Warren Butterfield Pt. 01

It was a four-bedroom house with 2700 square feet of living space. The bedrooms were all on the second floor with a dining room, living room and kitchen on the first floor. The house needed some work, as it was already twenty years old but I could see the possibilities; however it was the view of the river that sold me.

We moved into the house in August and for the next year we spent most of our evenings, when Megan wasn't working, and just about every weekend fixing, cleaning and painting the house but we always made time on the weekends to drive down to Lexington to visit Kate.

Megan and I had even discussed the possibility of having Kate come live with us but decided that having Kate with us might be a problem when we decided to have kids. It wasn't that we had ruled it out but we didn't want to bring her to live with us and then have to put her back in the institution if things didn't work out.

***** Chapter 4 - Old Friends

We had been in the house about three years when I got a surprise visit. It was a Saturday afternoon. Megan was out shopping and I was refinishing an old dresser on the deck when I heard the doorbell.

As I walked through the house going to the front door I could see two Cincinnati Police cars parked in front of the house. I knew this couldn't be good and I could feel my stomach knotting up. I took a deep breath before I opened the door.

There were two police officers standing on my porch. One of them was facing me and the other was standing with his back to me. The officer facing me said, "Are you Mr. Warren Butterfield? Formerly of Lexington, Kentucky?"

"Yes. What is this about?"

"You are under arrest for associating with a known criminal," the officer said.

"What? Who? I don't understand."

"Do you know Buck McCarty?"

"Yes, but I haven't seen him in several years," I said as I started to worry. What the hell had Buck gotten himself, and seemingly me also, into?

"Don't lie to me Mr. Butterfield. I happen to know for a fact that you have seen Buck McCarty today."

"I have not," I said as my anger began to build. I hadn't seen Buck since my wedding how could this officer be saying that I saw him that day?

"You haven't?"

"NO!"

Then the second officer turned to face me. "Then who the hell are you looking at right now, Butter?"

"Buck?"

"Who else?"

"Jesus Christ, Buck, you scared the shit out of me."

"It's nice to see you too," Buck said. Buck then turned to the other officer and said, "Thanks, Brownie, I'll see you back at the station."

I invited Buck into the house and offered him a cup of coffee.

"I can only stay a minute. I just wanted to stop by and let you know I live here now."

"When did you become a Cincinnati cop? Last I knew you were down in Raleigh."

Buck had been an MP at Fort Bragg while he was in the army. When he got out of the service he became a cop in Raleigh.

"Raleigh was great but I wanted to come up closer to home. The only opening I could find was in Cincinnati. I've been up here for a week trying to get settled in."

"Why didn't you let us know you were moving up here? We would have helped you. Anyway, I am glad you are here. I feel much safer now," I said.

"You asshole. You know I have always had your back."

"That's true."

"No kids yet?" Buck asked.

"No. You?"

"Not married yet. I am living with the woman of my dreams but I haven't asked her to marry me yet."

"Bring her over here and I'll ask her for you."

"I'll bet you would too." Buck said. "I would like you and Megan to meet Paula though."

"Megan's off this weekend. Why don't you bring her over for a cook out tonight so I can tell her why she should get as far away from you as possible."

"I'll bring her over as long as you promise not to scare her off."

"I promise," I said. "I wonder if we could get Mace to come up with Georgia."

"Is Mace married?" Buck asked.

"No. Georgia's his girlfriend. They have been living together for about a year now. They're just over the river in Covington."

"I'd really like to see Mace. You think he would come?"

I picked up the phone and punched in Mace's number.

"Hey, Butter. What's up?"

"I am sitting in my living room looking at a big ugly Cincinnati police officer that says he wants to talk to you?" I said.

"A Cincinnati cop wants to talk to me? Why?"

"Better ask him," I said, and pushed the button for speakerphone. "Mr. Mason?" Buck said.

"Yes."

"This is Officer McCarty."

"McCarty?"

"Yes. I have some questions I would like to ask you. Could you come to Mr. Butterfield's house this evening so we can talk?"

"What's this about?" Mace asked.

"I just want to know what you have been up to the last few years."

It was then that Mace finally caught on. "Buck? Damn, man, you had me going there. What's this Officer McCarty BS?"

"I am a sergeant on the Cincinnati police force now."

"You're back in the area. That's terrific. Is tonight just for the guys or should I bring Georgia with me?"

"Bring Georgia," I said. "Or send her by herself. We'd rather see her than you anyway."

"I can believe that," Mace said.

*****

The cook out was great. Megan and Georgia were already friends and Buck's girlfriend, Paula, fit right in. Five minutes after they arrived, Buck, Mace and I went out onto the deck with cold beers and the three women sat in the kitchen, I'm sure, to complain about us.

Buck told us stories about his life in the army and his experiences on the Raleigh Police force. Then Mace announced that he and Georgia were planning to get married in the fall and he wanted Buck and me to share the duties of Best Man.

Later, after Buck and Mace had gone home and while Megan was putting some dishes away in the kitchen I sat by myself out on my deck looking down at a slow moving barge on the river. I remember thinking about how lucky I was. Megan and I had good jobs, we had a house I loved and I had my two best friends close to me again. My life had reached a plateau that I didn't think could get any better and unfortunately I was right.

***** Chapter 5 - The Long Slippery Slope

It was in the fall of 1998 that things began to change for me. I was tired of being a proposal writer and wanted to try sales. It seemed that sales would be more challenging and I could make more money in sales than proposal writing. That October I went to see Thad to talk about the possibility for moving into sales.

"Come on in, Butterman," Thad said.

"It's Butterfield, sir."

"Oh, right. What did you want to see me about?" Thad asked.

"I heard that the sales department is looking for some people and I would like to put in for one of the open positions," I said.

Thad sat back in his chair and look up at the ceiling for a moment before speaking.

"Butterman, why don't you let me have a chat with the sales manager, Brad Martin. I wouldn't want you to put in an official request for the job unless you have a real chance of getting the position."

"When will you talk to him?" I asked.

"I'll see him tomorrow and I will tell him about you and see what he has to say. I know that Brad likes to hire his sales reps right out of college so I wouldn't get my hopes up."

I was disappointed. "Well, let me know what he says."

"I will."

As I left his office to return to my desk, Thad said, "Thanks for coming to me with this, Butterman."

"It's Butterfield, Mr. Asshole," I mumbled under my breath.

"What did you say?" Thad asked.

"I said, you're welcome, Mr. Achsole."

The next day Thad called me into his office and told me that Brad Martin told him that he didn't think I was right for the sales position but he would keep me in mind.

After that I had the sinking feeling that I would never get out of the proposal department. In spite of that feeling I continued to work hard. I began to hate my job and it started to affect my home life. I finally had to tell Megan what was bothering me.

"Warren, if you are so unhappy with your job, just quit," she said.

If only it were so easy. I wasn't the kind of person to quit something just because I wasn't happy. There were other factors to consider too. I was well paid for what I did and I wasn't sure that I would be able to find another job that paid that well.

For the next six months nothing changed. Thad told me I was doing a good job but he couldn't get Brad Martin interested in making me one of his salesmen.

"You're the best of my proposal writers and I have made sure that is reflected in your paycheck. It's because of you that everyone in the department has increased the number of proposals they're completing. Just try and be happy with what you have."

By April of 1999 I had resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck as a proposal writer and that my career would go no farther.

Chapter 6 - Where Did Harold Go?

I still remember the moment that my life went into the toilet although at the time I had no idea what was coming. It was April 15, 1999. Tax day. I was in my study at home working on our joint tax return when the phone rang. It was Trish, Megan's mother and she asked to speak with Megan.

An hour later when I had finished the tax forms, Megan was still on the phone with her mother. I took the tax returns to the post office to mail them and when I returned Megan was just putting the phone down. Megan looked at me and I could see the tears beginning to fill her eyes.

I went to her and asked what was wrong. Megan put her arms around me and began to cry.

"What's wrong?" I asked again.

"I'll tell you later, just hold me now."

I held Megan tightly and rocked gently for about ten minutes before she pulled away from me.

"Are you ready to tell me what's wrong?" I asked.

"Harold walked out on my mom and Brandon?"

"He what?"

"He walked out on them."

"When?"

"Last month," Megan said.

"And you're just finding out?"

"My mother said she just couldn't bring herself to tell me until now."

"Wow. This is really hard to believe," I said.

"Tell me about it. I would never in a million years believe that my father would do that."

"I am sorry, babe."

"Mom said that his business went under and he was broke. He left Mom and Brandon with nothing. She doesn't have enough money to keep up the house payments and when she checked to see how much she could get selling the house she found out that he had borrowed against the equity to keep his business going and now there is no equity in the house. When she sells the house she'll only get enough to pay off the mortgages."

"That son-of-a-bitch. How the hell can a man desert his family that way?" I asked.

Megan began to cry again. "I am sorry. Megan, I know how close you and your dad were."

"Why would he do this to us?"

"I don't know, babe," I said. "Maybe losing his business was just too much for him to handle. You should talk to him and ask him why he did it?"

"After what he did, I'll never speak to him again," Megan said.

"What's your Mom going to do now?"

"I told her that she and Brandon could come stay with us until she figures out what she wants to do," Megan said. "I hope that was all right."

"Of course. We'll help as much as we can.

Three days later Trish and Brandon moved in. The only thing Trish had managed to keep were the furnishings from her house in Frankfort and she had to put them into storage.

*****

The following week I walked into the house to hear the following conversation between Megan and her mother.

"Do you really like this furniture?" asked Trish.

"Yes, I do. Warren and I picked it out together. Why?"

"I just think that it's kind of tacky."

"I don't think it's tacky, mom," Megan said. "It's a contemporary style. You always had furniture that was more traditional."

"You liked my furniture, didn't you?"

"Yes, mom. It was nice furniture," Megan said.

When I walked into the kitchen the furniture conversation ended.

"So, what big contracts did you sell today?" Trish asked me.

"I just write proposals, I don't do the selling," I said. I wondered why she asked me that.

"Isn't there more money in sales than in writing proposals?" she asked.

I was beginning to get annoyed when Megan stepped in. "Mom! Warren is doing the best he can. I told you that they will make him a salesman when there's an opening."

Not exactly the level of support I would hope for from my wife but I could tell by the expression on her face that she already regretted what she had said. Megan came over to me and kissed me on the cheek and whispered, "I'm sorry."

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and left the room trying to keep my anger under control. I never remembered Trish acting that way before. She had always been friendly and supportive. The worst part was that she was now living in my house and treating me like I wasn't good enough for her daughter, or maybe I was being too sensitive. It could simply be that being abandoned by her husband the way she was may have warped her opinion of men in general.

I decided that the best course of action would be to try to ignore the insult and just avoid Trish all together until she was able to adjust to her new situation. Suddenly finding yourself out of your home and having to live with someone else had to be hard for her so I was willing to make some allowances for her.

***** Over the next couple of weeks the subject of my job performance seemed to be a favorite topic of Trish's. Sometimes she managed to hide the insult in a compliment. "It's great that they pay you as much as they do to write proposals. You must be doing something right."

I learned to not rise to the bait. I knew that if I responded Megan would be pissed at me so I would just leave the room when Trish started on me.

The first time I lost control with Trish was the night I came home from work and noticed that the furniture in the living room had been changed.

I looked at Megan and asked, "Where's our living room furniture?"

Before Megan could respond Trish said, "Oh, I had my furniture brought out of storage and had yours put in."

"You did what?" I yelled at her.

Megan grabbed my arm and said, "Don't yell at her."

"Did you tell her she could do that? Trade our living room furniture for hers?"

"Actually it was all of your furniture," Trish said, "not just the living room furniture."

"Why would you do that without discussing it with us first?" I shouted.

"It was obvious that you don't have very good taste in furniture. The stuff you had in here was tacky and cheap looking. My furniture looks much better in here, don't you think, Megan?" Trish said.

I looked at Megan and saw the fear in her eyes so I didn't even wait to hear her answer. I went into the kitchen and got a beer and walked outside onto my deck. I sat and watched the barge traffic on the Ohio River while my heart beat slowed back to its normal rate.

For the next few weeks Trish and I seemed to have a truce. She didn't belittle my job and I didn't punch her in the face.

Somehow, over the next several months we managed to find a way to coexist in the house. There were still a lot of things that annoyed me, like the fact that I was paying for storing my furniture as well as all of the other costs of having Trish and Brandon living with us.

Trish had no money and I knew that but she never made any attempt to find a job so she could help out with the expenses. I suggested to Megan that Trish should get a teaching job. She was fully qualified.

"I talked to her about that and mom said that she would look into a teaching position but she is just too depressed right now to think about teaching," Megan told me.

I haven't mentioned Brandon for a while. That cute little five year old I had met on my first visit to Megan's parents house was now fourteen and was a spoiled brat. Trish made sure that whatever we were having for dinner it was something that Brandon liked and he didn't like variety. Brandon had to have all of the latest styles in clothes and guess who had to pay for them? Most days I found myself torn between my desire to kick Brandon in the ass or slap his mother across the face.

My sex life with Megan was also suffering as most nights I was either too angry about something Brandon or Trish had done to be interested in making love or Megan was mad at me for something I had said to her mother. Another problem was that Trish thought nothing of just walking into our bedroom any time she felt like it. I was sure that she was intentionally trying to make it impossible for Megan and me to have any time for intimacy. The bitch.

Trish did go out once or twice a week to some group she had joined. She never told us anything about the group, what they did or where they met and I never cared enough to ask. Sometimes she even took Brandon with her. Trish's nights out were the only chance that Megan and I had to be alone in the house together. Unfortunately, Trish seemed to schedule most of her nights out on the nights that Megan worked the second shift. This all worked out so that Megan and I were only able to have sex once or twice a month.

To be continued.