Rich Homeless Broken But Beautiful

by Ian Tremblay

  "Yes, Lucille, bring me a cognac, please. I think I really need one right now," she managed to say between the sobs.

  When Lucille returned with the cognac, Linda gulped it down in one shot. Lucille just stood there, not sure as to what to do next. Linda looked up in her direction and took her hand, squeezing it hard.

  "I'm okay, Lucille. I'm sorry about the shouting; I was just beyond myself with rage. I'm sorry about all that, I mean ..." Lucille patted her hand gently,

  "It's okay, miss, I understand. You do not have to explain."

  "Thank you, Lucille. I'll just sit here a while and try to calm down. You go ahead and do what you have to do. I'll be fine, really."

  "Okay, if you need anything, just call me."

  "I will thank you." Linda let go of her hand, and Lucille left, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Linda sat for a long time in her chair in the semi-darkness, her anger unabated. She cried until she had no more tears left to shed, her heart broken by her father for the second time in her life. Her years of traveling had given her the strength and experience to see her father for what he was, but she had hated every second of his visit. It had opened up a wound she had forgotten she had, but it was real and deep and difficult. It had been one of the most upsetting moments of her life, and she kept repeating to herself the same thing over and over again: "You bastard, Roy Staunton, you goddamn bastard. I hate you. I hate your bloody guts."

  The incident of her father's return was followed by another similar one a few months later. One Sunday Linda had all her family over for lunch, as she did most Sundays. The house was filled with children, pets, and family. It was the best time of any week for Linda, to be with the people she loved and to share some quality time with them and to do what families do when they are reunited. Linda had never told her brother or sisters about their father's visit to her a few months before. She had decided for all of them that he was part of the past. That's how things had been, and that's how things would stay. No one ever talked about him anyway, and as far as all were concerned, it was as if he were dead already.

  "So Linda, did you hear?" Linda and Veronica were sitting at the table after the meal, and everyone else was outside or about the house somewhere.

  "Hear what?"

  "You remember Richard Benson, right?"

  The name Richard Benson jolted Linda, even after all those years, how could she forget him-Richard, her Richard. An old familiar ache began to build up in her chest.

  "Of course I remember Richard. We were together for a while, you know."

  "Yeah, I know. Well anyway, I heard that he's back in town."

  "Oh really," Linda feigned disinterest.

  "I heard from someone who knows his mother. He's staying at her place apparently."

  "Oh really? What about his family? I mean, he surely has a family. Where are they?"

  "There is no family, only him. He never married, it seems-no wife, no kids. My friend told me that he went through some very tough times; he had some kind of football accident or something when he was young and ..." Just then, Veronica's oldest daughter Mia came running in to fetch her mother.

  "Mommy, Mommy, come outside, Daddy wants you to come." She took her mother's hand, trying to get her to stand up.

  "Okay, okay, I'm coming. I'm sorry, Linda." She got up and followed her daughter outside.

  Linda was flustered; she was surprised at how disturbed and moved she was by the simple mention of Richard's name. She hadn't thought of him in years and had practically forgotten him. "What if I meet him by chance?" she wondered. "What if he wants to see me? What will I do? Does he know how bad my condition is?" All these questions kept turning in her mind for the rest of the afternoon and for a long time after her family had left.

  She had forgotten her turmoil of the previous Sunday when one week later Lucille told her that there was a phone call for her.

  "Who is it Lucille?"

  "Someone called Richard; he says he's an old friend of yours."

  Linda was stunned. What she had feared was happening. She picked up the phone and put it to her ear, but no sound came out of her mouth. She was unable to speak.

  "Linda, Linda, are you there?" Richard had heard the sound of the phone being picked up.

  "Yes," her voice was barely audible.

  "Linda, it's me, Richard."

  "Hi," she answered hesitantly.

  "It's so nice to hear your voice, Linda. How are you?"

  "I'm fine, thank you, and you?" Linda was in a state of shock.

  "Well, that's a long story, Linda. I've had a bit of a rough patch, but I'm okay now. I just moved back here, you know?"

  "Yes, I heard, my sister told me." Linda was petrified; she could not bring herself to speak, except in forced monosyllabic phrases.

  "Well look, Linda, is there any way we could have coffee or something? You know, for old time's sake. I'd love to see you again." The word "see" pierced Linda's heart.

  "Well uh, yes, I ..." He quickly picked up on her hesitation.

  "Look, Linda, I heard about your accident and all that's happened to you, okay? I know what shape you're in. People have told me, so don't worry; its okay. I understand. I mean, you're still Linda, aren't you? The Linda I knew, you're the same person, right? Now that hasn't changed, has it?" Linda relaxed a little. His words helped to slightly assuage her anguish.

  "Yes, Richard, I'm still Linda, that hasn't changed." Linda smiled, and a warm, pleasant feeling invaded her body. For a split second she felt like she had felt when they had been together. It seemed like such a long time ago to her now.

  "I'll tell you what, Linda; we'll only meet if and when you feel like it and on your own terms, okay? Whenever you feel you're ready, let me know and I'll be there. Promise me you'll think about it, please?"

  "Okay, Richard, I will, I promise." Linda regretted having said that the second she had said it. The truth was that she was terrified at the thought of him ever seeing her again.

  "Good, do you have a pen nearby? I'll give you my phone number, and that way you can call me, you know when you're ready."

  "Yes, of course, just give me a second." Linda's hand trembled as she jotted down his number.

  "Thank you for calling, Richard. I'll call you soon, okay?" She pronounced the words, but in her mind she had no intention of ever calling him back, and she desperately wanted the phone conversation to be over.

  "Promise me you will?" he insisted gently before hanging up.

  "Yes, I promise," Linda whispered the last words and then hung up. Her head was spinning; she turned around and headed toward the living room. She sat down and did not move for a long time. She was in a daze and unable to think straight. "Richard Benson!" She kept repeating in her head, "Richard Benson! What am I going to do about that?"

  The idea of seeing him again tortured her for days; she just could not get him out of her head, and it made her agitated and restless. How would he react to her physical state, she wondered? Was he strong enough? Did he have what it takes to deal with her condition? The fact that he had sounded so nice on the phone was a big plus; he had nearly made her feel comfortable. But what would happen when he saw her in person? After turning this around in her head for a few days, Linda made a decision. She would have him over, and if it was too much for him, well then, so be it. He would be off and that would be the end of that. Linda knew that she could run into him when she was in town doing errands with Charles, and that would have been very embarrassing, especially if she had not called him back. So she decided that it was better to confront him on her territory and to get it over with. She called him back and invited him for coffee the next afternoon at three.

  By the time he arrived, Linda had been sitting in the semi-darkness of the living room for over twenty minutes. She was nervous but determined to see this through. Lucille let Richard in; Linda looked him over as Lucille indicated to him where he should sit. He still had a good, solid body, but his hair was thinning and that ma
de him look a little older than his age. He also had a very bad limp when he walked, and when he sat down it was obvious that he could not bend his leg much. It stuck out at an angle in front of him.

  "Hi, Richard," Linda said from behind her veil.

  He looked over in her direction, squinting, trying to adjust to the light of the room.

  "Oh hi, Linda, I didn't realize you were sitting there." He was obviously ill at ease; the situation was probably not what he had imagined. Linda helped him along.

  "So, what's with the limp, Richard?"

  "Well, that's a long story, Linda. Want to hear it?"

  "Yes I would, Richard; I'd like that very much"

  "Okay, then. Well, in my last year at college, I had a very bad football accident. I broke my leg in four places, smashed it good, and that was the end of my football career. Bang, just like that, in two seconds, all was finished and the life I had dreamed about was over."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, Richard, I didn't know."

  "Hey, it's okay, don't worry about it. I've gotten over that now. It hit me hard at the time, though, Linda. I mean here I was the school hero. I was pampered and idolized. Everything was given to me, and whatever I wanted, I had. There were agents all over me to represent me and scouts from a lot of teams who came to see me play. I was floating on a river of endless praise and worship, me being the object of that worship and praise, of course. It never dawned on me that it was all fragile and nonrenewable. I didn't know what it was like to be vulnerable and to feel pain-real pain, that is. I think if anybody can understand what I mean by that, it's certainly you." Linda nodded her head in approval. "Anyway, to make a long story short, there I was on top of the world, for about five minutes, that is, if you consider the time frame of our lives. Then, when this happened," he pointed to his stiff leg, "that was it, no more hero, no more nothing, game over. I had seven operations on my leg; I went into a deep depression when the doctors told me I would never play football again. I just couldn't believe it was all over. My grades, which were already so-so, as you know, took a permanent direction south. I became addicted to painkillers and pills of all kinds and anything else I could get my hands on. Well, that, combined with a major drinking problem I'd developed, made me a complete basket case. I was totally wiped out. No more friends, no more money, no more glory, no more nothing. I lost everything, and mostly, though, I lost myself, and I ended up on the street and became a homeless person, a vagrant and a bum. Can you believe that? Me, Richard Benson, my mother would have died had she known the truth about what and how I was living. I lived for seven years that way, Linda, out there." He pointed behind himself. "They were years of darkness, Linda, complete darkness. I was a lost soul, drowning in my misery and in alcohol. I swear, most of it I don't even remember. That's how out of it I was."

  Linda couldn't help but imagining the improbable situation that could have happened. She could have met up with him in her homeless outfit and unveiled, during one of her numerous visits of skid rows or shelters, as had been her habit for so many years, albeit for very different reasons. "Wow, that would certainly have been a shock," she thought, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine. Richard continued his story.

  "So anyway, one day I hit rock bottom, and this ex-alcoholic, ex-drug addict-Anthony, that was his name-Anthony, well he saved my life. The only reason I'm not dead is because of him. He helped me sober up, get my head back together, and become a human being again. He brought me back to life, and he showed me how to feel good about myself again. I owe him everything that guy, Linda, everything. If it weren't for him, I'd be dead and buried for sure." He bowed his head, moving his intertwined hands nervously in front of him, his eyes staring into space as he reflected on his past. Linda cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence.

  "Wow, that's nearly as bad as my own story, Richard." His honesty and vulnerability touched her. She felt much better in his presence than she would have thought, a bit like she had felt with her friends Red and Janice and all the other street people she had befriended in her years of wanderings.

  "Yeah, I know you had it bad, Linda, real bad. People around here told me. I'm really sorry about that. I really feel for you, and my heart reaches out to you. But hey, you're alive, right? And you're still Linda. That's all that matters really, you know."

  "Yes, I am, Richard. I'm still Linda. I'm a different person, you know, physically, but inside, it's still me." He was smiling at her, and if he could have seen her face behind her veil, he would have seen that she was smiling too.

  "There is something else I want to tell you, Linda. It's important to me. It's about Diane Sorenson." Linda interrupted him.

  "You don't have to, Richard, I know, someone told me about her a few years ago, an ex-friend of hers. I know that she purposely and wickedly tore us apart; I know the whole story, Richard, and I really pity her. She must have been a very unhappy person to do what she did." There was no rage or anger in Linda's voice; she had come to terms with that chapter of her life a long time ago.

  "I see. Well, I only found out after she dumped me, you know, and that was not too long after I broke my leg. I was lying in a hospital bed, and I'd just found out that I'd never play football again. Perfect timing eh? Anyway, she told me the whole story herself. She was proud of that and laughed in my face. I was beyond stunned; I just couldn't believe that someone could be mean like that. Well anyway, she went off and married some corporate big-shot guy, I heard, didn't even finish school; she's probably very busy screwing up his life right now, eh?"

  "Yes, Richard, I'm sure she's still out there hurting someone. But don't worry; life will catch up with her. Life always does sooner or later, you know."

  "Yeah, you're right about that. Well, whatever. I just wanted to set the record straight by you."

  "The record is set straight, Richard. It's all ancient history now."

  Just then Lucille entered the room with a tray of coffee and cookies. She served them in silence; she felt that this was a time to be silent and respectful. It was something in the air, something that she sensed was there and that was about the room.

  "Thank you, Lucille. Oh, Lucille, this is a very dear and very old friend of mine, Richard Benson. We went to high school together." Lucille bowed her head slightly toward Richard and smiled at him, not her stiff, professional smile, but a more generous and sincere one.

  "Pleased to meet you, sir," Richard tried to get up to shake her hand, but he failed in his attempt to do so because of his leg, and he fell back in his chair. Sheepishly, he extended his hand to Lucille, who took it, and they shook hands.

  "Sorry about that." He pointed to his leg, slightly embarrassed.

  "It's okay, sir, I understand."

  "Well anyway, I'm glad to meet you too, Lucille. Thank you for the coffee and the cookies." He smiled, and his smile was generous and innocent, and Lucille smiled back. It was at that instant that Linda realized that deep down; Richard was still the pure innocent boy she had known in her youth. He was still the same good, kind-hearted person she had known and that she had loved and cherished.

  "You're welcome, sir. Will that be all, miss?" Lucille asked, turning toward Linda.

  "Yes, thank you, Lucille." Just as she turned to go, Linda asked, "Oh, just one more thing, Lucille. Are you and Charles still going to that concert tonight?" Linda asked with a touch of mischief in her voice. Lucille looked at Linda with her stoic, professional look.

  "Yes, miss, of course. You know how fond he is of classical music, and I'm glad to accompany him, if that's still okay with you, of course?" She was slightly defensive.

  "Of course its okay Lucille, don't be silly. Just make me a tuna salad and leave it in the fridge, will you please? I'll have a light dinner and retire early."

  "Yes, of course, miss, but you're sure it's okay that I go?"

  "Of course I'm sure. You just go and enjoy yourself and don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

  Lucille smiled stiffly and left the room. Lind
a chuckled to herself; she was now sure that Charles and Lucille were very fond of each other and that they had a little thing going on. Charles had not said it directly to her, but she had sensed it in her conversations with him. When he mentioned Lucille his voice would change, and he had trouble hiding his affection for her. Linda was happy about that. She loved them both dearly and wished only the best for them.

  "Sorry about that, Richard, just a little domestic business."

  "No problem, Linda. Hey, by the way, this is a really beautiful home you have here." Richard looked in all directions, nodding his head approvingly.

  "Thank you. I like it very much here; it has a nice feel to it. Maybe I can show you around later?"

  "I'd love that, Linda." He smiled in her direction; he had had some apprehensions about coming, but now he was glad that he had done so, and he felt good about being close to Linda again.

  They chatted for over four hours, and time flew by. The conversation flowed naturally between them, and they both enjoyed being in each other's company. Richard even got Linda to laugh a few times when he told her about some of his funnier skid row adventures. He voluntarily omitted the murkier and more sinister situations that he had so often been into. Of course, what he did not know is that Linda knew exactly what he was talking about. She had decided not to share with him right away her own experience of that world. Linda told him all about her college years and how she had loved working with animals, even if it had only been for a short time. Then, she told him about her accident, sharing with him all the details of her physical pain and psychological distress. She told him things that she had never told anyone else, besides her mother, that is. She felt she could tell him everything and that it would be all right. It felt good to share her more intimate thoughts with someone again, someone that she knew and that she felt she could trust. She told him about her difficult rehabilitation and the cruelty of the world for someone disfigured and handicapped like her and about the loneliness and the solitude. She talked about her family and her mother's death, leaving out her father's unexpected return a month before and her violent reaction to that.