He pretended to be someone he wasn’t, trying to impress me with his importance. He lied about everything. He said he owned the San Diego soccer team. He actually did, but I later found out that he bought it with phony silver certificates. After a year, the bank finally figured it out. He was a serious con artist, and a good one too. The scary thing was, he really believed his own lies.
When we returned to Los Angeles, my better judgment told me to back off from continuing this friendship. At first I was polite, telling him there was no room in my life for dishonesty. I was moving through life cautiously, I told him, and was leery of his behavior.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Steve asked from a phone booth somewhere in L.A.
“What are you talking about, Steve?”
“Your husband. You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Steve, this has nothing to do with Joe. I’m not ready for a relationship with anyone right now, but if I were, it wouldn’t be with someone like you. I can’t stand liars.”
“If he was dead, would you give me a chance then?”
“What kind of a thing is that to say? I told you it has nothing to do with Joe. It’s you, Steve!”
“Can I come over?”
“No, you can’t come over.”
“I want to show you something. Please . . .”
“What, Steve?” I asked.
“I want to show you my will.”
“Why would I want to see your will?”
“Because I changed it,” he said. “I’m leaving everything to you. Everything.”
There’s something very wrong here. Get rid of this guy—now!
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”
“No, it’s not, George. It proves how much I love you. I chose you over my children. I love you more than anything in the world.”
“Change it back.”
“What?”
“Change it back. If you can’t see how stupid that is, then your problem is a lot more serious than I thought.”
“If I can’t have you, I don’t want to live,” he said, sounding weirdly sincere. “I want you to have everything.”
“Steve, I strongly suggest you get some help. There isn’t anyone worth taking your own life for.”
“You are,” he whispered.
“Oh, man, get some help,” I said. “I’ve got to hang up now.”
“Wait! Please say you’ll just let me try. I know I can make you love me.”
Nothing he could say was remotely interesting. He was relentless in his fruitless efforts at seduction. As I listened to him rant, I drew a stick figure on a notepad and added little pointed horns. “Steve, you’re not hearing me. You haven’t heard a word I said. There’s no more point in talking. Good-bye.”
“George—” he managed to squeeze in before the line went dead.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.
That’s what I remember most about Steve: ring, ring, ring, ring, ring. I can still hear that phone ringing today. I’d hang up on him and he’d call right back. I’d turn on my answering machine and he’d talk until he used up my tape. I’d change my phone number and he’d manage to find out the new one. Ring, ring, ring, ring. I was beginning to lose it. He would show up at my door in the middle of the night, crying, begging me to let him in. I’d call the police and he’d take off. But he’d be back the next night with a different story.
One night he turned up bleeding.
“Please, please, open the door,” he pleaded. “They’re out there. They just stabbed me. Open the door, Georgia. I think I need an ambulance. Look out your peephole if you don’t believe me. I’m bleeding to death.”
I didn’t believe him; all his stories were “out there”—but when I looked through the peephole, he really was bleeding. He wasn’t lying this time.
“What happened?” I asked with concern as I opened the door.
“I was parking in the alley and these two black guys jumped me. They stabbed me. Could you get a towel?” he asked, his body trembling.
“I’ll call nine-one-one,” I said after I got the towel.
“No, it’s okay; I’ll be all right.”
He’s lying, White.
“Steve, you’re bleeding! You have to go to the hospital.”
The police arrived before the paramedics. When they questioned him, the story was slightly different from the one he had told me. The police accompanied him to the ambulance, then returned to the apartment after Steve was driven away.
“This will sound crazy, Officer, but I think he may have stabbed himself,” I voiced.
“Now, why would you think that?” the cop asked suspiciously.
“I believe he would say or do anything to get me to open my door to him. I’ve had this problem with him before. Your department has a record of all this. He’s not a very stable person.”
“We’re aware of the problems here,” the cop said, “but this is a far more serious situation. He claims your husband hired the guys who did this to him.”
“What? Oh, man, my husband doesn’t even know he exists. In fact, he doesn’t even know if I exist. This guy is a habitual liar. I know he stabbed himself.”
“We’ll still have to check it out. Where does your husband live?”
“No! I don’t want him to find me. I won’t tell you. Why can’t you be as concerned about my safety? Do you know how many times I’ve called you for help? This guy is nuts. Why don’t you believe me? Why don’t you ever do anything about him?”
“Has he physically hurt you?”
“No, but—”
“We get a lot of calls from women complaining about their boyfriends, but if they haven’t—”
“He’s not my boyfriend. I keep telling them that. Does he have to kill me before you can do anything? The man is sick!”
“I’m sorry, miss, but if he hasn’t actually hurt you, there’s nothing we can do. Our hands are tied. Now about your husband . . .”
These cops are worthless. I thought you’d learned that by now. Maybe we should just take care of this ourselves.
“You can’t contact my husband. I don’t know who I’m more afraid of, this nut or my husband. Please, at least check out what I’m saying.”
They did just that. They found, after checking with the hospital, that the stab wound was not substantial, and they were satisfied with my story.
All I had ever told Steve about Joe was that I was afraid of him and that he was connected with some heavy people. I never went into detail about my past. This was my new life; all that was behind me now and I wanted to forget it. Steve’s vivid imagination had run wild, finding another arena for his sick mind to play in.
What if he contacts Joe and tells him where I am?
About a week later, after three hundred phone calls, he showed up at my door again, this time claiming his daughter had been killed. He cried uncontrollably as I stood with the locked door between us. How could anyone lie about something like that? I started to feel guilty about shutting him out if there was a possibility that his story was true.
I opened the door. He looked like a total physical and mental wreck. I felt bad for making him stand out there for so long. This story was true; I could tell by his demeanor. With the intensity of his gushing sobs he could hardly explain how it happened.
“She was only five, George,” he cried. “How could God take my baby? She . . . Oh, God.”
“I know, Steve. Take it easy,” I said, putting my arm around his shoulder.
“Be grateful your daughter is alive, George. The sight of her little body lying under that car, her bike all twisted, oh, God!” He put his head in his hands and cried uncontrollably.
I felt horrible. What can anyone really do to try to console someone who has lost a child? Not much.
“Oh, Steve, I’m so, so sorry.”
“Will you let me stay here tonight? I just can’t be alone, not tonight,” he between sobs.
“One won’t do it; give me twenty.”
“Steve, stop it. You’re being irrational.”
“I am? My daughter is dead. You won’t even talk to me. What reason do I have to live?”
“Just take this; try to get some sleep.”
I gave him two of the blue pills that had been my pals during traumatic episodes in my life, then went upstairs to get him a pillow and blanket.
“Will you stay here until I fall asleep?” he asked.
I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I thought about losing Toni. My heart was sympathetic for Steve. It was too horrible to think about. The sun was beginning to rise when I finally fell asleep.
I opened my eyes to find Steve standing at the foot of my bed, looking as if he were in a trance. His eyes seemed to go far beyond what lay immediately in front of them.
“I have to leave now. There’s a lot of arrangements to make. Thank you, George, for letting me stay here last night. Can I call you later?” he asked, his eyes still red and puffy.
Would it make a difference if you said no? I’m telling you, White, this man is going to be the death of us. He’s playing on your sympathy now. Don’t fall in that trap again. I thought you learned that lesson.
I called Mike Ruben a few hours after Steve left. I hadn’t seen or talked to Mike in quite a while. I had a feeling they weren’t on good terms.
“What are you talking about, Georgia? They live right across the street from me. I’m looking at his daughter from my kitchen window as we speak. She’s fine.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Look, Georgia, that guy is bad news. He’s got a screw loose somewhere. He just took me for eighty grand, and you know what? I’m walking away from it. I can’t do anything legally anyway. He’s not just shrewd; he’s calculating and evil. If I pressed this, I think he’d do something drastic to my family. Take my advice—stay away from him!”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. You’re telling me his daughter is alive? A car never hit her? Are you sure that’s her outside?” I asked, convinced he must have an ax to grind. There was no way Steve could have faked that scene.
“Georgia, I’m looking right at her. In fact, Steve is pulling into his driveway right now.”
“What do you mean, his driveway? Does he live there too?”
“You didn’t know he was married?”
“Married! He said he was divorced! Jesus, I can’t believe this guy.”
“He may be divorced soon at the rate he’s going. Carol thinks he’s having an affair because he’s in L.A. so much. Now that we’re no longer partners, he can’t use me as an excuse.”
“Mike, how could he take his son across the country with us and not expect his wife to find out?”
“He probably made the kid lie.”
“That’s sick.”
“He’s sick, Georgia. I’m telling you, stay away from him.”
This guy doesn’t need a shrink—he needs a lobotomy!
Shock numbed me. From the way Steve had carried on it was hard to fathom that he’d lied. Even Steve himself had to believe what he had said. No normal man could act that well. I shuddered. A feeling of dread came over me.
I warned you, White! You’ve got to stop being such a bleeding heart. Don’t let people take advantage of you like that. It’s okay to be a bitch. It’s called survival!
When Steve called, I was ready for him.
“Hi, George. This has to be at the top of my list as one of the most horrible days of my life. I wouldn’t wish this on anybody,” he said, sounding exhausted.
“Steve, I’d like to go to the funeral.”
“Uh . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” I asked, enjoying listening to him squirm.
“My ex-wife is pretty upset; I just don’t think—”
“You mean your wife, don’t you, Steve?”
He suddenly went quiet, as if I had pressed a pause button. Then in a small voice he said, “What do you mean?”
“What I mean, Steve, is if your daughter was dead, then I guess your wife would be upset, but since she’s not dead, do you think she might have something else to be upset about?” He was at a loss for words. “Don’t you ever, ever call me or come around here again. Take my advice and get some help, Steve. Oh, and Steve, I want you to know I bought a gun. You have a nice little history with the Beverly Hills Police Department now. If you come anywhere near me, I’ll kill you.” I slammed the phone down.
Ring, ring, ring, ring. I drove to the nearest gun shop.
Way to go, White. Now you’re getting the idea.
Before I could pick up the gun I had to wait two weeks—some kind of legal requirement. In the meantime, it was too damn quiet. The silence was more unsettling than the constant ringing of my telephone. He had to be up to something. Between working at the store and taking care of my other obligations, I began to look for another place to live.
Juggling my time was a real problem. One day I was running late again from an audition. I arrived home at three thirty, expecting Toni to be waiting patiently. She wasn’t there. I walked over to the school, thinking she might be at the playground. It was deserted. Getting frantic now, I knocked on the neighbor’s door downstairs. Toni liked visiting with Orna, the teenage girl who lived there, but Orna had not seen her. I raced back to my apartment to call the police. A feeling of dread hung heavily in the pit of my stomach. The phone was ringing when I entered. I prayed that it was Toni as I rushed to answer it.
“Hello?”
“I’ve got Toni,” he said triumphantly.
“Where are you with my daughter, Steve?”
“I just took her for an ice cream. Why are you so worried?” I visualized him with a grin.
“Bring back my daughter, Steve. Right now!”
“Will you talk to me when I get there?”
“Yes, I’ll talk to you; just get her back here—now!”
Within ten minutes he was at my door with Toni.
“Hi, Mommy,” Toni said, ignorant of being in the company of a highly unstable person. Steve stood behind her holding a long box.
“Honey, why don’t you go downstairs and play with Orna for a little while.”
“I don’t have to do my homework first?”
“No, you can do it later.”
“Yippee!” she cried as she shot out the door.
Turning my attention to Steve, I became hostile. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Steve? Why do you think you have a right to take my daughter without my permission? There’s a name for that, ya know.”
“I bought you a present,” he said, ignoring my anger.
“I don’t want presents from you, Steve. I want you the hell out of my life!”
He proceeded to open the oblong cardboard box. An emerging smile teased his face as he tore the tape off the side.
This guy just doesn’t get it, White. He’s even a bit too much for me to handle. You’d better call the police as soon as he leaves—again.
Hypnotized with fear, I watched as he methedically pulled a double-barreled shotgun from the box. The sadistic look on his face was paralyzing. Sort of like how Jack Nicholson looked in The Shining—wide-eyed with clenched teeth and an unnatural upward curl of his mouth. This was a dimension of his personality that I had not encountered before, and I was not sure I could reason with this level of insanity.
“What are you doing?” I screamed.
“If I can’t have you—neither can he,” he said. His glazed, unseeing stare left no chance for negotiation. He pointed the gun at me and ordered me to walk up the stairs. Gripped with fear, I hesitantly started the climb to my death. With every step my mind raced at full speed. How am I going to get out of this?
“All I wanted was a chance. I know I could’ve made you happy, but you wouldn’t give me the opportunity to show you.”
I prayed Toni wouldn’t come home
.
“I didn’t want to do this, but he can’t have you. He doesn’t deserve you. Before I kill myself, I’m going to kill him, too. I know where he lives. I’ve been watching him. He fucks everything in sight, ya know. I would never do that to you. I would’ve made you happy—if you’d only given me the chance. Lie down on the bed. I’ll make it quick; I don’t want you to suffer,” he said, tears streaking down his face. His expression softened as he spoke.
Listen to me, White. We can get out of this; we’ve done it before. Just don’t panic. Take control. You can’t die now; we’ve come too far. Think!
My past experiences sprang vividly to mind. I remembered well how to trade the words “I love you” in exchange for my life, but maybe this was a different kind of sickness. I didn’t know if it would work.
“Steve, lie down with me,” I offered. “I owe you the chance to at least show me what I could have had.” Teasing him with sensuous body language, I slowly lowered myself onto my back and unbuttoned my blouse, exposing my breasts to him.
In a retarded tempo, reality reentered his face. Startled by the transformation, I accelerated the tease, lifting my pelvis in slow seductive movements. His eyes wandered up and down my body, drinking it in. My act was working, as evidenced by the bulge in his pants. He shook his head as if waking from a dream. Cocking his head to one side, he hesitated. What I saw in his eyes, obscured by desire, was an irretrievable madness. But his hunger to have me sexually overpowered his desire to kill me. The cool steel grazed my leg as he laid the gun beside me. Straddling my body, he used both hands to fondle my breasts, then took my hand and directed it to his penis.
“Touch it.”
The sensation of my hand gliding down his penis and my pelvic movement sent him into orbit. He rolled onto his side and impatiently began to remove his pants. I had the window of opportunity I was praying for. Thank you, God. Catching him off guard, I lunged for the gun and quickly found the trigger.
We struggled for possession of the weapon. It fired, blowing a huge hole in the wall. The roar stopped him cold. Taking advantage of his momentary shock, I sprang to my feet and ran like hell. I flew down the stairs to my neighbor’s and pounded on the door. The blast of the shotgun still hummed loudly in my ears.
The Company She Keeps Page 25
