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twenty-six f

Lies

J ack, I hope you don’t mind me taking a vacation with Tina.” My husband knew how much I missed my friend, so I knew he wouldn’t object.

“Where?” he asked.

“Florida. Her family has a condo in Boca.”

“It’ll be good for you to get away.” I couldn’t believe how Jack put up no resistance. It was almost as though he wanted me out of the picture.

“I’ll miss you,” I lied.

“Yeah, I’ll miss you, too.”

Did my words sound as unconvincing as his?

I couldn’t tell him I was flying to Colombia with Mike and Adam, nor could I tell him about the cocaine we planned to bring home.

I met Mike and Adam at Mike’s apartment. From there, we took a stretch limo to the Philadelphia airport. The guys dressed in loud Hawaiian shirts, cut their hair, and did their best to disguise themselves as obnoxious American tourists. I was a mixture of nerves and excitement as we boarded the plane to Santiago de Cali, or simply Cali, the largest city in southwestern Colombia.

If the guys expected to blend in with the rest of the passengers, they were mistaken. Most travelers were families and businessmen. Colombia wasn’t exactly a destination for American tourists. They agreed to dress less conspicuously for the trip home.

Pablo Escobar and his powerful Medellín drug cartel were well-known for their ruthlessness, kidnapping, and violence. I’d read about the organization and how they’d turned to trafficking cocaine in 1976. I prayed Mike and Adam had connections outside the cartel. Cocaine was a huge industry in Colombia. Other groups had to be involved in smuggling.

The airport in Cali was heavily guarded with armed police. I expected shots to ring out at any moment. We looked for friendly faces, a tourist information center, anything familiar—and found nothing.

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Mike said.

Once we picked up our luggage, we made our way to the taxi stand. In broken Spanish, we asked the driver to take us to the Inter-Continental Hotel.

The InterContinental was an oasis in a sea of crime and corruption. Mike and I reserved one room, Adam another. After seeing the airport and the streets of Cali, I decided I’d relax by the pool while the guys made their connection. The less I knew about their deal, the better.

Despite the anxiety and danger, I enjoyed my first few days in Cali. I spent hours by the pool shaded by an umbrella, sipping pi?a coladas while Mike and Adam conducted business. They made their big score on day three.

“You won’t believe the quality of this shit,” Mike said.

I’d never tasted cocaine so pure. They also scored some pot, just enough to get us through the rest of the week. I thought back to the camping and fishing trips I’d taken with Jack.

Never again. This is where I belong.

Mike and Adam left the hotel the next morning and promised they’d be back by late afternoon. After a lunch of ajiaco , a potato and corn soup, and arepa , a kind of corn cake, I went back to our room to shower and take a siesta.

The phone rang. Thinking it was Mike or Adam, I answered.

“Hey, what’s up?”

I was greeted with a static pause. “Mike? Adam?”

“Uh-h, Ava, is that you?”

Jack!

It was my turn to pause.

“Ava? What’re you doing?”

“Jack? What’re you doing?”

“I’m supposed to meet Mike. We got some business to take care of,” Jack said. “I thought you were in Florida with Tina.”

“Um, Tina bailed at the last minute. I ran into Mike at the Pillow Talk. He told me he was flying down here with his buddy from work and asked if I wanted to join them. I-I think he felt sorry for me. I didn’t see any point in worrying you. I switched my ticket, and here I am.”

“Huh,” Jack said. “Where’s Mike?”

“He’ll be back later. Can I take your number and have him call you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He rattled off a number and the name of another hotel.

“Guess I’ll see you later,” I said.

My hand shook as I hung up the phone. I didn’t know who to hate more, Mike or Jack.

“You got a phone call,” I calmly told Mike later that afternoon.

“Oh, yeah, who?”

I wanted to smack the smirk off his face.

“I think you know who.”

“About that—”

“You could’ve told me Jack was coming.”

“And spoil the surprise?”

“I suppose you’re proud of yourself.”

“I’m tired of waitin’ for you to leave that loser. Sometimes you gotta help nature along.”

I was angry, but part of me was flattered that Mike went to such lengths to have me. I handed him Jack’s contact information and locked myself in the bathroom while he made the call.

A few minutes later, Mike knocked.

“Jack’ll be over in about an hour. Gives us a chance to get it on before he gets here.”

If we were back home, I’d have walked out. But I was in Colombia with a man I was beginning to believe was a sociopath. I needed to keep cool.

“Do me one favor, Mike. Make it look like you and Adam are sharing a room, not you and me,” I said.

“Okay, doll. Now c’mere. We don’t have a lotta time.”

Mike, Adam, and I had just lit up a joint when Jack knocked.

“What’s happenin’?” Mike gave Jack a buddy slap and invited him into our room. “This here’s Adam.”

“Hey,” Jack said, then turned to me. “Ava, so weird to see you here.”

“Isn’t it?” I stayed seated on the edge of the freshly made bed.

“Is that any way to greet your husband?” Mike asked.

I walked over to Jack and gave him a hug. My body felt like wood. I knew Mike was getting off on the scene.

“Enough standing around. C’mon, Jack, let’s catch a buzz before we do business.” Adam handed the joint to Jack. The tension in the room eased—all except mine.

“You tried this shit yet?” Mike handed Jack a bottle of aguardiente, a popular alcoholic drink made from sugarcane and anise seed. “It’s the national drink of Colombia.”

Jack took a drink and scrunched up his face. “Ugh, they can keep it.”

“My sentiments exactly,” I said.

Mike began. “Now, let’s talk business. The best way to smuggle coke outta the country is to pack it in condoms and stick it up your ass. You okay with that?”

“Are you serious?” Jack asked.

“Did ya think you’d pack it in your luggage?”

“Guess I didn’t think that far ahead,” Jack admitted.

You never think ahead, Jack.

“What time’s your flight back home?” Mike asked.

“Two hours from now,” Jack said.

“You could swallow ’em and shit ’em out when ya get home. Problem is, they might break in your intestines and kill ya. You could also tape ’em inside your butt cheeks, but ya know what the airport’s like. One look at you and your hippie hair, and you’re toast.”

“Guess I’ll stick it up my butt.”

The three of them went into the bathroom. I hated to think what Mike and Adam were doing to my husband.

Adam was the first to emerge about fifteen minutes later. “Piece o’ cake,” he said.

“Yeah, piece o’ cake,” Jack muttered.

“Now, here’s what you do when you get home—”

“I can’t listen to this,” I said, and went into the bathroom.

Mike had straightened up our room, hiding all traces of his presence from Jack. Not so in the bathroom. His razor, shaving cream, and toothbrush sat on the sink, just enough to show our true living arrangement.

Jack opened the bathroom door and took my hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Be careful,” I said.

“You know me. Make sure these guys take good care of you.” Jack gave me a peck on the cheek.

“What an ass,” Adam said after Jack left.

“Literally,” Mike laughed.

I pretended to laugh, but to me it was no joke. My husband was so indifferent that he brushed off finding his wife in Colombia with another man—someone who was his so-called business partner and friend.

That’s it. I can’t stay married anymore.