Some Truth

"He was a student here at the university, that's how I met him." and she stamped her foot as she said "that's". That was too cute. I couldn't keep doing this to her. I took her hand and said, waving my other hand at her room, "Constance, come sit down with me in one of my nice comfortable chairs, so you won't be distracted by your clutter, and tell me about this. We have just met, and it doesn't seem fair to simply pass by each other like two ships in the night." She looked over her shoulder then stepped through her doorway and closed the door behind her. Seated in one of my big overstuffed arm chairs, I poured her a cup of good Café Arabica coffee from my two quart thermos as she looked around noticing my antiques. She took the cup of coffee, thanking me politely, and asked," Where did you get that?" pointing at my Tiffany stained glass hummingbird table lamp. "At a little antique shop somewhere." I told her, as I handed her the heavy Irish crème.

"Con," I said, "you do realize don't you, that the women's movement hasn't reached Greece, and that as the wife of a Greek, the only rights you will have will be the rights that he allows you to have, and that no court of law over there will step into that family situation to stand up for your rights?" She was silent for a minute, only sipping her coffee, then said, "But I'm a U.S. citizen." she said. Not knowing if I was right, but suspecting that I was, I said, "I'll bet not once you marry him. I don't think Greece will allow dual citizenship, and you will probably have to renounce your U.S. citizenship." "I hadn't thought about that." She murmured.

She was a pretty girl, with longish dark hair, and a somewhat round face, that was only marred by faint scarring left over from a bad case of teenage acne, which she had almost completely hidden with the deft application of makeup . Noticing this, and suspecting that she'd had very little experience with dating as a result of the blow it had given her self confidence, but not wanting to be cruel and obtusely bring that out in the open myself, I said, "Besides all that, I'll bet you hardly know any of the guys from around here, so why would you want to cheat them out of a great girl by running off to Greece to marry someone who probably wanted you just so he could have a rich American girl, and maybe have a chance at screwing your brother's butt? You know what they say about Greeks, right?"

She laughed and said, "He's not like that." "You never know, and when you find out, you're always the last to know. Isn't that how it works?" I replied. She finished her coffee, and stood, looking very pensive, and saying, "I've got to get back to work on my room." and left. Not an hour went by, and she was at my door again. I closed my book again, and said, "Come on in. You needn't stand out there in the cold. You want some more coffee?" She came in and sat down in the chair again. Her eyes were brimming over with tears. I said, "Hey, hey, what's all this about?" as I took her hand and put her saucer and refilled cup in it, mostly just to keep her hands occupied from something other than the worried wringing of them that she had been using them for. After I poured crème for her, she took a sip of the hot coffee. (I swear, hot coffee will cure anything.) Then she swiped a finger at the corner of one eye, and the knuckle of the same hand's thumb at the other eye, and said, "I just got off the phone with him, and you were right. I'm not going. It sounded like he had changed his mind and didn't really want me to come anyway. At any rate, I wanted to thank you for opening up my eyes.

Chapter 18

Stretching My Neck

The following day I had off as well, and spent most of it paying bills and taking care of things around town, as well as checking on the return of two mics that I had sent in to the factory at EV to be rebuilt. One of them had come back, and it looked brand new. When I got home and walked upstairs to my room, Constance's door was open to her room, and looking up from whatever she was bent over doing, she came bouncing out into the hall to greet me. Standing beside me, she swept her hand toward her room, saying, "Well, what do you think?" Peering around at the neatness that had replaced the storm tossed disaster it had been twenty four hours previously, I replied, " Looks great. You've certainly been busy. You seem in much better spirits as well. Are you resolved in your decision then?"

"Oh yes." she said, as she turned to head downstairs, "By the way, I'm making dinner for Chris and I, would you like to join us? There will be plenty, so if you want to, you better bring an appetite." "Sure," I said, "I hadn't even thought about eating yet." So, over a good meal that evening, I learned that she and Chris were sister and brother, with the last name of Schuller, and that their Mom and Dad lived in Dayton, Ohio, where their Father was a Reverend, with Doctor as his title, and the their Mother was a highly successful real estate broker.

I learned that Chris thought that possessions were a trap that only tied you down and interfered with your freedom, and that he aspired to be a singer in a rock band. I learned that Con hated doing ad copy at work and aspired to become an editor for one of the newspapers sections, but the best that she had been offered was writing an article for the woman's garden club, and she didn't think she could stomach a Dear Sally type of column as a result. I don't think we got into very much of my history, other than the very basics. I was still feeling these folks out.

That night, after dinner and dishes were done, Con and I sat up talking until rather late, with Chris joining in here and there as he passed by my room. I told them both that on the next night I would be setting up and running the sound for the band Street Light Knights, or SLK as they were starting to prefer being called. I told them that they were a bunch of local guys, some of whom were attending U. of M. with a really good horn section, and that the style of music that they played was called Ska like the national act Fishbone played. "What is Ska, tell us something we can relate it to." they wanted to know.

I said it was kind of like Reggae, but the style had come out of Africa, via Cuba, and was much more bouncy and upbeat, like polka on adrenalin, and not monotonous like Reggae can be, and I invited them both to be my guests tomorrow night at Rick's American Café, just a few blocks away. The following night was a success, with the band really falling into a solid groove and playing very well, and sounding hot in front of a full house. I had a hot mix going as well, with Con and Chris repeatedly at my elbow asking questions, then running back up front to watch the band, or out on the dance floor.

Chris was obviously very inspired, and in love with the music, so at the band's first break, with the guys dripping sweat coming off the stage, I took Chris by the elbow and introduced him to Mike, the leader if the band. They hit it off quite well, as this was the band that Chris first became a lead singer in. The rest of the night after that Constance rarely left my side, watching me control the mix, and trying to make sense out of what I was doing at the mixing console, and what the result of that was in what she was hearing.

I think it was too loud for her up front, but we were on a raised level of floor that ran the entire circuit around the central bar eighteen inches up off the main floor, with the bar's ceiling hung speakers aimed at just about ear level if you stood at the bar or sat at a stool at one of the tables on that level, and it was always too loud on that level, even for me, way at the back of the bar, away from the stage. I often had no choice but to use the bar's speaker cabinets, because there was no room on the sixteen foot wide stage for the band and stacks of speakers, and if the bar wasn't staging a show for a really big name national act that they charged a much higher door cover price for, they couldn't afford to give up their table space for paying customers to sit at, to allow me that space for my stacks of speakers.

It was alright by me though, either way. It meant that much less for me to haul in and out of the club, before and after the show, and the bar had very good sounding Cerwin Vega cabinets for me to send my mix through, that they kept well maintained. Chris and Con had a blast, and were both very exuberant about their night out. I don't think either of them had expected to have that much fun, or to be as highly impressed as they were, but they had never seen anything like it before. The experience, also of being able to see it from the mechanical end of it, and learn how it took place, and just what exactly took place, and for Chris to be able to go back to the band's dressing room, and talk to and learn about the guys in the band and see their instruments first hand was really the cap to the whole night for him.

The Sunday after that Friday night out for them, I didn't work. That night found Constance in my bed for the first time, which changed the easy going bantering we had shared up to that point. It wasn't immediately apparent, and the majority of the change occurred after I talked to Chick, the new managing editor for the Ann Arbor News, at a staff party, and impressed him upon him just how much talent he was wasting by having Constance in the ad copy department instead of putting her writing and editing talents to good use.

I told him that she had majored in journalism, and graduated with honors at the same school he had gotten his degree from, so he already knew that she had made it through the same tough courses and professors that he had. This made him look at Con in a new light. That led to Con being sent out to report on some actual events, and when he was very impressed with her writing skills, he put her to editing a portion of the entertainment section. When she exceeded at that, he made her the chief editor of the entire entertainment section, but this happened after she and I had been married for about a year.

The immediate change after becoming sexually involved with me, was a mixture of hero worship, that I assure you I did NOT deserve, and which always scares me as it can so easily turn into contempt when it becomes apparent that I don't, combined with a very well concealed possessiveness over me, which gradually became obvious. At first, though, we shared our hopes, goals and ideals with each other, and found much in common between ourselves. For our vices, I turned her on to Dunhill cigarettes, which I smoked exclusively at the time, as well as excellent French red wines, B & B Brandy and Glenlivet single malt, aged scotches, which were too strong for her without mixing in a dram of Drambui into a glass with it to sweeten it, which made it a Crusty Nail, as Rusty Nails aren't made with aged scotch, let alone a scotch as top shelf as Glenlivet. She turned me onto Gin and Tonics, which I found refreshing after a hot day, but wouldn't be likely to over-indulge in.

I took her out clothes shopping and ended up selecting an entire wardrobe for her of classic and stylish designs that she could expand on a daily basis by mixing and matching outfits and accessories, and amazed her with my taste and sense of quality and style. With me having insisted on wools, both worsted and tweeds, linens and raw silks, for skirts, slacks and suit jackets, and silks, cottons and light weight linens for tops and blouses, the final bill was tremendous, but worth it for the years of service it would afford her, and I could afford to do it for her. She, in turn took me out to be fitted for suits, something I hadn't worn since my fathers funeral, and had no idea when or if I would ever need to wear one again. We enjoyed eating at fine restaurants, and going antiquing, a hobby I'd had for years, and that Con took to very quickly.

Con's style of dressing was kind of... sloppy student, oversized clothing, 'cause I don't want to draw attention to the fact that I have a female body, type of mentality. And I was trying to impress on her that in the haute couture business world, you must dress for success and that included putting that female body forward with the confidence that would make the men that she had to deal with notice, but respect her. That didn't mean showing skin or being an exhibitionist, it simply meant wearing tailored clothing, rather than hiding behind baggy, wrinkled pants and oversized sweatshirts or sweaters. But it doesn't pay to go from one extreme to the other, and if Con was excellent at anything it was at being an extremist. I wasn't to learn that as yet though.

I was invited to go with Chris and Constance to Dayton, Ohio and meet their folks. It was an interesting trip, to say the least. While in Dayton, Chris took us out on the town, ending the night with a very fun time at a comedy club, which we all enjoyed immensely. I was served excellent meals, "Did you have this catered in, this is truly delicious.", "No I did it all myself." Mom, Miriam, was a wonderful cook. Dad, "Call me Dave, son." was an impressive man, with the gift of gab, and I took a liking to him instantly. He could not only talk, but he could listen and comprehend, as well, something they must teach only in seminary school, because it is so rarely found in the secular world. It turned out that his daughter learned the talking end of it, but missed the lessons in listening to comprehend.

The future would reveal this fact to me, but at this point I was still being blinded to it. During this trip we discussed a vacation on an island in Ontario, Canada on Lake Temagamy. We also discussed plans for a wedding, and would Dave, Dad, do the honors of officiating at our ceremony? "More than happy to My Boy. More than happy to." Give me enough rope, and I'll hang myself. Oh, well. Live and learn, but why do I always have to learn the hard way. I mean I go from a relationship of almost no sex, to one of constant sex, and now I'm entering into a relationship of constantly, a word by the way that I associate with Constance, constantly talking about having sex, maybe once a week. Or every two weeks. I suppose I've always been more a man of action than a talker. It seemed she only wanted to skip to the afterwards part, you know, where you just cuddle and talk about it. Of course, she would never do anything to initiate sex. Romantic.

Well, anyway, not being smart enough to pull my head out of the noose, I just stuck my neck out farther. On a gorgeous spring day, in May of 'eighty-two, with me being thirty-one, and Con's age remaining a mystery to you, we were married by her very proud Father with his eyes tearing as he tried to make it through the ceremony, in a beautiful chapel just off-campus in Ann Arbor. If only everything could have remained so auspicious. We had rented a seven hundred eighty square foot house with a fantastic large garage on Hutchins Street in the near west end of town, with a landlady I loved, two weeks before the wedding, and were all moved into it, with yet a little unpacking to do.

Chapter 19

The Honeymoon is Over

After the wedding, we honeymooned at the house, finalizing the few remaining details to turn it into a home. We felt a great deal of pride in the idea that we were both "nesters", and were rapidly turning it into a very warm and inviting place to live. Then we came to the point of hanging our pictures. Con had several poster sized prints, that as far as I was concerned were the ugliest things I had ever laid eyes on, and would have been better received had they been done by a kindergartener. She wanted them hanging in the dining room. They made me want to puke, not eat, and I objected. Our first big fight. They ended up hanging in the dining room though, and I never forgave her for that. God, they were ugly. I have never been into "Impressionism". The closest I come to liking it is Henri de Toulouse Latrec. Van Gogh, Matisse, etc. just make me feel anger at the waste of time, talent, space, paint and canvas. You think that crap is good art? Sorry.

Somewhere along the line, someone impressed Con with the idea that journalists were all supposed to be heavy drinking, loose moraled, coarse talking devils advocates, chain smoking, pseudo intellectual and semi-witty conversationalists, and she was doing her best now that she was totally away from any familial influences to assume that role to the fullest. I am suddenly wondering, "Just who is this person I have married, anyway? What happened to the kindness and the sensitivity that so impressed me after getting past the initial brash façade?" She was rapidly changing, like a chameleon, right in front of my eyes on a daily basis, with me not knowing who or what I was going to wake up laying beside each morning. The only times that she reverted back to the girl I started out with were when we were around her family.

She loved going to expensive, culinary arts, kitchen utility stores so that she could decorate the kitchen with unusual, designer awarded cooking contraptions that were uniquely useful for only one application and only used once, which might then only be useful again once every other year, after you forgot what the mess it made tasted like. Meanwhile, wasting space, adding to an unappealing culinary culturally cluttered décor, and collecting dust. And, while I enjoy Ouzo or a good Greek hero wrapped up in Pita bread and chock full of slow roasted goat meat, you can have all the stuffed grape leaves, retsina - it tastes like what it is... pine resin, and all the Greek foods that require an acquired set of taste buds. My tongue don't flop that way. I should have let her go to Greece.

We would spend the dead part of my business year, usually being the couple of weeks before students came back to campus in early September, on the island in Lake Temagamy in Canada with her Dad, who loved to fish. Those were the happiest and most positive few weeks of the years that we shared with each other, and the times I most enjoy recalling of our marriage. Although, we did almost drown together out sailing when a freak gust of wind tipped the boat and dumped us both in the cold water. I had to save her, as she was wearing her baggy bulky clothes, which immediately became water logged and pulled her under, and were heavy enough to almost pull me under with her in trying to get her back to the boat and onboard. That was a scary situation to say the least.

I had gotten an English Setter at five weeks old, who in time grew into a show quality adult. One night when I came home, he was leashed to my dresser with less than a foot of slack to move in. My dog, Graham, was about seven months old at the time, had never messed in the house after his first accident on the floor by the back door, and was very intelligent. He was lying next to the dresser whining, as Constance sat on the bed reading. "What the Hell is this all about?" I asked as I released him and untied the leash from the dresser. "He wouldn't leave me alone. I was teaching him a lesson." she replied. "Doesn't your newspaper print articles about animal cruelty?" I asked. "I wasn't being cruel." she said.

"I don't know what else you could possibly call it. I'm sure all he wanted was a few moments of your time to play with him and show him a little love and affection." I said. "Keith, he doesn't respond to me the way he does to you. I can't control him." "Constance, it isn't about control, it's about love and trust. If you don't try to play with him and work with him, turning that training into a game for him, then you can't earn his trust or his love, without which you'll never have what you call control over him. He is good for me simply because he has learned to love me, and wants very much to please me. You can possibly get the same response from him, but I doubt it after the trauma you've put him through tonight. It's exactly like dealing with children and people in general, except that, unlike people, a dog will remain loyal to you, and aware of your wants and desires for his entire life."