In his haste to send Angie a response that would possibly curtail her insecurities, Michael horribly botched the first sentence of the next e-mail he sent. He told Angie to “rest assured that there is a chance”—my emphasis—that he and Jan were going to rekindle their relationship. He said how it took “two to tango” and he wasn’t going to be the one doing any dancing with Jan. Then he made a promise that he would “be right here” and “do whatever it takes to make you my wife.” From there, he talked about how he had just gone out to see Grandpa Louie, and the old man was completely out of it. Michael forecasted that Grandpa Louie wouldn’t make it through the rest of the week. After mentioning that, perhaps trying to drum up a bit of sympathy from his mistress, he talked about how many kids were going on the trip with him and Jan, and that the weekend would be anything but romantic because of the amount of teenagers tagging along. He said he “didn’t have a romantic bone left in” his body until two and a half weeks ago. Ending the e-mail, Michael broke into one of his “It’s only you that I …” signatures he now commonly used to sign off an e-mail. Substitute any word of desire for the ellipses and you get the picture. It’s only you that I adore… and so on.
Angie sent a quick one-sentence e-mail in return, indicating the potential mistake Michael had made in forgetting that one word in the first sentence of his previous e-mail, reminding him that he had “better read” the e-mail again.
Roseboro was quick to correct the record, explaining he meant “no chance of any relationship” (again, emphasis mine) being rekindled while he and Jan were in Niagara. Looking at the fact that not only had Roseboro planned this trip to Niagara Falls but was, at the same time, putting the final touches on his wedding vows renewal trip, one would gather that the first time he wrote the sentence, he had made a Freudian slip.
Angie came back with a heartfelt message for her lover. When taken into context later, it would seem to put an awful amount of pressure on Roseboro to break it off with Jan as soon as possible. Angie said she wanted to be “Mrs. Roseboro” so bad that “it hurts.” She had never felt this way, she claimed, about anyone else. She added that “true happiness” would only be when she was standing next to Roseboro saying “I do” while “looking into” his eyes. Her life would be “complete,” she said, when that day came.
That response sparked an idea from Michael Roseboro. He mentioned to Angie in his return e-mail that he had been thinking about it seriously lately: He wanted to write their vows. Why? Well, because “expressing my love for you,” he said, came “easily and effortlessly.” Then he set the scene, noting how on the day they married, the “sun will be setting,” and when it was over, he would be “the luckiest man alive.”
Angie wrote back saying she had “never written vows” before—that is, for any of her two marriages. Putting words on paper was not one of her strong points, Angie admitted. Then she asked Roseboro if he had given any thought to where they might get married, before noting that it was almost time—twenty-two minutes—for her to make her daily noon call to him, a moment she could hardly wait for.
Roseboro dashed off his response a minute later, saying that his plan included “a pure white beach” in Carmel, California. He wrote of the day as if he were penning a scene in a Harlequin romance, some bare-chested Fabio look-alike, bouncing up and down on a bareback horse on the cover. He said the waves would “softly” fold “at our feet” while the breeze blew your “white linen dress” in the air. “The beauty of it all,” Roseboro added, would actually pale “in comparison to the woman” standing there by his side on the beach that day.
Before sending the e-mail, Roseboro corrected Angie’s time on the noon call, signing off that it was now only nineteen minutes away.
28
There are a multitude of underlying causes and character defects—both nurture and nature affiliated—that fuel an obsessive personality, the most common being “emotional addiction and the need for control,” one psychologist told me. Michael Roseboro was sensing—right about now—that the control he had been managing in both relationships, although it had slipped from underneath him earlier in the day when Angie Funk questioned his intentions regarding the trip to Niagara, was back. All it took on Michael’s part was some sweet talk about a beach and the love of his life standing next to him and their children as they recited wedding vows he had written, and he had Angie once again eating out of the palm of his hand. And make no mistake about it, for Roseboro, it was all about control and maintaining a balance between his life at home and his secrets.
Any e-mails sent on June 18, 2008, were not recorded on either computer. In many of the e-mails leading up to this day, both had spoken often about their anticipation of an upcoming rendezvous that day. Anytime they got together in a place where they could be alone, you could bet on it that they had their clothes off, scattered around them, moments later.
There had been one e-mail where Roseboro claimed to have driven by Angie’s house “a hundred times a day,” just to catch a glimpse of her. This was before they had hooked up, when he was clandestinely obsessing over being with her. Angie said she couldn’t sign off on one hundred times—that was a little much. “It depended,” she added, “on whether I was outside or not. That was the only time I would see him, if I was outside.” And yet, if it wasn’t a hundred, “some days it was one or two” times that she saw Roseboro drive by. “Some days it was, you know, ten or fifteen. It all depended on whatever.”
Isn’t “ten or fifteen” excessive enough?
On June 19, they were back to e-mailing, darting off the electronic missives of the same sentimental mishmash and longing they had for the past few weeks. In one e-mail, Roseboro said how great it made him feel that Angie considered him good-looking, a role he had never seen himself in, adding that he would look a lot better once she was on his arm all the time.
There was a complete shutdown of e-mail communication between Angie and Michael after he left for Niagara Falls on June 20 and returned June 23. There were phone calls, however—twenty-five altogether. Five made by Roseboro on Friday, June 20; eight made between the both of them on Saturday, June 21; nine on Sunday, June 22; and by Monday, June 23, when Michael was back in town, they spoke on three separate occasions and met that morning at Turkey Hill.
Those four days she didn’t see her lover tore Angie Funk apart, a feeling that was entirely apparent in the e-mails she sent Roseboro early that morning, June 23, after she saw him briefly at Turkey Hill. This new thread of e-mails fell under the subject “I MISS YOU.” Part of the first e-mail has been lost to cyberspace, or Angie’s work hard drive, because computer forensics was able to recover only part of the original e-mail. And yet the one paragraph forensic technicians pulled from her computer explained a lot. Angie said it was “fantastic to be with” him, knowing that any time she spent with her man was a time in her life she cherished with all her “heart.” In one instance, she said, “I ache for you, baby” … “so badly.” Beyond “not being able to talk” to her lover whenever she wanted, or e-mail, see, touch, or kiss him anytime she wanted, due to their sneaking around, what Angie had trouble with the most was not “being with [him] physically.” She called Roseboro the “most amazing man on earth” for the umpteenth time, before listing a host of adjectives she had used in past e-mails. Roseboro was “everything” and “strong.” Angie could not wait until he was able to take her as his wife, which, she said, was going to be the “happiest day of all my life.”
After what must have been reunion sex that night when they met up, Roseboro e-mailed Angie early the following morning, June 24, 2008. The first e-mail of this new day came into her computer at 3:49 A.M. It was not a joyful moment, however, for Michael Roseboro, at least not initially. The subject line of the e-mail, “my inspiration,” Roseboro said, he had gotten from the Peter Cetera song, “You’re the Inspiration.” Although the subject might have indicated a different manner of feeling for him, Michael had some bad news to share. He had made the pr
ediction himself the previous week, and here it was coming true. In fact, it was the reason why he was up so early.
His grandfather Louie had died. Roseboro said “we”—he and his father, three generations of Roseboros there in the embalming room—just finished preparing his grandfather’s body at 3:35 A.M., not fifteen minutes before he sat down at his work desk to send an e-mail to the woman he loved.
His inspiration.
Roseboro said there were crazy thoughts and emotions running through him as he worked on the old man. It was hard to prepare Pa’s body, he explained, but thinking of Angie and how wonderful life was now that she was in it had gotten him through it all.
He said he found himself stopping during the process before “I say or do something,” with only one thought on his mind: “What would Angela say or do?”
He talked about a “profound respect” he now had for Angie because of this revelation. There was an “unimaginable love” he had found within himself for her—and that was his sole inspiration for life now.
Roseboro then talked about the drive home from Niagara the previous day, when he heard the Aerosmith song “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” on the SUV’s stereo system. He said how true the lyrics of the song were, especially now that he could view them in the light of Angie’s place in his life.
What disrespect he showed here. Roseboro was driving home from Niagara Falls, Jan likely dozing off by his side, his kids in the backseat, maybe playing video games, texting friends, or snoozing, and he was up front listening to Aerosmith, fawning over his mistress. Even in terms of husbands cheating on their wives, this subtle lack of respect showed how much Roseboro did not care for Jan and/or her feelings.
Roseboro mentioned next how “deep” and “pure” his love for Angie was, and how he had realized this during what was the terrible tragedy of Grandpa Louie’s death. So much so, Michael added, that he was e-mailing Angie, mainly, to invite her to Pa’s funeral, saying that he completely understood if she couldn’t make it. After all, he didn’t want his lover “to be uncomfortable in any way” while mingling among his family members.
In proving how much it meant to him that Angie share in this moment of grief, Roseboro relayed a brief story to Angie about one of the last conversations he’d had with Pa.
“I’ve found the love of my life, Pa,” Michael had told the old man while the Roseboro patriarch lay on his deathbed. “I am going to marry her!”
Roseboro told Angie that Pa smiled after hearing him say this. It was a memory, he now wanted to share, that he’d “hold on to for the rest of [his] life.”
From there, Roseboro explained how much he had missed Angie. They had a planned meeting, apparently, at noon that day (where, neither of them said). He couldn’t wait to hold her “so tightly.” He wanted so badly to kiss Angie, he said, before again indicating how much he loved her, finally thanking Angie for loving him back. But “most importantly,” Roseboro added before signing off, “thank you for being you.”
When Angie got into work, she logged onto her computer, printed the e-mail, and stuck it into what was a growing file of heartfelt e-mails from her lover. Then she sat down and tapped out her first response of the day.
Angie thanked her man for loving her unconditionally. She called Roseboro the “strength and the love of my life.” She knew true happiness only when she was talking to and spending time with her man, she said. And this made her feel alive again.
She would try to get to the funeral. She said she wanted to be there for her man, and would do everything in her power to make it happen. One of the only things holding her back, she mentioned, wasn’t necessarily being seen by the family or any awkwardness she might feel, but a time.
Why?
Because Angie needed a babysitter for her kids. The viewing was on that Thursday night between the hours of six and eight P.M. The funeral, however, was on Friday, 11:00 A.M., at the Faith United Evangelical Lutheran Church, right down the block from Angie’s house on Walnut Street, with interment to follow at Fairview Cemetery, on the opposite side of town.
Randall would be at work during those times.
At the end of the short e-mail, Angie reminded Michael how much she loved him, adding that she was willing to “go to the ends of the earth” for him.
Seven minutes later, Michael sent Angie an e-mail describing a letter she had written him. He must have just found it, because he said that after he finished reading it (just then), he was able to type only “after wiping the tears” from his eyes that the letter had brought upon him. That letter, he said, expressed exactly what he was feeling: that they “completed” each other. He didn’t mention, one way or another, if they had recently watched Jerry Maguire, that 1996 Tom Cruise–Renée Zellweger movie, whereby that sappy line, “You complete me,” had made the movie a pop culture phenom. Or if Angie had mentioned the scene in the letter. But from the gist of Roseboro’s response, it was clear this was an inside joke between them.
Roseboro called Angie his “fountain of youth” for making him feel so alive and open and free to love once again. He made the inference that Jan had never been able to bring this out of him; the love he and Jan once might have shared had long ago dried up. This “alive” description was to become a theme both would go back to quite frequently in the coming weeks. For the first time, they both claimed in their numerous e-mails, both Angie and Michael felt as though they were living, as if the floodgates to what once provided happiness had been unleashed, and a resurgence of romance had been rekindled by this particular affair.
Eleven minutes went by, and Angie returned the e-mail by saying how she wanted to keep Michael happy for the rest of his life, before breaking into the familiar “grow old with you” line that many lovers use. She ended the e-mail with the idea that her life’s passion had now evolved into being by Roseboro’s side forever—being his wife.
Angie wrote how this would happen, “no matter what.”
Answering that, Michael said if Angie ever tried to leave his side, he would “superglue” her to his hip.
In return, Angie said she wanted “to be Mrs. Angela Lynn Roseboro more than anything else….”
Anything.
Roseboro said they could forget about superglue (Angie had suggested he wouldn’t need it, anyway, because she was all his), but that maybe “some oil” would be nice. He then mentioned how he had been thinking about the marriage a lot lately, and how he wanted to have their kids present for the ceremony.
Angie agreed, adding that it would be a blessing to show the kids how much a couple could love each other, before asking Roseboro if he was “being naughty” by mentioning oil. If he was, she said, she “would love that,” but there would have to be a shower involved and Michael would have to wipe the oil off her wet body.
It was a strange set of comments, considering that they were sandwiched between such serious talk about the kids and how Angie wanted them to “feel the love we have” between “us.” She began the e-mail by speaking of their children; went into that “naughty” talk of oils and showering together; and ended with more talk of how much they needed to show the kids that they loved each other. It was as if that “love” they described, over and over, was centered around the sexual attraction they had for each other and the different things they wanted to do in the bedroom to satisfy such an unquenchable thirst for sex.
Family values. Sex. Love. Family values.
A strange way to look at beginning a new life together.
Michael took the bait and admitted that he was indeed being naughty, blaming Angie for bringing “out that side” of him. He warned her that if they had to shower, it “would start the whole cycle over again.”
It had been only a few hours since Roseboro had described how terrible he was feeling at having to embalm Grandpa Louie. Yet, here he was, on that same morning, undoubtedly preparing for the old man’s wake later that day, talking about rubbing oil all over his lover and then taking showers with her and showing thei
r children how a real love worked by having them present at their wedding. The line between fantasy and reality was blurring for Michael Roseboro. He and Angie Funk were deeply locked inside this pipe dream of an alternate reality; yet neither was doing anything to make it actually come true.
At Fairview Cemetery, eighty-nine-year-old E. Louis Roseboro, a church organist for forty years, on top of being a mortician, and a fifty-year member of Ephrata Lodge #665, was laid to rest on Friday morning, June 27, 2008. Pa left behind two sons, Harry, husband of Marian (Gockley) Roseboro, and Ralph, husband of Ann (Myer) Roseboro, along with five grandchildren, Daniel, David, Melissa Voler (Michael Roseboro’s sister), Erik Snyder, and Michael Roseboro, along with thirteen great-grandchildren.
He was preceded in death, said the obituary Michael Roseboro likely wrote, by a daughter, Mary Ann Snyder.
Angie Funk made it. There she stood, graveside, taking part in the ceremony. When asked about her attendance later, “I knew his grandfather,” she said under oath, as if they had been old friends.
As the proceedings went forward, Angie became incensed when she saw Jan kiss Michael, but she could do nothing about it. That kiss upset her deeply, she said later, and also made her jealous.
Nonetheless, after the ceremony, Angie walked away without saying anything.
For the next several days, heading toward the end of June, Angie and Michael kept up the sexual pressure on the relationship, meeting to have sex, talking dirty on the cell phone, texting each other what was dozens of times per day, and meeting again inside the funeral home. (She never mentioned “the kiss” to Roseboro in any of her e-mails.)
On June 30, a Monday, Angie e-mailed Michael, saying how glad she was that “we had [last] Saturday.” The “whole world disappears,” Angie explained, when she was with her man. The relationship was steaming along at breakneck speed now; the sex the best Michael had apparently ever had. What had been a former mark, a piece of prey, was now an obsession he could have whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Love Her To Death Page 14
