The Price Of Dick (31 page)

I
’m certain couples who’ve been through bitterly litigious divorces can empathize with the profound contempt they go through when betrayed by someone that they’ve trusted a long time. I’ve seen my fair share of episodes of
Snapped
to know it’s a show where the murderer is lauded because they’ve been victimized and bullied to the point of taking the matter into their own hands to escape the abuse. When they finally kill the prick that made their life hell, you feel like you’re a member of the jury in that courtroom, pen poised and ready to write
Not Guilty
on that slip of paper so they can finally go on with their life, prick-free.

I
’d been played. Bow on fiddle. No two ways about it. Just the way I’d seen him play others. I was now privy to how a calm, average, peace-loving individual can suddenly get infected with a special kind of crazy. Higher reasoning is replaced with killer animal instincts.

I count myself lucky that when this
shit storm came down on me, I had a stabilizing influence in Alex to ground me; keep my emotions together. Things could have been so much worse. He whispered the words I needed to give me the strength to control my impulses. Cain Martin's office wasn’t far from where Dick worked at the investment firm. I could look through the window behind Martin’s desk and see the shining gold tower of windows a few blocks away. Alex sat in the chair next to me holding my hand for support.

Seeing the man again, now in his own forum and formally attired, I thought he was one of those men who looked like they were born in a suit. He didn
’t have to fight to have good hair or look professional. He invited his assistant, a younger man named Brad to record our conversation. I told him the whole story, sparing none of the sordid details nor trying to paint myself as a saint in a play about sinners. He listened attentively, giving no indication that any of what I said affected him in any manner, no matter how perverse it sounded to my own ears. He jotted a few notes on a legal pad on his desk as I talked. It took me almost an hour to summarize the strange experience of my life with Dick over the past few years. His assistant Brad took copious notes in a book he held beneath the surface of the desk. I could hear the continuous scratch of his pen. I don’t remember him looking up once as I told the tale. When I finished, the two men exchanged a glance. Only Brad’s seemed to reveal what he actually thought.

“
This shit is so sick it should be a movie!” he said. “I love it. I’d go see it!”

Martin seemed amused by the reaction.
“Is this the same Richard Fitch whose mother is running for the Republican congressional seat in the Fourth District? Eleanor Fitch?” he asked. His hands had folded neatly under his chin.

I hadn
’t talked to Dick about his family in a while so I had no clue what they were up to. I did tell Martin that Eleanor was indeed, Dick's mother. I had remembered ages ago hearing something to the effect that one day she had planned to run for political office.

This excited Brad beyond measure. He slapped his knee and fell sway-backed in his chair, grinning.
“This is just too much fun!” he said, looking at Martin. There was an air of smug excitement jumping back and forth between their eyes.

Brad turned back to me.
“Eleanor Fitch’s entire campaign has been a Pro-Life, ultra conservative, Bring-God-Back into politics, anti-gay diatribe of pure vitriol. She has actually said they should be able to put forward a bill that allows religious people to discriminate against gays because they are contrary to God’s law. That they can refuse to serve them in restaurants, deny them housing, the whole nine yards. She’s the face of homophobia in politics in this town this year! They are like the poster family for white-collared, red-neck racists.”

I wasn
’t going to disagree with him on that.

Brad went on
, “This woman is the most vile, evil bigot that ever stuck a cloven hoof into a pair of senior citizens' orthopedic sneakers. And you’re telling us you have lived all these years with her closeted gay son?”

I was beginning to see other motivations that
may have brought about Dick’s sudden change in behavior. Why he had to separate himself from me quickly. He’d never said a word. I had never heard a thing about it. A lot of things began to suddenly make sense to me. It wasn’t just the people he worked for that had pressured him about not being married. He needed to look the part of the all-American heterosexual son of a Republican congressional candidate. Something like this had never dawned on me. It was still, however, directly tied to Mommy Fitch. I was in the center of a very bad mess. And I had stirred the pot something fierce.

The attorney
’s eyes bore into me as he asked the next questions: “You say you have proof? You have pictures?”

For a man who had lived his life quietly for so many years, always skirting bad luck
, disaster and needless drama, I hated the skeevy feeling these questions caused me. I felt like an accomplice to a crime. What had been done in fun now felt like a felony.

“
He thought he’d deleted the pictures,” I explained. “He didn’t know I had an external hard drive. I saved everything. He doesn’t know I still have them.”

“
He signed releases for these in the past; correct? These pictures are legally owned by you?” Martin’s eyes were needle sharp on me.

I told him I owned all of my pictures, including the ones
of Dick. The assistant picked up the recorder and shuffled hurriedly out of the office, looking excited. Martin stood from behind his desk and extended his hand to me. Alex and I both got up as well and I shook his hand.

“
Mr. Johnstone, we’d be happy to represent you in this matter. Don’t worry about legal fees on this. I believe I have a way for this to be taken care of for you—if you will allow me to speak with a few trusted acquaintances about your situation? I promise I will not go into specifics without your express permission, I just need to provide a general overview.”

I felt relieved
at hearing this, yet hesitant because I didn’t know what it would entail. I had counted out in my head how long I could make two thousand dollars last before the next royalties for my book came in, or until I could sell some photos. I had a lot of financial catching up to do to feel secure again.

Martin walked us toward the door.
“I want you to under no circumstances engage Mr. Fitch in any further discussions, conversations or arguments. If he attempts to quarrel, walk away from him quietly. He’ll be looking for a reason to evict you. If he does attempt to throw you out of your house, slip into your car and call me. Any time day or night. I’ll handle it for you.” He took a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. “My email is in the bottom left hand of the card. As soon as you get home I want you to send me the zip files of every last picture you own of Mr. Fitch. Do not delay this. This is your leverage. It’s very important I have them in case he comes back and tries to destroy the computer. I want to assure you I'll have this matter completely under control. You have nothing to worry about.”

I believe I
actually let out an audible sigh of relief. He smiled.

“
Oh and congratulations,” he had Alex’s hand in his, shaking it. “I forgot to say it before, but you really do make a lovely couple.”

*  *  *

I couldn’t thank my lucky stars, or Alex enough for guiding me through the mired mess of what Dick had created. Everything my former business partner touched was now turning to shit. So we did what Cain Martin asked. He had all of the pictures I’d taken over the years. All of the outrageous sexual escapades I photographed from the moment I’d met him. He assured me that none would be used in an illegal manner. They were, as he said; leverage, as was anything in a divorce, and even though Dick and I weren’t married, because of the time we’d lived together, he was treating it as a civil partnership. We had slept together. We engaged in sexual relations, and I had been led to believe we shared a communal property in the home and business. It was going to be treated as such. It was an odd feeling. I turned over every document I’d ever signed, thought I’d signed, or been promised to have been included in, even if it had been a lie.

We
’d accomplished all of this in the nick of time. The following day Dick arrived with a large truck and two moving men and proceeded to move everything out with the exception of what was in my own bedroom and the studio.

He made quite a display of it, overseeing it in his best business suit, arms crossed in front of him like he was the imperial god Xerxes from the movie
300
. Haughtiness etched lines in his face. He was puffed-up with self-importance as he demonstrated how little I had without him. Everything was disappearing from the house. Floor and walls and cabinets were stripped vulture bare. It was depressing to see so many things that had colored my life and made the house a home vanish. I had picked most of it out. Dick had no sense of design—yet still had insisted that he approve every purchase. It hurt more than I thought it would to see that he had so little regard for my feelings. I had a hard time comprehending how easy it was for him to be unfeeling and emotionless while going about hurting someone he had claimed to care so much about. Once again, to please mommy.

When the last piece had been loaded
, I sensed his shadow cross the threshold of my office door. He wanted to let me know how many days I had left remaining to vacate
his
property. I continued to work as if he hadn’t spoken. Finally he was gone. The door slammed behind him. It echoed in the now empty house.

I ventured out
, knowing what I’d find. He’d only left a few mismatched plates in the cabinet and a few cooking utensils he deemed past their prime. It was his way of magnifying his own self-worth and superiority. Thankfully, there had been no drama. I felt relieved that he was gone. He trailed that bad mojo behind him like a ship's wake wherever he went.

Alex
came by with carryout. He’d anticipated what Dick would do. We had no chairs to sit on while we ate at the counter, but Alex acted like he had eyes for only me. He could sense I was down. He’d rented my favorite comedy and we watched it on the only television that had been left. The small one in my room. He held me in his arms and we laughed at Madeline Khan and Tim Curry and Eileen Brennan. I fell asleep with his breath on my hair. Such a small thing made me feel very secure.

“
You know when my assistant remarked that your story was so...unusual that it would make a great movie?” It was a call from attorney Cain Martin a couple days after our initial meeting. “Well, that seems to be a prevailing consensus with some very important friends of mine.”

He asked me
to come for a meeting at his office that afternoon. Alex was solidly booked at his gym so I went alone.

As I walked through the glass doors of the law firm, Cain snatched my hand in
a half shake, half grab as he pulled me into a boardroom that was off to the side of his office. Opening the door, I could see that it was filled with official looking people in suits. He left me at an open seat at the center of a long table and proceeded to the head of it. He swept into a chair as I sat myself.

“
J.J. Johnstone, these are the executives of LA Releasing. The largest motion picture producer and distributor of quality gay films in the United States.” He went through each of their names and titles, which I had no hope of remembering. The main man of the company was the one I’d been seated next to. The owner. His name was Radcliff. He shook my hand.

“
Nice to meet you Mr. Johnstone,” he said. He had the most flawless set of veneers I’d ever seen in a mouth. I almost didn’t want to smile next to him. “I’ve been a fan of your photography for years. I just finished reading your novel on the flight here. Very enjoyable.”

Cain took the reins again.
“I want to bottom line this for Mr. Johnstone because he’s been through an ordeal.” He looked around the room. No one contradicted him. “Mr. Radcliff believes the story you recounted to us the other day pertaining to your case would make an interesting motion picture.”

I looked around the room waiting for the
punch line to the joke.

Radcliff turned in his seat toward me.
"A very interesting movie. It has all the elements. Photography, models, sex, and a bad boy that get burned in the end.”

Martin smiled
, "We’re working on that bad boy burning as we speak.”

“
Names will have to be changed, but we don’t care if you call him Rick or Vic or Prick. Some aspects will have to be condensed for creative reasons, but nothing a writer of your talent can’t handle.” The flash of veneers was revealed in another smile. “We think your story would make a great little film. The experiences of a famous gay photographer being victimized by an executive-styled gay hustler.”

“
Acting as your attorney," Martin chimed in as if on cue, “I’ve taken it upon myself to negotiate an offer of a contract with a signing advance for you due to your mitigating circumstances. Your job would be to pen the screenplay and the novelization.”

I looked around the room like a man getting
Punk’d
. Waiting for the guy to jump from behind the curtains and reveal the practical joke. When nothing happened, I said, “You’re kidding me.”

They weren
’t. Martin showed me the signing check minus his fees made out in my name. I wasn’t rich, but I was much better off. A few more zeroes going into my bank account erased a few lines of worry from my forehead. I knew now why he said he would take the case and figure out a method for his payment. I looked at the check, folded it neatly to fit in my wallet and shook everyone’s hand. After the studio executives had left, Martin explained the contract I signed in full detail. He wanted to be one of the guys in the White Hats in the movie.