I had married Jared Knowlton after knowing him for only about six months. My parents (my stepfather and mother, my biological father having been ostracized from our family long ago for adultery, zero tolerance for cheating being something that my mother instilled in me from an early age) thought that I was being impetuous. However, at twenty one years old, like I was then, I thought that I knew everything so against their advice I did get hitched. To their credit my parents acted happy during the wedding festivities whereas twenty five year Jared's parents were actually thrilled. It did disturb me a little, however, when at the reception Jared's drunk sister happily told me, Julia Bissel, "I never thought that he'd stop playing the field." Being a little looped myself I didn't focus on her statement -- until much later.
I think that Jared and I had a typical life for a young married couple for the first two years. He kept me satisfied in the sack, and was protective when guys hit on me, without being insanely jealous. However, he did appear to pay a little more attention to the appearance of the females of our species than I would have liked. In non-confrontational talks I had with him about that proclivity he assured me that I was his only reality, and he would never, ever, cheat like my biological father had.
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There was a married couple, Shark and Beverly Wilton, who I knew from college who lived in the next town over. We met three or four times at venues between our apartments. Shark -- real name Clarence -- did live up to his nickname in one sense; he was as tough as any guy I had ever met. While he was gentle and personable with his friends, he was not someone to mess with especially if he got angry. That became clear one night when the four of us were at a bar and two nasty dudes -- each of whom must have weighed 300 pounds -- got handsy with Beverly and me while Shark and Jared were playing pool.
Beverly got Shark's attention; he came over and told the two idiots to leave; one pushed him.
I'm not exactly sure how the guy who pushed Shark ended up on the ground, it happened so fast, but he wasn't getting up. I did see the other asshole swing at Shark. Shark grabbed his arm in mid-swing, rotated him so that his head was above the bar, and then smashed his face into the bar three times, turning it into a bloody pile of goo.
Shark threw a $100 bill on the bar as he told the barkeep "For any damage," told Jared, Beverly and me "Let's go," and we left it to the bartender and other patrons to take care of one groaning and one unconscious fat man.
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I had visited Beverly in her apartment several times over a period of about a year. For the first time since I had introduced Jared to Shark and Beverly, they invited us to a party at their apartment on a Saturday night. It was a nice event, with about ten couples, eight married, two dating.
Jared and I were in a pleasant conversation with a couple we had just met when the guy and Jared started a friendly argument about some sort of baseball statistic -- I didn't really follow everything and was more interested in talking to the wife -- but I did notice Jared do something he often does during a dispute. He got out his smartphone, clicked some buttons, and then said "Look at this Tim -- I was right -- Mickey Mantle won the Triple Crown in 1956 including with 52 homers," holding his phone up to Tim.
Suddenly I felt faint, and zoned out from what Tim's wife was saying. Why did I zone out? Because to get onto Shark and Beverly's Wi-Fi you had to know their password and sign on -- which is what I had to do the first time that I visited Beverly. How did Jared's smartphone immediately connect when he supposedly had never been here before?
Without embarrassing myself too much I somehow finished my conversation with Tim's wife -- I can't even remember her name -- and then excused myself. After taking a deep breath and splashing my face with water in the bathroom I decided that I had to find out if Shark and Beverly's Wi-Fi was no longer password protected. That was highly unlikely since Shark had a job in tech and knew the possible ramifications of someone looking at kiddie porn using his Wi-Fi.
When Shark went into the kitchen to get some more beers I followed him in.
"Say, Shark -- a stupid question, but is your Wi-Fi password protected?" I inquired.
"Sure is, Julia -- why do you need the password to sign in for a search or something?" he responded.
"No -- I already signed on when I visited Beverly at least six months ago -- no change since then, huh?"
