by Maren Foster
“I didn’t know what to do. I agonized over whether I should wake you up and tell you what happened, but I didn’t want to cause trouble. I was worried that he’d be mad and hurt you, but I also knew he’d be embarrassed. I left. I didn’t know what else to do. I checked into a fleabag motel off I-95. I couldn’t sleep all night and it was all I could do to get myself to work the next morning for my client meeting and then go home.”
That’s why she didn’t text. “I’m so sorry, Ali.”
“I’ve been having nightmares. I’m twitchy and irritable. I don’t feel like myself and he didn’t even rape me,” she said. “I can’t understand how you’ve survived all these years.”
“God damn it. I never would have done what I did if I’d known how many women he would assault after me. I didn’t realize at the time how evil he was. I thought it was just me. I thought I did something to provoke him. I know nothing I say now can make it right or undo what’s been done, but please let me at least explain. I realize now how selfish all this seems,” I said.
She looked up and nodded through tears.
“In some ways it was completely selfish, but I was also terrified. He threatened me and I was warned by everyone I trusted that he would ruin my life. I am so sorry that I wasn’t stronger, that I didn’t fight against him earlier, and that I put you and other women in danger.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? You could have warned us so that we would know to stay far away from him,” Ali said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know what happened to me. I didn’t want Vi to know either. I was ashamed and embarrassed. You have both always been so strong. I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to know how weak I was, and honestly I never thought he would do that to you, of all people.”
“But we could have supported you.”
“I didn’t think you’d understand. I thought you would tell me to press charges, but I wasn’t ready. I was so weak,” I said.
She shook her head. “Stop it. He hurt you badly and you survived alone. You were strong. I just wish we could have been there for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “He got me pregnant too.”
Vi shook her head, listening as she finished preparing a salad.
“Oh my God! What happened?” Ali asked.
“I got rid of it. I couldn’t keep his child.”
“Of course not, but that must have been so hard.”
I nodded. Ali pulled me toward her and wrapped her arms around me. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have protected you from him.”
I shook my head as tears began to well up in my eyes. “It was my fault for falling for his act in the first place. I let my guard down. I trusted someone I never should have trusted.”
My tears became sobs and my body wretched in pain.
“He’s a monster. It’s not your fault,” she said.
I cried into her soft sweater.
“I understand now,” Ali said.
I clenched her even tighter. “Some days I hate myself for what I’ve done, but it really seemed like the only way,” I said.
“All we have is each other. I will support you, whatever you feel you need to do,” she said.
It’s already done.
We sat down for dinner and Vi poured us each a glass of wine. She raised her glass in the air.
“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through, but I’m so grateful that we have each other. À ta santé.”
Ali and I raised our glasses and nodded in agreement.
“So, anything positive going on lately amidst all this stuff with Nate?” Vi asked.
“I think I’m in love,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Not with your husband, obviously,” Vi said.
“Obviously not.”
“Who?”
“It’s Adam,” Ali said.
“Thanks for ruining my surprise.”
“That’s not a surprise,” Ali said.
“I always knew you two would end up together,” Vi said.
“Then why did you forbid me from dating him in high school?”
“I didn’t want you to date anyone in high school because I didn’t want you to get pregnant in high school,” she said.
“Like you did?” I said.
She looked at me, shocked.
“I understand now, because I took this.” I pulled her diary out of my purse. “I read it. I shouldn’t have,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“What is that?” Ali asked.
“That’s my diary,” Vi said tersely.
“I had no idea,” I said.
Vi nodded and I saw a sadness in her eyes that I’d never seen before.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Sorry for what?” Ali asked.
“She’s sorry because now she knows my secrets.”
“What secrets?”
“Ali, do you remember how I told you that your dad and I were married and moved to Chicago together just before you were born?”
“Yeah.”
“We weren’t. We were never married. He was my first crush. I got pregnant the first time because the only sex education I ever had was abstinence,” she said. “I mean, I would never choose to go back and not have you, but it wasn’t easy. My mother accused him of rape just to have him thrown in jail, so that she could use that to try to force me to marry him. She said that if I married him they would let him out of jail and everything would be fine, but I didn’t want to be married. I was so young. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I needed more. I didn’t want to get stuck in that town, so I left home and came here all by myself. When I had you I was all alone.”
Ali leaned forward and took Vi’s hand over the table. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it was hard for you, but you did an incredible job. I love you so much.”
Vi began to cry and Ali hugged her. I walked over and they pulled me into their embrace.
“I get it now,” I said and they began to laugh.
“About time,” Vi said.
As we sat finishing our drinks Ali mused, “I wonder what happened to him.”
“I don’t know,” Vi said. “I tried to get him out of prison. I told them I didn’t want to press charges and that he didn’t rape me, but I really don’t know. I wouldn’t be hurt if you want to try to find him.”
“Thanks. I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” Ali said.
The next morning Vi drove me to the airport before work. We drove in silence for a few minutes before she said, “Did you really marry him for revenge?”
I didn’t answer right away and time passed silently in front of us in the form of bumpy gray asphalt.
“Why else would I marry him?” I said eventually.
“Look, Freddie, no one is disputing that what he did to you was atrocious,” she said, “but it’s still hard for me to understand why you didn’t just turn him in and let the authorities deliver justice.”
“Really? I thought you, of all people, would understand. You’re smart enough to know that it doesn’t work like that in the real world. It might work out nicely in Hollywood movies for the heroine who goes through hell and fights the system, only to be elevated in some grand redemption scene. But in real life the system is run by men, who set policy and weigh evidence—which is itself biased—against reputations, preconceptions, and established value systems. They decide what they are comfortable believing and affirming.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know.”
We rode the remaining half hour in silence. I wasn’t angry, but I didn’t have anything to say either. Vi pulled up to the departures curb and I grabbed my leather duffle bag from the back seat.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said.
“Love you, Freddie.”
“Love you too.”
“Have a good flight.”
“Thanks.”
The Send
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Old Greenwich
> Visitor’s hours at the Westchester County Correction center, where Nate was being held, were from six to eight on Thursday night. I found a parking spot in the large lot behind the jail. There was no line. I filled out the paperwork to request visitation and took a seat.
About fifteen minutes later a guard opened a large door.
“Wyn-a-freda Laur-ent,” he called.
I stood up and he motioned me back through the doorway.
The visitation room reminded me of the cleanest middle school lunchroom in the world, without a serving counter. There were a few different plastic tables for various sized groups of visitors. He motioned for me to sit down at one of the smaller tables. I sat down and clutched my purse in my lap. It was a few more minutes before Nate was brought in. His hands were cuffed and he had shackles around his legs. He looked defeated, which made me feel emboldened.
He sat down and nodded to the guard, who looked at him and said, “I’ll be watching.”
I smiled at the guard.
“So that was it? Quite the scheme you’ve pulled off,” Nate said.
I didn’t react but watched him steadily. He doesn’t actually seem that angry. Why not? What’s he up to?
“Simon told me about your allegations and the police report you filed in 2012,” he said softly. “And all the interviews you’ve been giving. I’ve seen all of them.”
I nodded.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “I still can’t believe you pulled any of it off.”
I studied his expression with skepticism.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is it still money you’re after?”
“There is no money, right?” I said. “I want justice.”
“What does that mean?”
“Justice for all of the women you’ve hurt,” I said loudly.
“I’m not going away for this. I did nothing wrong,” he said. “I only gave you what you wanted.”
Unbelievable!
“You gave me what I wanted?” I said.
“Yeah, don’t pretend I didn’t. You wanted me that night. I’m sure you did. They all do.”
Wow! He can’t really believe that, can he?
“And since then I’ve done nothing but take care of you. I gave you the life of luxury you wanted, the ability to stay home. You had everything.”
I shook my head. So that’s it. He’ll never change. I should have known.
“Let it go,” he said. “Drop the charges, apologize publicly for lying about what happened between us in 2012, and tell the world that you’ve been lying the whole time because you were jealous. Say that you were wrong to lie about it, that we only ever had consensual sex. If you do that, you’ll never have to worry about anything else, ever again. Forget about whatever you think happened all those years ago. Come back to me and we will move on. You win.”
Ah, so he’s after a reconciliation again, like after the party. But this time, I’m the one with the upper hand. He must know that. Why on Earth would I apologize this time? No, he hasn’t given me any good reason to reconcile this time. “How the hell do I win?”
“Oh, come on. Living with me hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”
Hah! He really believes that I enjoying living with him all those years and thinks that’s enough to get me to stay! “I hated every minute.”
“Even all those orgasms I gave you?” he said loudly so that everyone in the room could hear.
“I faked every single one,” I replied as loud as possible.
“You fucking bitch,” Nate said. All of a sudden his anger was unmistakable, scary even. “Liar!” He yelled.
The guard cleared his throat loudly.
I shook my head. “You’re the liar and you’ll pay for what you did to me.”
“I will fight you every step of the way. Give up while you’re still ahead.”
“Never. I want justice and I’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”
He laughed out loud. It was a deep, full-bodied laugh.
I waited.
“You won’t get that. I won’t let you. You’re nobody. Come back to me. Come back now and you’ll be forgiven, but you better crawl back on your hands and knees. You better make sure everyone knows that you know just how wrong you were to ever accuse me and how much you regret ever filing that erroneous police report. You better grovel on your way back. I think a public apology tour might do the trick.”
I shook my head. “Never!” I growled as I stood up to leave.
“Fucking whore!” he yelled after me. “You’ll be sorry! I promise.”
A small smile crossed my face as I walked out the door, but back in the safety and silence of my car I broke down. I began to shake uncontrollably.
I drove home in silence. So that was it. He was lying about the stuff with the business and our finances. It was just bait to get me to go see him so that he could try to reel me back in and threaten me.
I pulled up to the house on the water, where I had lived with my rapist, and played the game for so long. The sun was just setting and there were three cars parked near our house, which struck me as odd, given that there was never anyone parked on our street. As I got closer, I saw the white news vans in our driveway with their antennae up. Fuck. There were at least three camera crews standing at my front door. What are they doing here? I’m too tired to tell the story again, plus the D.A. just told me not to talk to the media. But as I pulled up to the house I reminded myself that any publicity was good publicity. How can I spin this to my advantage?
I pulled into the driveway and navigated through the very narrow space between their vans to the garage. I hit the garage door opener and watched as they began to follow me in on foot. I killed the car, rolled down my window, and yelled in my loudest voice possible.
“If you want an interview GET OUT NOW! Get out!” When they didn’t move I yelled, “I’m calling the police now. You’re trespassing!” They backed off and I closed the garage door.
I checked my face in the mirror in the front hall and refreshed my lipstick. Then I engaged the security lock on the front door and opened it a crack.
“I would like to give you all an interview but I need you to be civilized. I am going to come out onto the porch on the condition that not one of you sets foot in my house or touches me, and when I say the interview is over, it’s over.”
I shut the door, removed the security latch, and slipped outside. Shutting the door quickly behind me, I moved over to the side of the front porch, in front of a big planter, making sure that the house number next to the front door wasn’t in their shot.
“Okay.”
They began shouting questions over each other: “What was it like to be married to your rapist?”; “Will you be getting a divorce?”; “Did you love him?”; “Was it all about his money?”
I held my hand up, commanding them to stop. I looked up at the clear, rosy sky and took a deep breath. “Nathan Ellis raped me violently when I was eighteen years old. I was still a virgin and was saving myself because of my faith and because I believed in happily ever after. I didn’t come forward earlier because he threatened my life and because the people I trusted told me, based on experience, that his word would be taken over mine because he was young, handsome, and successful. I was naïve and scared.”
“Where did you find the videos?”
“In our house. They were right there, under my nose for years and I had no idea.”
“Do you regret not pressing charges when the rape occurred?”
No.
“What made you decide to post the videos online?”
“When I realized that I wasn’t alone. That he’d been doing the same thing to other women for years. I decided to post the videos so that those women wouldn’t feel alone like I did.”
“If you had turned him in earlier he might not have raped those other women. Do you feel responsible?”
“Women who are raped,” I paused for effect, �
��assaulted, abused are kept silent by the fear that they will lose even more than they have already lost. Imagine being harmed, and having something dear ripped from you, and then imagine that to get any sense of peace about what happened, you will have to go through a process that will expose you to the world, rip you open again, lay bare the most painful experience of your life in front of total strangers, only to be told that the perpetrator’s future success is more important than your healing. That his potential shouldn’t be stymied on account of your pain. For too long I was a victim of this fear and, by allowing myself to be a victim, I did allow it to happen to other women too. I enabled him to keep doing what he was doing, ruining the lives of other women, and for that, I am so sorry. I didn’t know about the other women until I discovered the videos. I’ve put them out there so that together we can end the culture of victimization and fear that surrounds rape.”