I was not really aware of the magnitude of my “crime” – I had no knowledge of copyright infringement. To me, if the information was out there, it was available for anyone. That was definitely not the case, as I was soon to learn.
In December 1999 we were to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary. Nicholas and Vanessa bought us tickets to Acapulco so we could recreate our honeymoon, and Vanessa paid for our hotel. The trip was a disaster. We did not touch each other the entire week, and Bill seemed remote and slightly irritable. He had undergone a second bypass operation a year before, and told me that he was impotent. I believed him, relieved that I would not be expected to have sex with him. After an uncomfortable and strained second honeymoon, we returned home to face a new era – the Year 2000.
PART FIVE
2000-2010
New Beginnings
CHAPTER ONE
The year 2000 was a brand new millennium and everyone was anticipating that their computer would crash on the stroke of midnight and for prison doors to open automatically and uncontrollably. Fortunately, none of this occurred and life went on as usual. For me, life was pretty much the same. Vanessa and Bryan had returned from Japan and were now living in New Mexico, still in the Air Force, and the proud parents of two parrots.
Nick had a job with Delta Airlines, had quit smoking, and was still going out on numerous auditions. He booked the occasional theatrical production – “Gypsy” and “Little Women,” but they paid no money. He even had the opportunity to audition for a film which would have made him a star, “Primal Fear,” but lost out to Edward Norton. His manager and agent were working hard, but it appeared there was something about Nick that was just not masculine enough, and he failed to book. Bill was also auditioning for commercials and short films, and enjoying participating in his church’s musicals.
The day I had dreaded finally arrived in early 2000 when I had to appear in court on charges of copyright infringement. I was beside myself with fear, terrified of being sent to prison for the one crime I had committed in my life.
Bill and I arrived at the courthouse with my attorney, a friend of Bill’s. We were to appear before the judge for a pre-trial hearing, with the owner of Breakdown Services, Gary Marsh, in attendance. My heart was beating so hard, I thought I would faint with fear. I was given the opportunity to plead guilty or not guilty, and I chose to admit my fault in the matter. It was my good luck that the plaintiff agreed to settle, and I was fined $10,000 and put on probation for three years. Poor Bill – he was so embarrassed having to appear in court with his criminal wife. He was afraid that his colleagues would see us and know what I had done. However, he stood by me and we took out a loan to pay the fine.
I immediately signed up to volunteer at a Cancer Thrift Shop as I was determined to get through the probation period as quickly as possible. Vanessa and Bryan, with their two parrots, came back to Los Angeles, as their service with the Air Force was fulfilled.
They asked if they could live with Bill and me until they found jobs and a house, and I agreed, happy to accommodate them, although it would be a full house indeed. In fact, we gave them our bedroom and took the spare room for ourselves. Nick, of course, had his own room, but we were bursting at the seams. Bryan and Vanessa quickly found jobs in their chosen fields and although my family was definitely close by, I started feeling alone and unhappy.
Bill had left for Europe again with his church choir for several weeks, and I must admit I loved the alone time. Not having to cook or do washing gave me extra free time to just walk or read, and I thoroughly enjoyed being on my own.
On his return from Europe, I decided to be proactive. I approached Bill one day, trying to be as affectionate as I could, and instigated lovemaking. He told me that he was suffering from erectile dysfunction due to the medication he had been taking for his heart, and that we would not be able to make love. I felt guilty feeling relief at his words, even though I had made the effort to become close to him again. Although we shared a bed, we did not touch and it was as if a stranger were lying next to me.
The year was nearing an end and my children were all happy in their new jobs. I had built a bird room for Vanessa’s two parrots and decided to buy a bird of my own. Nick and I visited a local pet shop, where I spied the most beautiful sun conure. She did the “buy me” dance when she saw me, jumping up and down in excitement. I could not resist the little bird, and went home to ask Bill if I could buy her. At that point, I don’t think he cared much what I did, and agreed. I bought Huckleberry (named for the blue-eyed cat I had lost all those years ago,) and brought her home, introducing her to Vanessa’s two parrots, Chicker and Bob.
Huckleberry 2000
The house was getting rather small by this time, what with five adults and three birds. I made arrangements to have our patio enclosed and made into a bird room. It took a great deal of my time, but I loved looking through my kitchen window and seeing the birds on their perches, chattering away. I became very attached to Huckleberry, and would take her into my bedroom and play with her for hours. Having a bird was far different from the two dogs and numerous cats we had owned in the past. She loved to snuggle up with me under the covers, and sit on my shoulder, nuzzling my neck. I had found a replacement love, and showered her with affection.
By Christmas 2000, the atmosphere in the house was definitely strained. Having Vanessa and Bryan was becoming too much work, and Bill seemed to go his own way, spending hours away from home with church activities. It was on a Sunday afternoon that I decided to lie down in the spare room with a library book.
As I opened the book, a piece of paper fell out. Idly, I opened it. To my disbelief, I realised it was a love note to Bill. My mind immediately flew back to 1973 when Bill had cheated on me before… and I had the same heart-stopping feeling of betrayal. I sat and stared at the piece of paper for a while, trying to figure out who had written it.
“Bill,” I called out. “Please come here, I need to talk to you.”
He had been in the den, watching television, and walked into the bedroom. I handed him the note, and his face went pale with the discovery. “Who is it?” I asked. “How long has this been going on?”
It was then that he admitted that he had been having an affair with the same married woman from his church choir for the past two or three years. They had spent time together on the choir tour in Europe, and had appeared together in the numerous musicals the church put on. It all clicked then. Why he had not wanted me to attend the cast parties. Why he was always gone on some errand or another. In fact, this woman had been a guest at my house for dinner only a few months prior.
I was totally numb, and asked him what he intended to do. Was he going to end the affair?
“I’d rather cut off my right arm,” he stated, looking straight at me.
It was then I knew that our marriage of thirty-one years was over.
We made half-hearted attempts to reconcile, saw a marriage counsellor, and had long conversations. At one point Bill said he would try to save our marriage and stop seeing “Caroline.” However, it took my son to make me realise that it could not be repaired. As I was sitting alone in the living room one day, Nick came up to me and said “Mom, you need to move on.” I realised he was right, and decided to try and get on with my life as a single woman.
CHAPTER TWO
We sold the house in Manhattan Beach for a great deal of money, and Bill decided to invest his half and rent an apartment. I found two houses on one lot in Torrance, and purchased the property with Vanessa and Bryan. They planned to live in the smaller front house, and I would have the two-storey home in the back.
Having a lot of money was something new for me, and I enjoyed fixing up the house and the landscaping. It felt good to have Vanessa and Bryan next door, and I wasn’t quite so lonely, knowing they were just a few steps away.
Although I often felt lonely, my time was taken up with my job and making necessary repairs to the house. I still worked for Pat Crawford,
and our offices were now in Hermosa Beach, just a ten minute ride away. I had worked for him for the past twelve years, found him a wife, and established a fine working relationship, which I highly valued.
I now had four small parrots to take care of, as well as volunteer work. I had finished my probation period working at Torrance Memorial Hospital, but enjoyed it so much that I kept on with it. Despite the seemingly full life I had, I felt as if I were slowly sliding down the hill towards old age and death.
My mother had been living in a care facility just one mile down the road, and I spent as much time as I could with her. She was approaching her ninetieth birthday, and I was making plans for a huge celebration. Unfortunately, she was constantly in and out of the hospital, and by the time the big day came, she was in no shape to party. Vanessa and I would walk down the street to visit her and bring her over to my house as often as I could.
In mid August, 2001, shortly after my mother’s 90th birthday, Nick secured a fantastic job as a Flight Attendant with Southwest Airlines. He had been living with me rent-free, in order to save his money, and I was enjoying his company. When he found out he had the job with Southwest, he was elated, and went off to Arizona to train for several weeks.
He was due to graduate as a Flight Attendant on September 11, 2001 in San Jose. Early that morning he telephoned me, waking me from a sound sleep.
“Mom, Mom, have you seen the television,” he shouted down the phone. “Turn on the television now!”
I rushed to the set, seeing the terrifying images of the Twin Towers crumbling under the onslaught of an airplane and spent the rest of the day glued to the television, watching the horror unfold.
Nick was supposed to graduate that day, but took off in a fellow Flight Attendant’s car to get far away from San Jose. It was several weeks before he was able to return to his duties as all the airports were shut down for security reasons. He was eventually able to join a base in Chicago and was able to leave home for good, camping out at crash pads while he worked.
My first year alone had almost come to an end. Actually, I had hardly been alone, since Nick had been living with me most of the time. My mother was getting weaker and frailer by the day, and asked me if she could please come to live with me. She was deathly afraid of being sent to a “home” with “all the old dollies,” as she put it.
I always wanted to please my mother, and although I was fearful of what looking after her would entail I said “yes, of course,” and she lit up, absolutely delighted. I still had not learned to say “no.”
I fixed up the guest bedroom and placed a small refrigerator in the corner so she would have access to drinks and fruit. The first day she arrived, I brought her a meal in bed, and thought that it would work out just fine. However, that very night she staggered, naked, into the bathroom, and proceeded to vomit and have diarrhoea at the same time, crying to herself. As I entered the bathroom, she stood there, without a stitch on, knocking her head against the wall crying “What will become of me?” I stood behind her, not knowing what to do or say, feeling a blind panic at the thought of the responsibility I had taken on.
After cleaning her up, I pulled a warm night gown over her head, hoping she would sleep through the night. I went to work the next day, praying she would be fine by herself. It didn’t take long before I received a frantic call from my mother’s friend, Tracy, telling me to get home right away because my mother needed me. I tore home to find my mother unable to swallow and suffering from painful reflux. She said she felt she should go back to the hospital right away. The paramedics came to pick her up, and as they carried her down the stairs, she joked and flirted with them. She was taken to our local hospital and I went back to work. The guilt of not following her to the hospital, to supervise her care, will haunt me forever.
That night, Vanessa and I went to the Little Company of Mary hospital, but my mother was in a coma. They had placed a breathing tube down her throat and medicated her with morphine. I felt sure she would come out of it, as she had so many times before, but she didn’t. I called family to come to her bedside, and they arrived almost immediately. Bill, Vanessa and two cousins stood vigil by her bedside, willing her to wake up. Nick was in Chicago and I didn’t call him. The hours went by, and I held her hand, pleading with her to open her eyes.
“Mum, I’m here,” I whispered. “Please wake up.”
The nurse put her hand on my shoulder and told me to go home. “We’ll call you if there is any change,” she reassured me gently.
Ten minutes later Vanessa and I were home. It was about 11 pm and we were about to get ready for bed when the phone rang. It was the hospital, letting me know that my mother had just died. I cannot begin to relate the feelings that coursed through my body. Guilt for not wanting to take care of her; relief that I would no longer have to; and sorrow at learning of the death of the most important woman in my life. To think that I would never be able to pick up the phone and hear her voice again threw me into a state of sadness and despair that is with me to this day. I just wish I had been able to say goodbye and “I love you,” to that dear, sweet, loving woman, and have her know we were all there for her.
CHAPTER THREE
The next three years passed by slowly. My life consisted of work, friends and my pets. I had no inclination to date, or even go out to events. I preferred my solitude and lived a very quiet life.
My cousin Jackie had been living with her boyfriend, Fred Rappaport, since Vanessa was born in 1972. However, he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer in 2000 and married her on his deathbed, making sure she was financially secure. By 2001, Jackie was still mourning Fred, but remained a staunch friend and confidante to me during this difficult time for both of us. Because I had moved from Manhattan Beach to a new area, she wanted me to make friends close by. She introduced me to Jane, a widow she had recently met, who lived a few minutes away, in Rancho Palos Verdes.
Through Jane, I made new girlfriends and started to become comfortable being on my own. Having close lady friends was a new and rewarding experience, and I enjoyed their company. Romance never entered my mind. Men were of no consequence – they hadn’t been important since before my marriage. The thought of sex was abhorrent to me, especially since I felt the years had not been kind to my body, what with having had two Caesareans. My social life perked up, and I had many lunches, dinners and movie dates with my new circle of girlfriends. Even Bill had surprisingly remained close, and we often took in a movie or had dinner together.
“I cannot imagine having to put up with a man again,” I confided to my single girl friends. “Isn't it wonderful not having to cook, clean and do their laundry? I will never get involved with anyone again. I am quite happy on my own”, I declared decisively.
I had checked out men my own age, and shuddered with repulsion at the thought of intimacy with any of them. Most of them seemed so old – many of them balding with fat guts. The idea of making love to these men was entirely out of the question. And then again, there was the matter of what they would expect. It was most likely they would want to sit in front of the television and be waited on hand and foot. The idea of catering to a man was not an enticing proposition. The idea of their bad breath, shrivelled bodies and neediness was abhorrent to me.
My friends nodded in agreement.
In 2004 Vanessa divorced Bryan because he did not want children. They parted amicably and she bought his share of their house. After he had left, we finished the repairs to her house and rented it out since she could not afford the mortgage payments by herself.
She moved in with me for a couple of years, which softened the ache of loneliness. I encouraged her to start dating again and she met a Polish man on an internet dating service. His name was Rafal, but everyone called him “Nick.” That’s all we needed – another “Nick” to confuse matters. He was extremely tall and funny, and seemed quite taken with Vanessa. I was hopeful that this romance would lead to marriage and children for her.
By July 2007, th
ings had not changed much. Vanessa had moved out and was living in an apartment near her work, and dating her boyfriend, Nick. Nicholas, my son, had bought a condo in Chicago and was doing well with Southwest Airlines. He was finally in a committed relationship with a younger man, named Lee, whom he had been with since 2004. I was happy for the two of them and glad to see them when they visited. But now I really was finally and utterly and absolutely alone.
At the end of July I decided to do something that I had always dreamed of, but had been too frightened to contemplate. I walked into the office of a local plastic surgeon and asked to make an appointment for a tummy tuck. My stomach had never recovered from the surgeries of childbirth, and I had always longed for a flat tummy. Even as an adolescent, my stomach had protruded no matter how hard I exercised. I was tired of wearing size 12 or 14 dresses, and longed to look as slim and chic as my friends.
The appointment was made and without even thinking, I decided to blow $8000 on the surgery. I felt I owed it to myself. Now I would be able to wear form-fitting and fashionable clothes. My surgeon assured me I would go from a size twelve to a four in no time. Without thinking twice, I made an appointment to have the surgery performed the next week.
All of my girl friends were supportive of the surgery, and dropped by to help me get through the post-operative phase. Jackie was constantly on the phone, and Jane and my other friends offered to bring food. Bill came by at the beginning, but he was more hindrance than help. He seemed anxious for me to start dating again, and often mentioned that I should think about it. This was probably guilt on his part and I ignored his suggestion. In fact, I once retorted snidely, “I’m married! It would not be right to date.”
No Ordinary Woman Page 24
