re walking in and meeting the guy who dissed your wife with his adolescent blabbing.”
“You’re right,” I replied.
“Dave, right now it’s about the happy hour and not giving anyone, including Jim Murta, satisfaction. But afterwards we should talk about the situation in general.”
“How so?”
“Just focus on Friday night, my man,” Mike said. “That’s the main thing right now.”
****
I texted Craig the next morning, telling him I was going to tomorrow’s happy hour.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Look forward to seeing you, Dave.”
I wanted to pick up the phone and ask him if Jim Murta would be showing, but I didn’t want him feeling awkward or have him thinking I was obsessed. Besides, he might not know and would only be speculating. And I wanted to approach the night as if seeing Jim Murta was no big deal. Plus, there was a chance he wouldn’t even be there. People go away for the weekend, particularly at the end of summer. There was a chance I could skate through this with minimal awkwardness.
****
Still, when I got home, I changed out of my suit and went into my office, where I pulled up the sky-blue bikini photo of Ashley.
I imagined Jim Murta talking to me.
“So you’re really not going to puss out this time, Dave? It sure will be fun to see you squirm as I look you straight in the eye and shake your hand. And others will get a kick out of that as well—seeing Ashley’s chump husband trying to stumble through small talk with me. I’ll be thinking of how hot your wife looked with her blowjob lips around my cock when you knocked.
“So I hear you know that Ashley’s forgiven me, that all’s now good between us. I sweet-talked your wife, and we kissed and made up—oh not literally, yet—but she was so horny for my big cock that night. It’s only a matter of time, bro, before she’s grinding her married pussy on it again.
“Maybe we’ll literally kiss and fully make up tomorrow. After a few drinks, maybe I’ll be making out with your wife in front of you, in front of everyone, as you just look away uncomfortably. Maybe I’ll be French-kissing her, just like I was doing at the party when I blew my sperm up in her, when I topped it off with that special cherry for you.
“I heard about the talks you’ve had with Ashley. Tamara told me everything, how you asked if I was ‘bigger.’ Maybe someday you’ll see my cock, Dave, as it goes inside your wife; then you’ll really see how much bigger, and you’ll get to see how a real man fucks Ashley. You’ll get to watch as your wife cums with my Jim Murta cock inside her. And this time, I’ll be giving her more than two, I’ll be giving her multiples. I’ll hold off seeding your wife until she’s fully satisfied. Not like your ‘Mr. Three Pumps and Done’—Tamara told me about that—too funny. You’ll get to see the kind of fuck from a real man’s cock she craves and needs.
“I might just be fucking your wife tomorrow, Dave, in the bar’s men’s room, and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. You won’t cock-block me any more than you did the last time, when your knocking on the bathroom door didn’t stop me. This time, the door will be open, and I’ll let you watch. I’ll tell you to stand back as I fuck your wife. I’ll give you the finger right to your face as I spew a big fat load of my seed inside your precious wife’s pussy. That’s how I’ll top it off, bitch, that’s the cherry on top I’ve got for you, telling you to go fuck yourself as I sperm up Ashley’s pussy, as you stand there, scared and fucking speechless.”
And then I came hard again.
I shook my head as I washed myself off. In twenty-four hours, I might be seeing this prick, Jim Murta, face-to-face.
Stop thinking this and man-the-fuck-up.
****
A few minutes later, Mike called. “How you feeling bro? You ready for tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I confirmed my IT friend will be there, at least.”
“Cool, you’ll have a wing man.”
“Yeah, and I’m just going to avoid potential awkward moments.”
“Like what?”
“I’m going to keep tabs on where Jim Murta is, so I’m never alone and cornered.”
“No, remember what I said last night. Say hello to people and make a point to go up to him—this is important, Dave—one, it will put him off-balance and two, you’ll get it over with. You’ll be able to relax the rest of the night.”
“No, you’re right,” I said, “I am going to do that. I just meant like I’m going to avoid shit like running into him in the bathroom. I’m just making an appearance, staying for an hour or so, and then I told Ashley I have an old friend I’m meeting. She was cool with that.”
“Are you actually meeting an old friend?”
“No, but she doesn’t know that.”
“Tell you what, Dave. I’m around tomorrow. After you’re done, call me and I’ll meet you at the bar from last night. You can relax and chill out. I’m going to be in Manhattan anyway.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“Yeah, I want to be there for you, man. I’ll be the old friend you’re meeting. You won’t even be lying. I’d hate to think of you stewing back at your apartment.”
“OK, Mike, I appreciate that. I’ll text you when I’m leaving, probably around seven-thirty or eight.”
“Cool, I’ll make my way uptown by then, and Dave?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure to make the first move. You approach Jim Murta, not the other way around. I know it’s not easy, but trust me, it’s important. I’m not saying to be overly obvious, but you don’t want to seem like you’re avoiding him. You say hello to whoever he’s with and you say hello to him like he’s no different, and then you quickly move on to everyone else. Hang with your IT friend. Whatever power this Jim Murta guy has will be drained.”
“OK, Mike, I got it.”
“Confidence, Dave, remember, you’re David fucking Martens and who the fuck are you, bitches.”
****
>
I was getting more uneasy as Friday afternoon progressed.
I would be thinking “three hours from now” as I hopped on a conference call.
The bar was ten blocks from my office. It was a sunny, mild evening, and I decided to walk. Mike texted me saying “Good luck, you can do this, bro.”
I stopped in a bar along the way. “A shot of tequila, please,” I said to the young woman bartender.
“Would you like anything with that?”
“No, just the shot. Actually, wait … can you make it a double?”
“Was it that kind of day?” she asked as she brought it over.
“No,” I replied, “but it’s about to be that kind of night.”
****
“Oh, hey, Jim, good to see you,” I muttered to myself, one block before the bar, “nice night out. I can’t believe it’s about to be September. At least football will be starting soon. You a Giants fan?”
I paused at the top of the stairs to look out at the deck. I spotted Tamara first, getting up from a table. Then I saw Jim Murta talking with a few of his sales buddies by the bar.
They have business casual Friday’s where Ashley works. Jim was wearing a polo shirt tucked into his jeans. Tamara was wearing a skirt and halter top.
In my suit, I was going to stand out even more.
I went downstairs and found the bathroom, and washed my face and told myself to be confident. I ordered a beer, so I’d have something to drink when I showed upstairs.
“Let’s do this bro,” I said to myself.
I focused on Tamara standing near the bar and beelined for her.
“Hey Tamara,” I said, “great to see you.”
“Hey, Dave,” she said smiling, “I’m so glad you made it. How are you?”
“I’m doing great, Tamara, and what a beautiful night.”
“And it’s Friday,” she added.
“Hi,” I said, turning to her friend and offering my hand, “I’m Dave Martens, Ashley’s—”
“Hi Dave, I met you a few months ago, nice to see you again.”
A few minutes of social pleasantries later, I turned around and faced the Jim Murta music that I knew was behind me.
Just rip the band aid off and say hello to these punks.
“Hey, Will, good to see you,” I said, shaking his hand.
Then, “Hey Ralph, how you doing?”
Then “Hey, Jim,” as I shook Murta’s hand, smiling and managing to make eye contact.
Then, “Hi, I’m Dave Martens,” I said to a guy I hadn’t met before. “What an awesome night to be on an outdoor terrace.” Now I was addressing all four of them. “But I have to say, I’m jealous. You guys are dressed all casual, and I’m wearing this monkey suit. But hey, I’ve got a beer in my hand, so I can’t complain.”
They laughed politely.
“Well,” I said to Jim and his sales buddies, “I guess I arrived a bit late. Everybody’s already settled in. Ashley’s here, right?”
“At that corner table,” Jim said, pointing.
Of course he’d be the one to answer that question.
“Oh yeah, I see her, cool. Well, talk to you guys in a bit.”
A splash of relief. I walked up to Ashley, who stood up and gave me a kiss. I looked around the table, making eye contact and nodding hello.
“Do you want to sit down?”
“In a bit,” I said. “I just want to say hi to everyone.”
And that’s when I headed for Craig and his IT team.
“Glad you made it,” Craig said.
“Yeah, good to see all you guys,” I said to the group. “What a great bar to chill out at on a night like this.”
Craig and his IT team were bantering back and forth and I was just glad to be cocooned in the conversation. When the Yankees came up, I chimed in, but made sure to do more listening.
A few more sales guys showed up and joined Jim by the bar, but I had my spot, my place, and was grateful for the way IT and Sales were siloed.
When the waitress walked over, I bought Craig and his team a round. I could stay put where I was.
After a while, I saw Ashley talking to Tamara up at the bar. Five minutes later, Jim and his buddies were talking up T & A. I had never thought of that abbreviation for Ashley and Tamara before. I wondered if that was how the sales guys referred to them.
I watched them continuing to talk. Jim leaned into Ashley to say something and I saw her laugh.
Jesus Christ, I thought to myself, apparently all has indeed been forgiven.
I knew I had to man-up. I could hear Mike telling me to go over and join them and exude cool confidence. So I took a big chug of my beer and walked over.
“Hey Dave,” Tamara said, “having a good time?”
“Oh sure,” I said, “but when those IT guys start going off on Citrix servers and dot-xml-asci codes, I knew that was my time to leave. How are you all doing?”
Everyone responded with versions of good or great.
“Do you need another drink?” Ashley asked.
“Probably not,” I said, “I have to meet my friend.”
“Oh, have another drink,” Tamara said.
“Well, twist my arm, why don’t you Tamara. Oh, OK.”
Ashley was telling some story about a flakey client and I just laughed along, acting as comfortable and interested as I could. I glanced over at Jim a few feet away in our circle, but looked away and back to Ashley when I saw him staring at me.
His stare said “I fucked your wife.” In that moment, there was no way to really look back at him. He’d shot his sperm inside her. Both he knew it and I knew it. I’m sure he continued staring, but my eyes were focused on anyone besides Jim fucking Murta.
Then Tamara broke out her camera and said, “Let’s get a picture.”
I knew immediately what she was up to. I wasn’t paranoid. She wanted a photo of me with the guy who fucked my wife.
“I’m going to pass on photos,” I said, “I look ridiculous enough wearing this monkey suit on a summer Friday night..”
“Oh come on, Dave, you look sharp,” Tamara replied.
“Well, I appreciate the compliment,” I said, “but I’ll rain check for the next happy hour.”
“I’ll rain check as well,” Ashley said, “I’m getting called back to the table as it is.”
“Oh come on. It’s one little photo. Humor me, it’s the last happy hour of the summer.”
When Ashley hesitated, Tamara put her arm out for her to move in. Now Ashley was standing beside Jim Murta.
“Now come on Dave, pose next to Ashley.”
I felt fucked and didn’t know what to say. Tamara reached her arm out to me saying “C’mon, get in there, you look great.”
Suddenly I’m standing beside Ashley waiting for Tamara to snap the photo.
“One more time. Ashley was blinking.”
And so I grinned and endured it again. I put my arm around her and then Jim put his arm around her as well.
“This looks great,” Tamara said as she showed it to us.
I took a quick glance at the five of us posing and passed the camera back to Tamara. I acted like it was no big deal. It was just a photo. But Tamara had a self-satisfied grin. I suspected she had been waiting for that opportunity to pose Ashley between me and Jim fucking Murta.
Ashley asked if I wanted to join her back at the table and I told her I had to go, that my friend would be waiting.
Then I turned back to Tamara and said the same thing, giving her a good night hug. Then I said goodnight to the sales guys, shaking everyone’s hand—including Jim Murta’s—like I was late and in a hurry. I went back to Craig’s group and did the same.
Out on the street, I called Mike.
****
“That’s awesome,” Mike said as I told him about the evening at the bar. “Sounds like you handled things perfectly.”
“Yeah, Mike,” I said, “but—”
“But what, Dave?”
“Someth
ing happened at the end.”
“What?”
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