I want to teach Anne a lesson. The way I figure, if I teach Anne this lesson, she’ll get tougher. Not accept everything at face value. Act suspicious of everyone. Of everything. Look behind her when she’s walking down the street. Be like the rest of us. Ignore people. Street people and the homeless people selling weekly newspapers in front of drugstores and in front of the bank. Admire girls skipping rope next to a fire hydrant but admire from across the street. Be a true city neighbor and see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing.

We just moved to the city. We tried living in the suburbs but we were bored there. There’s nothing to do there. You’ve got to drive everywhere. You have to get in the car to get a cup of coffee, a newspaper, a bagel with cream cheese. There’s no way to see a movie, buy some grapes, to get a cold beer or buy some type of unusual gift from the avant-garde gift shop on the corner without being tied to an automobile. Anne wanted to move to the city as much as I did.

Anne thinks I’m too critical of people. I’ve lived in the city before. On and off for several years. Four years in college and then a year right before we met and moved in with each other. Anne actually moved in with me. We dated for two weeks and she never went home. She didn’t have a home to go to at the time. She was staying with a friend and between boyfriends. Anne dumped her last boyfriend after seven years. Dumped him for me. Based on that action alone, I figure I need to teach her a lesson.

We looked for a condo for four months before we found the one we bought. Condos in a nice, safe, exciting neighborhood in Chicago at reasonable prices are rare. Ours was on the market for less than two days. We made an offer on it after seeing it for about three minutes. It was that simple. It had everything we wanted in a place in the city. Living room, dining room, large kitchen, hardwood floors throughout, closet space, one bedroom with a sun-room we could eventually use as a second bedroom for a baby, bay windows, fireplace, close to everything. We knew our dogs were going to like it too. That was important.

“Sammy, get up and take the dogs out for a walk with me,” Anne says. We went to The Pepper Canister the night before. “I want them to go out before church.”

“I’m still a bit hung over from last night,” I lie. “Give me a few more minutes to rest before I get in the shower.” I hear the twinkle of the dog’s leashes as they swing against one another in her hands. Anne kisses my forehead.

“I’ll be back soon.” The tone in her voice is obvious. I told you not to drink that much monotone. The crisp sound of few words speaking volumes.

I wait until I hear the front door close before I get up from bed. I still have on a pair of jeans shorts I wore at the pub. I grab a gray T-shirt from my dresser drawer and put it on. I don’t want Anne to notice me that easily. I put on a baseball hat and turn it brim back. I flip on my sandals and leave.

Anne is three blocks up the road from me. She’s got bad eyes. Fails those exams at the Department of Motor Vehicles all the time.

As she walks with the dogs, I try to figure out a way. A way to teach her that lesson. Something that would startle her enough to be cautious. Something good. Fresh. Innovative. New and creative. Something that rolled all of my fears of the city into one. Homeless people, winos, drug addicts, gang bangers, pushers, prostitutes, guns, thieves, rapists. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Anne crosses inner Lake Shore Drive and walks toward the underground viaduct that leads to the lake. I continue moving in my live version of chess. I am the King. One square at a time.

The dogs walk Anne down the sidewalk toward the beach. I want to get somebody to stop her. Ask her for money. Shake her up a bit. Keep asking until she gave in. She would definitely give in. She’s kind. Doesn’t like to see people suffer. Always wants to do more, give more; be more charitable. If she saw someone being hassled on the street, she would try to help until the victim was safe. I had a plan and I knew it would work. She would give in to any guy I hired to hustle her and I would catch her. Show her how stupid she was being by letting someone take her like that. She should never be so gullible, I would say to her, and she should never let her guard down.

I see a guy sleeping on a bench with newspapers all around him. I stand over him for a few minutes, checking him out. Making sure he might fit the description of a person on a flyer in a police station. A criminal. One of the ten most wanted. If not one of the ten most wanted, then at least someone who might make the top 100 most wanted criminals in America.

Anne stopped up ahead to talk with some teenagers who looked like they were petting the dogs. I realize I am standing over the guy for a while and wondered if he felt my presence. I was stalling. Doubting my intentions. Wanting to make a move.

“Hey, dude,” he says suddenly from behind the papers, “you gonna keep standing in my sunlight all day or is I gonna have to axe you to leaves?” Caught.

“Hey,” I say.

“Sup?” He lifts one side of the newspaper off of his face.

“Want to make some money?”

He gets up from the bench and sits up straight. The newspapers fall to the ground and scatter around the bench. He eyes me. “Shit man, I ain’t into shit like dat.”

“Like what?” I follow his eyes with mine.

“I ain’t into messin around with guys and shit. You know, I likes da women not da men.” He starts to lay back down.

“That’s not what I want to pay you to do.” I say. “It’s my wife.”

He starts back up again. A human yo-yo. “What `bout your wife?” I have his interest again. “You wants me to have sex with her or somethin?”

“What?” I step back from him and look around at other people. I try to stop looking him in the eyes. I can feel him trying to stare straight at my eyes. I look at him and he is lifting his right eyebrow over the brim of his sunglasses. “Sex has nothing to do with this. Why do you keep bringing up sex?”

“Someone stops me on my bench and axes me if I wants to make money it either bout sex or drugs. Is dat what it is? You want drugs from me?”

“It’s not about drugs either, man. I don’t want sex, I don’t want you to have sex with my wife and I don’t want drugs.” Two men swerve past me on their Rollerblades. I almost clip one with my elbow as I was making my point.

“You the powlice, then? I ain’t using no more.” He shows me his arms. They are almost all bones. His veins are colorless on his black skin. No track marks. He does smell like alcohol.

“I’m not a cop, either. I just want you to teach my wife a lesson.”

He pulls his sunglasses down toward the tip of his nose. “Shit, man, I ain’t no teacher neither.” Up and down.

“Not that kind of lesson. I just want you to scare her a bit.”

“You sick or somethin?” he shouts. “Waz up witch you anyhow? Wantin me to put a scare in your wife. You mad at her or somethin?”

“No that’s not it.” I look down at Anne to make sure she is still there. Three guys are talking with her and laughing. One of the guys is standing very close to her. It looks like he has his arm around her. “Just tell me if you are interested in helping me or not. I mean, I could ask someone else. I don’t want her to get too far from here so I’ll need you to make a decision on this now.” The guy seems to envelop Anne into his body. I see her head bob up and down like she is laughing at something he has said.

“Which one is your wife? The little one or the fat one over there?” He points to two women walking with each other. They look like Laurel and Hardy.

“No. Neither one of them is my wife. She’s the one over there.” I point to my wife. I want to do this now. “The one with the dogs. There.” I point again. Harder, as if stressing my point. This is taking too long.

“How much money you talkin about?” he asks, eyes on Anne.

“I don’t know,” I transfer his attention back to me. “Twenty bucks.”

“And what I posed to do? Push her round and shit? I can do dat.” Eyes back on Anne. He begins contemplating what he’ll do. I can see it in his eyes. He starts licking his lips. Tightening his jaw. Hard. He begins pacing back and forth in front of me. Never taking his eyes off of Anne and the dogs.

“I just want you to approach her. You know, ask her for change. Ask her for a cigarette or a light.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“That’s not the point!” I yell and he takes his eyes off of Anne turns his head toward me. Slowly. “Ask her if you can walk the dogs,” I say, softly. “Ask her for money. Nothing too mean. Be persistent. I just want her to reject you.”

“What dat word mean?”

“What word?”

“Dat word. Sistent?” He seems genuinely interested in the word.

“Persistent. It means not letting up on her. If she says no, keep asking. Try a new approach, a new angle. Try your hardest to get her to give you something. Anything.”

“How bout if I axe her for a kiss?” Again, his eyes are on her.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” I want out. “Why don’t you just forget I said anything.” I start to walk away. “How about if I pay you to do nothing.” He follows me toward the beach. “Okay?” Anne is still talking with the three guys. “How about it? Money for nothing.” I look her way. “I’ll give you five bucks just to forget I ever said anything.”

“Five bucks!” he yells. “You was gonna give me twenty to do that other shit.”

“I know,” I start to turn red. Pissed at myself for saying anything. “But now I don’t want you to do anything. So technically, I’m giving you five bucks for your time.” I’m still walking toward the beach and keeping an eye on Anne.

“Where you goin?” He is yelling very loudly. “You offer me more money! I want my money!”

There are crowds of people lined up on blankets on the beach. We are on the beach and I look at other people for support. “I don’t owe you any money,” I say, loud enough for people within earshot to hear me. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” I am asking others for support through my words. My actions.

“You want me to help you and now you forgetting our deal. Dat bullshit, man!” He starts pushing me. Everyone can see him pushing me. I fall down on my back and he continues to abuse me. He’s standing over me. Yelling. “Give me my money now! You owe me twenty bucks!”

He starts kicking sand on me. I’m sliding on my butt trying to dodge the small sand storms he’s kicking my way. The sand is getting in my eyes. “Is dis what you had in mind for your wife and shit? You must not love her to pay me to do dis kind of stuff.” My eyes have streams of tears falling from them. I start coughing and gasping for air.

People are still around us on their blankets. They are at the beach to enjoy one another. Some people have beach towels laid out and are sun bathing with lotion. Others are waiting until lunchtime to unpack their picnic baskets. Those people will have a feast while they talk about the man and me. In between bites of cold fried chicken, rolls, honey ham luncheon meat, pickles, olives, potato salad, cole slaw and apple pie for desert, they will remember the man kicking sand and yelling. They will remember me for several days and tell others about the ordeal.

People are also walking by us. Everyone is looking the other way. They are looking the other way and watching. Casually continuing their conversations. I want their help. Everyone pretends not to see him while watching his next move.

I see two policemen walking our way. I know they will be my salvation. They will break us up. One cop will ask his side of the story; the other mine. They will know him or contend to know his type. They will believe my false version of what occurred. No one will dispute me. No one offers the truth. He will be led away in handcuffs and I will be left alone. Alone to walk home. To contemplate my actions. Twenty bucks still in my pocket.

Until then, I accept my punishment from him. I allow him to continue the abuse. He is standing tall over me. It makes him feel proud. Better than me. Better then he feels most days. He is sure of himself as he manipulates his position. He will never feel as powerful as he does at this moment. This, I am sure, will be his greatest victory.

Anne is standing with the three men. She stands, watching. Looking in my direction. Unable to trace my identity. All she can do is squint to see a man being tormented. She pretends not to notice. It’s what I’ve told her to do. When I get home, I will tell her how proud I am of her and we will walk to church holding hands like we did when we dated. My free hand will be in my pocket. I will finger the sand in my shorts to remind me of my shortcomings.