February Sucks, March Blows

©Ribnitin, 2021

This story was inspired by George Anderson's "February Sucks," a story that has more adaptations than COVID has mutations. I have not attempted to re-write George's story, but rather made up my own about what happens next.

George knows about this story, but bears no responsibility for it.

Marc is an asshole. He's good-hearted, he's intelligent, but he's still an asshole. I try to keep him in line when we're together during football season, but after the last game is done and we're walking off with the Lombardi Trophy (I wish), he's on his own. Everyone else on the team goes home, but Marc's year-round residence is in the city where we play. When he gets into trouble, it's always during the off-season. Usually it's fixable.

We both joined the team at the same time. I was drafted; he came through a trade. We grew close over the years, often setting plays up for one another. He's a Tight End; I'm a Wide Receiver. I would run a pattern as if I was the ball was heading for me, and while I would get the coverage he'd take a short pass and have open ground. If I was the Quarterback's intended target, he'd put everything he had into making a good opening for me.

Marc does a lot of charitable work, a lot of fundraising, and usually reflects well on our organization. He does have a weakness, though: beautiful women. He needs a constant supply of them in his bed. He treats them with respect, he doesn't abuse anyone, and no woman has ever refused him. That's what he always tells me.

So why do I say my friend is an asshole? It's because when he wants a particular woman, nothing will keep him from his goal, even if she's married. That's why I was in town now, near the end of a blustery March, trying to pick up the shards of his broken heart, and for the team, his broken reputation.

Marc had fallen for one of his bed-mates. He had spotted her in a club sitting next to her man, invited her to the dance floor and then to bed. Unfortunately she was married, and when Marc tried to keep the affair going she rebuffed him. That was bad for Marc's large, but fragile ego. To make it worse, word got out about the affair. It could have ended up in a thousand different ways; maybe in some alternate universe it ended up well. In ours, it was bad. The franchise owners were upset, though the bad press only lasted a few days. The team's good name had been tarnished. The woman's marriage was almost ruined, and Marc's value as a good-will ambassador plummeted. I went to pick up the pieces.

I'm a great Wide Receiver and make about twice as much money as Marc. I have a brilliant financial advisor, and he's built my outrageous salary into an outrageously successful investment portfolio. Ten thousand dollars is nothing to me; I can make that much in an hour from salary, investments and endorsements. I know it's absurd to get so rich from catching a pig-skin, but that's what you get with a free market economy. I'm not complaining about it, or about my life.

I graduated college with a 3.8 GPA, mostly in STEM courses. When I hang up my helmet, I'll pursue my studies in genetic engineering. I am wealthy, I'm smart, and also good looking. Marc had once challenged me, saying I couldn't pick up and bed women as easily as he could; I laughed in response. I love and chase women as successfully as he does, but I'm more careful about whom I bed. I won't fuck a woman just because I can.

It was too cold for anything outdoorsy when I arrived to pick up the pieces from Marc's failed relation, so we mostly hung around together. We played billiards, swam in his pool, watched TV, and chatted about nothing in particular. He hadn't been invited to community events, charity programs, or anything like that since the debacle, so it was pretty boring at his place despite the opulence, despite all his electronic toys. His agent came for a visit, breaking the monotony. I knew he wanted to lure me to his client stable, but I wasn't interested. Nonetheless the agent had an interesting proposition. After checking with my lawyer, I phoned him a few hours later to accept.

After a couple of days of utter boredom, it was time to go out, and we headed to same club in which Marc had picked up his troublesome, married woman.

"Maybe I'll see her again," he said. I prayed that he wouldn't. I was interested in finding a blonde; not too tall, but with long fingers and a medium chest. There's a reason I was picky.

People noticed us. Eyes stole glances. "It's Marc... Oh, my god, he's with David Markham!" Marc and I grinned. The hostess encouraged a group of four to give up their table, wiped it clean, seated us and sent over a waitress to take our orders. I asked for a light beer and two martinis. I looked around, then dropped a pinch of white powder into one of them. Marc arched his eyebrows.

I spotted the woman I wanted; she was one of the few not paying any attention to us. Rather she was chatting with and holding onto the arm of the man she was with. He, in turn, was casting anxious glances in the direction of Marc and me. Had he seen me with the powder? There were four couples at their table.

I finished off my beer. "Showtime," I said as I stood up. Marc gave me a fist-bump and settled back into the booth. The band played a fast song as I walked over to her table and extended my hand. "Hi. I'm David Markham. I want you to dance with me." She hesitated for about a quarter of a second, then rose. There was a platinum wedding band on her hand.

The jaws of her friends hung open, especially those of the women. The man she was with, her husband I presumed, looked away as his wife got up and walked with me onto the dance floor. It should have been humiliating for him. The next dance was slow, and I drew the woman closer, my hands dangerously near her buttocks. I tilted her chin upwards with a finger. "Hi, I'm David."

"Jennifer," she replied.

"I have a drink for you." I led her to my table and offered her the martini with the white powder. She drank it slowly.

"Good?"

She hesitated. "Tastes different." She glanced towards her table and raised her voice. "Yes, it's good. Thanks."

We went back to the dance floor and I pulled her closer yet. After three songs I bent down and whispered to her ear. "Are you coming home with me?" She immediately nodded "yes."

"Go back to your table, then go to the washroom with one of your girlfriends. Slip out the back door and look for a dark blue Lincoln SUV." I escorted her part way back to her table, winked at her angry-looking husband, and went out the rear exit. Marc was already at the wheel of the car, and I held the back door open for her when she came out a few minutes later.

She was surprised to find herself seated next to a large black man in an expensive-looking suit. I got in the front passenger seat, and turned to the back. "Jennifer, this is LeBron Willis. He's going to spend the evening with us, to make sure everything goes perfectly. He'll give you what you need."

Jennifer looked a little unsure of herself. "Okay," she whispered.

Mr. Willis smiled softly as he took her hand, shook and then released it. "You'll be fine."

We rode silently to Marc's. Jennifer did not seem comforted by LeBron's assurance.

"I've never done this before," Marc said as we walked into his airy front hall. "Are you sure we want um...?" Marc's home was designed with a soothing, understated elegance, but it didn't put Jennifer at ease.

"I'm certain. We all know what we're going to do now," Mr. Willis said, looking around. There was a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"I'll go upstairs and get you one of my robes, Jennifer. David, take everyone into the drawing room. See if anyone wants a drink."

It felt strange acting as host in my friend's house, but it was my show tonight. Marc and LeBron Willis were in supporting roles. I brought Jennifer a Diet Coke, and put a bowl of BBQ chips on the coffee table. Jennifer stood in front of us as she put on the silk robe. It was knee length on Marc, floor length for her. "How do I look?"

"Ravishing. That's no good. You're supposed to look already ravished." Mr. Willis took a piece of ice from the bar fridge, and wrapped it in his handkerchief before handing it to her. "Smudge your makeup."

She ran the handkerchief along one cheek, then smeared her lipstick before handing it back to Mr. Willis.

"Good, good. Now mess up your hair a little." She scratched at her hair, doing her best to give it a slightly used look.

"How long do you think we'll have to wait?"

"I can't be sure Jennifer. He said about half an hour. You and David have to have enough time to get comfortable. Refresh me: what's your husband's name?"

"Logan. I'm antsy. Can I go outside for a breath of air?"

"What do you think Jennifer?"

She sighed and sat down on the couch. "Sorry."

I reached for her hand, then pulled back. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Jennifer. This is something different for all of us. How was the martini, by the way?"

"Horribly sweet." We all laughed.

"I think you need a drink, David."

"I'm not thirsty, Mr. Willis."

"That's not the kind of drink I mean. Pour yourself a whisky."

"No, I'm good."

"Pour yourself a whisky, and swish it around your mouth for a while before swallowing."

"What difference... oh. How about if I just spit it out?"

"That might be judged as deliberate deception."

"Oh." I pointed to the bar. "Marc, may I?"

"Help yourself."

I poured a small Gentleman Jack. The doorbell rang, followed by the sound of a fist pounding at the door and screaming. I slugged the drink down, looked at Jennifer, then opened the door.

"You sonofabitch! What kind of bastard steals a woman away from right in front of her husb... You whore!" Logan's eyes focused on his wife, standing about twenty feet behind me, dressed in a burgundy silk robe. He lunged for her. I held him back. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Jennifer.

"Let go of me, asshole," he raged at me, "or I'll put a bullet hole in your chest." He winked.

I clocked him. Not as hard as I wanted to, but enough to put him on the floor. I placed my foot on his chest, and he looked like he was in pain. "You have issues with your wife, settle them at home. Not here. It's not my fault you can't satisfy her. I'm giving you to the count of ten to disappear."

"Ha, you probably can't even count till ten, you dumb jock."

That merited a kick in the ribs. Not too hard; we didn't want the complications of putting him in the hospital. I yanked him to his feet. "One."

He pointed to Jennifer. "Don't come home, you filthy slut." He stomped away and I shut the door. We all sighed with relief, and retreated to the drawing room. Jennifer was having a hard time holding back tears.

"He really wanted that. I can't believe it. I thought we were doing so well. We'd talked about starting a family."

Marc patted her hand. "It's got to be a terrible shock for you. I didn't believe it myself when my agent told me about your husband's proposal. I couldn't do it because of last month's mess so I passed him on to David."

Mr. Willis reached for a file folder on the table beside him. "I have a copy of his proposal, and an envelope with the ten-thousand-dollar cash payment. Do you want to see it?"

She shook her head. "Why didn't he just ask me for a divorce?"

"It seems he wants the pre-nup annulled. He needs you to commit adultery, and he paid ten thousand dollars to have you seduced. Jennifer, I don't know your husband's money situation or what's in your pre-nup, but he figures the ten thousand dollars he gave David would pay off. He thinks he's got the evidence he wants. I suppose he'll file for divorce soon. You've got evidence to demolish him."

"He might use the picture he took of me in your robe as proof I messed around."

I pointed to Mr. Willis. "That's why he's here. He's my attorney, an Officer of the Court, and is the most credible kind of witness there is."

"I've been with you and David from the moment the two of you walked out of the club Jennifer, and I will stay with you until you get into a taxi. I'll prepare an affidavit tomorrow affirming that neither David or Marc had any kind of romantic relationship with you; that you didn't have any physical contact with them."

"But we tricked Logan."

"What we did is nothing. He wanted me to put Ecstasy in your drink! I told him I had my own supplier."

"I can use a real drink now." She looked up, a hint of a wistful smile on her face. "What did you put in my martini? Sugar?"

"Splenda. Your husband was watching when I did it, and tried to hide his smile."

"I can't believe he's such an asshole. I loved Logan with everything I had until yesterday. Now I want to crush him. Isn't what he did criminal? Fraud, or something like that?"

"Probably. Offering Ecstasy definitely is illegal. I'm going to talk with the DA's office."

"Do me a favor please, Mr. Willis: wait until Logan or me files for divorce."

"I can wait a while."

I brought Jennifer a scotch on the rocks. "I'll wait also, but don't take too long."

She raised her eyebrows as she looked at me. "What are you waiting for?"

"I don't do married women. Let me know when your divorce is final. I'd like to go on a real date with you, without all this riff-raff hanging around." I motioned at Marc and Mr. Willis with my arm and they both chuckled.

"Don't tease me, Mr. Markham. All you have to do is crook your finger and any of a thousand incredible beauties would jump into bed with you."

"I'm not proposing to you, Jennifer. I'm not even propositioning you." I handed her my business card. "I don't want a thousand beautiful women; I want one good one. We barely know each other, and I'd like to fix that; get to know you better. Maybe we'll go out for dinner, a movie... I'm flexible. Contact my office when you're divorced, and leave a message."

"You're serious; you want to go on a date with me?"

"Yup. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

"I'm jealous. She should be calling me. Her old man contacted my agent, not yours."

I turned to Marc. "You see, it's possible to meet women without being a jerk. If you hadn't screwed around with that married lady in February, it could have been you asking Jennifer for a date."

"That affair with the married lady is what gave my ass of a husband the idea. I wouldn't be with either of you. Tell you what: I'll let both of you know when I'm divorced. I can go out with both of you; one at a time, of course."

"Can we set something up now for the weekend? I'm not so picky about—"

"Marc! Shut up now! Don't say another word."

Marc took a step back, surprised. I pointed to Mr. Willis, who shook his head in support of my order.

"Jennifer, I think you better go home before we have any problems. Can you call an Uber?"

"I can drive her," Marc said.

I sighed. Mr. Willis sighed. Marc looked confused.

Jennifer looked at Mr. Willis, at Marc, at me, then pulled out her phone and pushed some buttons. "My Uber will be here in five minutes. I'll wait outside." She put on her jacket and walked to the door, Mr. Willis accompanying her. "Bye, guys. See you in a few months."

I put my arm around Marc's shoulder as they closed the door. "My friend, how am I going to get you to stop being such an asshole?"