"... there’s only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy.”
—Scent of a Woman. Director: Martin Brest Sin "Is it too warm in here?" I run my finger around the collar of my
shirt. I opted for a straightforward long-sleeved shirt, tapered pants and a jacket. No tie for this occasion. My way
of showing it doesn’t mean anything. A pointless gesture.
Who am I trying to convince? My stomach rolls and I tug at the sleeves of my shirt. My fingers tremble. The fuck?
"You nervous, ol’ chap?"
"The fuck you dithering on about?" I pull out my handkerchief, rub at the bed of sweat that trickles down my
temple.
"Should I turn up the air-conditioning?"
"Fucking hate that artificial atmosphere." Truth is, being stuck in any enclosed space makes my head spin. Unless I
have something to distract me. I play with the clasp of my watch. Some of the nervous tension drains from my
shoulders.
"Yeah." He sobers. All seven of us have that specific phobia in common. All of us have different ways of coping
with it.
"Here." He snaps open a wooden box.
"If you were thinking of proposing, it’s little too late.
Besides, I am not into you that way."
"Har, har." He smirks politely. "Knowing how much you abhor jewelry, I figured I’d get you the next best thing."
He holds out the box. Rolled tobacco leaf columns nestle in the humidor. "Aww, you remembered. I am so
touched."
He chuckles.
I gently pull out one of the cigars. It is one of my bloody weaknesses, along with rare whiskeys. Turns out money
grows on you, sensitizes your tastes so you began to appreciate the finer things in life.
He takes one for himself, then places the box on the table. Producing a cigar cutter, he snaps off the ends, then
holds a lighter to my smoke, then his.
The pungent scent of crushed leather and toasted almonds, woven with something sweet—cherries?— almost as
fine as the taste of her, fills my senses.
I tilt my head back, puff out a smoke circle. My muscles unwind a little.
"I hate to tell you, this was a good idea."
"Feel that?" He tilts his head.
"What?"
I raise the cigar to my mouth, take in a puff.
"That stillness inside, that calm before the storm, that sense of everything about to hit a shitstorm, your last few
minutes as a single man, when the fragrance of a 100-year- old cigar loosens your tensed-up tissues?"
I cough, "Only 100 years? You disappoint me."
His eyes glint, "You’re welcome."
I draw in another reverential puff, "I’m touched you remembered my weakness for these."
"At half a million dollars per smoke stick, well, you’d better be."
"Now who’s counting their pennies, huh?" I grin.
He smirks, takes a puff of his own. "I see what you did there, by the way."
"Oh?"
"You’re not fooling me any, Sin."
"Not trying, you pretend toff."
"If you wanted to marry her, you didn’t need to pull this elaborate shenanigan. I mean, you could have told the rest
of us that you were in love."
Love? I cough. "I barely know the woman."
The collar at my throat digs into my skin. I resist the urge to loosen another button.
"It’s a pretense, 30 days and we are done."
He taps his fingers together, "Did you sign a contract with her?"
I freeze. I didn’t. I was confident that the incriminating video would ensure that she’d do whatever I wanted.
Besides, I was planning on letting her go as soon as I sign my deal with her father, which should be happening
very, very soon.
"I don’t need one."
He opens and closes his mouth, then chokes. His shoulders shake, he chortles, and tears fills his cheeks.
"Don’t die on me yet." I thump his back, hard enough for him to stumble forward.
He staggers away, leans his hip against the window. "Is it a magic pussy? Is that what this is? Is she so damn
succulent that your dick overpowers your brain now?"
"Told you already, don’t—"
"Yeah, yeah." He straightens, "Don’t talk about her that way. I know. And honestly, no disrespect to whatever
there is between the two of you..."
"Which is nothing—" He cups a hand behind his ear, "Are you listening to yourself? No contract, asshole. You’ve
left yourself open to some crazy-arse shit here. Possible sexual harassment in the workplace. No pre-nup either. If
she doesn’t take you to the cleaners by the end of this..."
I set my jaw, "She won’t."
Fact is, it honestly hadn’t crossed my mind to draw up a contract with her. Why is that? Do I trust her that much?
Am I so sure about my ability to control her? Did I really think that I would be able to manipulate her into doing
exactly what I want? An interesting conundrum. One I haven’t found myself in ever before. I survey the ash
building up on the cigar.
He scans my features. "You have something on her?"
I tilt my head.
"Something incriminating enough that it’ll make her bow to your every whim?"
I allow my mouth to curl with a smirk.
His muscles unwind. "Well then." He puffs out the fragrant smoke. "I want to believe you..." So do I.
"—and for your sake, I hope you come out of this unscathed. Considering...."
I slip a hand into my pocket, "Do pray tell."
"Clearly, you are slipping."
I frown. "What do you mean?"
"This may be a fake ceremony, but it is legally binding. It has to be for it to work. So clearly, that’s what’s making
you nervous."
"Not." I raise my cigar to my mouth. My fingers are rock steady. "I know what I am doing, but do you?
Considering the £150,000 you spent on this cigar—"
"Its £500,000..." His cheeks hollow as he takes a puff, "per smoke stick."
"Hmm." I narrow my gaze, watch him through the fragrant cloud. Bastard outdid himself on this one. He never did
know when to stop.
"Consider it my gift." He raises his cigar in a mock toast.
"After all, it’s not every day that my worst enemy gets married."
I snarl.
"Sorry, I mean,” he air quotes, “ ‘mock married.’ " He speaks out of the corner of his mouth, "Without any kind of
paperwork to cushion the fall."
Luckily for him, I ignore that last part. "It’s not going to distract me from my ambitions, nor take away my instinct
for business."
He chuckles, "I think thou doth protest too much."
I bare my lips, "We’ll see, shall we?"