Lisa Djahed - Bee Stanis 01- The Foolish Stepmom

by Lisa Djahed

  “Plus, I found a home address.” “WHAT? Really!”

  “Yeah, I did the reverse phone look up on Bev’s number, I’m going to swing by there on my way home tonight-it is only about three miles from the house.”

  “Honey, don’t you think you should call Officer Krumpke, I mean, Nunez with this stuff.”

  “I will, I will, I just want to see for myself what’s what.”

  “Allright baby, I have to run.” “Love you”

  “Love you more.” We ended each conversation the same way. It wasn’t that Ben Stanis (short or Americanized from Stanislov) was the perfect man, but I regularly called him “the Best Husband on the Planet.” In reality, I’m married to a thrifty 46 year old car salesman who is Russian, which means he’s foreign-born, quick to anger, conservative beyond belief, he’s obsessed with playing pool (2 nights a week now), has indulgent parenting skills, is neglectful of his extended family and tends to offend people when he walks into the room and says “the king is here” (he really does this). He smokes too much, likes his vodka and wants to eat and sleep on his days off. Oh and doesn’t take out the garbage. So why am I continually in a state of bliss with him? Because I have the best husband on the planet. From my end of it, I have a husband who will walk to the ends of the earth for his family, pays 75% of the bills, works until his knees drop, treats me like a queen, has the heart of a lion and angel. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met. He respects me completely, is entirely committed to fidelity, and weeps and laughs at the drop of a hat— he takes care of all “house” related things (eventually) and on some days runs the entire little kingdom. He regularly compliments me, tells me I’m the best wife on the planet, is so appreciate of everything I do it can get sickening at times, one year he bought me a car, the next replaced our roof and got me new appliances. I’ve never been happier in any relationship. How do you take a flawed (and real) man and turn him into the best husband on the planet? it is simple. You let him be the man he is, you compliment him, feed him, take care of girly things and let him take care of manly things. It’s a bit of a knock-off from the 50s housewife thing, but dang, I look good in heels vaccuming the floor (not that really do that, but it IS a bit of a fantasy of mine). I’d love to stay home and cook and clean all day. it is funny, I grew up an ardent feminist and now my sole ambition is to be the good stay at home wifey-woo. Go figure.

  Plus there is the whole intercultural thing. Ben’s been in America for about 20 years and has almost completely lost his accent and like many immigrants, loves everything American. it is funny so many conservative talk shows berate immigrants as “taking” from Americans: jobs, money, resources but I’ve never seen a more pro-American group than my in-laws. They love America. Beer, baseball, hotdogs, voting, scandals. You’ve never seen a bigger fan of American Idol than my hard hitting Russian husband. I’ve literally seen him weep over a good patriotic ballad. But it is also what makes him distrustful of cops. Where he comes from all cops, all officials are corrupt. He can’t get it through his skull that you can’t simply buy your way through the legal system. Which is why he is always so gung ho to conduct his own investigation.

  It is fun to watch him get jazzed up and play amateur sleuth - I guess that makes me his goofy sidekick.

  It would have been almost fun except for the fact that we knew the players and it all just made it sad. Poor Jesse, three days in jail, remanded to the state until they can “find” his mom. Drew’s memorial service was scheduled for Saturday and they weren’t even sure if Jesse would be able to come.

  We had talked to Jess twice so far this week and he definitely seemed worse after the second time when we had to tell him we couldn’t get a hold of his mom, that it seemed she was missing. He was stuck in some bad limbo land. And had even said: “I don’t think I can make it in here, ” in a very small boy kind of voice.

  “Liz, I can’t find my Ipod.” Julie burst in slamming her bag down on the dining room table. Yaz was trailing behind her rolling her eyes at the antics of her sister.

  “How are you Julie, Yaz, how was your day?” Gritting my teeth at the obnoxiousness that is Ms. Jules.

  “Did you NOT hear me, I can’t find my Ipod!”

  “Did you leave it in your jeans? The jeans that you washed the other night?” I knew the answer to this since I found the Ipod, washed, the next day in the washing machine. Rather than yell at her for ruining it, I chose to do what all evil, I mean, good stepmoms do, simply wait for her to notice. And as I asked her I pulled it out of the junk drawer and handed it to her. This was the second IPOD she ruined, this time, at least, it was her mom who had bought it for her, even after we asked her not to saying that Julie was clearly not responsible to have one. Serves her right.

  “Oh crap, crap, crap, crap”

  “You don’t use that language in this house.” She knew better. “I’ll use whatever language I want” as she stormed off dramatically. I felt my temperature rise and needed to calm down. I looked down at my dog, my sweet dachshund who looked up at me with anticipation, was I going to yell?, or drop some food down for him? Was it time for a walk? I could see all these thoughts race across his face. Deciding to reward the only good kid in the room I walked up to Yaz, took her in my arms.

  “Honey, sorry about that, your sister gets a little angry. You know we don’t use bad words in this house, right?”

  “I know. I don’t use that kind of words,” my little one said. Or semi-little one.

  “That’s right, cause you are a good kid.” Implying that Julie was bad. Probably not the best psychological remnant to say about her own sister but at that point I was done caring.

  I figured starting dinner was my best bet and being the good kid she was Yaz helped me. She was so sweet, it is like she carried the burden of her bad older sister and needed to work it off. Like penance. I almost felt guilty for how much I enjoyed little Yaz cause I certainly didn’t enjoy Jules.

  After a bit, I heard the garage door and Bear, our dog, barked meaning that Ben was home. Finally. I spritzed myself and ran to meet him at the door, hiding, as usual, just off to the side. It was a little game we played every day. He’d come sneaking in and say “where’s mama?” and our dog usually pointed out where I was. I jumped out and hugged him.

  “Hey baby, welcome home. Did you find her? Bev? Did you go by there” I asked excitedly.

  “Oh no, I’m telling you right away, cause the plot thickens as we speak,” he said ominously, teasing me. I ran after him and tickled him on his side: “What does that mean, TELL ME!”

  “Nope, not until I have my beer and have a cigarette.” He said teasingly back. I ran to get him a beer and brought it to him. He dramatically took his time getting settled into the front porch with this cigarette, taking it out slowly, lighting it slowly, and I was bouncing up and down on the second chair.

  “Come on, come on, Come on!”

  “Well, as you know, I looked up Bev’s address on the computer. I stopped by there but she wasn’t there. But guess who was?”

  I was ready to jump out of my chair, “who???” “Pam.”

  “Pam?”

  “Red-haired Pam that Drew was dating.” “What, why was she at Bev’s?”

  “Turns out she owns the house and was renting the mother in law suite out back to Bev.”

  “What?? They KNOW each other?”

  “Apparently so, doesn’t that seem extra weird, that they EACH were involved with Drew?” He was puffing dramatically on his cigarette clearly enjoying the gossip of it all.

  “I can’t believe that. If Pam knows Bev why would she be involved with Drew?”

  “Pam brushed off the whole Bev thing, said she hadn’t seen her, I guess they didn’t get along-so maybe they didn’t know each knew Drew or maybe they did and didn’t care. But she spent most the time talking about Drew. She was pretty broken up. She had a bunch of info on the memorial service, I guess she’s arranging it.”

  “That seems weird, they only knew each
other for a short time. They were dating what, 2 months?”

  “Yeah, I guess it does seem weird.” He added. We both paused to dissect this particularly strange turn in the story.

  I guess it was time to turn to less interesting things. “Honey, Julie swore at me, well didn’t swear but said crap, repeatedly.” I almost hated to bring it up considering that he seemed in a good mood and I hated to ruin it because of some teen antics. BUT she was his daughter and he needed to go sort her out. Luckily after a particularly nasty fight last spring where I stormed off in my car to get away from Julie’s nastiness I had pretty much disengaged. Which is a fancy word for stopped giving a shit. I ended up in a car crash that night, because I was upset. I could have hurt myself, my dog, the other people in the car, all because some teen snot nose didn’t want to visit my parents for the night. I had stormed off, determined to go to my parents without them all, I was crying and shaking and rear-ended an off-duty cop who was quite upset and who got more upset with my upsettedness. It turned into a ridiculously awful night because I let her get to me. It was then I realized that it was her or my marriage. I chose my marriage. Since that night, I let Ben take the lead on any confrontation with Jules. It makes things easier for me, and keeps our, mine and Jules’ interactions to a minimum. She gets what she wants, Daddy’s attention, I get what I want, a peaceful marriage. It’s a weird, stand-offish win-win but it works.

  “I’ll talk to her.” Was his only response. I knew he’d do what needed to be done.

  Later that night, after dinner (and only a few jabs from Jules about not eating such and such) Ben got back on the computer to check on Jesse’s status. They had been scheduled to have a hearing to determine where and how to hold him. He hadn’t technically violated his house arrest unless his pee test came back positive but they didn’t have anywhere to put him, seeing that he was under Drew’s supervision and currently Drew wasn’t supervising anything except the inside of a coffin.

  “OH MY GAWD!” is alls heard and I rushed into the computer room to check.

  “What?!?”

  “They are charging Jesse with murder, first degree.” “What?!?”

  “It is right here.” As he pointed to the register of actions on the computer and flipped back towards the detailed charges.

  D I 11/02 61 3

  ARREST AFDVT:

  Chg: 782.04 Murder. First Degree Felony

  “Oh my god, they think Jesse killed Drew. There is just no way. They must have come back with something from the autopsy. How do we find out?” I was thinking out loud while my heart was pounding. I just didn’t believe it. There was no way Jesse would hurt Drew. Maybe accidentally.

  “I think it is time to call Officer Krumpke.” Said my oh-so-smart husband.

  Latest breaking news indeed.

  Chapter Four

  Turns out, we didn’t have to wait for a call back from Officer Krumpke at all. Jesse and Drew’s manner of death were all over the news that next morning.

  Troubled teen arrested and tried as Adult in Murder of Father

  PALM BAY-An eighteen year old boy will be tried in adult court on charges including first-degree murder in the death of his father. Jesse Ronald Jones faces two counts related to the October 29th poisoning death of his father. He’s accused of killing his father by feeding him Drano and sleeping pills in their home on Glencove Avenue off Emerson Drive. The cause of death was listed as homicide.

  Jones who was previously arrested for drug charges has been held at Stark’s penitentiary since he was arrested.

  Court proceedings to this point have been sealed to the public and parties involved have been bound by a gag order.

  The charges against Jones include one count of first-degree murder and one count of first-degree assault with a deadly weapon.

  It was on Channel 6 news which we turn on to watch for weather (balmly again today) and traffic updates.

  “Honey, oh my gawd, come see, Jesse’s on TV, ” yelled Ben. All three of us girls came running from various places in the house, each with a brush in hand.

  “Aww,” is what I said in response to seeing Jesse in an orange outfit being led somewhere shackled.

  “OMG,” as in OMG (Oh my god) is what Jules said, she often talked in letters these days.

  “Aww,” Yaz said imitating me. Bless her little head. We all four were stunned.

  “Drano?” I was speaking in one word sentences now. Ben kept rewinding it and replaying the same small clip so we could digest the poisoned by Drano bit. How awful. Could they really think Jesse could do that? There was no way. It must have been a mistake. This whole thing was starting to get too serious and too scary and it was starting to hurt my head and my heart. How could I have such warm feelings towards someone charged with such a heinous crime? The whole thing was making me sick, making me doubt my own self. Had Jesse really resented hid dad that much? Drano? Who does that?

  “Ok girls, time to get ready,” Ben said as he looked at me. Dang that, having to be an adult. I wanted to take the day off, go see Jesse, demand he tell me what really happened. Find out more. Dang work, dang step-kids, dang being responsible. Did the world know what was important?

  We all folded into our routine, me putting out breakfast, the girls not eating it, well, Jules not eating it, both Ben and I watched the girls get on the bus and as soon as they did a TV Van pulled up and we turned to each other and went inside and said at the same time:

  “Drano?”

  “Oh my god Ben, this is so bad. Poor Jesse.”

  “We don’t know that Jesse didn’t do it, Bee, they must have a reason to charge him.”

  “Ugh. It is just so awful.”

  “Ben, I want to go see him. I want to hear it from him.”

  “Bee, we can’t, it is not our weekend.” Meaning unless we made arrangement otherwise, the girls were supposed to be with us this weekend because god forbid we change it.

  “Can’t we ask her to take them this weekend instead, we have the memorial service tomorrow and everything, just this once, please?” Ben looked at me with a disgusted look. Both he and I knew what this meant, an actual conversation with Countess Von Stinker, or Jules and Yaz’s mom, as we called her. It was our sick little joke of a nickname. But if you met her, you’d understand.

  Ben grunted a response that meant, ok, but you do it and don’t expect a good outcome.

  After two emails, a Facebook request and one voice mail, and three fully designed posters later, I finally got a response from Countess Von Stinker, she would grant our request, just this once. Dealing with her was like pulling teeth. You would think that a mother would jump at the chance to get an extra weekend with her kids, but no, not if it meant being nice to us. God forbid she do us any favors. It was always all about her. Apparently she was preparing her seminar, something about healing with sticks and would have to cut her preparations short to see her kids early. Lordy-loo on a stick. Countess Von Stinker was a new age healer. And not that there’s anything wrong with that, she’s just a bit of a tree-hugging, astrology following hippy. Turns out though, Countess Von Stinker is a bit of a gossip hound too. The only way I got her to agree was to give her some of the dish on the whole Jesse/Drew thing. She knew they lived next door and was all hyped up that we lived next to a murderer and more importantly that her BABIES lived next to one. It was all I could do to hold back the throw up that was inching up my throat. As much as I tried to assure her that her BABIES were safe and that Jesse was NOT indeed the murderer, the more crazy she became until finally I had to bag off the call claiming a work call was coming in. How Ben have ever married and fathered two children with her was a complete mystery. I mean, for one thing, she’s a slob. Like a walking talking Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown with stuff just billowing off her, except her dirt and stink was all patchouli smelling. She walked around with a tea cup full of organic tea and brandy in a big skirt claiming that the entire world didn’t understand her and that only she held the key to the secret of the universe,
because it was in the last astrological chart she made. I really think the reason she doesn’t have custody is that she really doesn’t want the burden of raising her kids. There are so many women out there that love having babies but hate raising them, and she’s one of them. Let’s see, there was Countess Von Stinker, Mom-Hussy from next door, Taylor’s mom, and that was just in my immediate circle.

  Sure enough, like a moth to a flame, Countess Von Stinker made a scene at the drop-off that night. Eight times out of ten she did. There was the jumping on the hood of the car incident, the trying to run me over incident (yeah, that really happened, I stopped going to drop offs for a year after that) and then this:

  “I’m not sure my babies should live in your neighborhood with all the crime and murders that happen there.” Like murder happens every other day on Palm Tree lined Glencove Avenue.

  “Where the hell are they going to live then? With you? You can’t even clean up your yard or clean up after your cats, never mind children. AND they get lice every single time they come here.” Ben jumped at her bait. I put my hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off, and I knew then it was going to get ugly so I jumped to help the girls with their bags.

  “You are such a woman-hater Ben Danechka Stanislov, you know nothing about raising girls. I should have never let you take custody from me.” And here we were, at round eighteen thousand and ten.

  “At least I know how to feed them and cloth them, like a normal parent does-not like you hippy freak.”