Chapter 2: I DIDN’T INHALE (and other tales of white stains)
My mother, Pat, and I were roomies, with an agreeable and helpful financial arrangement for us- I was on B-scale pay, making only approximately $20,000 a year as a new flight attendant. She was a single older woman with limited income as well. And as adult-roomies, Mom and I had that somewhat uncomfortable yet necessary chat about how it would play out if I were to date someone and it should become intimate. But, more importantly, we had the pleasure of enjoying each other's company with robust laughter. Whether while sharing in the cocktail hour when my friends would visit, watching "The Late Show" before I'd tuck myself away in my room or during sibling visits as we playfully annoyed her while we sang (loudly!) and danced as she tried to watch a Cubs game or CSI. We knew she secretly loved it, no matter. An extra perk was my ability to provide flight benefits for Mom so that she could quickly join me on some of my international trips; she was thrilled! And now that she has wings of her own, I cherish these joyful memories.
Harry lived downtown in Chicago, IL and I lived in the burbs, nearby my work base at O'hare International Airport. When Harry offered me the choice of meeting him in the city or the burbs for our first date, being a city girl at heart, I chose the big city, which included driving myself there. Thankfully, this safety girl threw a toothbrush in my car as the date lasted two days!
First, we met at his condo for a glass of wine. (So much for that safety, girl; please do not do this as it is not a safe choice when you do not know the person you are meeting for the first time.) Then, we walked to his usual first date spot- a cozy candle-lit Argentinean steak house nearby. It was here that he surprised me with a smooch as he got up to use the restroom. He said, "Well, I may as well get this over with." and planted one on me. He literally recited those words. It seemed kind of cute and romantic then, but recently, someone I had just met took it upon himself to steal a kiss, and it strangely felt disrespectful of my personal space now that I have discovered the concept of boundaries. My personal space does not get invaded unless I decide and mutually agree. The idea appears to be reasonably simple. With that in mind, when someone has been violated or abused and remains silent about it in fear of disappointing or hurting someone else or ruffling feathers for most of their life, it's how one adapts- what works for them as a "people pleaser". I definitely was one of them; then.
Moving along…we continued to 3 other spots that evening, closing down each venue and sharing our first official dance to "Don't know why" by Norah Jones. In hindsight, I wonder if it was yet another "sign" I had missed, telling me to quickly fast-forward to our first two-month separation and the beginnings of our divorce that followed six months later, as that song was perfectly apropos for both.
Although the now mutually agreeable kisses continued, I did not have sex with him. That night. As Pat would tell me, MY ENTIRE LIFE "Nice girls, don't do that. Not until you're married." (Maybe that's why I got married more than once? Lol!) You can imagine my surprise when I learned in my 30's of the factoid that she and my oldest sister were both with child before their marriages. In jest, we'll consider my having waited to have (protected) sex the next day, the semi-second date, allowed. Two meals= two dates? Our toxic chemistry was off the charts throughout. Thankfully, numerous toothbrushes later, Harry never impregnated me. But, we did have 2 Anniversaries now- the day we met and, as we referred to it, "Happy f*%#!@g anniversary". How romantic. Especially since I later learned (within a period of three months) of said Fn' anniversary, he was sharing a similar anniversary with three others; that I came to know of anyway.
Jumping forward a few months, we were unequivocally exclusive. Or, so I once again believed. I will never know how many others cared for their dental hygiene in Harry's home. The self-declared "Summer of Harry" just months before our meeting continued into "Years of Harry".
Some of my fav Harry romp-coms goes like this:
1. Learning that he did, in fact, f*&% a so-called "ex", after swearing up and down for five months that he hadn't (We ran into her together during this time frame, which was thrilling for me to watch him play this situation out.) His excuse in claiming innocence of his cheating was that we were "on a break". The concept of being on a break may seem reasonable to many; however, my understanding of said "break" was for us to take a moment to think about the possibility of a future together as he wanted to have children, and I had two teenage children already. Said "break" lasted one week. However, just four days in, I'm not so sure he was thinking about anything other than her panties that he had removed. My takeaway here is always to define a "break" more clearly.
2. After buying all his fantastic lies regarding this paramour, I have learned that I had 100% choice of said purchase. Her name was embedded in my mind for a few years after accidentally discovering the truth, but thankfully I've now forgotten, so I shall call her "Monica." Supposedly, she favored the white-colored coke product, was in an abusive marriage, and he was "saving her" by being a "friend" for a couple of years- before and during our so-called exclusivity. It became apparent that saving her was Harry-code for "having sex with" and late-night phone calls as they comforted each other through their divorces.
About ten months into our being exclusive, my woman's intuition was still on high alert. Never doubt women's intuition, nor leave your phone bills lying on your desktop (this was before paperless billing options). I'll keep this short and to the point- the amount and hours of late-night calls to Monica, literally before and after he would talk with me, could have kept the phone company in business for years. And that guy's trip to California? Well, I don't think it was ironic that she lived nearby, nor the call to her just after his plane hit the runway. A droplet of honest remorse was not recognized until our marital therapist explained to him years later that he had an emotional affair with Monica and that that was considered cheating. She explained how it was understandable that it impacted my growing distrust of him. Thank you. We often forget how comforting it is to have our feelings validated. I again only have myself to blame for my choice to stay in a relationship that was, in fact, not a relationship at all. We often only see and hear what we want to believe.
3. I will never know the whole story, or truth, about this paramour. No matter, the most fantastic part was that he confirmed my suspicion of #3 during our final semi-cordial meeting at the beginning of our divorce, 15 years later. Harry seemed as if he was proud to announce this to me, "During our relationship, I was only with three others." I thought to myself- "wait, whaaaattt?! I thought it was only two.", as if this was okay. Was I hearing this correctly as his argument of defense? Never mind that we had made plans to attempt dating each other to save our marriage possibly. It did not take me by surprise when I later learned that he was already courting his newest victim during this time. "I will no longer date you!" Telling him was one of the most courageous decisions I had made since I first met him.
As I was digesting the painful truth-telling of #1 and Monica, the following month (month 10) went like this-"FU*% You, FU, FU…My cigar was drugged!" Five days after my bunion surgery, I joined him for a weekend of festivities at an annual volleyball tournament he was participating in (aka, drinking and random-sex-fest). I learned this quickly as volleyball weekends and trips included numerous rendezvous for "the players ." Hobbling around on crutches with ice bags in tow, I followed him as he drifted from court to court as if I were his groupie. "Go, Harry!" After sundown, the party continued at the hotel bar- me sitting on a stool with my leg propped up under more ice bags. It was amusing being the sober spectator until…it wasn't.
Harry began screaming at me, "F*&% You, F*&% You, F*&% You!" His excuse was that he thought I was looking at another man from afar. Thankfully, his friend came to my rescue and stopped him; Harry left. (Where to? I still do not know; maybe this was The #3 I never knew about?) I now found myself abandoned amongst the drunken players, looking for a room to get a peaceful night's sleep and rest my now throbbing foot. Thankfully, I found a friend who let me stay in her room, which unbeknownst to me included one of the weekend's newest hook-ups- in the bed next to me. Let's say I didn't get much shut-eye, and there were not enough pain killers in the world to shut out the ridiculousness of the situation.
After many unanswered texts and calls, Harry returned in the morning to pick me up. His fantastic story went something like this- he drove home and was mystified by what had happened to him. Harry claimed his cigar was drugged, including possibly a date-rape-type drug. This explanation was his reasoning for why he publicly yelled obscenities at me. My only recourse was to have sarcastic, angry, self-loathing inner thoughts- Whew, thank God he made it home safely (and alone?), right? And, thank God he was able to stop for McDonalds breakfast, for himself only, on the way to fetch me. Oh, you poor baby, let me help you back to the car while ON MY CRUTCHES and carrying my ice bag! Oh, and let me help by disposing of your McDonalds garbage bag. I forgive you for yelling obscenities at me; it wasn't your fault. You are a victim, "Baby Blue". As I look back, I have to admit that I have no idea what I was thinking to make me continue in this blatant non-exclusive-relationship, other than I was not thinking.
Pat would remind me through the years that my biggest fault was that I was too trusting. Gullible comes to mind. My argument to Mom was that that was a beautiful attribute as everyone should be innocent until proven guilty. After ten mostly atrocious months of dating Harry, I'm unsure what other proof I needed. However, I believe that the Universe, fate, destiny, God, Angels, or whatever else you subscribe to had something in mind. It wasn't until after our divorce, 15 years later, that I learned the valuable lesson that my Mom had tried to teach me for 42 years before meeting Harry. And, of course, in my true form then, I didn't tell her what had been going on. The ever-so-charming Harry had become her "favorite Polack", as she would endearingly call him. I had made a naive choice in granting him my trust. As my friend reminds me on occasion, "watch their feet, not their mouth." I do believe that by only watching Harry's mouth was where it all went downhill. Oops!
I'll leave the topic of "respect" for another chapter…as well the question that may be lingering on your mind as to what would make anyone with any amount of self-respect not quickly dump this cad?
