Love's Illusions: A Novel (21 page)

One day John asked me, “So how long do you think you’ve been battling with depression?”

“Depression? I don’t think of myself as depressed,” I replied in astonishment.

“Well I’m no psychologist, at least not yet, and I’m not qualified to make a diagnosis, but a good deal of what you’ve been saying points in that direction,” he stated. “You’re going through one of the biggest disruptions that can happen in a person’s life. You use drugs and alcohol frequently, you have trouble getting out of bed, feel like everything takes too much effort, you’re withdrawn, and you’re in a new relationship. It’s bound to have an impact, and there’s no shame in seeking professional help. Let me know if you want a referral.”

I could feel my eyes darting around the room as he said ‘professional help’, looking for my pixie. She was sitting on the front window sill, her eyes as big as saucers covering a gasp with her tiny hand. In my family ‘professional help’ would be a major crime, not to mention it being socially unacceptable –
Oh my God, does John think I’m crazy?
Thank God our time’s almost up for the day.
I had to think about this.

My parents were on their way west to attend the Disabled American Veterans (DAV) convention in St. Louis, coming via Chicago. The older my father got the more active he became with the local DAV group – he was now part of their Board. The 305
^th
Bombardment Group, 413
^th
Air Service Group that he was part of during WWII was also holding their annual reunion in conjunction with the DAV convention this year, so this was a very big deal for him. My parents had enrolled me as a lifetime member of the DAVA, the women’s auxiliary. As far as I could tell, the main function of the auxiliary was to provide refreshments at the men’s meetings.
Not for me,
I thought.

They planned to spend a couple days with me before heading off to meet with his old war buddies. I was hoping he would be in a good mood looking forward to the festivities, telling old war stories and slapping each other on the back.

There was a part of me that wanted to see them again. I would love to know they had decided to be supportive of my decision to file for a divorce, despite the disgrace it would bring ‘to the family’. And I knew all my remaining lies would come crashing in; so just before they left Weymouth, I called and told them that The Canteen was not a restaurant, it was a bar. I couldn’t think of a lie to cover the original lie that would withstand their personal inspection, so I decided it was best to tell them the truth about the place ahead of time, giving them a chance to adjust on the drive west.

As for the mechanic that was taking care of the car, I hadn’t made a final decision at this point, and still had another day before my back was against the wall. Michael was not just some old guy with a garage – he was one of the most important people in my life. My mind circled the issue of introducing them to him, mentally listed out the pros and cons, and then went back through the whole thing again and again and again.
Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive,
kept rattling around my head in my mother’s voice.

From Michael’s point of view, I could tell he was torn about meeting them also, but underneath all his understanding verbiage about staying away, I was pretty sure he would be hurt if I didn’t introduce him, and
not
just as my mechanic. The last thing I needed was him thinking he was somehow not good enough for me to introduce or whatever other crazy shit might be floating around his mind. He was my one anchor on reality. He seemed to love me for me – something I desperately needed. I was 99% sure I was just going to be straight with them about who Michael was, and damn the consequences. I deserved whatever shit they handed out - I resolved never to lie to them again, at least not about things that could be proven. All this was my own fault.

“Damn it, I’ve been cleaning for a week, and I still don’t feel like I have this place in shape. I need more time! They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon… shit, I’m just not ready,” I was ranting half to myself, half to Michael as I moved around the apartment straightening, dusting, vacuuming – finding hiding places for things like the water pipe.

“Will you stop? Please babe, the place looks great. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this clean before,” he said from his seat on the couch.

“What? Are you trying to tell me that it usually looks like shit – that I don’t do a good job with housework?” I protested.

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all and you know it!” he retorted. “Everything is sparkling, there’s not a crumb in the kitchen… I could eat dinner off the floor.”

“And I washed the windows … can you tell?”

“Yes, I can tell,” he sighed shaking his head. “Come over here a minute, will you?”

I put down the dust rag, and made my way over to the couch. Michael reached up, took my hand, and pulled me down next to him. “It’s all gonna be okay, you know that don’t you?” he murmured in my ear. “They’re your parents. They love you, and they’re only gonna be here for two nights, so relax and stop cleaning.”

“Yeah, well you don’t know them,” I said snuggling down onto his shoulder putting my arm around his chest. He rested his chin on top of my head, and we sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Do you want to meet them?” I asked, my voice muffled.

He hesitated, and then asked, “Who are you going to tell them I am?”

Lifting my head, I said, “I’m going to tell them you’re Michael Nowak, my mechanic and my boyfriend.”

I could see the corners of his mouth curl up as he said, “Make that your boyfriend first and then your mechanic, and the answer is yes.”

I kissed him and said, “Okay, it’s a deal. We’ll go out to dinner Wednesday night – they’re leaving for St. Louis Thursday morning.”

My parents arrived the next day around 3:00 pm. I got them settled into my bedroom – I would be sleeping on the couch for the next two nights. I spent the remainder of the afternoon showing them the neighborhood; all the new construction, the great little shops, how close it was to Lincoln Park, and convenient to the bus route for school – all the things I could think of that were positive. We ate at one of the new restaurants in the park, RJ Grunts – a trendy burger type joint, but the food was good. All three of us were avoiding any mention of subjects that could trigger an argument, but at the end of our early dinner, I asked if they would like to see The Canteen.

“I didn’t think you’d want us there,” my father stated watching me for a reaction.

“No, it’s okay, I made arrangements with one of the owners for us to stop by before they opened so you could see the place. It’s not fancy, but I… Well, they’ve been good to me there, so please, please don’t embarrass me.”

They looked at each other; my mother started to protest, but thought better of it and agreed. “Good, it’s close to the apartment, so we don’t even have to go out of our way,” I said.

I pounded on the metal doors. Charlie answered smiling – he was actually dressed quite conservatively for him. I introduced everyone, and we made our way down the stairs. I was so tense. My mother was not pleased; I could see her reacting to the smell of booze and cigarettes. The cleaning crew had been there a few days before, but the stains on the carpet were permanent and looked horrible. She remained quiet, her eyes taking in the surroundings. However, my father was doing better than I expected. Charlie pulled a leather case from under the bar saying, “Jackie told us you were on your way to the DAV Convention. This was presented to my grandfather after WWI – I inherited it when my father died and usually keep it safe at home, but I thought you’d like to see it.”

“What is it?” I asked, curious, leaning in closer to see. This was not the way I had envisioned this meeting taking place; it actually seemed to be going well – whatever Charlie was up to, so far I liked it.

“It’s the Medal of Honor. His grandfather had to have been a very brave man to get this,” my father replied reaching out to touch it with his fingertips.

Over a beer, Charlie gave my father the details of the battle that earned his grandfather the medal. My mother and I both refused the drink Charlie offered, and sat quietly listening to the tale. After a few minutes, Charlie turned to me, but aiming his comments to my parents said, “You’ve got a great daughter here, Mr. Moretti, you should be proud of her. I hope my daughter, she’s just 8 now, turns out as well.”

“Thank you Charlie, I appreciate it – her mother and I are very proud of her. I trust you’ll make sure she’s safe when she’s here – in your establishment.” His eyebrows raised.

“Yes, sir, we won’t let anything happen to her. This place may not look like much, but all the regulars think the world of her, so she has lots of ‘big brothers’,” he replied, starting to move towards the stairs. I had turned at least 14 shades of red, was protesting the conversation, and being completely ignored by both of them.

On the walk back to the apartment my father declared that he didn’t like the place – wasn’t at all sure how safe it was – but he did like Charlie, so it would be alright if I continued to work there while I was in school. “But you should have told us the truth, Jacqueline. Your mother and I aren’t monsters you know – we only want what’s best for you.”

My mother was griping about the general condition of the place, saying it needed to be cleaned better – then pointed out how hurtful it was to be lied to all the time.

I hadn’t answered much while walking, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk, but as we got into the elevator to go up to the third floor I bit my lower lip, took a deep breath, then quipped, “Fine, you want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Right? Then… I’ll tell you.”

Turning the lock on the apartment door I said, “I filed for a divorce last month, and it should be final by the end of the year.”

“Oh no, Jackie! You promised you’d try, that you’d wait and not do anything rash,” my mother moaned.

“I did try. I told you I went to see him. I told you he hit me. What the hell do you want me to do – stay married just so you won’t have to tell the almighty family?”

I could feel my voice rising, knew I was going to explode, no matter what they said, so instead I went into the bathroom, semi-slamming the door behind myself to take a calming breath. I wet a couple of Kleenex, and dabbed the cool water into the corners of my eyes, then closed the toilet lid, sat down, leaned forward and held my head in my hands, trying to think.
Remember what Michael said – just talk to them, they love me, care about me, they are NOT the enemy… Just tell them as much of the truth as you can…
His words echoed around and around in my head – I wanted to believe him, that it would be okay, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had failed – no matter how proud they told Charlie they were of me, I had screwed things up in their eyes, and they’d hate me even more once they figured it out.

Shit, why had I hidden the Valium in the back of my closet with the water pipe? If it was still in the bathroom, I swear I’d have taken the whole bag full. Or a gun, a gun would be quick and easy. I didn’t have one of course, but at the moment I wished there was one under the sink. A thought flashed through my mind. I dug around in the bottom of my purse, found and swallowed half a Valium left from a few weeks ago that I had stashed away for an ‘emergency’ just like this one. It wasn’t enough to do anything, but it might help.
Well one thing is for sure – I’m not going to say anything about Valium to them,
I thought to myself – this truth thing had to be on a ‘need to know’ basis.

I must have been in the bathroom too long – my mother was knocking on the door. “Are you alright Jacqueline? Please come out.”

“I’m fine, I’ll be right out. I guess something about dinner didn’t agree with me… just give me another minute,” I called back. I wet the Kleenex again, and then flushed the empty toilet.
Great way to start being honest,
I told myself in the mirror smiling
– start with a little lie about dinner. Hmph!

When I came out, my father was sitting on the couch in the living room – he had turned on the TV, but wasn’t watching it. My mother was in the kitchen making tea; I accepted a cup, and joined my father at the other end of the couch. I left the chair on the opposite side of the room for my mother –I wasn’t going to let them stage this ‘talk’ the way they had at Christmas. My father stood up, walked over to the television and turned it off. Standing there looking at me he said, “So tell us what you’ve done with the divorce.”

I told them about John Whittaker and the process. My mother started to give me some shit about making rash decisions that were irreversible, and what it would do to my ‘reputation’, but I just glared at her. I told them Stephen had left Chicago again, this time with some rich gay guy from American Airlines, and I told them more about his hospital stay before Christmas. I could no longer protect Stephen, and I wasn’t going to take all the blame anymore. My mother was crying. My father was quiet, just watching me as I spoke. “When Virginia called after Christmas looking for her family heirlooms, she brought up the subject. She said her son was not a homosexual. She told us you had invented that evil story to cover an affair you were having – is there any truth to what she said Jackie?”

“No, there isn’t,” I hissed at him.

“Are you sure,” he asked still focused on me, my mother was blowing her nose and wiping her eyes.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m sure. I can prove he hit me after Christmas. Joe, his ex-boss, was there… he heard the whole argument, and saw my eye, and would be willing to tell you what he knows. And I can prove he was in the hospital. I’ve got papers from the insurance company, and medical bills that were sent here in the other room.”

I stood up, went into the bedroom, and came back with a folder full of insurance notices saying what they had covered and what they hadn’t, and tossed it down on the couch next to him. “I’m not lying about it, see for yourself,” I said. “My attorney said I should keep all of these. I may get stuck paying part of his medical bills. I don’t give a shit what Virginia says; she’s wrong. I sent her that ugly clock she was so concerned about, and a bunch of other stuff he left here too. Did she call to tell you that?”