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Mark signals the band. “In the meantime,” he suggests. “Let me show you how to handle these things.”
I look on as he strides onto the dance floor and cuts in on Mel’s dance. She’s dancing with Sam Watson. Mark wants this to bother me as much as it does him. I find it amusing. He forgets the common denominator in this equation. Me. He takes her hand, nods at Sam and takes the lead. They waltz. “Handled,” he mouths when he looks in my direction. He gives me a thumbs up just in case I haven’t understood. I do understand. My mind flashes back to a dance of another kind, to the last time Mark and I discussed how to handle things.
“You mean to tell me, of all the rules, Tom—OF ALL THE RULES—you had to go and break that one?” He’s already said this once. Mark likes to repeat himself. Meanwhile, he paces the length of his office. Back and forth. Back and forth. All I can do is watch. Any minute and it could all be over. That’s what I was thinking.
Statistically speaking, at least seventy-two percent of men and I stand in solidarity. While I don’t often compare myself to other men, by that I mean we have had at least one extramarital affair. Somehow, it didn’t seem like a good time for statistics, and I didn’t have to tell Mark anyhow. He already knows. That’s half his mission in life. It’s why he founded the church in the first place.
The irony is, there I was, his right-hand man, standing in his office telling him I’d broken a cardinal rule. I knew what this meant. I’d have to pay.
“It was a mistake,” I confessed. I wanted to point out that he hadn’t met Melanie, that he doesn’t know her bedroom eyes or her charm, or yet understand the fact that she might very well be the devil. “Surely, we can be reasonable about this,” I offered instead. I remind him of the agreement: The strong rule the weak, but the wise rules them both.
“Jesus, Tom,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “The church cannot afford this sort of embarrassment.”
He’s right. I gut-checked him. This was a dangerous thing to do. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be afraid. But I’ve seen what he can do.
He confirmed my thoughts by punching the wall. “And such a betrayal from my second in command. Of. All. People.”
He threw something heavy, and he raged. “Fuck!” It was a paperweight or a Bible. I cannot recall. He was considering how to kill me. I was considering how to outrun him.
If it were only the affair he had been railing against, I realized he might let me live. It wasn’t. So unless I was quick on my feet, I was about to be discreetly discarded. New Hope does not tolerate traitors. It’s written into the agreement. An agreement I know better than anyone. Anyone, it turned out, except Mark.
It wasn’t just the affair he was upset about. There was the other thing too. The resulting pregnancy. It wasn’t a part of the plan. Neither his or mine.
“Good then,” he’d said finally. I don’t know how much time had passed. I was too busy plotting my escape from the building. “You can be the first member of our pilot program.”
“I have no interest in being a pilot,” I assured him. I realized immediately this was the wrong thing to say. I could see it in his expression. But I was eager to make light of the situation, given that he was about to order my demise. “Even though I’d be quite good at it,” I said, attempting a quick recovery. “What I mean by that is… it’s a completely logical endeavor.” I wasn’t lying. I was trying to buy time. Sometimes, occasionally, lengthy explanations help. “To fly a plane safely,” I explained. “Pilots have to be aware of all the forces—such as wind and gravity—that push the plane down, lift it up, and shift it from side to side. Harnessing these forces to work in their favor makes it more likely the plane will fly the way the pilot wants.” He looked at me as though I was crazy. It was a stupid analogy intended to throw him off. If your opponent has an idea what you have up your sleeve, they know how to act. Information, even useless information, forces their brain to work things out for themselves. I was making a point. Mark feels this way about the church. He wants things to work the way he wants them to work. My predicament was that he’d use any force necessary to see this happen. To him, it was life or death. Literally. To get him to make a more lenient decision, particularly one in my favor, it was imperative I channel his emotions into something constructive. I had to lead him in the right direction. I had to force his anger to subside. Sometimes you have to take the long way around.
“Tell me,” he said. “What would be the logical thing to do in this situation? According to Tom?”
He wanted my opinion. This was good.
“Like all good things,” I reminded him. “Take church accountants for example—honest ones—who I hear can be hard to come by— piloting is mostly science.”
“So? I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“One can’t be too emotional about such matters. To panic would be certain—” I paused and shifted my stance. Quickly, I decided against using the “d” word. Reminding him of death was not a point I was trying to make. “To panic in this situation would be ill-advised.”
Mark scoffed nervously. “What we are not doing here is getting a pilot’s license.” He took a deep breath in and held it. “At New Hope,” he went on, “we take vows. We have morals. Standards, if you will.”
“I get standards. Melanie is very beautiful. I know how important excellence is to the church, and I can assure you—”
“I’ve heard.” He waves me off. “Anyway, we’ve had this idea…”
My throat constricts. I realize he’s just reminded me of the vow I took. That’s always a bad sign. I’ve seen Mark in action. Til death do you part. And please let it come soon. I sit up a little straighter. “An idea. Really?” Clarification is important when the manner of your murder is up in the air.
“The Men’s Alliance. We’ve recently disseminated some biblical text that suggests that we as men aren’t living up to our full potential.”
“I’d like to hear more about that.” Such calming words, those are.
“Well—the guys and I, we’ve had this on our minds for awhile now…when our children come of a certain age, we think it would be in our best interest to start over. Not only to further our genes but to further the mission of the church.”
I have no idea where this is going but what he says makes sense. Almost. “Advanced maternal age would be of great concern.”
Mark laughed. “I like how you always get straight to the point, Tom.”
After several long seconds, he stood, walked over, and slapped me on the back. This is a ritual the male species repeats often, a signal of dominance. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. Mark is always saying stuff like that. He’s very paranoid. Says it comes with being at the top. Perhaps paranoia can rub off on a person. My pulse quickens. I realize he could snap my neck at any moment. Thankfully, Mark likes to hear himself talk and that works in my favor. “That’s where the replacement wife comes in.”
I feel his grip on my shoulder. I gage each finger where it meets my skin. Is it my imagination or is he slowly increasing the pressure? My brow furrows. “The replacement wife?”
