Pee-Shy

by Frank Spinelli

  I heard voices in the background on Bill’s end. It sounded like boys arguing. Bill covered the receiver and shouted, “Keep it down!”

  “Bill, is there someone else there with you? Is this not a good time to talk?”

  “I can talk.”

  You want to talk.

  From that moment on, it became an interrogation. I questioned Bill, and he responded quickly and succinctly.

  “Are those the boys you adopted?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but they’re teenagers now.”

  “How many boys did you adopt?”

  “Eleven.”

  “How many are still living with you?”

  “Two.”

  “Do you still talk to Nicholas?”

  “Not for over three years. I only know he’s married and has two kids.”

  “Where is he?”

  “San Diego.”

  “I can’t believe the two of you are not in contact, especially after all the trouble you went through to adopt him.”

  “I don’t keep in contact with many of the boys once they leave,” countered Bill.

  “Did you adopt only boys?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you ever have sex with them?”

  “No,” he said emphatically. Bill was growing impatient.

  I looked at my watch. We had been talking for over fifteen minutes. I felt exhausted. Collier continued to stare at the recorder. Then he glanced up at me. By his expression, I knew he could see I was growing weary. This whole idea suddenly seemed pointless. Bill was not going to confess. He’d already lied several times. He was simply answering my questions. I felt as if we were playing an imaginary game of Ping-Pong, except we weren’t using a ball and neither of us could win.

  Collier drove his fist up against his chin as a gesture of encouragement.

  I breathed in deeply. “Bill, do you remember Jonathan?”

  “Who?”

  “Jonathan Duran. His mother and father were very involved in Scouting.”

  “That name doesn’t sound familiar.”

  Liar. You were very friendly with the Durans.

  “You had sex with Jonathan, too. He told me so. Now he lives in Denver. After grammar school, he became a drug addict and ran away from home. His parents were able to get him into rehab. Eventually, he graduated.”

  “Honestly, I don’t remember.”

  “Recently, I visited him in Denver. He said you molested him. Unfortunately, he won’t speak to me now. That’s why I called you. I need to talk to you and understand why you did this. Bill, I have no one else to turn to.”

  “I’d like to help you, but . . .”

  “Have you ever had sex with another boy?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever had sex with a man?”

  “No!” he said furiously.

  “I know you’re a Catholic, but I have to ask you, Bill, are you gay?”

  His response was as equally emphatic as his others. “Gay is a choice you make. I don’t believe in it.”

  “I figured you’d say that. How would it make you feel if I told you I was gay?”

  “Well, then, I would say that was your choice.”

  “What would you say if I told you that, for a long time, I thought I was gay because I had sex with you when I was eleven? It took years of therapy for me to understand that what happened between us didn’t make me gay. Again, I don’t want to make trouble. I just want to get past this and give you an opportunity to talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t know what to tell you. I hope it helps you to talk about it, but you keep asking me if there’s anything I want to say, and I don’t have anything to tell you.”

  “Do you remember Father Roberts?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “He was a priest at St. Sylvester’s. You were both the same age. I thought you guys were buddies.”

  “No, I don’t speak to too many people from those days.”

  “Do you remember Sister Catherine?”

  “No.”

  “She was the principal, an overweight nun, and very strict.”

  “Wait. Yeah, I remember her.”

  “She passed away from complications secondary to diabetes. When I was a medical student in surgery at Staten Island Hospital, she was a patient. I got to assist in amputating her leg.”

  “Oh God. That’s awful.”

  “Not really.”

  Collier clasped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. By now, I was done. There was no point in continuing. I looked over at Collier and tapped my watch to indicate I was going to end the call.

  He nodded.

  “Bill, I really need to go now, but if you ever want to talk, I want you to feel free to contact me any time.”

  “Wait, so you became a doctor? You should feel very proud about that.”

  Why don’t you want me to go?

  Collier urged me to continue.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Bill, I am finally happy, but I’m a forty-one-year-old man. It took me a long time to get to this place, to find someone I love. I used to think I was cursed, but I know that’s not true. I was damaged. I suffered with depression because I didn’t like myself very much, and I thought that I could never be loved. I hope you understand that I felt that way because of you.”

  Collier grabbed the phone from me and covered the receiver with his hand. “Now would be a good time to tell him anything you want, curse, yell, scream,” he whispered. “Go off on him if you want. Use this opportunity, because it may be your last chance.”

  I shook my head. There was no point in any of that. After nearly forty minutes, I’d been unable to get Bill to confess. I saw no reason to lose my temper. He might have even found that arousing. If I’d learned anything about sexual abuse, it was that power plays a major role in why pedophiles target children. I was not about to submit to this man again. Once I made that decision, I said good-bye to Bill.

  AFTER COLLIER LEFT, I SAT WITH GLORIA in the waiting room. Once I finished telling her what happened, I sent her home. I wanted to be alone. For weeks, I had fantasized about what it was going to be like to confront Bill. I always imagined that he would deny everything, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I held out a secret hope that he had changed, found Jesus—something—and he would admit to molesting me. It was a foolish wish, yet I found myself sitting in my dark and empty waiting room feeling disappointed that Bill did not break down into tears and apologize.

  Twenty minutes later, I gathered up my belongings and headed to Eric’s for our weekly get-together. Knocking on his door, I heard the dogs barking.

  “Shut up!” he shouted as he unbolted the lock. He didn’t open the door. Instead, he left it ajar. I stepped inside and found him standing in the kitchen, pouring wine into two glasses.

  “Hello,” I said and proceeded to pet the dogs. Molly immediately rolled onto her back, begging me to rub her belly. “How are you?” I called out to Eric.

  “Good, sit down,” he instructed. “I want to hear all about it.”

  I abandoned Molly and moved into the living room. “You guys really should get rid of some of these magazines,” I suggested. “It’s beginning to look like the home of a schizophrenic shut-in.”

  “Why don’t you shut your face and tell me what happened,” ordered Eric as he set a glass of wine next to me on the end table.

  I took a sip, let it swish around in my mouth, and tasted the alcohol. It felt good. I drew a deep breath. “Detective Collier came by at about five-ish to set up the wiretap.”

  Eric came to life and leaned forward with wide eyes. “What does he look like? Is he sexy?”

  “Eric! This is serious business. Stop turning everything into a sex thing.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said, contorting his face in a self-deprecating way. “I guess now that she’s living with her boyfriend, my girl doesn’t look at other men.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

  He s
ipped his wine, staring at me through the glass as he lifted it up to his lips.

  “Okay, so he’s a little sexy,” I added. “Happy?”

  Eric’s head fell back. “Thank you,” he said, setting the glass down firmly on the coffee table, startling Molly. “And we’re back. Honestly, Frank, you say I’ve changed, but do you listen to yourself? You’re with me. You don’t have to edit yourself. I’m not Chad.”

  “Agreed.”

  Molly jumped up and curled onto Eric’s lap. “Okay,” he continued. “So the sexy policeman sets up the wiretap and . . .”

  “And I’m sitting there thinking, holy shit! I’m going to confront Bill.”

  “So, who were you when you were on the phone with Bill?”

  “Who was I? I was my drag persona, Urethra Franklin,” I said. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “Don’t be an ass,” said Eric. “Who were you in that moment?”

  “Honestly, I was myself. I certainly wasn’t that little boy.”

  “Good,” he said, shaking his fist triumphantly in the air. “Were you nervous?”

  “I was more than just nervous. I was scared at one point. Those old feelings emerged again, and I felt frightened, as though Bill was going to come after me. Isn’t that funny?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Eric, you would have been so proud of me. I was very specific. I gave graphic details, talked about masturbation, oral sex, and even the goddamned Farrah Fawcett poster over his bed.”

  Eric began rubbing his palms together. “How delicious! What did he say?”

  “Eric, let me ask you something: if you’re an innocent man accused of molestation, would you stay on the phone for nearly an hour, listening to graphic details?”

  “What did Detective Sexy say?”

  “Well, this is the part that makes me . . . concerned. After we were done, Collier said, ‘I bet Bill’s all fired up now. Tonight, he’s going to be thinking about everything you said. He’s probably all revved up.’ ”

  “Were you excited on the phone? Last time you said you got a little aroused.”

  I flinched. “How embarrassing. I forgot I told you that.”

  “Don’t get defensive,” he said, rising up from the chair. “Honey, it’s okay. You had sex with this man when you were eleven. He was your first love in some fucked-up way. It’s natural for you to have those feelings. What he did to you was wrong, but it did feel good in the beginning, all that attention. You felt shame afterward, and that’s logical because that’s the way you were brought up. That’s how I was brought up. I just don’t want you to beat yourself up over getting aroused when you spoke to this man.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t get aroused this time. Once I heard those boys talking in the background, all I kept thinking was, Which one will Bill choose tonight?”

  Eric’s back straightened. “Listen, what goes on in that house was happening long before you came along. Don’t think for one minute that your call led Bill to molest one of those boys. In fact, I bet you might have even scared him a little.”

  “I don’t think so, Eric.”

  “Ah,” said Eric, pointing at me. “Have you forgotten? The fourth rule of acting: to thine own self be true?” He stood up in the center of the room. “For all the things you can’t control in your life, there are a few things you can do: learn your lines, be on time, and make sure you have a good head shot.” Eric smiled and opened his arms to make a grand gesture. “But presence is everything. You don’t think being some hotshot doctor from New York City isn’t a little intimidating?”

  “Okay,” I conceded. “Perhaps Bill felt a little intimidated. For the sake of those boys, I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.”

  “Funny,” I said. “You know what I was thinking right before I hung up? I thought, I feel sorry for this pathetic man. Isn’t that crazy?”

  Eric shook his head. “I don’t think that’s crazy at all.”

  DR. MCGOVERN AND I CONTINUED TO MEET TWICE A WEEK. Initially, I didn’t think I’d have enough to talk about, but it became clear there wasn’t enough time in a session for me to tell her everything that was going on in my life.

  “One thing you have done is that you have taken away Bill’s power,” she said. “Honestly, you have accomplished something most victims are unable to do. You revisited the past and confronted him.” She seemed very intrigued by this concept: her eyes drifted toward the window as she pondered that thought for several moments. Then she nodded several times. “Yes, this is a huge step,” she confirmed. “By talking to him, you have reconnected with your abuser, and in a way, you have rendered him powerless because now you see him as a pathetic, older man. For thirty years, you have held on to this image of him, this fantasy, of a strong, virile, fearful man, but now that’s gone. Of course, you’ll retain some of that fantasy, but when you look back, you’ll see this new image of him. That’s more than a lot of people can say. I agree with Eric: who you were while on the phone with him is very important. I think part of you was Dr. Frank Spinelli, the man who has his life together. That explains why you felt sorry for Bill. In that moment, you were in control, and you shouldn’t feel ashamed, because that means you’re human. Only a strong person would feel bad. Now you have to be prepared to let this all go. Our work needs to focus on the feelings that come up once you do. Only then can you begin to focus on your relationship with Chad and delve into it on a much deeper level.”

  “That reminds me,” I said. “On a completely different note, a new patient came in today. He was this big, hairy daddy type who moved to New York recently from Ohio. He seemed nice enough at first, and then near the end of the physical, he sat up on the exam table, still in his underwear, grabbed me by the back of my neck with one hand, and tousled my hair with the other. I was caught completely off guard and embarrassed. Then, I got angry. I thought, How disrespectful! You know, Dr. McGovern, a year or two ago, I might have felt aroused by this man’s behavior, even fantasized about having sex with him. Today, I became angry.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “I swatted his hand off my head and backed away. I said, ‘Excuse me,’ or something like that. Immediately, he tried to charm his way out of it by saying, ‘Oh, don’t be mad. I was just playing.’ I told him to get dressed, and just as I walked out the door, I said, ‘Please don’t ever do that again.’ ”

  Dr. McGovern leaned forward and smiled. “Isn’t it funny how life works? This ‘daddy’ seems to have come down from the heavens as a reminder of those old icons of Bill that get replayed over and over throughout your life. It all seems too good to be true that this should happen now, and for you to be able to ask yourself, ‘Do I want another Bill prototype, or do I want to change the trajectory of my life’s path?’ ”

  “I suppose you’re right. It’s a funny coincidence, but I didn’t feel empowered.”

  “That’s because you felt sorry for him.”

  “Yes, just like when I was on the phone with Bill. Crazy, right?”

  THE FOREST WAS DENSE WITH TREES. I was barefoot as I walked toward an old, ransacked house with a maroon truck parked outside. I wandered around back. The cellar window was cracked. I leaned to look inside, but it was dark.

  Why did I come here?

  A man gripped the scruff of my neck and startled me. I tried to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth.

  I woke to Chad shaking me. I was gasping. In the darkness, I saw the clock read 3 A.M.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “I thought you were having trouble breathing.”

  Even in the safety of our bedroom, I felt an alarming disorientation. I was breathless. “Yeah, just a bad dream.” For a moment, I couldn’t shake the feeling of that old house. I still felt the strong grip on my neck.

  “I’m sorry,” said Chad. “Come here.” He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me, pressing his chest up against my back. His side of the bed smelled like warm sheets just out of the drye
r. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Gradually, my head cleared. “Not right now. Besides, I’ll talk about it with Dr. McGovern. She loves to interpret my dreams.”

  Chad gripped my shoulders and turned me around. He stared into my eyes, searching for the truth, perhaps wondering whether he should push me to tell him more.

  What I love most about Chad is his eyes—big, blue, and wondrous. Even in the dark, I could see the whole world when I looked into them. I saw us in love, moving into an apartment we’d buy together, and adopting a dog. Then, with one blink, I was transported further into the future: I saw us growing old, retiring, and traveling around the world. In another blink, I was back in our bed, staring into his blue eyes. Those two perfectly round spheres—two worlds, two lives, his and mine living as one. I hugged him tightly, nestling my chin on his shoulder, breathing in the fresh smell of the linens and never wanting to let him go.

  CHAPTER 31

  The Mirror Cracked

  DETECTIVE COLLIER CALLED TO TELL ME that he’d listened to the recording of the wiretap. “I think we should call Bill again.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Definitely. I think we’re close. There’s a good chance of getting a confession.” His enthusiasm reignited my dwindling interest in catching Bill. “I’m telling you, I know this guy is ready to cave. Even if he doesn’t confess, then we’ll have more than enough information to present to the Pennsylvania Police.”

  Up until that day, no one with any official authority had ever been this encouraging. Right then and there, I agreed to the second wiretap.

  ON NOVEMBER 20 AT 6 P.M., DETECTIVE COLLIER MET ME IN MY OFFICE. Even though he had already gone through the protocol during the first wiretap, Collier insisted on explaining it over again to me. While he spoke, my thoughts drifted. I was concerned about how Bill would react once he heard my voice.

  Collier adjusted the wire to my cell phone and tested the recording device. “Okay, you ready?”