Door Number Three

"Bev, you're not supposed to be within 500 feet of me. I'll call the cops if you don't move. By the way, how did you like jail? You ready to spend a lot more time there? You've got a felony charge pending."

I could tell she wanted to take a swing at me, but I just kept moving down the hall toward the door, and she stood there with her fist balled up and her face contorted and red.

+++++++++++++++++

That evening, I went to a local bar. Not my usual hangout, but it was a place I'd met an interesting guy a month earlier. The reason the fellow was interesting was that he had a crappy car. Luckily, Zeke was there, at his usual bar stool.

"Hey, man, I remember you. What's your name again?"

"Not important, Zeke. Hey, do you still have that piece-of-shit car?"

"Oh, god yes. I hate that thing. The wife took the good one when she ran off with that creep in a suit. Now the A/C is out on it, and I'm dying in this heat. Nobody will buy it, and it's the only way I have to get around. She took all the money, and my credit is bad."

"Do you have your insurance paid up on it? If you do, I might be able to help you unload it and get something better."

"I'm all ears, Bro."

"Suppose you were driving down, say, 38th Street and a grey cat suddenly ran out in front of you. You naturally slam on the brakes. And say a lady was following you too close and crashed into the back of your dog ass car. At anything over 15 miles an hour, you'd be totaled. If you had your head braced against the headrest and your seat belt on, you'd be okay physically. Insurance would cover your loss, and you could at least get a vehicle with A/C."

"Yeah, but what if the person who hit me got hurt. I couldn't do that to some poor schnook."

"Well, I could guarantee you that the person would be a cheating bitch of a wife, with no one else in the car, if you were to follow my instructions. What would you say to that?"

"Oh, man, that would be great! I hate cheating bitches, and I sure need to unload this wreck of a car."

"Park at the corner of 38th and Lessing by 5PM tomorrow. Look to your left and when you see a blue Miata pull out of the parking lot and head your way, get in front of her. She's a tailgating bitch, so drive a block or so until she's on your ass. Then you 'see' the cat crossing the road, so brace and hit your brakes hard. Just stay in the car afterwards, dial 911, and tell the EMS boys you think you might have whiplash. And by the way, I never met you. I'll never be in this bar again, and we don't know each other."

"Man, you're cold."

"Not as cold as the A/C in your new ride."

+++++++++++++++++

I left work early on Friday to meet my daughter at home. She had finished her classes and hurried back to town, as we had arranged on Sunday night. We talked for awhile about the divorce situation, and I played her the recording of her mother and me and our 'Door Number 3' conversation. Patty was appalled to hear the ruthless tone of her mother and the demands she made. Then I played Patty a selection of the recordings I'd made over the previous 2 years, and she heard a side of Bev that she didn't realize existed.

"What do you know about this guy she's with, Dad?"

"I know he's bad news, and I want you to stay away from him. If you have to meet your mom, make sure you're in a public place with people around. I don't know what he might do to you to try and get to me. In any case, always protect yourself if there's any chance he might be around."

"Dad, I knew you and Mom had some problems, but I never realized just how bad things were. What the hell happened to you guys?"

It was a question I was ready for, and I launched into a long monologue explaining my view of things. Here is a slightly shorter version.

"Patty, the way I understand it now, your mother and I had radically different ideas about the way a marriage should work. I've done a lot of thinking about it, and I have a theory. Someone has probably already considered what I'm going to explain to you and written it all down in a book, but this is an idea I came up with on my own.

"There are 4 basic ways that authority can be distributed in a relationship. There is the case where neither party takes control, in which case, things just drift like a ship without a rudder.

"It can also happen that both people assume responsibility. In that case, maybe they constantly fight over who's in charge, or maybe they divide things up so that each person has control over some aspects of the relationship. Maybe they are even able to share responsibility equally. That's the way I came into the relationship expecting things to be. It didn't turn out that way.

"Another way it can go is that the man is in charge. This way can work under certain conditions. I know we think of paternalistic relationships as abusive and demeaning to women these days, but if the man is totally devoted to his wife, it can be like Snow White and Prince Charming. It can be a fabulous life for a wife with the right temperament. She will live without the worry of making hard choices, assured that her man will always take care of her.

"Or, it can be like your maternal grandparents. You know how Granny was always meek as a mouse and your grandfather was heavy-handed, bossy, and occasionally cruel? That's what your mom saw growing up, and I think now that's what she expected in our relationship. So, when I tried to share the top spot with her, she began to see me as weak. The more I catered to her, the more she disrespected me.

"That brings me to the last possibility: the 'wife dominant' relationship. I think your mom decided to be the boss when I failed to live up to her 'cave man' image. She became abusive toward me. She decided what projects were going to be done, and they had best be done to her satisfaction. I can't tell you the number of times she put me on a project and then stood there dictating exactly how I was to do it. It's about the same as the number of projects that never got finished, because I could not stand to be made to feel like an abused employee in my own house. She would literally tell me how I needed to hold my hammer or screwdriver while I was building or fixing something. It was totally micromanaging and intolerable.

"You see, when the wife is dominant, there is something that goes against human nature in most cases. I don't see how that type of power distribution can ever work. A husband can be dominant and retain love and affection for his wife, but a wife loses respect for any man she dominates. I think that's what happen to us. When I began to realize how things were going and fight back, Beverly did not view me as taking charge. By that time, she had me pegged as a wimp, and when I refused to allow her to boss me, she just saw me as a recalcitrant child. I could never regain her respect. I think this divorce process is my last chance to get her respect, so you will understand my actions when you see how hard I have to make it on her.

"Patty, soon you will find someone to take as your life partner. When you work out things like decisions about having children, what work to do, and where to live, work out how you're going to exercise authority. Be sure you and your mate know what to expect, and be sure there will be mutual respect. Otherwise, you'll both be miserable, and you may well wind up in the situation Bev and I are in."

"I will, Dad. I promise."

A little later, the phone rang.

"Mr. Reynolds, this is Memorial Hospital. Your wife has been in a car wreck. She's stable and not injured too badly, but she will be with us at least overnight."

Patty and I drove to the hospital and I let her go into the room first. Patty didn't stay long, and I asked to talk to Bev alone when she came out, looking grim. I suspected there had been harsh words from Patty.

"Gee, you look like crap, Bev," I said with a slight grin. "What a shitty week for you, huh? First, you lose your marriage, husband, and house. Then you get served with a restraining order, and then arrested for a felony. Then you lose out on some money you'd counted on. Now your car is wrecked and you're in the hospital with a broken wrist and your face blasted by the airbag. I think this divorce is working out much better for me. I've even got great pussy waiting for me anytime I want it."

"Fuck you," she replied.

"Hey Bev. Where's old Sly? He didn't come to visit yet? No worries. He's probably fucking one of his other women right now." She blanched. "You probably didn't know about the others when you started all this, did you? Looks like you know now. Wonder how long it'll be before he wants you to service one of them? I never thought of you as a rug muncher, but it's probably a good skill to learn, seeing as how you'll need it in jail."

"I'm not going to jail. My lawyer will get those bogus charges dropped."

"Really? Because when I talked to that DA, he indicated he was going to throw the book at you. He's got photographic evidence, and he has an election coming up. He wants to look really tough on crime about now. I think he'll ask for the max."

She just sat there, staring.

"Hey, what car insurance company did you decide to go with?" I asked.

"Car insurance? Whattaya mean? We have the same old..."

"You mean you didn't get covered this week? When you filed on me, I dropped your car from the insurance. Surely you knew that? I mean, you demanded that your Miata have only your name on the title, so it is your responsibility.

"Honey, if you didn't get coverage this week, you're really fucked. You'll have a couple of tickets to pay, towing charges, and 3 years of payments to make. You might not be able to afford another vehicle, and that Miata will be sitting in the back corner of some junk yard for eternity, while you're still paying for it.

"But you might not need another car, since you won't have a job after you get convicted of a felony. Plus, the guy you hit may have medical bills and his insurance company is gonna come after you for damages. Holy shit. But at least you have your health care covered, right?"

"...I'm on your..."

"No, no. I dropped you off my health insurance on Monday. You didn't get that changed, either? Baby, are you screwed! Ambulance ride, emergency room visit, X-rays, doctors, that cast on your right arm, a hospital stay, after-care. That'll be thousands and thousands of dollars.

"Hey, speaking of medical, I was thinking the other day about that time you got sick a couple of years ago. Remember? I took a week of vacation time to take care of you. I held your head while you puked, and I clean everything up when you didn't quite make it to the bathroom. I called the doctor and went to the pharmacy to get you some medicine. When you were better in a week, you went right back to ragging me and calling me childish. I wonder how well ol' Sly will take care of you the next time you get sick.

"Well, I gotta go. Give Sly a call when you think he's through fucking his other whore. Have a nice life!"

Beverly just sat there crying as I left. I didn't care.

+++++++++++++++++

After that, things went along without much happening for awhile. I checked in with Lindsey from time to time. She was becoming alarmed by the hold Sly had over Bev, and in time, Lindsey drifted away from her.

Then one evening as I got home and walked toward my front door, I was tackled on the lawn. I'd been pretty cautious about possible attacks, but I didn't see this one coming. The guy, who was wearing a ski mask, knocked the wind out of me and twisted my arm behind my back. He yelled in my ear that I had to give him the shoebox of money and tell the DA to drop the charges. It was obviously Sly, and I wasn't in much of a position to defend myself. However, I still had my car clicker in my hand, so I punched the panic button and the alarm started going off. Sly got mad and clocked me on the back of my head. Then he got up and walked away fast as lights started coming on on neighbors' front porches and people began to peek out. I yelled to call 911, and in a few minutes, a cop showed up. I wasn't hurt badly enough for an EMS ride, and Sly was long gone. None of my neighbors said they could identify him, so he got away with the assault.

A worse shock happened when I called my daughter and told her about it the next day.

"Dad, I didn't want to tell you, but I had a run-in with Sly, too. Mom called me to talk. I told her we could talk, but away from the apartment. She asked me to pick her up, but when I got there, she pulled me in to sit on her couch. Then Sly came out and started talking to me. He said that since Mom couldn't perform very well in bed with her injuries, I had to take up the slack. He said she owed him, and that I was payment. I looked at her and she just looked at the floor and didn't say anything.

"Sly said, 'Tell her to do it'. Mom looked up at me and said, 'Please, baby. Go along with him. It won't be so bad, and I really need you to do this for me.'

"Then he came up to me and grabbed my wrist to make me get up. He said we were going to the bedroom. My right hand was on the pepper spray in my purse, and as he pulled me up, I hit him with it in the face. He screamed and grabbed his face, and I got my purse and tried to pull Mom out the door, but she pulled away and went to him. I yelled at her to come on, but she was helping him into the bathroom, so I left. I can't believe my own Mom tried to pimp me out to that bastard! I don't know if I could ever forgive her for that."

I was boiling, as any father would be. I thought about the Beretta Cheetah in the bedroom and almost went to get it. My daughter calmed me down after awhile, saying she hadn't gotten hurt, and to think about the future. I made Patty promise to stay at school until the trial was over and to always have protection with her. She said she'd only go out with other students and never get herself caught alone, so I gradually got myself under control.

+++++++++++++++++

Sly had told me to talk to the DA, but he didn't expect me to have the conversation I actually had. I played the recording of my daughter and her story about Sly, and reminded him that Sly had attacked me. The DA asked if I wanted to lighten up on Bev, or maybe drop the charges.

"Absolutely not! I want you to ask for the max! Bev is under the control of this snake, and the only way I can see to help her is to get her away from him. A few months in jail might straighten her out."

The DA agreed, and the trial moved forward.

+++++++++++++++++

I felt pretty secure at home and at work, but there were times when I was vulnerable. When I was going to or from the parking garage, I was open to attack. But I was most wary on my drives to and from work. Our house is located in a subdivision some 10 miles down a ranch road. For a 15 mile stretch, it's the only turn off from that road. The only other thing out there is a series of large ranches with locked gates. So, I was very conscious of the other traffic on that long drive home. I carried the Beretta in the car with me constantly.

One evening, a few days before Bev's trial was to begin, I saw the pickup's headlights behind me, about 2 miles down the road to home, and my skin began to feel prickly. Soon, I had him 20 feet from my back bumper, doing 55 mph. I punched 911 on my phone and the record button on my little recorder. As I eased my speed up to 70, the pickup stayed with me. I gave a running commentary to the 911 operator, asking her to call the detective who investigated my beating.

The pickup kept up the pressure for another 5 miles as I frantically told the operator what was happening. The pistol was out on the seat beside me, and I eased off the safety. I realized that there was a bridge ahead, over a small creek bed, with old-fashioned concrete abutments. I guessed that Sly, or whoever was driving the truck, would make his move to force me off the road there.

With a hundred yards to go before the bridge, the pickup accelerated around me, and I knew he would try to edge me off the road. I caught a glimpse of Bev's face in the passenger seat of the pickup as it came abreast. I hit the brakes hard enough to go into a slide, but as it turned out, not so hard that I lost control. The truck pulled in front of me, but he missed my front bumper due to my braking.

My car wound up sideways on the shoulder, the rear on the slope down to the creek bed. I scrambled out, grabbing the pistol, my phone, and the recorder, and headed down the steep gravel slope and under the bridge. As I headed down, I saw the brake lights on the pickup go on.

I stumbled in the dark, feeling my way under the bridge. This was a great way to meet a rattler, resting on the warm ground. But that was not the snake I was worried about at the time. I was breathing hard and trying to find the safest spot to hide. At last, I stopped and chambered a round in the Beretta. I waited, but I heard nothing for awhile.

The cell phone connection to 911 got dropped. I tried to re-dial in the dark, but being under the bridge was not the best place to get a signal. I was stuck, and I had no idea if help was on the way. At least, I wasn't hearing the growl of that pickup above.

I wasn't about to move. I told myself I'd spend the night there if I needed to. It seemed to take forever, but it was probably only 5 or 10 minutes until I heard the siren in the distance, coming from the same direction as I had. If they were that far behind, they'd never catch the pickup.

The cop car apparently stopped when they saw my car on the shoulder, and I began to head back up the slope, leaving the Beretta under the bridge. I held up my hands and asked them not to shoot. As I got near the road, I saw that there were 2 cars, and they were arranged across the road, blocking both lanes. About the same time, I heard sirens coming the other direction, and saw the pickup coming back toward the bridge. I hit the dirt.

From the ground, I couldn't see much, but I heard the pickup screech to a halt and the officers call to the driver to get out and get on the ground. The other cop cars, trailing the pickup, stopped behind it.

Soon, it was over. Bev and Sly the Snake were in custody, charged with attempted murder. I was rattled, but I went home, took a shower, and tried in vain to sleep.

+++++++++++++++++

When your spouse is arraigned on several felony counts, divorce seems to go very easily. I got lots of sympathy from the judge, and no resistance from Bev or her frazzled lawyer.

Bev was frantic to spend as little time in jail as possible. She offered, through her lawyer, to give me basically everything in the divorce for any help I could provide in reducing her sentence. During the sentencing hearing, I testified that she had been a good wife and mother until she'd come under the influence of Sly. I told the judge that, in time, I could forgive her for trying to kill me. I failed to mention that she'd almost surely cheated on my with other men and had made my life hell for years. I couldn't read her expression in the court room, and I never talked to her directly during that time.

In the end, Sly went to prison for a long time. It was not his first offense. I heartily hope he's roommates with a large, sweaty man named Bubba who thinks his ass is cute as candy.

The judge was kinder to Bev, but it would be at least 3 years until she was up for parole.

+++++++++++++++++

So, it's been about 4 years since Bev got put away. I heard from the DA's office that she was out on parole about a year ago. I kept waiting to hear from her. I know that she's not in contact with Patty, either.

Revenge is great and all, but not as great as resolution. I found that I could not help thinking about all that had happened, and so I did something I would not have anticipated. I looked up my ex-wife.