"We believe that too." A soft smile moved across Velma's face. "Oh, the strangest thing, the police didn't search the house thoroughly, and after they left I found a pair of socks behind the couch." She handed me a pair of my son's own striped socks, one stuffed inside the other. "The burglar must have had these on his hands, picked up a rock and smashed the panel of glass next to the front door. All he had to do was reach in and unlock it."
"You know, Velma, it's been my experience in real estate that having a glass panel next to a door is like a written invitation to a burglar."
Velma nodded. "After what's happened, Jules and I think so too. We've decided to replace it with wood."
Taking my leave, I dashed home. I gathered all Gregg's socks, took them across town and threw them in a dumpster. I bought new socks with a slightly different stripe, laundered and replaced them in his bureau just as I heard Gregg at the front door. I hurried to the foyer to greet him.
"Hi, Mom." Gregg smiled and gave me a hug.
While he wolfed down two sandwiches and two glasses of milk, I told him of the police visit. "Do you know anything about the robberies, Gregg?"
"No, I don't know anything about it and I'd never do anything like that!"
"I know you wouldn't, Honey. There's nothing to worry about. Just answer the officer’s questions as honestly as you can and everything will be fine. We'll leave for the station when you're finished eating. It's a routine matter for the police and a small inconvenience for us. I'll be right there with you. Okay?"
His response was lighthearted. "Sure, Mom. Let's go and get it over with."
At the police station, we were escorted into separate rooms. As an officer questioned me, he couldn't know my statements represented facts, not opinions. "It's true Gregg's had his share of problems," I stated firmly. "He's made some mistakes, but he's not a thief. My son had nothing to do with the robberies."
I waited as the police interrogated Gregg for three hours.
The grilling finally over, Gregg came out of the office looking pale and tired. Told to take a seat, he sat down while yet another officer took me aside. "I believe your son is guilty. There's no proof at this time, but we're going to keep an eye on him. And there's one thing you don't know. We have an eye witness who says a white male was seen running from the robbery site next door toward or into your house."
"They must be mistaken,” I protested.
After the ordeal, Gregg and I went home and rested. We heard nothing more from the Sarasota police department. Another disaster averted.
Later that evening Dick called. "It looks like we'll be in California a while longer, Pussycat."
"Will Tim be returning with you?" I asked.
"Yes, as far as I know."
I sucked in my breath. "I don't want Tim back in this house again!" I could feel my anger rising. "Gregg's just been raked over the coals for three hours by the police about robberies that your thieving buddy committed. You can't imagine what he's been through. Your sticky fingered friend even robbed Jules and Velma next door, and the police think Gregg did that, as well."
"I'll tell you what," Dick soothed. "Tim will be with us just long enough for him to make other plans. After we come back, he'll be out of the house in a matter of days. I promise you."
"Promises...promises. I've heard it before. Dick, all of this must stop! I cannot remain married to you if you continue this morally wrong and illegal lifestyle of yours."
Silence.
Then, out of the blue, Dick changed the subject. "Jen? Why don't you call that contractor friend of yours and ask him if he'd like to buy the Greco paint machine. Let's sell everything we don't need and add the money to a nest egg for something legit."
Dick's suggestion created a question in my mind. Why would Dick, who had shown an almost maniacal possessiveness and jealousy, call me from three thousand miles away to suggest I contact a former lover about a piece of equipment worth only a couple hundred bucks?"
"Do you think that's a good idea?" I asked.
"Sure. Why not? You and he were an item a long time ago. I'm not worried about your seeing him for a few minutes. Gotta run. Bye for now, Pussycat."
I dismissed the first flash of intuition that Dick had another plot in mind. So, a few days later I called the Italian and asked him to stop by to look at the Greco paint machine chained in the garage. He agreed to drop by when time permitted. A few days later he knocked at the door early in the morning on his way to work. He took one look at the paint sprayer and declined.
Another week rolled by. Dick's voice sounded cheerful when he next called from California. "What's new pussycat?"
"Not much. Oh yes, a letter came in the mail from your Mother."
"Burn the damned thing," he spat out. "She's a royal pain. I don't care if I ever hear from her again."
Taken aback by his hateful tone, I wondered what had happened to cause such an offensive response. Recently, Dick's mother had taken time off from her flower shop in North Carolina to pay us a visit. Mother and son had shown great affection for one another; plus, she had sent costly clothes to Dick and thoughtful gifts to Gregg and I.
"Come on, Dick. She's your mother. After all, how many mothers do we get? Maybe she's sick or needs your help."
"Okay, okay! Open the blasted letter later if you like."
We finished our conversation and said goodnight. I picked up Mama's letter and started reading. My eyes bulged out as I read page three:
"Son, my heart goes out to you. It must be terrible being married to a woman like Jen. I know how badly you must feel, to find out you are married to a woman who is unfaithful. It's hard to believe Jen is that sort of person. I'm terribly shocked to learn there have been so many men that she's carried on with since your marriage. You must be disgusted. It's enough to turn one's stomach to find out that Jen is out there having sex and eating men on her lunch hour. You deserve so much better, Son. Let me know what you want to do, and what happens."
My heart sank. I closed my eyes, then opened them again to stare at the letter. I read it again. How could Dick have told his mother such lies about me?
I tried to find something amusing about this newest idiocy, thinking that I supposed that eating a man for lunch would certainly diminish the drawing power of a Big Mac at McDonald's.
Perhaps more insight into Dick's mental wretchedness could be found in the filing cabinet next to the desk. Although his files were meager, they showed a combination of subterfuge, credibility gaps, contradictions and a propensity toward brutality. Deciding to make copies of everything, I pulled out a folder labeled 'manufacturer's warranties and use directions'. The way things were going, I figured I may need this ammunition in a bloody battle with Dick that could be around the next jagged corner. That was all I could think to do.
I turned off the office light, hugged my son goodnight, and went to bed.
In a few days, Dick and Tim flew in from California. Dick carried his luggage into the bedroom and started unpacking. In the privacy of our bedroom, I kissed him 'hello'. "Can I help?" I asked.
"No thanks, just keep me company." Dick smiled. "I like to do this myself. You know how I am about my clothes."
"How did it go in L.A.? I hope Saul sold every ounce."
"Yeah. That's where the money came from that I sent to Clark on a regular basis, and the dough I sent you to keep the household running."
"So glad you did." Sitting on the bed, I watched him carefully put away his clothes.
“And now that you're home, I hope this is the end of your association with Clark and company."
"Well, not quite. You see there's the little matter of the twenty thousand bucks Clark owes me. I don't have it yet and Clark's balking on the debt. I'll let you know when something pops. Let's change the subject, okay?"
"Alright, Dick." I waited until he slid the empty luggage pieces up on the closet shelf then handed him an envelope. "Remember your mother's letter that you sai
d to open. Well, there's something in it that you should see."
I watched him as he read his Mama's letter. Finished, he folded the paper and slipped it in his shirt pocket. With a sorrowful look on his face, he said, "See, I told you! Do you believe me now when I tell you she's crazy? She must have had one helluva nightmare." He shook his head and looked distraught.
Lies are like spider webs: They let the big flies break through, while the little ones get caught.
CHAPTER TEN
Farewell, My Son
"It isn't that they can't see the solution. It is that they can't see the problem."
-- G.K. Chesterton
As for Tim's unwelcome return to our home with Dick from California, I decided to have a talk with him, just in case Dick had not spoken of Gregg's close encounter with the police due to Tim's culpability. After dinner one evening, I invited him for a stroll through the tree-lined neighborhood. Tim looked at his shoes as I reviewed his dastardly way of life and the resulting distress caused Gregg and me.
"No," Tim said, looking up. "Dick didn't mention a thing about Gregg being hauled in by the police. I'm really sorry about that. And to tell you the truth, I'm tired of this way of life. I want to turn over a new leaf and I'm going to try real hard to stay on the straight and narrow. I plan to look for a job and then find a place to live right here in Sarasota."
Given Tim's past and present actions and his unacceptable explanation of why he used Gregg's socks when he broke into our neighbor's place, I wanted him gone from the house, from my family and from Sarasota. However, attempting to keep Christian principles in mind, I encouraged him to begin anew.
Not long after that conversation, Tim’s admiration of Dick there took a conspicuous decline. An ever-widening distance began.
A week later, over the dinner table, Gregg asked to borrow Dick’s truck. "It’s Friday night and I'd sure like to go roller skating with a buddy."
"I guess it's okay. Remember there's no collision insurance on it, so if you foul up, you'll be on the hook for it. One more thing. No hotfooting around. To and from the rink and your buddy's house...that's it."
"Sure thing," Gregg said. "I'll call Jeff right now and tell him that I can pick him up." Gregg stuffed the last bite of chicken and mashed potatoes into his mouth and jumped up. "I'll be careful. Thanks a lot, Dick."
"Be home by midnight, Gregg," I said, as Dick tossed him the keys, which he snatched in mid-air. He headed for the office phone and, then a minute later, we heard the door close.
Dick, Tim and I settled down for an evening of watching television. Midnight came and went and there was no word from Gregg. Tim turned in for the night, while Dick and I remained awake and alert. Like most parents, by four in the morning, I was imagining my son lying bloody and broken in a ditch. When the morning sun splashed across the kitchen counters, Dick reached for the telephone. "I'll call the police and the hospitals."
"Yes, do," I said, trying not to wring my hands.
"No news there," he reported after dialing the last number. Tim appeared in the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee and joined the vigil. By noon, I was pacing the floor.
"Don’t worry, Pussycat, I’ll find him," Dick said, patting my shoulder. "You stay here by the phone in case he calls. Tim, you wanna come along?"
"Sure, Dick. Try not to worry, Jen," Tim soothed as they headed for the door.
"Dick, you'll call me the second you know anything?"
"Of course, Sweetheart." His voice held compassion and understanding. I felt grateful that my husband stood ready to take action.
Four hours later, I heard voices shouting from outside the house. Dashing to the driveway, I felt instant relief flood over me. My son was walking toward the front door with Dick and Tim. But while my car sat in the driveway, I noticed that Dick's truck was missing.
It was then that I saw that Gregg's face was all red and blotchy. Dick had a gash above his right eye, and fresh blood stained the front of his shirt. Tim looked pale and shaken, as he hurried into the house with downcast eyes.
"Dick, let me help you. Gregg, are you okay?"
"Yeah, Mom, I'm alright," he said, half stumbling into the house.
As I reached to examine Dick’s injury, he pushed my hand away from his face. "You and your fucking son do nothing but cause me problems," he bellowed. "The little bastard's wrecked my truck!"
Gregg hurried into his bedroom and shut the door. Tim raced to the kitchen, gulped down a glass of water, and left the house on foot. Brooding with anger, Dick reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels. Figuring it wasn’t the time to ask more questions, I busied myself in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. Later, when I brought a dinner tray to his room, Gregg smiled gratefully.
On Sunday, I still didn't know what had happened. Dick wolfed down a bowl of cereal, mumbled something about an errand, left the house and drove off. Gregg had not left the sanctuary of his bedroom since the day before. Tim avoided my questioning looks and beat a hasty retreat with a girlfriend who was standing in the foyer with car keys in hand.
Alone in the house with Gregg, I knocked on his door.
"Come in Mom. Can we talk?" Gregg sat on the edge of his bed with swollen cheeks. I sat down next to him and waited.
"Look, this was all my fault for disobeying Dick. Jeff and I bugged out early from the roller skating rink and decided to cruise the beach and try to pick up girls. That didn't work so we spent the night swimming, then fell asleep on the beach. By the time the sun came up, I figured it was too late to call you, that you'd be asleep. I guess by then I was so bleary-eyed I wasn't thinking straight."
"Did you and Jeff have anything to drink?"
"No. Not that we didn't try. But no one would sell us beer. So anyway, when we left the beach, I started hot-rodding around curves. I made the first one okay but not the second. I lost control and slammed into two poles. Jeff's head hit the windshield and the steering wheel hit my chest. It hurt and knocked the breath out of me, but in a couple of minutes, I could get out of the truck. I ran to the nearest hotel and called an ambulance, then ran back to the truck. I turned around and saw Dick. I couldn't believe my eyes. I have an accident ten miles from home, and Dick's right there on the spot like he appeared out of a puff of smoke. That really scared me on top of being frightened about Jeff.
"Then Dick started hitting me, and, well...another guy from the group of people who had gathered around the accident ended up trying to defend me by hitting Dick. That's how he got the cut over his eye. I called Jeff today and he's okay. He needed four stitches on his forehead, which he said hurt like heck! I really messed up this time, Mom. I'm really sorry about everything."
"I'm sure you are, Gregg," I said, patting his arm. "The most important thing is that neither you or Jeff were seriously hurt. You'll be glad to know that Dick's cut didn't need stitches; a butterfly bandage did the trick. How does your chest feel today? If it's worse, we'll have to see a doctor."
"It's just bruised and a little sore. I'm sure it'll be okay."
"Alright, Hon. But as you probably know, Dick's truck is totaled and he says you'll have to pay for it. I know how long it's taken you to save the thousand dollars in your bank account, but Dick says you owe him at least that much, and probably more."
"I know, Mom." Gregg let out a long sigh, "It's my fault and I'll have to pay for my mistake. I'll give him every penny I have."
We stood and hugged. "Your Guardian Angel must have been watching over you, son. Count your blessings that it's only money that's been lost. Trucks can be replaced. You cannot."
On Monday morning, Dick left for the day, Gregg went to school, and Tim, now wheel-less, lingered over the breakfast table, volunteering his perspective on Saturday's incident: "After we left the house in search of Gregg, we made a wide sweep around Sarasota, ending up on Ledo Key. Dick wanted a drink, so we were sitting in a hotel bar when we heard a crash. Dick jumped off the bar stool and said, `That's Gregg.' We r
an out to the road and saw his truck wedged between a telephone pole and a street sign right in front of the hotel. It was the weirdest thing, a wild coincidence. The next thing I knew, both Dick and Gregg were running toward the truck about the same time. Gregg had actually come into the same hotel where Dick and I were drinking to call an ambulance. Gregg turned around and looked shocked when he saw Dick, like he had seen the devil himself. The other kid sat in the truck holding his head. He had hit the windshield and his forehead was bleeding. The windshield was smashed and the whole truck was caved in on both the driver and passenger sides. I thought at the time what a lucky break those poles weren't any closer together, otherwise both boys would have been killed for sure."
"Thank God!" I exclaimed.
He nodded. "Yeah, they were lucky, alright. At that point, Dick started yelling at Gregg and in a few minutes, the other kid's folks drove up. The mother was crying while they put the kid in their car and took off for the hospital. He looked like he needed a few stitches, that's about all. The whole time Dick's still screaming at Gregg like a crazy man and calling him names I don't even use. The ambulance pulls up and Dick waves them on, telling the emergency crew that the one who's been hurt is already on the way to the hospital, and what the fuck took them so long to get here?
"Then Dick grabbed Gregg by the back of the neck and started slapping him across the face, hitting him on one side of the head then backhanding him on the other side. I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen to me. Dick had four or five drinks in him when all this came down, so seeing his wrecked truck put him in a real nasty mood. He kept hitting Gregg and soon a crowd began to gather. One guy says, `stop beating up on the kid, the youngster's shook up, man! Can't you see he's just been in an accident? Ease up buddy, you shouldn't be doing that right now'."
"Dick turns to the guy, who happens to be shorter, smaller, and older, and says: `Look, unless you want some of the same, stay the fuck outta my face and outta my fucking business.' Dick paid no attention and went back to hitting and cussing Gregg. By then Gregg's reeling. By this time, you could see that everybody in the crowd thought Dick was a wacko son-of-a-bitch. The other guy butts in again and says, `Look buddy, I don't care whether the kid's wrecked your truck or not. He's almost in a state of shock, so lay off.'"
Tyranny of a Lover...Diary of the Wife of an Undercover informant Page 11
