Yellow is my favorite color

"There is something about the smell of a cigar bar before the patrons start flooding through the doors," I thought to myself as I walked through the front door of Le Tabac Allume, a small cigar bar on the edge of the campus district in the center of town. The place had about ten tables, and a tiny, four seat bar by the small piano by the entrance to the humidor nestled in the back. I looked over at the tables, didn't see my wife, so I went to the humidor and picked out a nice Arturo Fuente, paid for it, and asked for a cutter. I neatly cut the end off, then carefully warmed the foot until the cigar was sufficiently hot enough to smoke.

"One cannot rush the simple pleasures in life," I thought to myself as I began to smoking my cigar. Nice clouds of voluminous, light blue smoke filled the air, so I went over to the bar, sat down, and asked the bartender for a nice, single malt Scotch on the rocks. A few minutes later, I was sitting comfortably in front of a mirror which reflected the sign above the entrance. I was nursing my Scotch and savoring my cigar. I was so into the moment that I almost didn’t hear him speak.

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

I turned to my left. There was a portly man, about fifty or so, dressed in a casual blue shirt and black pants. His head was clean shaven, and the lights from around the room gave him an almost otherworldly appearance. I nodded yes with my head, then turned back to my drink.

After he had ordered his drink, he turned back towards me. "The atmosphere here is amazing, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. Do you eat here often?"

He smiled. It was a warm smile, not unlike mine at the beginning of a crazy day. "I do in fact. I bring my wife here a lot on the weekends neither of us have to work. What about you?"

I hesitated for a moment. Did I really want to get into a conversation with a perfect stranger? I looked at him again and then figured he was just trying to be nice. "What is your name, “I asked.

"Quinn. John Quinn." He stuck out his right hand, which I eagerly shook. "What’s your name?"

I smiled. " It is nice to meet you, John. My name is Kelly." I turned my chair so I could easily look at his face. I was surprised to see that his eyes were a little bloodshot, but a bit more concerned that he smelled of gin and tonic water. A moment ago, he seemed harmless enough. Now I was not so sure.

"So, John. What brings you here tonight?”

"Well, Kelly . . . I try to stop here every few days to hang out, listen to the piano player, maybe meet new friends. What brings you here tonight?

"My wife is going to meet me here for drinks in just a few. We haven't seen each other in more than a month, so I am definitely looking forward to seeing her. In fact, tonight’s kind of an anniversary for us. Three years ago, we went on our first date. We were so attracted to each other that we laid on the quilt I had used for our picnic in a field full of marigolds earlier that day, and we made love after the sun set and the moonlight was just starting to show in the sky. We have been in love ever since.”

John looked a little surprised, but quickly regained his composure. "What’s it like, you know, with your wife? My wife and I have been married almost twenty-five years. Things are stuck, you know? Stuck in a damned rut that we can’t seem to break out of. You know. Just watching television until the ten pm news shows the weather forecast. Then we shuffle off to bed, only to do it all over again the next day.”

I frowned briefly, then started talking so he wouldn’t notice it. “You have to work at a relationship, my dear friend. Relationships are not just made with trust. They are also made with love, commitment and respect. You have to work at it, give ten percent more when you are tired of giving anything at all, get up at odd hours to just talk and laugh. We have pet names for each other, for example. She calls me Mary. I call her Goldie. We use those pet names for each other because these two words are in the name of her favorite flower – Marigolds. That's the kind of relationship I have with my wife, but it is only because we work on it every chance we have."

I lowered my voice just a bit. "Makes for some great sex too, lemme tell you!”

John again looked confused. I could see that this man was not the brightest bulb in the pack. He stared at me for a moment. "Again, I wonder … how exactly does that work with your wife?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my Goldie as she entered the room, and like I always did when I saw her, my heart began to pound, and I could tell I was sweating. Within a few seconds, she caught sight of me, so she waved while she walked determinedly towards me. She made it to my seat at the bar, leaned in towards me, and kissed me full on the lips. She then turned to John and smiled.

John was having none of this. “Goddamn it. You weren't kidding about having a wife, were you? Fucking big boobed bitch!” He reached over and tried to tear my favorite blouse. “You two fucking freaks are …"

He didn’t get a chance to say anything else. The bartender quickly came over and told him to leave. Without a word, he walked out the door without saying another word. Once John was out the door, the bartender looked back at us. “Are you ladies okay?" Almost in unison, we both shook our heads affirmatively. The bartender slowly nodded, then walked back over to the register.

My wife laughed wryly a brief moment. It was not a pleasant sound. I could see the wheels turning in her head. She reached over and gently rubbed my check. “I love you," she said tenderly. " But you have to be more careful of yourself. He obviously didn't like you having a wife. He probably found you to be an attractive woman, and was certainly pissed about something that was said.”

I shook my head a moment, then replied. " No. He wasn’t mad because he couldn’t have me. He was mad because I have something he doesn't. When I started to talk about us, he got flustered. That is what made him angry." I took my wife's hand. "I almost forgot. I have a present for you." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small box, then handed it to her.

Without a word, she kissed me, then leaned back and opened the box. She looked inside, then squealed happily. She pulled me close, whispered the words 'thank you' into my ear, then removed from the box my gift - a small lapel pin of a small, yellow marigold flower.

Yellow is my favorite color.