KILLING ME SOFTLY PT. 02 by LT56linebacker
Friday dawned cold in Chicago, almost as cold as in my house. The kids flew in from the East and West coast. My son brought his soon-to-be fiance with him. I hoped he had made the right decision. This encounter would be a very emotional discussion.
Their mother was still living in the hotel, and they did not understand why. I told them they would have to talk with her tomorrow.
They asked where she was. "She is currently residing at the Peninsula hotel. If you want to see her or speak to her, try there."
"I've tried to, dad. It says her cellphone doesn't work anymore. Why would that be??"
"It's disconnected. Call her work, or leave a message at the front desk. I wonder why she hasn't called you yet? HMMM. Interesting."
My daughter looked at my son and his fiance and asked: "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON???"
"Your mother has a problem. I am not at liberty to discuss it. Talk to her. Please. You'll know why if she talks to you."
They tried to get hold of her, to no avail. Through her secretary, she said she would talk to them Saturday morning, at 10:00 a.m.
I took the kids out to dinner, and we had a pleasant if slightly strained time.
Saturday morning dawned clear and cold, as was Chicago's want this time of year. 10:00 rolled around, and the kids had coffee and waited for their mother to put in an appearance. She showed, with the Honorable Kathleen O'Hara in tow.
"Really, Sophia? Did you bring your lawyer? In from of the kids??"
"My client did not want any smears to her character in front of her children."
"Your funeral."
I ushered them into the living room. The kids rushed to greet their mother, wanting to know what was going on.
"No questions for my client," said Ms. O'Hara
"WHAT?? WHO THE HELL IS THIS, MOM??" "I am Ms. Sophia Dawe's attorney. Your father is suing her for divorce."
Ballgame. I just sat there grinning and said nothing.
Steve had told me if this happened to say nothing but the truth or nothing at all. In hindsight, it seemed like good advice.
My son started first.
"What the hell is she talking about, Mom?"
"Please. Address all questions to me."
"What is she talking about, mother?" asked Ashley.
"Address me, Ms. I am your female parent's spokesperson."
"Mother, is this true??"
"Ms. Barron, I will not instruct you again."
That's When Tara spoke up, "SHUT UP, BITCH!!"
Suffice it to say, MS. O'Hara was slightly shaken. "And just who are you???"
"I am Mss Tara Longoria; I am Mr. Micheal Barron Junior's fiance. That makes me family, which is more than I can say for YOU!!"
WELL, this was getting interesting. Micheal Jr.'s mother was not aware of this. Actually, I was not mindful of its severity, but now I noticed the diamond on her left hand. I grinned, rose from my seat, and approached my new soon-to-be daughter-in-law. I pulled her into a bear hug and kissed her on the cheek. I turned to my grinning son, hugged him, and shook his hand.
"Congratulations, son!"
He grinned again and said, "Careful, old man. You know she's spoken for." All this while his mother was going catatonic.
"Oh, My Baby!" said Sophia.
"Sorry, Mom, You have to talk through your mouthpiece."
She choked. Ms. O'Hara said, "I think we are done here," and stood to leave. That's it; I'd had it.
"SIT DOWN, BITCH!! This is a family meeting. She knew that, and she brought a lawyer anyway. You can either keep quiet or leave. Her children and I want to talk to Sophia. Capisce??"
It had gotten quiet. Ms. O'hara sat down with a chagrinned look on her face.
"Now, Sophia, other than what was said here today, I have not said anything to our children. YET. I am giving you the first shot. Don't screw this up too."
I shot a warning look to the lawyer as she opened her trap. She immediately closed it.
She blushed and stuttered and finally said, "Your father wants a divorce."
Micheal shot me a look that would usually kill. "Why, mother?"
She lowered her eyes and said, "I don't know," in a shallow voice.
Micheal, Ashley, and Tara skewered me with their stares. I was in deep shit here, but I had the advantage.
"Really, Sophia, that's how you want to handle this?"
She started to sob. "My turn?" She sobbed some more. "Fine."
"Your mother and I went to the children's gala last Friday night. She consorted with a male who propositioned her to go home with him for the entire weekend, and he would give her mindless sex, orgasms that she would never believe. He inappropriately touched her and pleasured her on the balcony of the ballroom, all the while the women who had fallen to his spiel five years before told me precisely what he was going to do and say to her. Then they would return, and YOUR MOTHER would say to me she was going home with him and spent the weekend servicing him and being serviced by him.
"To my undying shame, I did nothing to deter her. She is a mature woman and can make up her own mind. I could have caused a scene and probably gotten the shit beaten out of me by his two bodyguards. But I did nothing. And I am ashamed, mortified. YOUR mother, however, did precisely what was forecast. And was adamant about it. This weekend was what SHE wanted. So she took it. I did not hear from her all weekend. Not a peep from her. Until Sunday afternoon, about 4:45. She texted me that she was on her way home and would be there in about twenty-five minutes.
"She arrived at about five twenty-five, dropped off by the scumbag."
My temper was starting to surface.
"She strolled up as if nothing had happened. Her keys didn't work because I had had the locks changed. I didn't want to take the chance that she would bring the asshole into my house."
"You sold my car!!"
"I told you, bitch, it was my car. I bought it; my name was on the bill of sale, registration, and insurance. I got it so you would have a car. And I didn't give it away as you did with your body. I gave you the money."
She was rapidly coming unglued. Her mascara was running, as well as her eyeliner. She was balling her eyes out.
"But you want to know what the kicker was? She wore her diamond necklace, my 24th-anniversary gift to her, and her Christmas Saphire earrings to the party. When she got home Sunday, she still had them, in addition to her wedding ring and her engagement ring. I took the ring from her because we were no longer married, and the engagement ring had been my grandmother's. But do you know what she didn't have any longer? What she so cavalierly gave away??"
"What was her most favorite piece of jewelry? The thing she had to have because she was so enamored with it, even though it was just a cheap facsimile? One I told her I would have a replica made for her of much finer quality? The ring she loved and would wear almost constantly??"
My daughter and son looked at each other, and as they said "Lady Di's ring," Sophia lost it. She slumped to the floor, wailing.
"Yeah, Lady Di's ring. She didn't have that. And do you know why?"
"Please don't, Michael. PLEASE!!"
"HE WANTED A MOMENTO. SHE GAVE IT AWAY LIKE SHE GAVE HER BODY AWAY!!"
My children shuddered together, and Tara gasped. She turned and hugged Michael. Sophia was a basket case.
"STOP!! PLEASE, STOP. I'LL SIGN EVERYTHING. JUST STOP!"
"So I spent the weekend and the rest of the week arranging things. AND CRYING. OH, HOW I CRIED. That's why I have nothing left now."
That's when the curveball came at me. Ashley said, "Daddy, surely you can forgive her one minor transgression."
"Yeah, Dad, it was just a one-time thing. Mom deserves more from you. Get over it, and get past this."
Strike one; I could never hit the curveball. Micheal's retort was Strike two. I was behind in the count. I was shocked. I did not expect this. Was I the only one hurt this badly?? Was this all my fault?? Were my children suddenly brain dead?
"Have you heard anything we've been discussing here? DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID?? Let's find out.
"Tell me, Sophia, did you converse inappropriately with a man, not your husband, last Friday night?"
"I spoke with a handsome man..."
Ball one.
"Answer the question!!"
"Yes. I suppose I may have."
Ball two. I was looking better. She couldn't find the plate.
"And did you let him intimately touch you, much as one would let one's husband do??"
"It didn't mean anything. The gentleman was so very sophisticated."
High and tight; ball three.
"I see; so then did he TELL you to TELL your husband that you were going to go home with him and be intimate with him??"
"Yes, but I am a mature woman, and Err I uhh..."
Foul tip. I was still in this.
"It's clear. And when you went home with that asshole, you fucked him? Because I WAS NOT THERE!! I don't know, so tell us what you did ALL WEEKEND!!Did you play Scrabble?Discuss poetry?Write letters to the kids??DID YOU THINK OF CALLING YOUR HUSBAND???I didn't So, you're a damn whore.
She threw one at my head, and I dodged. "I wanted it badly, and I took it!!" she said.
"Understand, I will have you deposed, under oath, about what happened that weekend. The world will then know if they don't already. And the young lady who served you on Monday? She is actually a lawyer; she works at Steve's firm. She volunteered to do it because her mother did the same stupid thing and broke up their family. That's what prompted her to become an attorney."
Sophia knew she was in trouble. She broke down again; all the bravado was gone. She stood and looked at her soon-to-be ex-husband and her now three children.
"I'll sign everything and get it to Peter this afternoon."
O'Hara started, "I don't think this is your best interest."
"You're fired, Kathleen. Have your bill sent to my office, and I'll have a check delivered to you."
Right down the middle: I drove it deep into the centerfield seats in Comisky Park.
Sophia moved to the door and turned to me.
"Goodbye, Michael. Kids, I'll call you tomorrow, and we can get together." She left, and the door closed behind her. Ms. O'hara was left standing in the living room.
"Well," she said to me, "I hope you're satisfied. She is distraught."
"BITCH, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!" I bellowed.
The lawyer huffed, and turned, and left.
That's when it started.
"Daddy, how could you be so cruel. Treating mommy like you did." This from my daughter.
"What the hell is wrong with you, dad? Are you seriously going to divorce mom over THIS??"
'I'm so glad I sent the two of them to college,' I thought to myself.
"Do you think I should tolerate this? Is this what the two of you want from your marriages?"
I turned and stared at Tara.
"If that is the case, run away quickly now, Tara." She gasped and stared at me.
"I would never do anything like that, dad. It's wrong, on every front!"
"Surely, dad, you can't be going through with this!!"
"Mike, it's a done deal. And if you can't get behind this, don't either of you include me in any functions in the future. ANY FUNCTIONS!"
I looked him square in the eye and held his gaze. He has my temper, and I could see him rearing up.
Ashley, on the other hand, was in whiney mode.
"Daddy, how could you be so cruel? You saw the shape mommy was in when she left. She is hurting bad. You should forgive her misbehavior and take her back."
I was dumbfounded. My children were siding with their mother in her infidelity.
Tara finally broke the ice and said, "Dad, this may piss Mikey off, but you're right. She never even took ownership or apologized. Not that that would have made any difference, but showing remorse would have been the right thing to do, at the very least."
It was tense from then on.
About two hours later, they called their mother and made arrangements to go and see her. I gave Mike a duplicate key and told him to drive safely. He looked at me and asked if I wanted to come with them.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!!" I bellowed. Mike glared at me and then said he couldn't understand me.
I stepped up the campaign against asswipe, and my minions seemed to be doing a good job and enjoying themselves.
One of the things they did was change his license plate and then anonymously tipped the police to a stolen car. I was impressed that they had such ease of access to his car, even though he kept both his Ferrari and his Cadilac inside a garage.
I also had them follow him on the Dan Ryan Expressway, with a neat little black box that could hack the car's computer. They slowed traffic, and isolated him in the middle lane, and went he got in the right lane to exit, they made the Ferrari swerve and hit the abutment. That caused considerable damage and got him ten days in the hospital.
Meanwhile, his insurance went through the roof, and he lost his original carrier. The guy was having the worse run of luck you could imagine. Not only that, but every time the cops got involved, they didn't precisely bust their asses to solve the crime. They knew of his reputation and kind of turned a blind eye to his difficulties. I heard that the majority were pretty sure some pissed-off husband was getting payback. God bless the boys in blue!!
I got a call from Steve that evening, and he said that she had hand-delivered the paperwork. He had a good judge lined up; his son had been victimized by shithead three years ago, and he promised us he would push the paperwork, both for the divorce and the alienation of affection lawsuit. Steve didn't know if we would get any traction in the adultery filing, but it was there.
The kids got cool to me, more so than the initial confrontation, and only Tara said anything to me about agreeing with me. After a week or so, they went back to school, and the divorce proceeded. After the final decree, I was a free man, and it was coming up to the Cancer Society Ball. I knew he would be there, and I wanted to burn him badly. One of my minions happened to run into me at a coffee shop we frequented and laid an idea on me that was so good that I knew I had to be there to see it. I called Lana and asked if she was going. She said she had gotten an invitation but hadn't thought about going. I told her it would be worth her while to attend, and would she like to go with me. She thought about it and said if I was going to provide the entertainment, she didn't want to miss it.
We showed up and mixed; then I noticed Sophia was there, along with her friends, Gwendolyn and Stephanie. She was trying to chat up shit-fo-brains, but he wanted nothing to do with her. He was zeroing in on a hot petite blonde in a sea-green sheath dress. Asswhipes two goons were corraling her husband, and he was making his move on her. he moved her to a private room and closed the door.
I went over to the husband and told him I could help him out if he would trust me and do what I told him to do. He looked panic-stricken, and Lana was starting to talk to him, explaining what was going to happen. I told him if he went along with everything, she and her husband would still wind up going home together, only slightly the worse for wear. Otherwise, if he pitched a fit, he would probably get his ass whipped. He looked at the two goons and seemed to deflate. If he listened to me, I told him we would put him in touch with people who would help him. He would also be able to lord it over his wife and embarrass her to the point she would apologize to him and be highly embarrassed.
He reluctantly agreed.
At that, the conspirators came out of the side room, with the wife leading the way. She strode up to him, made her little speech, and they turned and left.
We let them get about fifteen feet away, and then the three of us followed. They stopped to get their coats while the goons went and had the Cadillac brought around.
We went out just as they were opening the back doors, and they slipped in, with him grabbing her ass and kissing her. They closed the back door, and then goon number two got in the passenger front seat.
The husband almost lost it; I cautioned him, 'WAIT FOR IT!'
Now, the plan my friend had hatched had two of his 'ASSOCIATES' working in an auto detail shop and had given asshole's office a fifty percent off coupon for interior cleaning with a free hand car wash. While they were doing this, they placed three skunk smell smoke bombs under the seats, complete with electronic detonators.
The car's brake lights flashed, and it started to roll away slowly. It got about ten feet into the circular drive when the vehicle lurched to a stop, hitting a taxi with the front right side of the car.
The doors flew open, and four people spilled out, gagging and coughing, throwing up on the driveway, while smoke poured out. The blonde was falling out of the top of her dress, and her panties were on the pavement, out of the door.
The women's husband ran to his wife, only staggering a little bit as he helped her up due to the smell and the smoke.
I smirked as the asshole tried to stand and hobbled a little on his still game leg. The police arrived as shithead moved around to his erstwhile paramour and took her arm. The husband slugged him in the gut, and as he staggered, kicked him in the balls. Down for the count. He hustled his wife away, even with the smell of skunk on her, chewing her out on the way to their car.
I smiled and turned to Lana; "Score one for the good guys."
I had given the husband a business card with my cell phone number on the back and told him to call the number the next day. I pulled out my cell and hit a speed dial number.
"Yes?" the voice answered.
"Outstanding," I said. "That you, sir." He replied. The connection broke.
I gave the husband a business card with my cell phone number on the back and told him to call me to talk.
Lana and I went home to her townhome, and for the first time, I partook of her charms. She attacked me in the vestibule of her home as soon as the front door closed, and by the time we were in her bedroom, she and I were naked and engaged in several different types of oral and anal stimulation. Now, I had not exactly been a monk since my divorce and had a couple of other dates, mostly with young, willing ladies who were looking to advance their careers. It seems that older males of means were highly desirable.
Lana and I got to the bed, she pushed me down. She did incredible things to me. As soon as she finished, she started again. Sex wasn't about us; it was all about her. Her mission was to erase the guilt from her soul. She was an animal above me; I was simply a means to an end.
As she used me (quite nicely, I might add), she began to sob, crying her eyes out, and shrieking "I'M SORRY LAWRENCE!! I'M SO TERRIBLY SORRY!! PLEASE FORGIVE ME, MY LOVE!!"
I lay there in shock as she orgasmed all over my lower body.
Laurence was the name of her late husband.
She collapsed on me and continued to weep. Slowly, she returned to her usual demeanor and blushed. "I'm so sorry. I have never acted like that before. I'm so embarrassed. What must you think of me??"
I held her as she started to cry again.
"It's all right. You are just emotionally distraught and haven't dealt with the pain yet. I know almost exactly how you feel."
She curled up and kept sniveling.
"I have never reacted liked like that before. I have been with several men since my debacle, and it was just physical release. With you, I felt some connection. I connected with you in some way. I'm so sorry."
We talked for a while. The sex was good, if somewhat emotional. I didn't know what I felt towards this woman. We slept for a time, and then I got up and showered, dressed, pulled the covers up on her sleeping form, and kissed her. She stirred and looked at me.
"Will you be all right?" I asked.
She smiled and said, "I'll be better now. Please call me."
"I will. I promise."
I left and went home.
The months went by. Lana and I became closer. Things in my family progressed somewhat slower. Micheal and Tara got married. My son told me they had invited his mother, and she said she would be there.
"Deal with it, Dad."
I told him I would. I did not attend. Tara's parents were not aware of the situation. They were not pleased with me. My wonderful daughter-in-law filled them in on the problem. Tara's mom was shocked; Tara's dad was pissed. The seriously Italian family immediately shunned my ex-wife. Tara's grandmother went so far as to spit in Sophia's face. It culminated with one of her friends hitting on Sophia and causing a scene. She broke down and fled the reception. I sent Tara a nice note with a check. I sent her parents a conciliatory letter and explained that I could not be in the same room with my ex-wife, let alone the same state. I e-mailed my son to 'get bent.'
The wedding had been in Kenilworth, New Jersey.
One year later, my son and daughter-in-law gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. At Tara's insistence, he was named Michael Giovanni Barron, after his father and two grandfathers. She invited me to the christening. I was overjoyed. I left for Newark, N.J., and got a rental to the hotel. I showed up at St. Micheal the Archangel Catholic Church in Palisades Park, N.J., and met my namesake. I was over the moon.
Then I saw Sophia come in with someone on her arm. I almost lost it.
She approached; I turned to my son, and said "SHE'S HERE, ISN"T SHE??" Tara grabbed my arm and said, "Please, Dad, Just this once."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." I passed her an envelope, and turned on my heel, and left.
I got back to my hotel, checked out, went back to the airport, got the next flight to Chicago, and went home.
I almost had to change my phone number after that. Was I juvenile?? So what. It is what it is.
Time passed, and Micahel got a job in Chicago, working for the Justice Department. I called and congratulated him and Tara and asked after my grandson. They said he was fine and wanted to see his Grandpa. I grinned, and then I heard in the background HER voice.
"Who is it, dear?" I heard.
I hung up and turned off my phone.
I was sullen after that. I hardly talked to anyone except Lana, who had become a good friend, and bed partner.
It appears that my terror campaign against Darron Woodson was still bearing fruit. Mr. Woodson was trying to find out who was targeting him but to no avail. Even my son and daughter-in-law heard of it. It was still just minor instances, but it was growing in legend.
Time passed. About three months later, I got a call from Tara at work.
"Dad, next Saturday is little Michael's third birthday. We are having a party and would like you to be there."
"I would like, sweetheart, but you know how I feel. I am not good company, and I don't want to ruin it for... "
"Mother is not invited. I told my husband, YOUR SON, that she was not welcome here that day. I will cut him off if he invites her or asks her to be there."
I really love this girl. My son does not deserve her.
"I will be honored to attend." I got the time and date. I buzzed my secretary and told her to clear that day all day for me. I called F.A.O. Schwartz and had them procure a Tonka dump truck, in bright yellow, of course, wrap it, and send it to my office. I had one when I was a kid, and Micheal had one for Christmas one year. It was the type of toy you had to play with; no electronics or fancy b/s—metal, with hard rubber tires. It dumped and rolled, and you had to play with it. They couldn't keep them in stock. It seems it was very popular, especially with grandpas.
I showed up at 10:00 that Saturday morning; we had a lovely time-lunch, cake, coffee, and then opening presents. I stuck up a conversation with Tara's parents, and they said they saw why their daughter spoke so highly of me. And her dad thought that the dump truck was a great present.
"Reminds me of one I had when I was a kid. Good call, Mike." I liked him.
Litlle Mike drove the truck all over his backyard. It wore him out. His mother and grandmother put him down for a nap. Even my son was civil. He brought me a beer and said," Why don't you go have a seat in the back yard, old man, and relax."
I took him up on his suggestion and found an Adirondack chair out in the middle of the lawn. Life was good as I took a swig of Bud.
That's when a shadow crossed my face, and I looked up to see my ex-wife. She had a glass of what appeared to be white wine.
"Hello, Micheal. Mind if I join you?"
I glared at her and didn't say anything. She put her oversized shoulder bag on the ground. She sat and crossed her ankles, a pose she often took to get my motor running. Not this time. I glared at her, and she shivered.
"You're not going to make this easy, are you? Alright, Micheal told me you would be here and that his wife said on no terms was I to be invited here today. It won't be very good for him, but he thought it worthwhile to patch things up between us. Micheal, I think we deserve a second chance. I want to wake up with you in my arms, grow old with you. I know we belong together, and I have been very lonely the past several years. What do you think? Can we give it another chance??"
I studied my ex-wife. She had aged considerably over the last several years and had gained about twenty pounds. She had developed a nervous tick and was constantly shuddering. She still had never apolozied and she just blithely presented on with her suite. I studied her and wondered where the woman I had loved and married had gone. I sighed, drained my beer, and stood.
"Well," she said, "What do you think?"
"Not just no, but hell no, Sophia. I'll see you in hell because that's where I've been the past three and a half years, slut." A little harsh? Maybe, but suddenly, I felt good with myself. I turned and walked away.
I went up the lawn to the patio, onto the deck, and through the sliding glass doors into the kitchen. I ran into my son, who braced me with a sinister grin.
"Well, how that did that go, pop? Not so bad, was it?"
The sound of the pistol shot was deafening, and the screams and shrieks broke the silence from the guests streaming to the backyard. I grabbed my son's arm and stared at him. "I think your mother hurt herself. You better go check on her." He blanched and bolted to the backyard. I grabbed a bottle of water, went into the living room, and sat on the couch alone.
The police showed up and took statements. It's incredible how much damage a .40cal. handgun can do to a person's head. I answered their questions; did I believe my wife was suicidal? Did she give any indication of taking her own life? I told them I had not spoken to my ex-wife in more than three years. I talked to my daughter-in-law, and through her tears, told her I understood she had had no part in this. I left and went home. I had no sooner made it in the door when the phone rang. It was Lana. She had heard on the news what had happened. I told her I was handling it. She wanted to know if she should come over?
"No, I'll be o.k. But thanks for offering."
Monday, I was back in my office. I called our top crime photographer into my office. Stu Phillips was the best in Chicago and had several local and national awards for his work.
"Stu, I need a favor. I don't know if you're aware that my ex-wife committed suicide Saturday at my grandson's birthday party."
"Everbody has pretty much heard about it, boss. We are sorry for it, even though you were not close."
"Thank you. I appreciate it. How tight are you with the forensics guys? Do you think you could get a copy of the photos of her skull, her head? Ten by twelve color would be best."
He looked at me funny, and I could see wheels turning. "This is a personal favor for me. If you can't, I'll understand."
"No, I can do it. I have a few people I can talk to who owe me a favor. I don't think it will be too hard. Just weird, I guess."
"Thanks, Stu. Now I owe you."
"Give me a few days, boss."
A plan was forming in my mind- it should put the finishing touches on my revenge campaign.
The wake took place over three days at an upscale funeral home on the Westside. It was a closed casket, as there wasn't much they could do with her face. She had many friends and acquaintances. Several hundred people were in attendance.
I was not one of them. Rumor had it that I was conspicuous by my absence.
The day of her funeral dawned overcast, gray, and spitting rain. I was cold and damp. The funeral procession was four flower cars and three limos, in addition to the hearse. There were approximately sixty cars in the procession. Again, I was not among them. I was already at the cemetery, standing in the misty rain in a copse of trees about one hundred feet away.
I watched as the coffin was unloaded and brought to the gave side. The large crowd assembled, and the priest said some lovely things. It made me wonder who he was talking about. I was amazed that he had even shown, seeing as how she had taken her own life.
My son's head was on a swivel, looking all over for me, I guess.
The service finally ended, and people started to leave. Now there were just immediate family and close friends. That crowd slowly thinned till there were just my kids. Then they went to the limos, and the last was my son standing in the open back door of the Cadilac, looking around. He finally gave up and got in. The car slowly wound its way to the main drive and turned to the street. It vanished into the gathering mist.
I left the trees just as the groundskeepers were readying to close the grave. I approached her coffin and thought about pissing on it. But the anger and hate were gone. Somehow, I don't know how, it had all evaporated. I looked down on the love of my life, sniffed, and said goodbye.
"I forgive you. Even though you don't think you did anything wrong, I forgive you. I loved you. But not anymore."
I got to work the next day and found a large manilla envelope on my desk. I sat and stared at it. I knew what was in it, but I did not relish looking at it. Finally, I opened the envelope and removed the photo. It was not pretty, but it was Sophia.
The children's society benefit was in a week, the fourth anniversary of the start of this fucking mess. I called Lana and asked if she would like to go with me. She readily agreed, and I told her I would pick her up at about 8:00 p.m.
I called down to the society editor and asked her to come up to my office. Then I called our investigative reporter and our photographer. I asked them to come up also and waited to convene a council of war.
They assembled, and I outlined what I wanted.
"Next weekend, I want to run that expose piece on Darren Woodson." 'About time" were several comments.
"Only documented, factual, sworn to accounts, backed up by depositions and affidavits. NO SPECULATIONS!! We should have enough facts to crucify him. I want photographers there at the benefit to document everything. Then I want to interview the organizers to determine the gross receipts. Can we do this?"
"I don't think it will be a problem, boss. We'll have everything set to run at midnight Friday, leaving room for new photos."
"Thank you all," I said.
One week later, I escorted Lana Toolie to the children's gala. We arrived and checked our coats and mingled with some friends. There he was, circulating like a great white shark, looking for his next victim. He finally spied a cute brunette, long hair down to her waist, who had just sent her husband to the bar for refills. Her champagne flute was only about one-third full.
She was smiling as Woodson sidled up to her and smiled. Her husband had just reached the bar and was waiting for service. Woodson leaned in and whispered in her ear. She smiled and blushed slightly. He brushed her arm and then her shoulder. Then shivered and moved closer to him.
I noticed the one goon took up a position closer to the balcony doors, and the second one started to move towards the husband. He turned and suddenly caught the inappropriate attention towards his wife. He started towards them, and the asshole stepped up his seduction.
I turned towards Lana and told her, "TIME!" She stepped away from me, and moved slightly towards goon #2, and waited. Woodson whispered in her ear and took her arm, starting to move towards the balcony. She was grinning and seemed to be enjoying herself.
I made my move and interposed myself between them. "Excuse me, you don't know me, but this prick made the same suggestions to my wife almost four and a half years ago. She succumbed to his advances and left with him for the weekend. It destroyed our marriage and led" at this, I reached in and pulled out the photo of my wife's destroyed face "to this. This is my wife. She committed suicide last week." I put the picture into her hand, and she blanched, shuddered, and gasped, dropping the glass from her hand. It shattered, drawing gasps and shrieks from the surrounding crowd. "This is your chance not to make the same mistake she did."
I surreptitiously signaled to the photographers around and noticed that goon #2 had started moving towards me. The startled woman looked at the photo and then turned to shithead. "YOU PRICK," and her hand slapped his face, drawing her fingernails viciously across his cheek. About that time, his bodyguard was almost to us, and Lana interposed herself.
"Oh, excuse me," she said.
I turned to walk away, presenting my right shoulder to the asshole.
Woodson glared at me." IT'S YOU," he snarled and reached for my shoulder. "LET GO OF ME!!" I growled and spun not towards him but away to my left, using my momentum to turn around and drive my right fist straight into his nose. His nose collapsed, and his upper jaw cracked. His right cheekbone cracked, parts of his nose punctured his eye. He dropped like ten pounds of raw sewage. His goons didn't know what to do and just stood over him while cameras clicked and whirred all around them.
Lana took my arm as the brunette's husband reached her.
"Please, take me home NOW!" she sniffed.
We moved to the center of the dance floor as the crowd parted before us. I stopped and faced the crowd.
"I should be ashamed with what that person," I said, pointed at Woodson, "got away with. YOU sure all be ashamed of what he did just by contributing money to charity. The charity should be held accountable, along with Chicago and society in general, for his actions. Saturday, and Sunday there will be a newspaper article with the facts and the courageous statements of his victims. Read it, and take it to heart."
Lana was pulling at me before I lost it, and we made our way through the parting throng.
We went home, she iced my aching fist, and then screwed my brains out.
The fallout was swift and severe. While there is no law against his actions, public opinion was much more brutal. He became a pariah, and charities and organizations shunned him and his money—contributions to the children's gala dropped by sixty-five percent. The Cancer Fund and the A.M.A. returned his donation, the Diabetes Association returned his check, the American Heart Association removed him from their board, and the Archdiocese of Chicago censured him and returned his contribution. Even the NAACP told him, 'Don't call us, and we sure as hell won't be calling you.' It turns out he was a stockbroker, and the negative duplicity caught up with him. He lost his license and his job.
He tried suing me and sought to have me arrested, but it turns out the husband of the woman he tried to seduce was an ADA in Cook County and started his own investigation of his actions. The suit went nowhere.
He was found two weeks after he was fired in an alley down by the old stockyards, beat to a pulp, his penis severed and stuffed in his mouth, and his throat slit. Too bad.
Lana and I became an item; we are exclusive, but I don't know if marriage is in our future. My kids slowly resumed talking to me, and we started to made inroads with her children. It is challenging work and led to many emotional scenes. But we are making the best of a bad situation.
