Then Frank went off about Pete. There was this big falling out. He also went into detail about how now he couldn’t get enough money for this and that. That ended it for ‘us.’ I saw that I had become nothing more to him than an opportunity to make some money. Same old story. Just another con. He said it was so I could get F. Lee Bailey to defend me.
The last time I spoke with him on the phone, I politely asked about the woman he’d been living with since he got out. He played like there was a bad connection. That’s it. That’s the whole story complete. I know I was wrong now to have been so careless as to say ‘yes,’ because with you, I see how really special a marriage can be. You are my only man, curly head handsome.
I can only say, when you ask me how do I know it ends with you? Every living bit of me knows it to be so. You are all my dreams come true at once and for always. A man who loves me for me. A man who wants to protect me and to teach me how to learn things for myself—not just what I’ve been told. To hold me close enough to be safe, but also let me adventure on my own. I want to discover my own way of being free the way you are. I want us to challenge each other the way Olympians spur each other on. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me about? What humans can be? That’s what I want us to be. I love the thought of you and me together for life.
* * *
Martin Bijaux called and left a message at Betsy’s. I called him back to say, yes, I did get a call from our friend, Jean Cousineau. Jean said he was coming to Los Angeles to visit Martin and me. Out of the blue, it appeared the two of them had put together a plan for a two-week road trip down the coast to Acapulco. What was the occasion for that I wondered? I opted out for obvious reasons.
When Jean arrived near the beginning of November, Martin and his new girlfriend threw a party at her place on North La Jolla Avenue. I invited Tricia Woodbridge to come along with me to meet them. Though Trish and I spent the afternoon together traveling around, talking, drinking in cafés and playing touch football with some guys and gals in the park, she bailed on the party. Still, it was fun to see her and spend time together after so long. She absolutely sparkled, and I resisted the urge to tell her how much. She asked me to pass along her best wishes to Leslie.
It was great seeing Jean again too, though that entire evening made me feel faintly homesick. I didn’t feel like discussing his break-up with Gabrielle. I was too self-absorbed or focused on Leslie to be interested in anyone else’s problems. I skirted away from the topic each time he mentioned it.
“So tell me, Jean,” I asked at one point later on, “What’s with this November get-away? Don’t you have a job? Tired of the slush and slurry already? Winter hasn’t even begun.”
“I’ve been tutoring senior high school French. But then I got a much better offer in Ottawa. An elderly teacher passed away where my cousin’s wife worked, and they knew the principal.”
“So you got an interview right away and the job on the spot.Is that it?”
“The whole thing happened the week before Thanksgiving,” Jean said. “School starts the first week of January, so I decided to take this time off.”
“And all it cost him was his girlfriend,” Martin added.
“Here’s to a New Year and a new woman,” I toasted, without for a moment thinking about Gabrielle. We’d all moved on.
“Congratulations,” said Martin, filling everyone’s glass full again with a German Riesling that was humming with apples. “It’s always a pleasure to celebrate finding gainful employment. Unlike some of us.”
Did he mean me?
“Cheers!” we all applauded each other.
“And why Acapulco?” I asked. “What’s with that trip?”
Martin said, “I have to write a piece on the expansion of new entertainment resorts. Car company rental, hotel reservations and an expense account. I have my contacts in place, including a very good female photographer. They’re having the Miss Universe pageant there this summer and this is part of an early promotion campaign.”
“And an excuse for us going to Mexico,” said Jean. “I’ve never been there before.”
“And my missus wants me out of the house,” Martin said, “Right, babe?” he shouted to her in the kitchen.
All I heard in response was the sound of her washing the dishes.
Jean asked me, “And you, Pete...what are your plans? Any more news about Leslie?”
“No real news. Her new trial starts in January. We’re still begging bondsmen to please be kind and take our money. But so far no luck...”
“You sound surprised.” Martin cut me off. “It’s a risky venture all the same.”
“Leslie is hardly a risk,” I said. “Fuck, man. Taking a trip to Mexico with you two seems a lot dodgier.”
Jean asked, “How much do you need?”
“Ten percent of two hundred thousand dollars. That’s what we give the bondsman...twenty grand. That is, if we can find someone to put up the bond.”
I looked back at Martin, who was pouring himself another tumbler of Riesling.
I told them, “We’ll know more after Christmas.”
“Here’s to Leslie,” Martin toasted. “Best wishes for a New Year and good fortune.”
“Cheers!” we shouted in chorus.
“I’ve decided to go back home to Toronto for six months,” I announced. “Or at least until this trial is over...find work, if I can, until June. I’ll need to do something legal for money until I start grad school next fall.”
“Where are you planning on going?” Martin asked, passing the joint to his girlfriend who had reentered the room.
“Our first choice is Santa Barbara. I’m going up there to check things out before I leave town. A lot will depend on what happens when Leslie gets out, of course. But, for now, we’ve decided against hiding out in LA. If I can’t get into UCSB, I may try other UC campuses...maybe Irvine or Santa Cruz. But we’ve got our hearts set on living in Isla Vista.”
* * *
Friday, November 11th, and my MGB was back in the shop for a tune up. My plan was to leave the car at Leslie’s mom’s. I had to take a bus to Silver Lake and hitch a ride from there to Sybil Brand with Judy Frutig. She dropped me off and then left right away to make another appointment with bondsmen. I’ll give her this, Judy was a diligent workhorse in that respect. She was better at talking to bankers than anyone else.
“Let’s hope Santa Barbara comes through soon,” Leslie said, during our visit. “So we can maybe start planning for when I get out. I know I can start work right away in Max’s office. Or if you find a good job in Toronto...do you think they would let me into the country?”
“They will if we’re married. If not, we stay here,” I told her. “Besides, keep thinking Santa Barbara. I know that’s what we both want. I got another letter from UCSB yesterday, I’ll tell you about it later. It’s no big deal. Just the office of student services asking for proof of my teaching credentials, previous student visas and marital status. Apparently, being married to a California girl has certain in-state advantages I wasn’t aware of.”
“In-state? That’s funny. It means something different to me,” Leslie said. “Honey, just try to continue your studies and keep training hard for the future. You’ll feel better with more important stuff to do. Believe me, I know what a bore the courtroom scene can get to be. It’s all about preparation. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me? Try and concentrate on...what did you call it? ‘The Science of Living.’”
“That’s right. Alfred Adler, 1929,” I said.
Leslie bowed gently, “Concentrate on three things, philosophy, training and me...but not in that order. I can make money when I’m out. I may be a bit rusty, but we’ll manage somehow. Don’t worry so much.
“Know what?” Leslie continued, “I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking about what
our first place should be like. Want to hear? It should be small and modest. Little compartments with one large room for gathering...”
“A library!” I enthused, getting with the mood of her vision.
“Right. And a small earth space beside the kitchen, where I can grow herbs and flowers. It will be cool.”
“I want my own bedroom,” I said.
“Not a chance.”
“Then how about my own closet?”
“Stop. Listen, if it turns out that bail is beyond our reach...which half the time it seems it is, and half the time not...all this still counts as far as state time anyway. I hate thinking about it this way, but we have to be realistic. It might still take a year or more,” Leslie said, looking distracted.
Whereas she seemed all lit up only moments before, now she suddenly turned somber and sad.
“Before you, I was alone,” she said. “I was looking...not even knowing how mixed up I was about so many things. You’ve given me a reason to be all I can for you and for us.”
“Us? Thanks by the way,” I interjected, “for explaining some of that business with Frank Earl Andrews, the venerable author. And Tex. But is that all? Are you telling me everything?
“I told you my buddy, Martin, heard the rumor about your getting married and told me about it. Tell me, what should I have said to him in response?” I asked, raising my voice.
“Please don’t be so angry. I’m sorry now that those letters with Frank are coming out,” Leslie bristled. “I guess I knew they would eventually. All I can ask is that you forgive me my past and foolish ways. For a while I thought the whole…thing…was canned. But I guess I knew that now, because I’m on trial and back in the news, Frank would be wheeling and dealing to have the book of letters on again.”
“That gives him a hard-on, does it?” I interrupted, spitefully crude.
“Whatever. It’s his scheme and Pete’s now. It’s for them and their lawyers to figure out. I couldn’t care less at this point. Believe it or not, I have other things on my mind. So should you, mister.”
“Like your book deal with Dutton and Judy? Is that another Glen Peters’ church of salvation enterprise too?”
“That I don’t know about either,” she said. “See what I mean? This all infuriates me. If I could stop it, I would. The letters, I mean. But I can’t. Maybe it will all just fade away. Now is not the time to worry about that, is it? Please won’t you calm down?”
“I’m sorry, Leslie, I don’t know where that comes from.”
Or at least I wasn’t certain.
“When will you be going back to Canada, if you’re still going?”
“In a week. I said that already. That should be soon enough to see about those jobs Andy and Bruce wrote me about. I’ll meet with them when I get there. Though to be honest, I’d rather teach English lit than coach at this point. But, right now, we need the money, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get my end together.”
Leslie looked sad and disappointed, and I couldn’t blame her. Or, maybe, I was reading too much into her expression.
“Look Les. There is something else about Santa Barbara I wasn’t going to mention until I heard back again. On Wednesday, I spoke with someone in the Faculty of Education...Professor Copeland. Provided I have the MGB fixed in time, I’ve made an appointment to drive up and meet him next Thursday...probably more filling in forms. He’s not the one I originally wanted to see, but he’s the only one there who can see me before Christmas.”
“That’s fantastic, Peter. See? This is what I mean. Things are moving our way. Can’t you feel it?” Leslie asked. “Try to relax, and just go with the flow.”
“I’m sorry for what I went off about before,” I said. “It’s good to see you excited this way, and I don’t want to nix or to jinx it.
“Hey, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?” I asked, sensing her mood had stepped back into the shadows.
“The thought of your leaving for Canada has me uptight. I’m going to miss you, but…” she paused after straightening up on her stool, “we need to stop acting like a couple of punks and be brave. We have to do what is right for each other, remember? You will come back to me, won’t you?”
“Isn’t that a rhetorical question?”
15
Scar Tissue
Spent my last night before leaving LA with David Van Houten and Max Keith. I forget where we started but remember ending up at Max’s apartment on South Oakland Avenue in Pasadena. I liked the fact that in place of a lot of law books or trophies, Max’s city residence (he lived on a ranch near Paso Robles) had piles of Time Magazine and National Geographic all scattered about. On the mantle there was a card with an autographed picture of actor Steve Reeves posing with film director Cecil B. De Mille. The inscription read, “Happy Birthday, You Great Big Hunk of Man.” It was signed, but there was no way to decipher who signed it or for whom it was intended.
David and I were high on Rojo Mezcal, lemon slices and Mexican sea salt. Max stuck to tried and true Early Times Kentucky Straight Bourbon. We’d been talking that night about Leslie, of course. And I discussed feeling torn about leaving her during the midst of her trial. My heart wanted to stay but my gut said I needed to go. I felt completely unsettled. Before leaving early, Davy raised his glass to Max and then to me, and said, “Here’s to you, you great big hunks of man.”
He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t drive home on his own. I spent the night under a thin blanket on Max’s couch.
Max dropped me off at noon the next day in front of the Air Canada reservations desk at Los Angeles International Airport. We waved goodbye and he sped away in his gloomy Scirocco. I spent most of Flight #792 staring out the window at the slow-moving landscape below. The rest of the time, I either read or wrote letters. After the mountains and deserts came winter plains, then at last more familiar lakes, frozen rivers, and deciduous forests. There was plenty of time to catch up on my diary.
My plane touched down on time at Pearson International Airport in Toronto at 9:00 p.m. The tarmac was wet from rain, sleet, and melted snow. It took the best part of an hour to clear customs. My brother Mike picked me up. When we got home to my mum’s, she welcomed me with a smile and a huge hug, of course, then right away told me that Mr. Tovell had called. So I called him.
Jackson Tovell, my old high school principal, put me on to a job opening in Scarborough. Teaching high school English literature, culture, and mass media studies. The school was the West Hill Collegiate on Morningside Avenue, fifteen miles east of Toronto. Jack told me they had already begun to review candidates, but he was sure they hadn’t decided on anyone yet. He arranged to get me an interview with the head of the English department right away.
There was a blizzard on the fifth of December and no mail was delivered. Les called me from Sybil Brand. The news wasn’t what I had been hoping to hear. A couple more bail bond proposals had either been dissolved or delayed yet again. The next day, I had an appointment to meet with Andy Higgins and Bruce Kidd at Bruce’s office in University College next to Hart House. They said they had a proposition to discuss. But I only got as far as the bus stop at the end of the road. I had what can only be described as a “panic attack.” Right as the bus came, I turned around and dragged my sorry ass home in a thickening snowstorm. We re-booked our meeting for Friday. I made sure this time I was good and stoned before I left home.
I took the bus and subway downtown to meet Higgins and Kidd at 10:00 a.m., leaving early at seven. Andy and Bruce were courageous enough to offer me the job of club administrator (and part-time sprints and relays coach) for the University of Toronto Track Club. I asked if I could have some time to think it over, but they knew that was bullshit. They were right. Track and field coaching is a longer-term commitment than I was inclined to make at that moment. There was no use starting something I had no intenti
on of completing. In the end, with regret I declined the honor. I expected to feel relief at this decision, but felt uncomfortably anxious instead. Now I was nowhere.
Leslie and Max were back in front of Superior Court Judge Gordon Ringer on Friday, December 16th, requesting that he reduce the amount of her bail to $50,000. Max told the judge he would stake his professional reputation on Leslie’s keeping her promise. He assured Ringer that she was the last person he’d have to fear ever leaving the jurisdiction. Naturally, Prosecutor Stephen Kay opposed the request. With him, being a dick was a full-time occupation. His rote resistance was, quite literally, a no-brainer default. Mostly, I think he was just afraid of Leslie proving him wrong.
“She is not going to run,” Max said. “She is not going to engage in misconduct. Her present mental status is normal. Not one psychiatrist feels or believes Leslie, at this time, is a danger to society or that she presents a threat to herself or to others.”
The judge replied, “I think the temptation to flee might well be irresistible in a case of this seriousness. Motion denied.”
Judge Ringer, however, did grant Max’s request for a delay in the start of the trial. A new trial date was set for the second of February. I’d hear the rest when she called.
The interview Jack Tovell set up for me at West Hill Collegiate took place on December 22nd at 10:30 a.m. I met first with Mrs. Marg Minter, the head of the English department, then with her colleague Bob Gentile, who I assumed was the one who designed the culture and mass media curricula. The interviews ended just before noon, and Mrs. Minter said she would call back the week after Christmas. She wrapped things up by explaining that Mr. Ron Budd, the principal, was unfortunately too busy to meet me that day. I took this to mean it was him that was calling the shots.
No Journey's End: My Tragic Romance with Ex-Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten Page 22
