by Ayn Dillard
In the five years since the divorce, there’ve been some okay Christmases and some awful ones. The best one was the first one after the separation. I purchased the biggest tree that I could afford and put it in the living room in the place where his grand piano used to be. I dragged a ladder around the tree to decorate it. It took two days to complete, but the tree was gorgeous. I sat under that tree many nights enjoying its splendor and finally felt complete peace that Paul was out of my life. I deserved that beautiful tree and the feeling of warmth it gave me after living through the hurt he inflicted.
This year just might be one of the most dismal Christmas’s ever. It’s difficult to feel love for someone, then be unable to be with him, have money problems, and feel ill while working all the time on a project with a man who’s sexually harassing me. I laugh nervously because it’s all too horribly surreal and almost more than I can bear. So, I hold-on tight to my hopes that this’ll all be over soon, and that next Christmas will be a happy one because it’s all I can do to keep myself going. I fill my thoughts with love for Boyd because it’s all I have. Hopefully someday, I’ll be able to look back on this Christmas and laugh in relief that I’m passed this predicament. Only for now, I feel forlorn without the energy to reach out.
I plan to go by Maggie’s during the holidays, but am too sick to do so. I feel so terribly depressed. I don’t want anyone to know how bad I really am or feel. Preferring to keep it all to myself and focus what energy I do have on finishing up the book project. After a research appointment in downtown Dallas, the transmission on my car goes completely out. So, I’m towed in the middle of rush hour Christmas traffic. Car trouble is a part of everyday life, but right now—it’s just too much. Sitting in the tow truck, I imagine what my Christmas will be like next year, while praying to God and my angels to help me though this time of fear and aloneness.
Damn, once again, I must call my father to ask for assistance to pay for the transmission. He yells obscenities over the phone at me, while I’m sitting in the repair shop owner’s office. By the way he’s shouting and accusing he must think that I had my car breakdown on purpose. “You little shit, all you have is problems. I’m so sick of you! Your mother and I wish you were never born. Why don’t you call someone else instead of us?” I feel humiliated beyond belief hearing his litany.
“Daddy, I need your financial help because right now, I’ve no other place to go.”
Finally, he stops shouting then gives me his credit card number. It’s as if he’d been happier if I’d died in a car crash then to help me. I’m embarrassed to notice the owner of the repair shop overhears my father’s harsh words. And I can tell by the shocked and sad look on his face that he feels sorry for me. Gracious as he’s always been, he assists on leasing me a car at his special rate.
“Natalie, a pretty and nice girl like you needs to find herself a good man to help her through this life.”
“That’s for certain—know of any?”
In his ‘trying-to-cheer-me-up’ Australian accent, “None, good enough for you, babe.”
I usually listen to motivational tapes in my car to keep my spirits up. In the rental car, I have the radio on and an incredibly beautiful song that I’ve never heard before plays, ‘It’s all coming back to me now’ sung by Celine Dion. In the week, I drive the rental car this song comes on every time I’m in it and it captures the spirit and feelings I carry for Boyd in my heart. So, I claim this song as my Christmas present from the universe—the gift of a beautiful song to take me back to a time of joyful bliss.
I continue to work constantly on the financial book, diligently trying to meet the deadline that I set for myself for the end of December. I hope Tanner will be satisfied if I can get the research to him by then. Next, he can do his part and it’s a book and then it’s over. I work up until the last minute on Christmas Eve. I figure if I keep occupied, perhaps I can forget it’s Christmas and that I’m alone and missing Boyd.
For the book research, I’m taking on different personas, then going to different financial advisors seeking their advice. Christmas Eve, I have an appointment with a man at a bank. Playing the persona of a woman whose husband has recently died. So, it’ll be appropriate to look sad and sick—good casting for myself considering my life circumstances. The banker, Jerry is unusually nice as we’re going over financial information. He’s in his mid-thirties, tall, handsome and single. We chat actually having fun and he even succeeds in making me laugh. We begin talking about the movie, ‘Peter Pan’ and the spirit of Tinkerbell that he had watched the night before. It’s obvious and sweet that he’s trying to cheer up a widow—the persona that I am playing.
He states, “The essence of Tinkerbell is a message of hope.”
I respond, “Yes I recall, but it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen ‘Peter Pan’.
“Really, well I watch it at times. You might want to rent it and be a child for a night, either the older version or the new—I like them both.”
He confides that his father died when he was a teenager and he remembers all that his mother went through. His friendliness and caring make me feel horrible for creating this lying facade to do this financial research. His spirit and sense of humor remind me of Boyd and it cheers me up just being with him. Giving me the hope that if Boyd doesn’t return, perhaps somewhere out there is another man with whom I can connect to—in that magic way. It breaks my heart thinking this way, but I must be realistic because Boyd may not return.
That December I pray and ask God many times, ‘Why must I suffer this pain and will I ever be in a better place? Am I doing something wrong or being punished for something that I don’t know that I did, don’t remember doing, or something that I did in some ancient life that condemns me to walk the earth alone in heartache as my punishment?’
Having love brought in, then it’s taken away—destroyed by someone, even the man himself—or something out of my control that leaves me experiencing so much sorrow over and over again, until I just crack up and become a shell of myself. I don’t know how much more my heart can take before it becomes unable to heal. I do all I know to do to finish the book quickly, get it published and I ask God’s guidance for everything in my life.
During this grim time, while sitting in the kitchen eating dinner, I notice a flyer on the kitchen counter sticking out of a stack of papers. I pick it up to see Boyd’s phone number written boldly across the front of a spiritual institute flyer. I notice right under his phone number is written:
“Faith (Imani) is the highest passion in a human being. Many in every generation may not come that far but none come further.”
—Soren Kiekagaard
That’s it! That’s my message. I must just keep on doing what I’m doing, going forward and it’ll all work out somehow. I’m on my path and need only have the faith that God and the force of love are with me.
It’s the first of January now and I’m certainly glad it’s a new year. Perhaps, 1997 will be the beginning of something great. I work like crazy to finish writing up the research and Tanner calls to tell me that he’ll be out of town until mid-month. So, he won’t need my work until then. Perfect—since I didn’t quite meet my goal by the end of December because of the holidays and my illness. Tanner schedules an appointment for January twenty-first. I dread seeing him, but will be so glad to hand the research over—pick up another check and get this project finished and behind me.
At his office, I wait for over an hour then am informed that he’s out of town and forgot to tell me. While rescheduling, I meet a new girl in his office who talks non-stop about how she’s new to the area and doesn’t know anyone. Her name is Sondra. She’s behaves too familiar, is tall with stringy overly-processed frosted blond hair, fake boobs, fake eyelashes and a squeaky voice, but has a fairly nice figure. I have little interest in getting to know her, but since I understand what lonely is. I take pity and offer to introduce her around with plans to go to dinner the following week.
At Patriz
ios—a neighborhood restaurant, Sondra and I chat about everything from spirituality to Tanner.
She shares, “I’ve known Tanner and his wife for over ten years. He’s a friend of a man that I lived with in Colorado for ten years. After we broke up, Tanner offered me a job. I needed the income and to get out of town, so I took it. All I do is work. I’m awfully lonely and would like to meet someone to date or just to go to a movie with.”
I respond, “One of the financial guys, I’m researching for this book is single and seems nice. He’s mid-thirties just a bit older than you are, tall, attractive and with a fun personality. His name is Jerry. I could introduce you to him. You’d have things in common since you’re in the same field. After I’m through with the research, I’m going to tell him that I’m writing a book because we’ve become friendly and I feel badly that he doesn’t know the truth. I feel uncomfortable that I’ve gone into businesses under assumed personas to get information for this book. I hate living a lie, but people doing research do this kind of thing all the time—right?”
“Sure, I’d love meeting someone. All I’ve done since being here is work. Tanner’s a slave driver and a bit strange.”
I state, “I understand. He asked me to do this book with him then wanted the research done in two months, but then he forgets meetings without even having the courtesy to notify me, or to cancel and reschedule.”
She adds, “He usually disregards people. I’ve known him and his wife for years and he treats her like dirt.”
I inquire, “What do you mean?”
She replies, “He talks awful to her then has affairs and rubs her nose in it.”
“How awful, I’ve met Jan several times. She’s a bit unusual herself with that squeaky voice, flaunting money and material possessions, but other than that, she seems fairly nice. I thought, they were just a very ‘plain’ family obsessed with money.” I laugh sarcastically, “You know successful, unattractive, no personality husband with a ‘plain’ looking bragging wife living in a huge house. Both totally focused on status and money with a couple of ‘plain’ kids who are either drug addicts, pushers or both. Pretending, they are an all-American dream family. I’m laughing, but it’s not funny.”
She continues, “Yeah, this town is totally focused on money. These kids I see driving new BMW’s, blasting their CD’s while stoned out of their minds. Tanner’s kids are like that. Have you ever met them?”
“I might have met them at a party at their house, but don’t recall them. I know that he’s worried about his son—who’s into drugs. I’m doing this book with Tanner only because I thought he was some kind of a financial expert and it’d be an informative for women investors. He told me that he’d written a Pulitzer Prize winning book with some war correspondent about his father—a war hero. He showed me the book at our first meeting. I felt complimented that he’d been following my writing in publications around the area and he really liked them. He told me that he thought I am a fantastic writer and that he had publishing contacts and would help me with my writing. He postured himself to be a family man who cares about people, especially women. At least, he convinced me that he did in our first few meetings. Then a few weeks after I signed the collaboration agreement, he began saying suggestive sexual comments and it’s only gotten worse.”
She states, “Jan’s constantly paranoid about Tanner’s affairs and their kids. She’s continually sick with heart problems, cancer and all sorts of stuff. He’s good with financial investments. Only from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t care about people at all. He cares about their money, but not them. His son is into drugs big time and has been in trouble with the police for beating kids up, even an ex-girlfriend. All Tanner cares about is money and his girlfriends. That Pulitzer Prize book was written by a friend of the Tanner family and he was paid well to write it. Tanner didn’t write one word of it. Just brags that he did. Have you ever read any of it?”
“Not really, I did flip through it, but didn’t think that I’d like a book about war. I had no indication he lied about all this because he appears a frumpy, mild-mannered family-type businessman.”
Sondra continues, “Even that financial book he wrote, he paid to have published and has purchased the only copies ever sold. He sends us to book stores to buy them up then we mail them out to his clients.”
“Really, he told me that the publisher heard him speak and then asked him to write a book. I read a bit of it. It’s okay.”
Sondra continues, “Read the book about his father. You’ll see that he really wasn’t a war hero, but some kind of a nut. The man I lived with in Colorado confirmed this. They were supposed to be good friends, but really the more I learned—it was more like they hated each other and in some kind of a competition. Tanner seems to be in competition with everyone and a complete liar. I probably made a big mistake coming here to work for him. If I hadn’t been desperate, needing to get out of town and a job, I wouldn’t have. Since I’d been in the financial field before and Tanner made this job so enticing by offering me extra benefits, I took him up on it. At least, I’m close to where my parents live.”
I inquire, “Why doesn’t Jan divorce him?”
“The money, and she ‘likes’ being Mrs. Jim Tanner. She’s afraid of him. I’ve also heard, since I’ve been here, that he’s done some scary things to people who don’t go along with whatever he wants. There’s an underlying sense of terror of him around the office. Some in the office, think that you’re having an affair and not really writing a book. Or if you are writing a book that you’re still having an affair. So, are you having an affair?” Her overly made-up false lashed eyes open wide and it appears and sounds as if she has some vested interest.
Horrified, my stomach immediately becomes upset as I reply, “I’d never have affair with a married man and certainly not with him. I find him physically repulsive. Now that I’ve been around him more, I’ve discovered he has absolutely no personality or refinement. Actually, he’s crude. I’ve been working nonstop on this book for over two months to get this whole thing over as fast as I can.” As I think to myself, if I ever had an affair with a married man it’d be with Boyd and I feel like a complete slime even doing what we did. I confide in her about Tanner’s disgusting sexual overtones and his grabbing me. She confesses that he’s done similar things to her and he scares her.
I express, “Sondra, when he first said one of his disgusting sexual remarks, I chuckled to myself in disbelief while thinking this pathetically ugly guy is an idiot, must be delusional and have no self-esteem. He actually leered as he looked up and down my body. His look made me feel filthy. I realized, he knows what he’s doing and enjoys making me uncomfortable.”
She confides, “I’ve seen ‘this look’ almost daily, but try to ignore it because it’s so ludicrous. I hoped by ignoring him that he’d go away, but he doesn’t. He says sexually insulting remarks and leers at all the women in the office. All of us are repulsed. Have you ever noticed his hands?”
I answer, “I never paid much attention to his body except to notice that he’s flabby, overweigh and obvious that sometimes, he doesn’t bathe.”
She confirms, “You’re right. He stays up all night working then comes into the office without sleep or cleaning up. His hands look like claws and his finger nails are usually dirty. Makes me want to vomit, can you imagine that gargoyle ever touching you?”
“God no, when he touched my breasts after grabbing my pearls. I came home and threw up.”
I think to myself, this conversation is distressing and I want out of doing the book with this amoral man. His motives aren’t to help women, but only to make himself feel important and he’s turning out to be a monster. Same type of power-hungry, insecure, controlling men, I’m worn out being around. I once had great hopes that this book collaboration was going to turn out positive, but apparently, it’s going to be a tedious nightmare, until I get past it.
Sondra’s states, “Natalie, Tanner has told several people in the office that y
ou’re a wonderful writer and I should get to know you because you know a lot of important people.”
I respond, “Well, after what you just told me and what he did to me, I want to get this book done and away from him fast. I’ve signed an agreement to complete the work, so I am not exactly sure what to do. I don’t want to be associated with him, but will need to wait and see what he does at our next meeting. He still owes me ten thousand dollars and I certainly need the money.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll pay. He always does, as long as he’s getting what he wants. Just don’t break any agreement with him because he likes to sue. Tanner is sneaky and spooky. He comes by my apartment with the excuse of delivering papers.”
“He tried that with me. He called when he was already on my street to return some of my work, but I didn’t let him in. I told him I was on my way out. He even banged on my door, but I didn’t answer. What do you mean, he sues people?”
“As far as I know, he’s sued everyone who’s ever quit working for him. The investment company that he used to work for is suing him right now. He’s involved in tons of legal stuff and is good friends with some big shot lawyer named Billie Blodget. An attorney who defended Tex Watson, one of the Manson family who killed Sharon Tate.”
“You’re kidding? Tanner sent me into that investment office to do research.”
She exclaims, “Then he’s up to no good. There’s heated litigation between them. They’re accusing him of stealing clients, money and client’s money. They won’t give him his investments and Tanner’s livid. Brags that he owns the courthouse and people around him say, he’ll do anything he needs to do to win.”
Sondra and I talk for hours. She smokes which nauseates me and has two daughters that she left behind in Colorado. Their father has custody which seems strange. She’s ‘been around’ much more than I have. Sometimes, it feels as if I’m the only woman in the world who doesn’t see all the duplicity in this world, or at least, I am the last to know. I confide in her about my romance with Boyd.