Pee-Shy

by Frank Spinelli

  “I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year and see how things are going.”

  “Like I said, doc, ‘my phone is always on for you.’ You know I mean that? Anyway, I listened to the tapes. Then I met with the head of the Boy Scouts here in Staten Island. I didn’t like what I found out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently, Bill is still an active member of the Boy Scouts, even though he doesn’t live on Staten Island. I asked this guy to come down to the police station, but he refused. And get this, he didn’t want me to come to his office, either.”

  “That’s peculiar.”

  “Very. Then he insisted that we meet in a public place. So he picked a bowling alley.”

  “Did you go?”

  “Of course. I told him I was investigating Bill Fox for molesting at least two boys in 1978.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Well, I’ve been a police officer for almost twenty years, and I’ve seen and heard just about everything, but what this guy told me was one for the books. He looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘I’m not surprised.’ Just like that. He said it without flinching.”

  “You mean, he knew?”

  “That’s the way I understood it. So then I said, ‘Well, if you suspected this, then why did you allow him to stay in the Scouts?’ He said they allowed Bill to stay because they instituted a policy where Fox wasn’t allowed to be alone with any of the Scouts. He assured me that things are different now because they teach the boys about sexual predators. This guy was pretty confident that Bill hadn’t touched anyone for a long time.”

  “Did he know about the adoptions?”

  “He knew all about it and told me that the remaining boys who still live with Fox are all teenagers, like seventeen and eighteen years old. I asked him what he thought about the adoptions, and he said he thought it was peculiar. Then again, he added that Bill had fallen on hard times. He’d been sick with a bad knee and was also having money trouble.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Next week, I’m going to head down there and meet with Bill.”

  It scared me to think Collier was going to confront Bill in person.

  Collier correctly read my silence as concern and said, “Don’t worry, doc. I’ll be all right.”

  AS THE WEATHER TURNED RELENTLESSLY COLD, my days were spent treating the flu, sinus infections, and colds. My last conversation with Collier left me angry, more so than before. Now I was furious with the Boy Scouts for allowing Bill to continue on as a member, especially when they suspected he had molested boys.

  After the last patient left that afternoon, I stayed in my office to finish writing notes. The folder from the private investigator sat on my desk collecting dust. It had been there for months, untouched but not forgotten. Several weeks before, I’d called the dispatch service where Nicholas worked, but he wasn’t in that day.

  Once Gloria left, I picked up the phone.

  “Topeka Police,” answered a woman.

  “I’d like to speak to Nicholas Monroe in dispatch.”

  I heard several clicking sounds, as though I had been disconnected, and just as I was about to hang up, I heard a man’s voice. “This is Nicholas.”

  “I’m Dr. Frank Spinelli. You don’t know me, but I need to speak to you. But first, I have to ask, are you the same boy who was adopted by Bill Fox?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I was a Boy Scout many years ago, over thirty to be exact. Your father was my Scoutmaster.”

  “Bill Fox is not my father,” he corrected me.

  “Excuse me. I mean your adoptive father. I’ve avoided calling you because I didn’t want to disrupt your life. But I have to speak to you. Many years ago, Bill molested me. There were other boys. I’m sure of this, although I have no proof. The assistant Scoutmasters convinced my parents not to press charges, and Bill agreed to leave.”

  “Is there a number you can give me so I can call you back?” he asked. “I can’t talk to you while I’m at work.”

  “Of course.” My heart was racing. “Let me give you my cell phone number.”

  “I will call you back in fifteen minutes.”

  The daylight was fading fast. I stared at my phone, praying Nicholas would call soon. I nervously tapped my pen against the desk. Thoughts swirled around in my head. Ten minutes later, my cell rang. Quickly, I answered. “Hello.”

  “This is Nick Monroe.” There was an echo, as if he was calling from outside. “I’m sorry I had to do that, but I’m at work. I didn’t want anyone to hear this conversation.” I sensed Nicholas was eager to speak with me. His voice was full of sincerity. He continued, “How did you find me?”

  “Once I discovered Bill’s memoir, I hired a private investigator.”

  “I see.”

  I stood up from my chair and began pacing in the dark. “It took me awhile to get up enough nerve to call you. So please hear me out. I need to know if anything happened between you and Bill Fox.”

  “I appreciate the lengths you’ve gone through to contact me, but I haven’t spoken to Bill in over twenty years. We had a falling-out. You have to understand I didn’t live with Bill for very long.”

  “Why was that?”

  “My birth mother wanted me back,” he explained. “Bill was angry. We haven’t spoken since then.”

  “How long did you live with Bill?”

  “Not more than a year.”

  “Did you know he adopted other boys?”

  “I heard something about that. I’m not surprised. There were always boys around the house.”

  “Nicholas, I know you were sixteen when Bill adopted you. From what I read, you were very traumatized by your birth father. Bill rescued you when you were on the verge of suicide. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. I suppose you have a great deal of respect for Bill and feel indebted to him. But I have to know, did he ever try anything with you?”

  There was a long silence. “Well, there was some touching, which I thought was inappropriate.”

  “When you say touching, you mean . . .”

  “Masturbation,” he said flatly. “But it never went any further than that. He called it boy bonding.”

  I nearly dropped the phone. I felt gas rising up my throat, the taste of acid in my mouth, and that familiar pressure building up in my bladder.

  Boy bonding. What did Bill say to me when we were alone that first time in his truck? Do you know how to jerk off? Well, when you do it with your buddy, it’s just boy bonding.

  I continued, “Do you know if he touched any other boys?”

  “No, like I said, I didn’t live with Bill very long. Everyone who reads the book thinks we’re still in touch, but that’s just not the way it was. My wife is always urging me to write a book about being a foster child and our experience as foster parents.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “Yes, we have a daughter. Our second child died when he was very young. He had a rare case of hydrocephalus. We’ve been foster parents to many children, but we’re going to adopt a baby who has special needs. She has Prader–Willi syndrome.”

  “Mr. Monroe, I don’t know you, but apparently you really turned your life around. I’m concerned that Bill Fox has children under his care. Don’t you feel some obligation to help those boys, having been in their situation? They might not have anywhere else to go. You were lucky to have had your mother to turn to. I’m afraid these boys would comply with Bill’s sexual advances as a way to maintain a roof over their heads and keep food in their mouths.”

  “Dr. Spinelli, have you ever been in an orphanage or a foster home?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I have, and shit like that goes on all the time. What happened between Bill and me happened a long, long time ago. I’m married with children now. I have to think about the welfare of my family. I don’t need to get mixed up with any investigation. I have a good life now. I don’t need to go back there. I won’t.”

>   CHAPTER 33

  Just the Way They Are

  IT WAS LATE FEBRUARY. I woke up an hour before my alarm was set to go off and stared up at the ceiling. Knowing I wasn’t going to fall back to sleep, I quietly got out of bed and closed the bedroom door behind me so that I wouldn’t disturb Chad. Outside the living room window, I saw that it was snowing. Not just the usual New York flurries that melted as soon as they hit the asphalt, but huge, fluffy, marshmallow-sized flakes. Pressing my head against the glass, I noticed the streets and all the rooftops nearby were blanketed in white.

  I missed the days when I was young and would wake up to mornings like this. Josephine and I would huddle by the television, praying they’d announce our schools were closed. The thought of climbing back in bed with Chad for a snow day of snuggling and bad television was so tempting, but those days were gone.

  In the kitchen, my eyes caught the blinking red light of my cell phone indicating I had a message. It was from Detective Collier. “I met with Bill,” he said. “Of course, he denied everything. He only admitted that he spoke to you and that you were pissed off because he didn’t remember you. The good news is that Family Services is interested in talking to you and the boy he adopted in 1982. I said I would give them your number . . .”

  I pressed END and sat down on the living room sofa. In a way, I felt relieved, settling into what I suspected would be another dead end. Nicholas was not going to agree to speak to Family Services. I doubted any of the boys still living with Bill would ever come forward with allegations, and there would be no reason for the police to investigate further. Speaking with Family Services would result in nothing more than me retelling my story again to someone new.

  Once I arrived at my office, coated in snow and ice, my toes so cold and numb that I could barely feel them, I threw off my boots and sprawled out on the floor with my feet propped up on the vent to thaw. After a while, I reached into my coat pocket and grabbed my phone to call Collier.

  “Okay, before you say anything else, I have to know one thing. What does Bill look like?”

  “Old,” he replied definitively. “I drove to his house and parked outside. Then I called him from my car. I wanted to make sure he didn’t disappear when I told him I was coming over.”

  “How did he react in person?”

  “Unfazed.”

  “So what happens next?”

  “I’m going to put some pressure on the local police. I want the names of the other boys who live with Bill.”

  I felt comforted knowing Collier still wanted to pursue this case, despite all the opposition we were encountering. “Well, be sure to keep me updated if anything new comes up.”

  “Of course,” he said assuredly. “Call me anytime. You know my—”

  “Phone is always on for you. Thank you, Detective. You have no idea, but thank you for everything.”

  Hanging up, I watched the snow continue to fall. I decided that it would be in my best interest if I distanced myself from the police investigation. Quietly, I lay there for several minutes until I was startled by a text message from Chad.

  It read: Happy anniversary, baby. You make me so happy. xoxo

  ONE WEEK LATER, CHAD WAS LEAVING for an overnight business trip. That morning, I received a phone call from the Tioga County Police. “Dr. Spinelli, this is State Trooper James Iverson. I was given your name by Detective Andrew Collier.”

  I covered the receiver with my hand. “It’s about Bill,” I whispered to Chad.

  Iverson continued, “I’ve been working on this case concerning the allegations you made against Mr. Fox. I’ve been in contact with a boy Bill adopted. He’s thirty years old now. He admitted that Bill molested him when he was a child. Now, you have to understand that most of these boys were kids nobody else wanted. Judging by Fox’s past actions, it was his nature to act as hero and savior. So these boys were less inclined to come forward and say anything bad against him.”

  “Have the Boy Scouts been contacted? And the adoption agencies?”

  “I appreciate your concern. But you have to understand that, as I proceed, I have to be cautious. It seems there were earlier findings that were never followed up on. I have to be very careful, because if I alert the wrong people, or Mr. Fox himself, then he might destroy evidence.”

  “What do you mean by earlier allegations?”

  “All I can say is that this was not the first time our department received a complaint against Mr. Fox. I could very well step on the wrong toes as I proceed. My plan is to contact the FBI. I’m hopeful they will perform a background history on Mr. Fox. That would include speaking to you.”

  Chad’s cell phone began ringing. “Yes, I’ll be down in a minute,” he whispered.

  “Ultimately, what are your intentions?” I asked Trooper Iverson.

  “I want to press charges against Mr. Fox and have him arrested.”

  My heart skipped. “That’s wonderful news.”

  He gave me his contact information. After I hung up, I quickly told Chad everything he said. We stood there with our mouths hanging open.

  “I can’t believe another boy came forward,” I said.

  “This is great, baby, and it’s all because of you.”

  “Don’t go on this trip.”

  Chad chuckled. “I don’t want to go, but I have to. I’ll call you when I land.”

  Standing at the door, I kissed him good-bye and watched him walk down the hall. “Hey,” I shouted. Chad turned around. “I love you.”

  Chad smiled and disappeared inside the elevator. I was alone again. After living together in the same apartment for five months, I had become so deeply attached to Chad that it frightened me. Now I didn’t know how I could ever live without him.

  ERIC WAS THRILLED TO HEAR THE NEWS ABOUT BILL. “Come over tonight,” he suggested. “It’ll be just like old times.”

  “What about Scott?”

  “Who?”

  “Your husband.”

  “Oh yeah, him. The governess is working tonight. Come over, and I’ll make dinner. You can tell me all about the latest developments with Bill.”

  Later that evening, Eric and I were sitting in his living room watching reruns of Maude when I received a text message from Detective Collier. It read, I haven’t forgotten about you. Let’s talk next week?

  “Who’s that?” asked Eric.

  “Detective Collier.”

  “The sexy one?” he asked, inching closer. “What does he want?”

  “I called him earlier to tell him that the state trooper from Pennsylvania called me. I still can’t believe another victim has come forward.”

  “You must be over the moon!” Eric threw his arms around me. “This is excellent news.”

  “I know, but something the state trooper said isn’t sitting quite right with me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me that there were earlier findings that weren’t followed up on. Then he said something about having to be cautious so that he didn’t step on the wrong toes.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Exactly. I wonder whose toes he’s afraid of.”

  “Listen,” cautioned Eric. “I can already see those gears grinding in that little head of yours. Before you get yourself all worked up over this, why don’t you give this state trooper the benefit of the doubt? He must have something, or else why would he contact you?”

  “I just can’t help but think that the police knew something and swept it under the rug. Imagine if I’d never gotten involved.”

  “But you did. Now let the police do their job.”

  “Okay, okay. Now why don’t you make yourself useful and get us some wine.”

  Eric winked and stood up. Halfway to the kitchen, he turned around. “Hey, whatever happened to your fancy author friend Dean?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him for some time. He e-mailed me a couple of months ago, asking me to help him pick out a leather jacket to wear on his book tour.”

&
nbsp; Eric’s eyes widened as a smug look appeared on his face. “Oh lovely,” he said. “So you went from best friend to stylist?”

  “We were never best friends,” I assured him. “I never even met the man. It’s funny when you think about it. He was someone I only communicated with through e-mails and the occasional phone call, yet he helped change the course of my life. I guess you could say that’s strange, but looking back, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Helping him pick out a leather jacket is the least I could do. If he asked me to clip his toenails, I would.”

  “You’ve never offered to clip my toenails,” muttered Eric, handing me a glass of wine.

  “Have you seen your toenails? Your toes look like fingerling potatoes with claws.”

  Eric smacked me playfully. We laughed. Then I noticed his expression change. His lip began to quiver, and his eyes went hazy. “I wouldn’t change your relationship with him, either,” he said, snuggling close to me. “I like things just the way they are.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Fade to Black

  AFTER SUFFERING AN ACUTE, and then prolonged, attack of gout, my father scheduled a consultation with a podiatrist, who recommended a bone biopsy. He underwent surgery the first week in July.

  “Your father will need a prolonged course of intravenous antibiotics,” explained the surgeon. The bone was severely infected, a condition known as osteomyelitis. “Unfortunately, he will have to go to a subacute care facility because his insurance doesn’t cover a visiting nurse. The good news is that he’ll get physical therapy while he’s there.”

  Maria flew up from Alabama with the children once my father was transferred to the rehab center. Except no one could lift my father’s spirits. He remained hostile after surgery, frequently arguing with the staff and refusing to take part in his rehabilitation.

  “Dad, you have to do what they tell you to do,” I insisted.

  “The only thing I have to do is pay taxes and die,” replied my father.

  I shook my head. That evening, I left concerned that his attitude was going to hinder his progress. My father’s inability to understand the seriousness of his underlying heart condition was discouraging, and that was when I experienced the first inkling that my father might not leave the rehabilitation center alive.