[Adventures of Anabel Axelrod 01.0] A Date With Fate

by Tracy Ellen

  Yes, Crookie and I were tight- until he got hitched.

  Crookie dated Cheryl for only a brief, few weeks before they went to Vegas on a weekend trip and came back married. Not my idea of a fun surprise but since the deed was done, I could only wish the best for Crooks. I kept my true opinion of his bridezilla to myself as it would do no good to discuss my suspicions.

  But from the beginning Cheryl didn’t fool me. She’s a female most kindly described as a selfish user. We’ve all met her type. Cheryl was sure she deserved everything in life while doing absolutely nothing to earn it. Highly destructive soul-suckers, women like her use sex and emotional manipulation to live off some poor schmuck. The schmuck was usually intelligent enough to make tons of money, but inexperienced enough to fall for the machinations they initially mistook for love.

  Crookie is a kind and gentle man who convinced himself his amoral wife was worthy of his love, saw only her positive points she was careful to show him at first, and worshipped her like she deserved it.

  Of course his new wife hated my guts. She proceeded to make Crookie’s life miserable until we gave up trying to stay friends in the face of her jealousy. Crookie was such an inexperienced man and no match for Cheryl’s manipulations. He innocently emailed me the truth of how she threw fits if he even mentioned my name after they were married. He was so upset by this behavior in the woman he was convinced was perfect, and had been so happy to be in love, I had sincerely wished him the best and let go of our day-to-day friendship for his sake. I had no wish to rock their marital boat.

  Crookie and I hadn’t seen each other much more than three times in the last two years. We talked briefly on the phone, or shot the occasional under the radar “I’m still alive” text quickies, but that had been the extent of our communications until this morning.

  I reached across the table and linked my hand with his, squeezing. Now his eyes were glistening behind his glasses, but I ignored this. “Tell me.”

  He did. Once the floodgates opened, Crookie couldn’t stop talking. He must have been keeping all this dammed up for the last two years, miserable and alone.

  He caught Cheryl cheating the first time six months into their marriage. Cheryl blamed being so lonely because Crookie worked too much as the reason.

  It never stopped from there, and somehow it was always Crookie’s fault, or somebody’s fault- just never hers. I was so bummed listening to my friend. Seeing the shell of a man Crooks had allowed himself to turn into by not getting rid of Cheryl immediately after the first infidelity made my stomach hurt, and seeing him caught in her web because he loved her was so not my idea of a fun time. His voice droned on in a monotone of crushed hopes and dreams, as he recited how his lovely wife was always the wronged party in some scenario while she continued wreaking emotional havoc by telling Crooks how much she loved and needed him.

  Love, for the lack of a better word, is the strangest and most inexplicable emotion to me. Like many sane people, I am honestly afraid of the concept of even “normal” love, much less getting tangled up with a person suffering an extreme psychological disorder.

  Being a normal couple “in love” might be fantastic, but I’ve observed that eventually most people settle in, become bored, and take love for granted. And then the strangest thing happens. It’s as if couples assume they are supposed to become bored and take love for granted. They live out the rest of their lives this way.

  How could the excitement of two or three fantastic years together at the beginning ever be worth the resulting lifetime of the ongoing monotony called “being in a committed relationship?”

  I don’t think I am stupid or cynical, or against love or marriage. I can see where love’s exhilarating, wonderful, and delicious. I would love to believe in love lasting a lifetime. It’s just that after years of observation, my conclusions are that being committed until death do us part might very well kill me. Love and commitment appear to be two extremely different concepts, and not the couple we are taught to believe go hand-in-hand so naturally.

  Crookie would be the first to tell me scientific research suggests falling in love is a biochemical process in the body responding to cues from our glands. In our brains, the hypothalamus signals our pituitary gland to open the free bar and pour shots of dopamine, nor epinephrine, phenyl ethylamine, estrogen, and testosterone into the bloodstream. We don’t stand a chance against wanting to mate when the incredible euphoria of that chemical cocktail is running amok throughout the body. Phenyl ethylamine’s a natural amphetamine. Our sneaky bodies are getting us high, encouraging us not to eat, and telling us we don’t need sleep. We can live on love.

  After a long enough time period of this incredible euphoria, when you’re good and hooked, our glands get cracking again. Our bodies then begin to produce the hormones oxytocin and vasopressin to calm us down, to normalize us, and to get us back into the swing of daily life. We can eat and sleep again. We now need air to breathe because anybody with a brain knows that man can’t live on love alone. Our body’s chemist says we should now be content to bond in “roommate love” for the next thirty-forty-fifty years. Hey, grow up and be mature—the honeymoon can’t last forever, right?

  I agree with my body’s bartender. I don’t think it can, either

  My friends say there are many benefits to being in love and part of a couple. They say life can be just as monotonous and lonely when single.

  This is true.

  They say you learn to accept the boring and mundane as a way of life in exchange for the benefits.

  This I don’t get.

  The words boring and mundane have me envisioning a bunch of miserable lifers moping at a factory job. They’ve been slaving away their whole adult life at a job they’ve admitted they haven’t liked for a long time. They’ll carry on being miserably bored, unhealthy victims in their lifer jobs and gripe to anybody who will listen, but by God, they’ll have health and vacation benefits.

  My friends assure me, as they take their separate vacations and pursue their separate friends and hobbies, that they’re as happy now with their marriages at five, ten, or fifteen years, as they were at one year. They’ve just grown and it’s a different kind of happiness. According to our body’s chemical engineering, they aren’t wrong.

  My friends tell me as a couple at least you aren’t alone. You have someone to share your life with- for money, sex, affection, moral support, household chores, to cook for and eat with, the bills, the kids, the vacations, and old age.

  I don’t tell those friends what I think of their marriages or committed relationships. What do I know what makes them happy? I get that the general idea is to grow old together having shared all those small and large moments of a lifetime. I get that in your forties-fifties-sixties those couples will sit outdoors in individual claw-foot tubs. They’ll hold hands across the grass. They’ll relax overlooking a pond on the edge of a forest; after popping a blue pill and waiting for life to kick back in.

  Unfortunately, hanging around ninety-nine percent of the people around me that are happily committed, roommate love couples only reminds me that stereotypes are out there for a reason. Those are the solid marriages, too. They’re not the truly miserable marriages like Crookie’s with the extra problems of sexual or emotional infidelities, and mental or physical health issues.

  From what I’ve seen of long term relationships with my own eyes, an old idiom regularly spouts off in my head like a nervous refrain, “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

  If humans truly want to attain, and maintain, happiness, I’ve often wondered if we wouldn’t be smarter to treat romantic relationships like we do our cars, and trade them in every few years for a newer model more suited to our evolving individual tastes and lifestyles.

  I fervently hope I never have to learn the answers to any of these questions.

  Reining in my AWOLing brain, I gave Crookie my full attention again at his next words. “Two months ago, I sunk to new low depths. I decided to spy on Cheryl
down here when she was coming to visit Tina, her sister.”

  He paused, and kept his eyes on our loosely joined hands. His free hand was nervously opening and closing the lid of the peridot ring I always wore on my left ring finger. Trust Crookie to notice the miniscule hinges off to the side of the emerald cut stone. The antique silver ring was a gift from NanaBel after a venture to Italy. It’s called a Borgia ring because the gem stone top opens to one side revealing a tiny secret compartment purportedly designed to carry poison. I carry a breath mint in mine. Hiding my amusement, I amended that thought because Crookie had absently removed the mint, sniffed it suspiciously, and then popped it into his mouth.

  He peered up at me and observed out of nowhere, “I am always so amazed when I see you in person and realize how petite you are compared to how I think of you. I could snap your finger like a twig, it is so delicate.”

  “Geez, that was such a totally,” I pulled my hand back and securely latched onto my coffee cup with both hands, “creepy Crookston thing to say.”

  He laughed with me, but sobered up quickly. “Before I left for work that Friday morning back in September, we were fighting again. Cheryl informed me she was leaving for Northfield to stay for the weekend.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, leaving it standing on end. “I have to say, things were so terrible by then it was a relief to hear she was going somewhere for a few days, you know?”

  I nodded, and then took a big swallow of coffee to not say anything else. And then another. He didn’t need me adding to his misery by questioning why the hell he stayed with that hooker as long as he had.

  He took a small drink of his coffee, too. I fondly watched him precisely wipe off his mouth with the precisely folded napkin. “After thinking about it all day, I decided I was going to get the proof she was playing me like I’d suspected for months. I knew it was true that she was, but I needed to see it for myself. That was my thought process. Probably the scientist in me needed the hard data to accept the cold facts.” I smiled sadly in agreement. “I drove down here and arrived about ten o’clock. I went directly to Tina’s street. Do you know her, Anabel?”

  “I met her once at a party a year ago.” I made a face. “She was really wasted on something and hanging on some dude I didn’t know.”

  “That sounds like Tina. Listen, I will hurry to finish my story because I know I am taking up your time. This probably was not how you planned on spending your Saturday morning, right?”

  He looked so morose and miserable. I got up and put my arms around him, rubbing his back.

  “You’ll always be my friend, Crooks. You did right coming to me because I always have time for my friends. I’m glad I was home to answer your rude buzzing.”

  He mumbled a “sorry about that.” He wrapped his long arms around my waist nearly twice and held on, burying his face against my, for this particular moment in time only, maternal bosom.

  I stood there rocking us slightly and stroking his head. He was quiet for so long that I started to worry he was silently bawling. Then he turned his head, and I was relieved when he spoke quietly with no trace of tears.

  Sensitive woman that I am, I hate it when men cry. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

  “When I got near Tina’s, I parked down the street and walked up to the house. There were a few lights on and a couple of parked vehicles in the driveway. One was Cheryl’s BMW; the other was a red truck I suspected was your brother’s. It had a white logo on the door, but it was too dark out to decipher the writing.” His head rose and fell with my deep sigh and he patted me in comfort this time. “I walked right up to the front bedroom window and looked in through the curtains. Cheryl was with a man on the bed.” He made a choking, scoffing sound. “I finally had my proof in the flesh, all right. I did not even have to break a sweat figuring it out. Shit.” He paused a second. “Anyway, I could not be totally certain from the angle, but the man was blonde and approximately the size of your brother.” Crookie looked up at me, his face anxious. “I need to know if he was the man I observed with Cheryl. He is my only clue to go on. She has not been in contact since that night, Anabel, and I’m really fucking worried now.”

  Hearing Crookie swear so much this morning was almost as alarming as his story. He normally spoke very properly, hardly using contractions, much less curse words.

  I pulled back in disbelief, my hands on Crookie’s shoulders. “What do you mean ‘worried now?’ Didn’t this happen two months ago in September?”

  “Correct, but I left immediately after seeing her in that bedroom. I called her cell from my car on the way home and it went directly to voicemail.” He choked out another bitter laugh. “She was otherwise occupied, remember? I left a message telling her not to bother coming home because I was divorcing her. From that moment on, I would not be speaking with her again, except through our attorneys. I told her not to attempt to get her belongings because the locks would be changed on the doors of our house. I was finally, irrevocably done with her.” His eyes were cold behind the reflection in the lens of his glasses. This was a grown-up Bob Crookston I was gazing back at; no more illusions of love clouded his vision. “I did have all the locks changed immediately that next morning. I paid a hefty premium to have the job done on a Saturday, too. I retained a divorce attorney immediately, and followed every step he outlined for my situation.”

  Crookie gave my waist a shake in emphasis. “Do you know what, Anabel?”

  “What, Crookie?”

  “It felt fucking fantastic.”

  We both laughed a little hysterically at that statement. Man, I couldn’t blame him for any retaliation he took to nut up at that point. In fact, I cheered him on wildly for remembering he had a set of balls after being so systematically emasculated.

  His next words made me stop smiling. “Cheryl has not called once. Neither has her attorney, if she has one. Tina finally called me back a few days after all that happened. She made Cheryl leave her house that same Friday night when she got home from her job because they got into a screaming match.” He snorted, saying dryly, “Apparently, Cheryl drank Tina’s liquor. Tina has not spoken with Cheryl since that night around eleven. She said good riddance, as far as she was concerned.” Crookie paused and started to drink his latte, then stopped. “Could I please get some water, Bel? I am not a coffee drinker.”

  I chuckled. “Sure.”

  I went to the fridge behind the bar and brought us back two bottled waters, my brain buzzing over what Crookie had just related. I sat down and we drank some water in contemplative silence for a minute.

  “Has she taken any money out of the ATM or used any credit cards since then?”

  He shook his head. “No credit cards. She withdrew several hundred dollars before going to Tina’s on that Friday, but nothing since. She also has money at her disposal in the checking account I left open. I have been depositing a regular stipend on my lawyer’s advice for Cheryl’s living expenses, but no money has been withdrawn.”

  A frisson of foreboding ran through me.

  Crookie sighed. “I know this seems strange that I am only now getting anxious she has not been in contact, but you have to know Cheryl. She would think nothing of stringing me along, not answering her cell, and trying to heighten my worry by disappearing.” Crooks abruptly stood up, pacing back and forth in the aisle in front of our table. “It has been great having her gone. I have thrown myself into work on a big project and have not even thought about her for a week or two at a time.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands while making a growling noise. “This is so messed up. I do not have a clue where she is, I do not care where she is, yet I know I need to find her so I can move on and get the damn divorce.”

  I thought over what he had revealed for a few seconds. “I can tell you this, Crooks. She is not living with my brother.” I frowned. “What about other friends and family? Nobody’s heard from her or seen her?”

  Crooks scoffed. “What friends, Anabel? I used to buy her stories that other wome
n were jealous and mean to her. Tina is the only other family.” Sighing tiredly, he sat back down; long legs sprawled out in the aisle while his eyes stared up at the ceiling. “You did not like Cheryl from the beginning, did you?”

  “No.” I made a moue at the memory. “You married her before I could talk sense into you. I doubt I could have made you see reason, but I really regret being gone on vacation right before you lost your ever-lovin’ mind and eloped.”

  He angled his head to the side and smiled a little. “I appreciate your honesty. It’s refreshing, that is for sure.” He smirked, and it was a look I would be happy to see erased from his repertoire of expressions. It spoke of hurt and rejection. “If anyone could have convinced me to slow down, it would have been you with your outstanding reasoning capabilities.”

  “Cute. When you didn’t listen to reason, Oh Ye, of Little Faith, I would have laid a smack down on you.” I shot him a sly smile. “I would have driven you far away and straight into the arms of a talented prostitute with a heart of gold. Yep, I would have locked you up with Goldie for a few days, or weeks, to compile raw data for scientific comparison.”

  After Crookie’s indignant guffaws died down, I tapped my fingernail on his upturned palm resting on the table. “Seriously listen to me, old friend. It’s not your fault Cheryl is what she is. You fell in love, you trusted, and you believed her to be the woman she pretended to be.” I spoke softly and soothingly stroked his arm. “It’s so her loss. You are such an amazing man, and any woman would be lucky to be loved by you. Why, Snookie-de-Crookie, I’d scoop you up for myself, if I didn’t know for a fact that you recite the periodic table out loud while having sexual intercourse.”