FLIRTING WITH SKIRTS

After the close call in Canada, I decided to cool off, at least for a while.

I’d lost a lot of money and I was oblivious, numb, to the recklessness that had become my life. It was the beginning of my misfortune. Not just in my business affairs, but with Angie, too.

I had met a girl in Bogota and I got her pregnant. When I confessed, my relationship with Angie fell apart. She was humiliated and mortified, and for some time, all she did was bicker. A reaction that stemmed from the torment.

Reflecting back, I’ve come to realize how “fucked-up” I acted with my loved ones, inflicting them with pain and suffering without a care in the world.

I was no different than the corrupted men in this business. We become so selfish only thinking of our own self-gratification while destroying those closest to us, crippling their nurturing spirit and trusting heart. Our feelings are hardened and we grow cold to emotional entanglement. Our sense of love and our morality stiffens as we are desensitized. Our ego is so elevated that we fail to see the humanity in others let alone in ourselves.

Even though I betrayed her trust, Angie forgave me and we managed to pull through it, mending the broken pieces of my unfaithfulness. Unfortunately, this didn’t last long.

Joey, my Colombian buddy who on occasion, would offer me an enticing deal or the opportunity to negotiate something lucrative, called me out of the blue. He said that he needed to see me about some business I would be interested in.

Since he lived in Miami, we agreed that he would fly into Bogota with a friend of his named George.

From the moment they landed, I treated them well, inviting them to “high-end” restaurants and bars around the city, and accommodating them in style within the confines of a hotel that resembled a temple of “Gods.”

While enjoying his stay in the capital, Joey got it in his head to call Leila, a friend of his—and a madam—to go out with me and Angie on a double date. But since Leila was sick, she arranged for a young decent woman from Santa Marta to be his companion instead.

That night proved to be yet another fracas with Angie. The very moment I laid eyes on Joey’s date, I was smitten. As in all the things and people I wanted and needed to possess, I went after her.

No matter the consequences and the heartbreak I would cause Angie, the woman who loved me and stood by me throughout my corrupt lifestyle and years of selfish deceits, would once again be under my wrath, and as I came to find out later on, scarred forever.

 

The Mistress & The Playboy

Cancun at the time was undoubtedly a “cash cow.” Nine months out of the year people from all over the world would vacation there to “blow” their money on fun. 

I decided it was time for me to open a restaurant-bar-marina so that I too could cater to the tourists and adventure seekers, reaping the pockets of those who visited while legitimizing my business and entrepreneur ideas.

It took me four months to mount everything, hustling from one place to the other as I “worked up” a place and a reputation for being the best new “hot spot” in town.

I started to feel happy because I was finally doing something right. Those days of looking over my shoulder were soon becoming a thing of the past, a faint and distant memory that dwindled in the wind as it swept across the ocean.

I stopped trafficking and I even quit snorting the “shit” all together. Not even socially would I touch it. My life was wrapped up in the demands of my business. I wasn’t willing to jeopardize my investment—monetarily or otherwise—at the expense of illegal activity. I guess you could say I was growing up, or perhaps, gaining some wisdom. Either case, I was done. No more “fucking” around with danger or crazy risky “bullshit” that could ruin me or threaten my family.

My venues were flourishing but my marriage was falling apart. I used to think it was her fault because she was the jealous type but in actuality, the problem was me.

I remember how she used to catch me red handed flirting with ladies at the bar or sneaking out of hotels rooms late at night. One day, early in the morning, four beautiful Brazilian women wanted to rent my boat to go fishing and I told the captain that I would allow it under the condition that I go too. Well, instead of fishing, it turned into something else. We docked at 8 o’clock that evening to the furry of my wife who waited for me with dagger eyes.

I can’t recall the number of abortions I funded with a doctor I knew who told me I was his most reliable and consistent customer. This was not only in Cancun, but in Miami as well. I had an apartment on the ocean front that I used for the sole purpose and motive of taking women there from the clubs along South Beach, and flight attendants from Aero-Mexico.

On one such occasion, I met a kind and beautiful woman named Angie who became more than a casual lover. She was my mistress with whom I developed a strong bond.

Our first encounter happened on a flight from Cancun to Miami. The night we landed, I invited her for a drink but she wasn’t having it.

Little by little I started to win her over, meeting up with her in her native Mexico City, Cancun or Miami. We became so close that she overlooked my marriage and turned the other cheek whenever I needed to be the dutiful husband.

Not even my infidelity with other women, or my outright vulgar behavior with Lydia, her supervisor who she caught me in bed with, did anything to diminish her loyalty. She even forgave me after it was found out that Lydia and I had been an item for quite some time.

Looking back, I realize that I was a cold blooded son-of-a-bitch who cared for no one but himself.

My personal life was a charade, but my professional life was a serious matter. My businesses were a success and I was living good and comfortably, until fate decided to knock at my door once again.

A turn of events would have me at the mercy of my old trafficking ways, and at the thresholds of hell.

LOVERS

Evelyn’s sobriety was this time around stretched for a period of 3 months—something I thought would never happen given her track record. 

Our marriage once again regained the bliss of earlier days and she seemed to have transformed into a new woman. She started talking about wanting a baby. I was elated of course. Nothing else indicated how “clean” she was and how serious her vindication had advanced. Even though she couldn’t conceive—she had no ovaries—I wasn’t deterred to make it happen. I plunged into research and found a doctor at Yale University who was heading an advanced treatment program there on in-vitro fertilization.

Dr. Decharny agreed to meet us on Monday morning so we decided to spend the weekend in Manhattan before making our way to Haven, Connecticut. Once there, we were put through several examinations—Evelyn undergoing x-rays while they took my sperm count. We were briefed on how the procedure worked which consisted of mixing someone else’s eggs with my semen, and the thought of another woman’s genes blended with mine, made Evelyn forfeit the idea right then and there. She wasn’t having it so we returned to Miami with defeated hearts.

Still, our relationship continued on an even keel and we flourished, that is, until Ali—a friend and lover from her high school days—entered the picture. She was an attractive blue eyed brunette with an insatiable allure hard to resist. Evelyn encountered her on our vacation flight to Puerto Rico, where she was a stewardess for Eastern Airlines.

From that moment on, things between them reignited. They started to play out the past and I, allowing their relationship—if not encouraging it—was handsomely compensated. Our sweet yet sordid and some-what sadistic sexual trysts, was thoroughly enjoyed. We explored every fantasy, exploit, every dirty guilt-free curiosity with the same spirit and imagination of a thirsty pupil in quest for knowledge. I splurged on them like they splurged on me and that equal exchange of pleasure was part of our lives at home. Inevitably, Ali moved in.

For all its self-absorbing “mind-fucking” thrills, the three of us came to a clash as soon as I found out that Ali started supplying Evelyn with drugs. Her mood started to change and her nasty habits resurfaced. I forced Ali out of the house but this did nothing to stop her from getting to Evelyn.

On one such occasion, I returned from a trip precisely on Valentine’s Day to celebrate it with my wife. I dropped by the Seybold building in downtown Miami and bought her a set of beautiful drop-diamond earrings. As soon as I got home, I could tell she was nervous, jittery, almost paranoid—a trait common in cocaine users.

The phone rang and I went to answer it but she said not to worry because it was probably for her. Uncompromising, I went into my studio and picked up the receiver—putting my hand over the mouth piece—and heard her say: “Amiga, I can’t see you tonight…I didn’t know this asshole was coming today.” Those words set my temper on fire. I was furious.

With the gift box in hand, and my heart stuck in my throat, I confronted her. I told her she could still go out with her friend and that I wouldn’t stand in the way of her fun. I left the house in a hurry and headed to my friends strip club where I drank till late. All was good until I felt a fist across my face. It was the beginning of the end on THE NIGHT of LOVERS.