TT Spalding - Maggie's Story

Edited by Angel Love.

Both Bruno and Polly were part of TT and Maggie's past. We've met both of them now but the story of Maggie is still to be told. We know that she came from a troubled past but we know little about her and her life before TT. This is Maggie's story with hints of TT's involvement. But his is a story for later.

Maggie's Story

I had to do what I planned in spite of the pain. He had just left after one of the more savage beatings for whatever it was that made him angry and I knew I had only an hour or so before he would call or actually come back to apologize once again. By then I had to be gone, gone for good. There was no turning back this time. He would know that I had told someone else about the beatings, the savagery and the absolute brutality of his fists. This time was the last time. No more! Never again!

I took the camera and went into the bedroom to the full length mirror. I stood in front of it and stripped off my clothing. My slacks, top and underwear. I folded them neatly, turned to lay them on the bad and stepped back in front of the mirror. I looked at the new bruises already turning a dull, angry red. The ones on my ribs, my stomach and my hips. There were several older bruises, now purple or light brown on my legs and torso. There were also angry welts on my arms and wrists where he had grabbed me and held me as he kicked and beat me. None on the face where they could be seen. Oh, no. Not so anyone else would know what he did to me.

I began to take the pictures, the flash making me blink each time. I took as many as I could, careful to make sure I got my face included on each so there would be no dispute that this pathetic creature was me. I had placed the newspaper on the floor beside me so that it could also be seen in each of the photos. The date was clearly marked. Today's date. No dispute as to when this was taken. I shot the entire roll of film, opened the camera and took it out and replaced it with another fresh roll. I continued to shoot pictures until I was sure I had enough. When I was finished, I threw the camera and the first roll of film on the bed with my clothes and stood there shaking with humiliation. The pictures were the only proof I had of what he had been doing to me.

After I calmed, I began to dress again in the clothes I had removed. I took the camera and the roll of film to the camera case and put that into the suitcase I took down from the walk in closet. I had already packed it before putting it back in place. Fortunately Jonathan never noticed it had been moved. He rarely come into this closet since it was mine except to check to see that I kept it organized as he desired. Otherwise he didn't care. He bought all of my clothes and he told me what I would wear when we went out. He controlled most of my activities now.

I took the suitcase downstairs and placed it by the door to the garage. I went into the den, broke into the drawer where he kept our personal papers, found my passport and other personal documents I needed and put them into a large manila envelope along with over $2000 I had saved from the daily allowance he gave me for the household requirements. Since he paid all the bills and kept all the credit cards, I had only what he gave me. This was all I took from my marriage of four years. I took one last look around and walked out. I took my suitcase, went into the garage, found the key that he thought I knew nothing about and opened the trunk. I put the suitcase inside and opened the garage door. I started the car, backed out onto the street and drove away, never looking back.

Less than three hours later, I pulled into a driveway that led to a small motel located back off the street. I was almost a hundred miles away from home now and this motel was one few people knew about. It was almost hidden from view by a new high-rise building that had been built in the last few years. I had found it by accident one day while I was trying to find a place to stay when I decided to make my break. I had inquired and found that the rooms could be rented by the hour, day, week, month or whatever. The rates were reasonable and the clerk was just pleased to know that there was one less room to worry about. I gave him a fictitious name and address but he really didn't care. I took it for a month. It used up $750 of my precious $2000, but I had to have a safe place to live.

The room was larger than I expected, painted a sad shade of yellow and had a double bed, a small table with one chair, and a dresser. The closet was small and had room for maybe ten hangers. The window looked out on the parking lot and there was a single street light outside. I unpacked my suitcase, lay down on the bed and fell deeply asleep, feeling free for the first time in years. I dreamed, and the dream wasn't pleasant. I was back and he had found out I planned to leave. He beat me again and again. I jolted awake, frightened, until I remembered where I was. Safe, for now.

I waited until the next day to take the film rolls over to a small strip mall close to where I was. I had found a photo shop there and it had one hour developing. I wanted to get the pictures developed and then I planned on seeing a lawyer. Maybe I could get a recommendation from someone here. But that was for later. I walked over to the shop and entered. Inside, I found a short skinny old man who seemed to be in charge. I took the film up to the counter and waited until he noticed me. While I waited, I looked at the array of photos behind the counter on the wall. They were all black and white and seemed to be of people of all kinds. There were young and old, black and white, foreign, women and men of all types. They were the most fascinating things I had even seen. I was staring when he interrupted me with a "harrumph".

I jerked my attention back to him and then remembered why I was there. I handed him the film. "I'm sorry. I was just looking at your pictures. They're magnificent. Ah, I'd like to have these developed in an hour. Can you do that today?"

"Says so on the window don't it? One hour photos. Not the best quality but if you're in a hurry, it'll work. That what you want?" He seemed to be looking down his nose at me which is hard when you're only about 5 foot tall.

"That's what I want. Ah, can you not look too hard at the pictures when you develop them? I'd rather you didn't unless you have to." I was humiliated by what the pictures showed and I hated to have to give them to anyone, but I had no choice.

"Need to be sure they're OK, but I don't care what's on them. I'll not nib into your business if that's what you're worried about."

"No, no. That's not it. I'm just a bit embarrassed by what they show. Please, just do what you have to. I'll come back in an hour or so if that's OK." He nodded so I walked back out and down the street. At the other end of the mall was supposed to be a lawyer's office. I wanted to check it out before going back to the motel till the photos were ready.

I went down the covered walkway toward the opposite end of the mall and found a storefront that read, 'M. Haynes, Attorney at Law' and below that a list of hours. It seems Mr. Haynes was open late on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Perfect! Once I had the pictures, I would stop in and see what I could arrange. Money was going to be the big problem. Maybe Mr. Haynes could collect from Jonathan. I knew that it was a possibility but whether Mr. Haynes would agree was another question. Well, first things first.

With an hour to kill, I decided to spend a little of my money on a nice meal. I found a small diner and went in. A cup of coffee, a burger with onions and tomato with a side of fries, and maybe a piece of pie for desert. And no fear of making a mistake. I had to remind myself of that. No one was judging me now.

* * * * *

Back at the photo shop, Max Bower was running the film through the contraption that made pictures in an hour. He hated the thing but it was what people wanted nowadays. No heart, no feeling, just speed. It was getting to be more and more of a bother to run his little shop. He had the latest equipment for sale and he did a good business in developing and selling film and cameras but he was not too keen on the new digital stuff that was becoming the rage. Maybe it was time to consider retirement, but he was alone now with nothing else to do. If he could only find someone to pass his love of photography on to.

This one hour stuff was an example. All he had to do was put the film onto a spool, feed it into a grip and close the door. Then, just sit back and wait. Only had to sit there and make sure the finished photos didn't get stuck in the chute. Didn't want to ruin a good print. But then most of the pictures were of someone's head with the top cut off, or a blurred snap of some kid kicking a ball, or some other crap. Not worth the chemicals to develop. In this case, he would see what she had. When she asked him not to look to closely, it was like a red flag waving in his face. Not look? Hell, no way he wasn't going to look now.

He sat back and waited for the pictures to start coming down the chute. He thought about the lady who gave him the film while he waited. Tall, blond, beautiful, a heavenly face and a body to kill for. Hell, Max thought, he may be old but he wasn't dead! She was a real beaut! But sad. He saw that in her eyes. A sad lady for sure. But she liked his pictures so that made him want to help her if he could. So he waited for the pictures.

As the first few came down the chute, Max saw and stood up immediately with an oath.

"Godamn! Look at this shit! Oh, God, not her. Not this sweet lady." Max now impatiently grabbed each picture as it slid down the chute and collected them. He was almost in tears as he saw the damage done to her. Had to be by a man, for sure. Any son of a bitch that did that needed to be shot. He took the last photo from the machine and put them into an envelope. He sealed it shut and put it in his cash drawer. She would be back shortly and Max wanted to talk to her. As he closed the drawer, a thought came to him suddenly. What if. . . . . .?, yeah! He considered it from all sides but couldn't find a negative. He trusted his instincts. Now, to wait.

I took a sip of my now cold coffee and checked my watch once more. It had been just over an hour and I could now go back for my pictures. I was nervous: about the pictures and what the old man would think, about what I was going to do with those pictures, and finally, how I was going to survive on my rapidly diminishing cash. With the room, the pictures, my lunch and a few other things I picked up in the drug store next door, I was down to $1216.75. If I was careful, I had enough for food and such for a month. Not much more and certainly not enough to live on without a job. Well, time enough to worry about that. Now for the pictures.

I walked calmly into the photo shop which was blessedly empty. The old man was sitting behind the counter, looking at a newspaper. When he heard the bell signaling someone entering, he rose and leaned over the counter waiting for me. He had a small smile on his face, which I was unable to interpret. Since I had no choice but to go for it, I said, "Hi. Remember me? I left the pictures an hour ago? Are they ready yet? It's been over an hour."

"Pictures are ready. Said an hour and so it's been an hour. Pictures show some things I had no choice but to notice. I had to be sure the pictures don't jam the chute. So I got to look. Sorry." He reached into his drawer and pulled out a large manila envelope. He laid it on the counter while he looked at me.

"I guess you had no choice. Can I trust you not to say anything? Please?" I was worried that he was going to say or do something. But all he did was stand there watching me. Then, he pushed the envelope toward me but kept his hand on it, making me wait. He apparently wasn't finished.

"Saw what he did to you. It's wrong what he did. No man should ever be allowed to do that to no woman. What do you plan to do? I ask, not intending any disrespect."

I saw that there was a look of concern on his face now. It was clear that the pictures disturbed him. As they would any decent human being! What to say? I had to get used to it now that I had made my decision.

"I was going to go talk to Mr. Haynes right down the mall. Do you know him? Is he any good and can he be trusted? I don't know anyone here. I'm not from here." I had to stop! I was in danger of babbling uncontrollably. I was tense and scared and not used to being on my own. Now I was.

"Mel's OK. Not the shiniest coin in the roll but he's honest, knows the ropes and he's fearless. Stupid sometimes, but not about the law. He'll do you fair. Divorce?"

"Yes. I left yesterday. I just packed and left while he was at work. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to go."

"Did right! Son of a bitch should be shot! No man should do what he done."

I wasn't aware of the tears that were coursing down my cheeks but the old man was. He watched and I could see he knew the pain in my heart. As I watched his face, he seemed to come to a decision right then and there. He straightened up and reached out to take my hand in his wrinkled, but firm, grip.

"Wanted to know if you'd be willing to take a job here with me, helping me run this shop. I'm getting older and it's becoming a burden to me. I could start you right away and we could just take our time with the paperwork. I bet you don't have a lot of money saved up."

I just stared at him, not believing my luck. How could this be possible? The first place I came to, to begin my quest, to find someone like this man, this wonderful man who saw, understood and reached out to help, not even hesitating. God must have looked down and pushed me in the right direction. For the first time since I walked out the door, I had hope.

Just that quick, I had a room, a job and a recommendation for an attorney. I told Max that I would be delighted to work for him, we shook hands to seal the deal and then Max closed the shop to walk with me down to see Melvin Haynes, Attorney. The day after I decided to change my life, I was ready to take the next step.

The meeting with Melvin Haynes was very good. He seemed to know Max very well and he welcomed me with a huge smile, and a wave to the chairs in front of a large desk, covered completely with papers, cups, broken pencils, yellow legal pads and what seemed to be various office tools like staplers and punches. How he functioned in that mess was a real mystery, but he seemed comfortable in it. He, unlike Max, was a huge man, coal black hair on his head and what I could see of his body. He had to be over 250 pounds and he stood at least six foot and several more inches. I guessed his age at around 50 but that was an estimate only. In a booming voice, he asked me if I wanted Max to leave and I told him I wanted him to stay if he would. Max smiled, patted my hand and settled back.

"OK, what can I do for you? If you're a friend of Max's, you're a friend of mine. Talk to me."

"My name is Margaret Malone DiCarlo. Everyone calls me Maggie. I'm thirty seven years old and I've been married for four years to a man named Jonathan DiCarlo. We have no children. We lived in Queens and I ran away yesterday because he beats me. Badly. For no reason that I can find. He just gets angry when he sees something he doesn't like and he beats me. I took it as long as I could but now I'm done. No more. Never again! I want a divorce and I want a restraining order on him so he'll stay away from me."

I told him the story as completely as I could. I told him of the evenings when Jonathan came home and didn't like the dinner I prepared. Or he was upset that I was out of the house when he called, or he was just in a bad mood and something I said made him angry. I had given up trying to understand why he got angry. He just did. All the time. And when he did, I became his punching bag. On the body, never the face. He threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone. He always apologized and wanted to make love to me afterwards. I never refused because when I did, it started over again.

I gave him the pictures and told him of the last time, which was only yesterday, even though it seems like it was forever ago. It was clear in my mind. "It began at breakfast. He wanted eggs over easy with bacon and toast. Toast, just beginning to turn brown, eggs with the yolks dark yellow but not hard, the white solid with no runny liquid. He wanted it perfect as always. I put three eggs into the skillet but only got two that didn't break. But I was able to get the eggs just right. I turned off the heat, put the toast in to heat and removed the bacon strips from a second skillet. I laid them on a sheet of absorbent towel and waited for the toast to come out. Jonathan came into the kitchen, moved to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee and went to the table sitting in his regular seat."

"I popped the toast out at the right instant and lightly buttered it, cutting it into two triangles as he liked. I arranged the eggs on a plate, flanked by the two strips of bacon just crisp, and the toast wedges. I looked at the plate, saw that it was perfect and sat it in front of Jonathan. He was reading the paper and didn't look down right away. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him at the table. I never ate with him, since I had to finish his meal first anyway. I relaxed and sipped my coffee."

"Jonathan put the paper away, looked down at the plate in front of him and then looked up at me. 'There are only two eggs here. Where's the third?'"

"I swallowed, almost choking on my coffee. I had forgotten that one of the eggs broke and I never replaced it! He always had three eggs! I panicked and didn't answer immediately trying to think of what to say. I was about to tell him that I was trying to be sure to make the eggs just perfectly when I was hit by the plate of eggs. He threw it at me! I jumped up, moved backward, falling over the chair to the floor. He came around the table, yanked me up by my dress and started to methodically beat me, hitting me in the stomach and ribs, over and over, telling me what a stupid cow I was. After the first few blows, I lost consciousness and didn't feel the rest. Those were the bruises in the picture. The most recent ones."

When I finished, I looked at the faces around me. They were angry faces. Faces full of fury and disgust. But for the first time, they were not meant for me! They were meant for Jonathan, not for me. A sob come to my chest and I felt the tears start. I let myself go for the first time in a long time. These faces were not judging me and finding me wanting! They understood and they cared! I cried and cried, letting my grief and frustration come out not caring that someone else saw me. I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew it meant me no harm.

When I could, I wiped my tears and got back to business. I gave Mel my passport, my marriage license and the other important papers I took with me when I left. I then told him that I had very little money to pay him and asked about Jonathan being made to pay. He nodded, said that was fine with him and to let him worry about that. We talked for over an hour before Mel told me to come back tomorrow and he would know more. I reminded him that I couldn't let Jonathan know where I was and he assured me that he would keep that a secret. The first thing to do was get the RO and go from there. I left with Max and he took me next door for lunch.

After lunch, I went back with Max to his shop where he began the process of teaching me what I needed to know to help him with the shop. He was an excellent teacher and I picked up the necessary skills very quickly. I was to work with him over the next several months until I ran the place full time. Max was to spend more time in his loft where he worked on whatever it was he did. I did ask him about the pictures on the wall behind the cash register. I had noticed them and found them to be fascinating to look at. I had no interest in photography myself but I recognized talent when I saw it. The story he told me was one that would change my life.