by Ayn Dillard
I question, “Why’d you let him in?”
“He was at my door ringing the bell. I asked what he wanted and he said to give me some papers to look over, so I let him in, then he...”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“Scared—embarrassed, I don’t know...”
“You should have called the police, so they could have gotten evidence.”
She tells me that she’s planning to sue Tanner. She did as Art suggested and got Tanner on tape harassing her on the phone.
I am stunned and really not sure what to do about the book project now. I spend hours on the phone consoling Sondra. Talking to Art about the situation, he suggests that I contact an attorney myself. I agree, but I have no money to do so. I feel trapped. Ironically, Jerry calls to say ‘hi’ and to inquire about how the book’s progressing. He took Sondra on one date, but they didn’t hit it off. Now, he’s dating someone he likes and we’ve become pals. I confide to him the whole Tanner ordeal and he gives me the name of an attorney friend. Advising that I make an appointment to tell him about this mess immediately, to get out of doing the book and to perhaps sue Tanner for sexual harassment myself.
“Jerry, I’ve no money to pay an attorney for some drawn out legal battle. I was doing this book for the income.”
“This attorney is a real nice fellow and who knows? He might take the case on contingency.”
“That’d be so great. I’ve worked so hard on this project and I can’t believe it’s going to be ruined because of Tanner’s sexual bullshit. Can you believe his statement that he might not finish the book because I introduced Sondra to you?”
“I’ve heard all sorts of stuff about that guy for years. Rumors—not knowing what to believe, but now it appears, it’s all true. Natalie, something just isn’t right between Sondra and Tanner. I felt it when I first met her.”
I continue, “Everyone seems to have heard about this guy, but me. I thought he was a frumpy family man because he looks innocuous enough, but underneath he’s a lecherous, sick slime. Sondra’s scared, but I really don’t know her well. She seems lost and Tanner promised her a good job situation. Tanner certainly changed from who he first appeared to be. God, I’m sick about it all and have worked so hard with hopes this project would be a good one, but I can’t continue on.”
“It is a timely idea for a woman’s book, but not to be done with a man like Tanner. I could finish it with you. The research you did was great and it doesn’t have to go to waste. Reading what you wrote about our appointments, I am impressed how you remembered it all and in such detail. You have incredible recall. Get away from that jerk Tanner and get the rights to your work, then you and I can put the book together. “
“That’s a great idea. You’re a financial expert who does respect women—a much better choice to write this book with. Tanner was just using me with plans to objectify and probably exploit more women.”
TWO CRAZY PEOPLE ON A FARM
Maggie shouts over the phone, “I flipped my calendar over, but didn’t think about my own schedule, I thought only that we’re in the countdown to April, 21st!”
I state with excitement, “Time’s going fast now. I wonder will Boyd return? Will we see each other again?”
Maggie replies, “I just know that he will. He’s got to. If he doesn’t, it will take a piece away from all of us. If he turns out to be a creep, I’ll be so disappointed. Who would or could say such strong words to a woman then not return? If he doesn’t, it’d be just too weird. The way you two met was too perfect and obviously it was meant to happen.”
I add, “If he doesn’t return, it will be because he decided to stay with his wife and to care for his children. Except how strange, it would be to feel so strongly for me then to make that decision. How do you tell a woman she’s the love of your life then stay with another one?” Then guilt overcomes me as I think, and how is it that I’m involved with Art? “Maggie, I think about Boyd so much. Even if I never see him again, I’ll always love him because he’ll be in my heart forever. He gave me the hope of love and romance.”
“God Natalie, you two must be the most romantic people in the world. You belong together. You’re writing this love story, aren’t you?”
I reply, “Yes, when I have the time.”
“Great because it’s a love story that we’ll all love to read. I just enjoy being a part of it in real life.” She chuckles, “Are you still dating that county-hick?”
“Yes some. I’m planning to go see him after visiting my parents.”
“His photo was cute, but I just don’t think he’s your kind of a guy.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, “He only takes me to Deli’s to eat. Only at least, he’s taken up some time and some of my thoughts waiting for Boyd to return. I do have feelings for him.”
She states, “He’s just been a diversion.”
“I feel guilty about seeing him.”
She continues, “Well, don’t. Boyd told you to go on with your life and so you are. It’s smart for you to be dating and have other men in your life.”
The first week in April, I have an appointment with the lawyer that Jerry recommended. This young preppy Sunday-school-teacher type of attorney, named Reeder, states that it appears, I have a solid case. And thank God, he takes it on contingency.
Reeder says, “It’s clear from what you’ve told me this is a case of sexual harassment and if Tanner refuses to finish the book because you introduced one person to another, it’s breach of contract also. This rape situation with the woman in his office shows he’s clearly dangerous and immoral. You want no association with him. Let me look over what you’ve given me, but I’ll take the case. There are probably other women this man has done similar things with and to. We’ll need to find out his history with women, other female employees and I’d like to talk to the attorney Sondra’s using. What do you want out of this?”
I reply, “I want out of the book contract because of his immoral and crude actions. Sondra told me he doesn’t want to do the book now, but he hasn’t told me this yet. He’s not scheduled to have his part ready for a few more weeks. So, I’ll need to see what he tells me. I want the balance of the money that he still owes me per our contract which is five thousand dollars, the rights to my research and something for the emotional damages that he’s put me through by his sexual harassment. He’s paid me for the time that I have spent researching this project thus far and he ordered that it be done quickly. This forced me to drop other things, I was doing for income and to further my career.” I become more anxious, “He tracked me down through my magazine articles and asked me to do this book with him. He misrepresented who he is, wasted my time, compromised me by pulling me into his dysfunctional way of relating to people. Knowingly, he sent me into financial institutions where he has legal action pending. What else I don’t know? What should I want out of this?”
Reeder comments, “We may have intent to do fraud. Don’t know yet? Let me think about it. We can talk later about what we should ask for.”
I state, “Okay, I’m going out of town for a few days. So, we can talk after I get back. Of course, I need to talk again with Tanner to see if he’s planning on completing the book—don’t I? I can’t rely on what Sondra is saying. He’s on vacation in Palm Desert now. He said that he’d have the book ready when he returns, then he’d give me the balance of the money and take me to dinner.”
“Don’t go dinner with the guy. How long have you known Sondra?”
“Of course, I won’t go to dinner with him. I have known her a few months, I met her at Tanner’s office.”
“Be cautious about what you tell her, but be all ears about what she says. I want you to call Tanner to see if he’s finished his part and to find out what his intentions are. Rely only on what he says to you—not Sondra. Then we’ll know better which way to approach this and how to file our case.”
After our meeting, I feel relief—but all this is wild and so unlike me. I need to get the hell out of Dodg
e for a few days. I plan to drive to visit my parents and have doctors’ checkups while there. I’ve not seen my parents in over a year. I need to feel part of some family connection after this Tanner ordeal. My emotions are raw.
I inform Art when I’ll be making the trip. He eagerly asks that I come to see him on my way back to Dallas. This makes me happy in anticipation, but the thought of staying at my parent’s house fills me with dread. I so need their love and support, but hate being with them. It takes a toll on me the words they say and their drinking instills fear.
It makes me feel sick to realize I grew-up and was formed in their environment with their values being rammed down my throat almost daily. My acceptance of their beliefs about myself has guided me in making the choices I have and caused me to live in fear and insecurity almost daily. I’m trying so hard to release their effect on me, but will I ever get past it all? One definition of insanity is doing the same things over again expecting different results. Except to deny the possibility of human change is to deny the hope of human existence. I guess, I’ll always hold onto the hope that someday, I’ll feel emotional support and love from my parents. Going ‘home’ to find some comfort when I feel hurt and lost is still seductive even in my forties.
Driving in my car capsule, enjoying my solitude, I rock out to music while reflecting on all that’s occurring in my life. Thinking about Art, I play his gift of music tapes and hope we’ll have the time to spend together, in order to see where we’re going—if anywhere? Will he ever be able to get over his fear of getting close? At the same time, I wonder about Boyd and if we’ll be together on April 21? I listen to Celine Dion tapes while I laugh out loud in joy remembering my time spent with Boyd. I contemplate the possible lawsuit with Tanner and this fills me with anxiety. Geez, I’ve worked so hard to get the research done and now to have to scrap the project. Tanner makes me sick and the negative male energy he carries charged with its abusive power feels like my father. Both care little about women or people focusing their desires and ability to degrade and control using their almighty money to hide their fear and insecurity. Why, oh why, do I keep attracting this type of male energy?
One positive occurrence is that my trick on Paul worked. When he thought that I was getting married. he immediately signed the papers which gives me the right to sell my house. With the fence repaired and new roof on, when a buyer appears—I’m good to go. Only I shiver in fear because I need to ask my father for assistance to pay the taxes on my house. I just can’t think about all that right now. So, I focus on the scenery.
Looking out across the plains of Oklahoma, I feel soothed. The lay of the land is beautiful with the golden light of the sun reflecting off its splendor. I imagine that I’m an Indian on horseback riding the plains and feel peaceful. Umm, perhaps, like long ago in that ancient lifetime with Richard.
I drive up my parent’s driveway and chuckle sarcastically in pain. Well here I am, ‘home sweet home’. I am bone-tired after driving and all the recent events in my life. Each time I drive up the driveway to this house, I feel so miserable and vow that it’ll be the last time I do so. Only these people are my parents, right? I desire their attention, love and have a need of their nurturing and support. Aren’t parents supposed to offer this and shouldn’t I see them once in a while? Only I’m walking into a house haunted with torturing words and criticism, instead of a parent’s house full of loving acceptance.
I wish so much that I could fall into my parent’s arms and hold them tightly to receive some ounce of comforting love. Please, God, let this visit be a calm one. Please, stop them from drinking so much. God please, don’t let my father get into one of his verbal tirades.
It’s Impossible to know the mood my father will be in and his moods rule this house and everyone in it. God please, I don’t know how much more I can take emotionally right now. Please, let everything be calm and nice. Please, let me get some rest on this visit from all the scary things going on in my life.
I enter the house through the kitchen door off the carport and the silence is deafening. I walk further in to hear the low rumblings of a TV coming from the library, I holler. “Hey, is anyone home?”
I faintly hear my mother’s voice, “Yes, we’re in the library.” I turn the corner from the kitchen to begin the walk down the long hallway just as my mother comes towards me. Reaching out, I hug her tightly while saying. “I love you, mother.”
“Yes, it has been almost a year since we’ve seen you, hasn’t it?”
Still holding her tightly, I try to steal some nurturing—try to take it even though she won’t give it willingly. Holding onto her, I hug her tightly again saying, while wondering if she’ll hear me this time. “I love you, mother.” It feels good to have her arms around me and for a split second, I’m able to relish the warmth then I can sense her discomfort as she pushes me away.
She inquires, “Did you have a nice drive? You made good time, didn’t you? What time did you leave? You’re a little later than we’d expected you to be then accusingly, “We’ve been waiting for you. Was it the weather?”
“I left a little later than I wanted to, but made pretty good time.”
She continues, “The weather has been awful here. Did you have rain on your drive?”
“Yes, some, it went back and forth from sun to rain.”
“Weather like that will make you tired. It’s awfully hard on a person to drive in bad weather. I don’t like to drive in the rain and I won’t do it.”
As usual she mindlessly prattles talking constantly about the weather and time, seemingly obsessed with both. The only place she drives is to her hairdressers. My father rises out of his leather chair. I walk further down the hallway towards the library and he turns toward me with a false attempt at a hug then he quickly pulls back. I think—umm, he never gets too close for too long.
“Hi Daddy, how are you?”
“Well, good to see you. Your mother tells me that it’s been a year.”
“Yes, it’s been a while.” I observe this man—my father, whom I fear as much as love. He looks tired and old and this awareness makes me sad.
He asks, “Can I help with your luggage?”
“No, that’s okay. I can get it.”
The man can barely walk and complains continually about his knees going out, but he persists. “No, I’ll help you.”
I state, “Daddy, you’ll hurt your knees. I don’t want you to put stress on your knees.” He refuses to walk with a cane, and of course, ignores me. I watch him struggle to drag in a piece of luggage and feel guilty. So, I quickly get the rest and take them to the room where I hid out, while living haunted in this house of reproach.
He sarcastically inquires, “So, how are things with you? Has anything good at all happened in your life or are you under the same black cloud?”
“Well, lots of things are happening. Let me put my things away, then I’ll join you in the library.”
He says, “Okay, come on in after you’re settled in and talk to us. Would you like some wine? Your mother and I were having some wine while waiting for you. We expected you earlier.” The implication being they were forced to have wine because I was so late and their wait so difficult and long. When I was only fifteen to thirty minutes later than the time frame that I’d told them I would arrive.
“No, thanks, I’ll only be a minute.” Geez, how do parents and children get so far apart? Who are these people and do they hate that I’m here just as much as I hate being here?
I slap my suitcase onto the luggage rack in front of the bed. Hang my clothes in the closet. God, I detest this room. It’s so dark and depressing. My parents have lived in this house for over twenty-five years and haven’t changed one thing, since first decorating it. What used to be beautiful, now looks awful. I never liked this house, a sprawling contemporary sitting majestically high on a hill with its dark paneling, green slate floors and heavy draperies create a darkness that’s weighted in anguish and it depresses me terribly. I’ve never
liked using too much dark green anywhere and this room feels as if I’m in a dungeon. I use the bathroom at the other end of the hallway because it’s white and at least, I can see myself in the mirrors. I put my things in that bath. It backs up to the library, I can over hear my father’s gruff voice, “Hurt my leg carrying in her damn bag. She’s always so much trouble.”
After my things are put away and I freshen up a bit, I go into the library for the dreaded chat that will begin my parent’s current assessment of my worth. I share some of what’s happened recently. Leaving out anything about Boyd or Art, I talk about the possible lawsuit with Tanner, his disgusting behavior and about my house. Faking interest, they sip their wine. Not too critical for the moment. My father stares with his eyes mostly on the large screen TV that comes down by remote in front of bookshelves.
Dad comments, “That’s too bad about the book collaboration.”
“Yes, I thought Tanner was a rich, successful financial advisor wanting to assist women to learn about investing. Instead he turns out to be a predator and a pervert.”
Dad gruffly demands, “Do you even know the difference between rich and wealthy?”
I answer, “Well, I believe it’s relative, isn’t it?”
“Relative hell, your mother and I are wealthy, not rich. There’s a big difference. There’re few people who have as much real cash as your mother and I. Most people are bullshit. It’s wealthy—not rich. I’m sure you can’t tell the difference.”
I stutter a bit as his crudeness offends me. “Well—well, he appeared to be successful. How can you really ever know?”
“Well, don’t be fooled. Your mother and I are wealthy. How much does this guy have anyway?”
“How would I know exactly?”
He shouts arrogantly and demandingly, “How much is he worth—a hundred million?”
“I don’t know? He manages some big accounts.”
He yells demandingly, “Who?”
“Perot, the Hunts and others.” as I think, geez, why does all this matter to him? Why doesn’t he want to hear about me?