Eventually, they made their way to the local mission and spent a few hours prepping and serving food to the city’s less fortunate. Corey helped roast chicken in the kitchen, while Lauren took her place in the production line, handing out dinners. It was something they’d done as a family for decades and promised to keep the tradition going. Two hours in, Corey stuck his head through the kitchen door to gauge the line and happened to see Lauren chatting with two roughneck Latino guys. All three seemed to know one another, although the men didn’t at all seem to be the type of people she’d be friends with. It wasn’t until one of them referred to her as “Iowa” that he knew for certain they weren’t strangers. Oddly, there was some uneasiness about her as she talked quietly, even casting furtive glances back towards the kitchen to see if anyone was watching. There was.
+++++
“Please, guys, go way. I’m working.”
“This your daytime job, puta?” Juan sneered. “When you’re not sucking dick?”
Hector laughed like a hyena.
Lauren’s stomach knotted. “Seriously, leave me alone.”
The men noticed her eyes shifting towards the kitchen.
“What’s wrong, senora? That absent husband of yours back there? Perhaps we should go wish him a happy holiday.”
Her eyes widened. “No, please.”
One of the other volunteers stepped in Juan’s way as he tried to go behind the counter. A burly veteran with a long beard, he looked like he could wrest a tire from a gorilla.
“Everyone okay here?”
Juan held up his hands and smiled. “No trouble here, acere.” He turned to Lauren. “You want to holla again, pretty girl, you come find us.”
Grabbing a couple apples, the Cubans sauntered out of the mission and disappeared, leaving Lauren’s hand shaking.
+++++
“Friends of yours?” Corey asked later that evening as he began packing his bags for the morning flight.
“Who’s that?” Lauren responded while folding clothes fresh from the dryer. She’d all but forgotten about the Latinos.
“Those boys…from the mission. You all seemed to know each other.”
Her brow furrowed, remembering the encounter. “N-n-no,” she stuttered, “not really.”
“Ah-k. I mean, one of him called you Iowa, so I just thought…oh hey, have you seen my deodorant?”
“I-i-t’s under the sink.” Lauren’s voice was cracking. Doing things with Corey’s knowledge was one thing, but cheating was something entirely different. It’d been a mistake not to tell him about turning back-alley tricks with those guys, and the whole of it had weighed heavily on her. She just couldn’t do it anymore.
Walking to where her husband was rummaging through toiletry drawers, she leaned against the counter and folded her arms. Corey was startled to see such a dead serious expression on her face.
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
+++++
“Jesus Christ, babe,” Corey barked, his blood pressure through the roof. “That was incredibly stupid.”
“I know, I know. Look, I was drunk. You weren’t here…”
He slammed a shoe into the suitcase. “Goddamnit, Lauren, you could have been killed!”
There was little she could say. Everyone was right. There was no defense, it was just a bonehead move.
Corey was pacing now. “Why? You could walk into any bar in this city and…”
“Please calm down. I…I…I guess you have your thing and I have mine.”
He stopped and stared at her.
“Selling yourself? I thought that was just a fantasy.”
Lauren tilted her head in bewilderment. Of all people…
“Hello? Yours used to be just a fantasy too.”
An awkward silence fell over the room. Corey paused. She’s not wrong.
Zipping the suitcase shut, he walked over to the closet. Eyes scanned her wardrobe until they landed on a pretty floral spaghetti-strap sundress.
“Here,” he tossed it to her, “put this on.”
“Why?”
“We’re going out.”
“But it’s Christmas night. Nothing’s open.”
“We’ll take our chances.”
+++++
The black SUV ride-share pulled up in front of the 24-hour laundromat.
“You sure you want this address, mac?” the ride-share driver asked a bit suspiciously, mentally noting neither of the fares had brough laundry with them.
Corey hesitated. During Lauren’s hooker revelation, he had tried to mentally piece together the approximately location of the infamous alley. But Little Havana was a big place.
“My mistake, can you just drive around a bit?”
The driver turned around and look over the very cracker couple in the backseat. “Gas ain’t cheap these days, pal, and I’ve got other customers waiting. How about you tell me what you’re looking for.”
“Is there any place hangout around here?”
Lauren looked at her husband curiously but didn’t say anything.
“Only a couple places tonight. One’s a tavern, and I guaran-fucking-tee you don’t want to go there. There’s a reason they put in a cop substation across the street. Other joint is a pool hall.”
“Billiards it is.”
Lauren raised an eyebrow. “Pool? C’mon, let’s just go home.”
Corey put a finger to his lips and remained stoic. There was something worrisome about his demeaner.
+++++
As the SUV’s taillights disappeared around the corner, the couple stood on the sidewalk gazing up at a blinking marquee advertising “Balls of Fun Here”. There was hardly a soul on the street, and they felt very, very alone. The only sensible option was to step inside.
With a deep breath, Corey pushed open the doors and stepped through the entrance. Lauren followed, her dress billowing in the warm draft. The hall was small and had just six rather basic tables with ratty purple cloth. The place was empty except for a rather unfriendly-looking Latino blocking another door at the far end the room.
“Can I help you with something?” he of them asked gruffly, clearly annoyed that they were even there.
“Need a table.”
“None available,” the hairy ogre said flatly.
Corey nodded, noting the non-existent crowd. “I can see that. Sorry, our mistake.” He didn’t see who he was looking for anyway. Grabbing his wife’s hand, he guided them back towards the front.
“Well, well, well.”
Lauren squeezed her eyes shut. She knew that voice anywhere.
“Is that you, Iowa?”
Glaring at her husband sideways, she dropped her shoulders in resignation and slowly turned to look see Juan standing in the doorway.
“Hey.”
“Good to see you again,” the Cuban smiled, moving closer. Another man followed him into the room. “This is Mendo, and you’ve already met Tajo. Merry Christmas!”
Lauren was silently fuming. “What the fuck are you up to?” she hissed at Corey from the corner of her mouth.
“Just wanted to meet your friends and see what you’ve been up to while I’ve been away,” he whispered back, grinning. “I deserve that much, don’t I?”
The project manager walked slowly to the big Cuban, hands up so the room could see them. He was acutely aware a gun or two may have been trained on him.
“Are you Juan?”
“I am,” the Latino answered without hesitation. “And you are?”
“My husband,” Lauren blurted out. “And apparently not a very bright one. Please don’t hurt him.”
Learning this, Juan squared himself to the older man. He’d faced a jealous husband a time or two and knew the situation could go south quickly. Mendo realized this too and placed a hand inside his vest.
“Have you come to do me harm?”
“Did you fuck my wife?” Corey asked matter-of-factly.
Every bit of oxygen was sucked from the room.
Looking at the brunette, Juan weighed his options. He could lie, but seeing as the jinetera had already come clean, that wouldn’t help matters. It would simply defer a confrontation to another time. A time when he wouldn’t necessarily see it coming. No, it was better to face this now, whatever the outcome.
“Yeah, I was with her. Best pussy I’ve had in a long time. Only cost me a buck fifty.” The words were meant to be inflammatory; if the yanqui was going to get froggy, he’d surely jump then.
When the old man didn’t, he added for good measure, “And I took her asshole cherry too.”
Corey clenched his jaw but remained under control. He was aware of only the three men, but there could be more. Mendo appeared to still be fingering a firearm. The room was very, very tense. The ball was in Corey’s court.
“Care for another go?”
Lauren felt faint, Juan began laughing, and Mendo looked nervous.
“Listen, it’s simple. My wife’s a prostitute, a whore. But you already know that. I figured with you and your buddies here all alone on Christmas, you might need a little cheer. You get to nut, she gets off, and I make a few bucks to put in the next kettle I see. Whatta say? Five Benjies for the lot of you?”
Lauren’s mouth fell open. Her heart raced as the men began to surround her, touching her long black hair.
“Is this true, puta?” Juan asked, tracing a finger along her bare shoulders. “You need more Cuban in your diet?”