Tyranny of a Lover...Diary of the Wife of an Undercover informant

by Janet J. White

  I felt unconcerned when Curtis called me into his office the following week. But I had barely sat down when he said, "I'm sorry Jen, we're going to have to let you go. You were warned not to mix business with pleasure. While you and Dick wandered up and down the beach, you missed your turn with a customer."

  "I'm sorry Curtis. That's the first and last time that'll happen." My words of apology fell on deaf ears.

  "Sorry, Jen, but it’s the end of the line. I'll expect you to clear out by closing time today."

  I sighed. "Alright, but before leaving, I expect to receive my check for the units I've sold."

  Curtis stared at me as though I had asked him for the title to his Mercedes. "I'll have your commissions computed within the next few days and mail you a check," he said.

  I disliked the sound of that. Most of the original sales staff had quit and word filtered back that they had never been paid.

  I felt terrible at being fired. I started clearing out my desk in the now empty sales office. Everyone knew what had happened. Then Dick walked in and closed the door behind him. "Curtis just fired me," I cried. "I've only been fired from one other job in my entire life--when I was a teen-aged car-hop at a drive-in restaurant. Being fired at this stage of my life is humiliating."

  Dick smiled brightly. "Hey don't worry. I planned to take care of you anyway. Stay home, relax."

  Without coming to a solid agreement, Dick moved into my apartment and began paying most of the bills. I had a nest egg squirreled away in the bank, stock investments from profits on the sale of a property, plus a small family inheritance, together with work related savings. I settled in comfortably with the man who I had grown to love. I cooked for us; we laughed and made love. And I eagerly awaited the sound of his key in the door lock at the end of the day.

  Dick worked long hours at the La Casa Inn, six and sometimes seven days a week. Then, a few weeks later, he came home late one night and moaned. "The owner of La Casa is driving me nuts. He's not only a cheapskate, but a liar too. He keeps promising me a salary increase, then changes his mind the next day."

  "Dick, now it's my time to tell you not to worry. I'll find work. I don't like dipping into my savings for normal living expenses. And right now, you can't carry it all."

  He sat down in an armchair and looked dejected. "I don't know, Pussycat. I'll get that raise, or find something else that will bring in more money. Besides, I like you here taking care of me. I can manage the bills." He reached for my hand. "Speaking of money, has Curtis sent your commission check?"

  I sat down on the arm of the chair. "No, and it's been at least three weeks. I've called him a couple of times---same old stall tactics."

  Dick stood and walked to the window. "We'll give him a little more time. If he doesn't come through, we'll have to do more than just ask."

  I heard something in his voice that I hadn’t detected before, an impersonal command that tinged on violence, something that made me shudder. "What do you mean by `more'?"

  He turned to look at me. A slight smile cornered his lips. Dick leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "Do you remember when we first started dating, when I mentioned that I worked with the CIA while in Nam?"

  I forced myself to keep my face expressionless. "Yes...?"

  "I was part of a CIA assassination team."

  "What?"

  Dick nodded.

  "What brought this to mind? Surely you don't intend to assassinate my former boss over a couple of thousand dollars, do you?"

  "No, of course not. I just thought you'd like to know everything about me."

  "I don't want to pry if you don't want to be reminded of those painful years."

  "I like remembering. Killing in Nam was impersonal and businesslike. You might say we were on a business mission for our government." He laughed. "We infiltrated Cong headquarters and killed the commanding officer or whoever happened to be there when we struck. Our fast-in, fast-out team had six, sometimes eight men. We had another job: get as much information as possible from the 'Gooks'...anyway we could. We'd torture them if they didn't tell us what we wanted to know. The damned Cong used punji sticks dipped in shit to nail our guys and we used the same thing on them."

  Both fascinated and horrified, I asked, "What's a punji stick?"

  "A stick made out of bamboo filed to a needle sharp point, then dipped in poisons and human dung. When our guys stomped through the jungle and stepped on them, they'd go right through their combat boots. The poison acted fast and getting pierced by one of those things was not a pretty sight. Sometimes, if a grunt didn't get medical attention fast enough, it would kill him. The Viet Cong knew that human shit drove us nuts, which is why they used it. They got a kick out of knowing that American soldiers would suffer even more if they died with a fucking Cong's shit inside him.

  "My God." I gulped. "Man's inhumanity to man."

  "Our team used the same tactics. If a Cong didn't tell us what we wanted to know, we'd tie him to a chair and lash his head back so he couldn't move. And while the little yellow bastard saw it coming, we'd jab a punji stick in his eye. He'd scream in agony. Sometimes we'd run it through one eye before asking our questions. I can tell you...it worked. Most of the time we learned what we wanted to know before the stick came near him. Every now and again, if one of our team felt like it, we'd gouge his eyes out anyway."

  Almost involuntarily, I said, "It sounds as if you enjoyed it."

  He looked at me fully, with no reproach in his glance. "I did. Look what they did to our guys. Once you've seen young American boys mutilated --well, you look at the enemy as animals, sub-humans that need to be wiped out."

  I thought about my son Gregg, and how I would feel if that had happened to him. Regardless, I couldn't participate in such an abomination.

  "We had another way of getting information," Dick continued. "Most Viet Cong are scared to death of being up in the air. That's one of their innate weaknesses. We'd take half a dozen prisoners up for a helicopter ride. Not too high, six hundred feet or so. Terrified, they'd chatter like a bunch of monkeys. We'd put a question to a 'Chink' and if we didn't like the answer, we'd knot him up and kick him out of the loading door. We'd watch him fall and listen to him scream all the way down. Sometimes they'd get caught up in the trees. Once in a while, one would end up impaled on a limb. When that happened, we'd circle the chopper close to the site so that the rest of the 'Gooks' could see their buddy wiggling in agony and hear his screams."

  "How horrible!" I shook my head. "They're human beings. Torturing and killing them in such an atrocious way makes us no better than the enemy."

  Dick ignored the comment. "By the time, we sent the first or second Cong to meet his ancestors, the next one in line couldn't wait to tell us what we wanted to know. Lots of times we'd kick the rest of them out of the chopper anyway."

  "You'd a make a promise, break it and kill them anyway?"

  Dick roared with laughter. "Jen, you're still seeing America through star-spangled eyes. Let's put it this way, my squad liked to take prisoners. We just didn't like to keep them."

  "War is so evil, on both sides. Thank goodness it's over."

  Dick turned from me to stare out the window. But before he did, I saw a faint, puzzled frown on his face.

  It's strange how seductive the wish to believe in the goodness of another can be. Just as I thought I was beginning to weed through the jungles of Dick's mind, something else occurred that began to change the direction of my own thinking.

  Dick had said that before moving in with me he had lived with his grandmother. If he had lived with another woman after leaving her home, that had occurred before us and, therefore, didn’t necessitate a lie. I suppose in my way of thinking, if a person lied it was out of necessity rather than from some darker, deeper desire. When I accidentally discovered that Dick had been living with Lenore, a desk clerk at La Casa, I felt perplexed.

  When I asked Dick about it, he heaved a sigh. "It's behind me,
Jen. I knew you'd run into Lenore at work and I thought it might be uncomfortable for you."

  I felt disappointed that he hadn't confided in me. However, I dismissed the episode as being unimportant.

  Early one evening, Dick burst through the door, complaining. "I've had it at the La Casa Beach Inn! Things are not working out. The owner has broken his promise about my raise once too often. I quit today."

  Surprised, I asked, "What are you going to do?"

  Dick's eyes gleamed with growing excitement. "No problem." He paused, "Remember Christy? The hotel's comptroller?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, today she made me an offer I can't refuse. She wants to set me up in the T-shirt business."

  "Dick, have you thought this through?"

  "What's there to think through?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows. "And for the record, I already said yes. We're in business." Dick moved closer toward me, not recognizing the reason for my distress. "What's with you, Jen?"

  I lifted my chin. "You said yes before we discussed it."

  "What's to discuss?"

  I didn't know whether to be charmed or confused. I had witnessed his competence in managing a hotel. But now he was acting like a wide-eyed little boy, who had been given a new bicycle! Still, I wanted to be open to his ideas, even if that meant a pretense of enthusiasm for an idea that had little substance.

  About a week later, I told Dick that I planned to meet my gal pals at a restaurant for dinner. "We used to get together for drinks at the local watering holes on Fridays after work," I explained while preparing dinner for him. "I'm anxious to see them. You don't mind eating alone, do you?"

  "No, of course not."

  While I dressed, Dick came into the bedroom holding a Jack Daniels and water, his excitement still high about the T-shirt business, although no progress had been made. As I applied some light make-up, we made jokes about my female buddies. "We call ourselves the `Mouse Pack,'" I said, laughing. "Sinatra had his Rat Pack, we have our Mouse Pack."

  Dick clucked. "Why not? Have a good time. And say hello to all those little ‘mouses'."

  Arriving home later that evening, I tiptoed into the dark apartment so as not to awaken Dick. I turned on a small living room lamp. My eyes widened in disbelief. The bulky pressing machine and piles of T-shirts that had been jammed into my small apartment were gone. I looked for a note or letter. No message. Nothing at all, except a single forlorn yellow rose drooping over the edge of a bud vase in the middle of the dining room table.

  I ran into the bedroom and switched on the light. The bed remained made. Dick was gone.

  I felt myself tremble. Closets were bare, drawers emptied down to his last red silk handkerchief. Only his scent, male and musky, lingered.

  Dazed, I walked back to the living room and stared out the window. Moonlight streaked the earth. The parking slot where his red truck usually sat looked so empty. I reacted in slow motion, drifting from room to room shaking my head. I kept asking myself what had happened. Although it had been a strange experience living with Dick, I thought we had been happy. Earlier that evening, before joining the 'Mouse Pack', we'd made love. Our short relationship had not brought any serious disagreements. Arguing with Dick always seemed futile anyway. Part of his charm had been his unconventional personality, a playful child who wanted his own way, while at other times was expansive and kind--the gentleman-Dick, whose old-fashioned courtship included flowers, wining and dining, and long love letters left on my pillow.

  For days, I functioned in a state of disbelief. I knew he had left of his own accord. I called no one. I couldn't figure it out. We had talked constantly, walked the beach when he had often told me I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. That he wanted us to last forever.

  While I didn't miss his frantic rushes and unrealistic plans, I still missed the total package. Like waking up at night and feeling his warmth and the way he looked at me.

  Days passed. The only truth I knew for sure was that I didn't know much about Dick Lee. I resigned myself to accepting his decision to leave.

  About a week later, Linda, a friend and fellow 'Mouse Pack' member who worked at the La Casa hotel, phoned. "Jen," she said slowly. "What I have to tell you is unpleasant, something you won't like hearing."

  I felt my mouth go dry. "What is it?"

  "Being your friend I knew someone had to tell you."

  "Tell me what? Linda."

  "Dick left town with Lenore."

  Sharp impulses of disbelief stabbed at my brain. "The desk clerk Lenore at La Casa?" I found myself asking.

  Linda paused. "The same Lenore. Rumors are flying around the hotel that Lenore and Dick not only ran off together but that Lenore, before leaving La Casa, raided the cash register. And they left town in Christy's van."

  "What?" It made no sense. "I know Lenore only by sight. It's hard to believe that Dick would be a party to thievery. He's been around a great deal of money at the hotel for a long time. Hearing this is a shock. I don't know what to think or believe."

  "I don't either, Jen," Linda said. "All I know is what I've heard. Take it for whatever it's worth."

  Frustration and confusion threw me into a tailspin. If Dick had wanted to return to Lenore, surely he would have told me. I would not have tried to hold him. It would have been far better than his leaving this way. And taking off with a thief, if that's what she was, made no sense at all.

  At dawn, a few days later, the shrill sound of the telephone startled me out of a fitful sleep. It was Dick. "Do you still love me," he asked in a low voice. "Or at least like me enough to talk?"

  I raised my head and looked straight into the telephone as though I could see him. "This is hardly the time to ask questions like that. I can only say that I care about what happens to you. Where are you and what's this all about?"

  "I'm in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I'm sorry, Jen. The pressures were building and I needed time to think about us and our relationship. After the mess I made of my marriages, I began to feel boxed in. Being away from you for only ten days, I knew I had made a terrible mistake. I'm coming back to Sarasota. Can you forgive me? Will you take me back?"

  My voice grew strained as I asked, "Is Lenore with you?"

  "Lenore?" He sounded puzzled.

  "Yes. Lenore Krantz. I've heard that Lenore raided the cash register, then the two of you left Sarasota together in Christy's van."

  "She didn't come with me. I don't know anything about that or where she's gone. Someone around the hotel said Lenore planned to return home, wherever that is. As for the van, yes, I have it. Christy has my truck. We exchanged vehicles so I could work the T-shirt business."

  "And that's the whole truth?"

  "Pussycat, it's the truth."

  "And you haven't seen or been with Lenore Krantz?"

  "No. I swear it. Honest, Jen."

  "I'd like to believe you, Dick. Still, that doesn't explain why you left the way you did. If you needed to get away, why couldn't you say so? I wouldn't have liked it, but I would have accepted it. The way you left is a complete mystery. No letter, no note. Just a wilted rose. That's a terrible thing to do to a friend and a lover. And now you say you're sorry and want to come back--just like that."

  "I swear I'll make it up to you, Pussycat. Please just think about it."

  "I will. Good-bye, Dick."

  Seventeen days after his leaving, Dick stood on my threshold with downcast eyes. I opened the door a crack. "What do you want?"

  "Honey, I'm really sorry. I just wanted to see you again."

  "The way you left really hurt me. I don't know whether I ever want to see you again. Please go away."

  Closing the door, I felt firm in my resolve to let him know that he couldn't treat me that way--not and get away with it. I was trying to change his behavior. More irrational thinking on my part.

  The following weeks brought daily phone calls, long pleading love letters and heart-warming flower
bouquets. And while I loved the courting, I missed him.

  Dick's calls became frantic. "Honey, see me. I'm nothing without you."

  One balmy evening I weakened and agreed to meet him for dinner. We arranged to meet at a nearby restaurant. Dick ordered wine and lifted his glass. "To you, to us." His eyes gleamed; his lips drew slowly into a familiar smile. "You're the love of my life, Miss Jennifer Kelly. I've learned my lesson. My word of honor. Nothing but the whole truth from now on."

  I found it impossible not to forgive him, kidding myself that it would never happen again.

  Later at the apartment, he drew me close to him. I felt my cheeks burn and my heart melt. His direct gaze stirred tenderness deep within me. "Our separation has been for the best, Jen. I'm no longer afraid of our relationship and I've learned a lesson I'll never forget."

  He moved back into my apartment and our normal routine quickly established itself. Then, out of the blue, my nineteen-year-old daughter, Suzie, called from West Palm Beach. "Mom," she said, excitement in her voice. "Simon and I are thinking about checking things out in Sarasota and hopefully live there. That is, if Simon can find a job with an air conditioning company. I'd get a job too. What do you think?"

  "I'd love it, Sweetheart. You and Simon will need a place to live. I know you kids are having a cash-flow problem right now, so give me a few days. I'll let you know as soon as possible. I'm so excited about the thought of us being close together again."

  "That's great," Dick exclaimed later that night when I told him about Suzie's telephone call. "Tell them to come on over. We'll help them get settled. And maybe I can bring him into the T-shirt business."

  "That would be wonderful, Dick. Maybe we'll even have the chance to see them take their vows. It sounds like Suzie and Simon plan on marrying in the not too distant future. Thank you for being so supportive."

  Within days, my daughter and her fiancé arrived in Sarasota. Through the generosity of my good friends, Fran and Harry, who provided a temporary rent-free furnished apartment to help the kids get on their feet, the kids settled into the cheerful apartment overlooking Sarasota Bay. Dick, true to his word, took Simon around town to show him what could be done in the T-shirt business. Meanwhile, Suzie and I spent our days becoming re-acquainted. I felt so proud of her. She had grown into a beautiful woman and her mind swirled with ideas and dreams.