There Are No Accidents Read online

  One day, I had the afternoon off from work and set about searching his storage boxes which were stacked in my garage. My cat joined me and I was pleased of the company as a state of foreboding descended on me like a cloud. As I opened the first and then the second, it became clear that all six boxes were packed with DVDs. I glanced at the titles and knew instantly that these were porn movies. I hurried into the house, grabbed my laptop and returned to play them right there in the garage. I was shocked! I’d seen regular porn movies before, but these were horrific. I played them one by one and felt sick to my stomach. This was serious pornographic material. The sexual violence perpetrated against the women was disturbing and I knew I had uncovered the warped mind of a man with a disturbing psychological condition. Suddenly, my light game of detection had morphed into a more sinister reality and I knew I had to tread carefully.

  I repacked the boxes, remembering to replace them perfectly. I sat in the living room to recover, trying to erase these horror movies from my head. My whole being must have been focused on discovery as what happened next was uncanny. My cat jumped up and into the bookshelves which surrounded me and began meowing loudly. She began scratching behind the books until the sound of crashing plastic brought me to her rescue. I jumped up and quickly removed several books to see her uncovering stacks of plastic-cased CDs. I gently clutched her body and lifted her away from the chaos she had caused and then reached into the bookcase for one of the CDs. It was labeled only with a number. Once again, I opened my laptop and played the CD. If I hadn’t had enough for one day, this was much more. I watched in disbelief as a series of obscene photographs spun before my eyes. There were different women with various men performing sex acts. I played several, they were all similar, except for the few labeled in red ink. These were different. They had explicit photos of women performing degrading acts with several men at once.

  Worst of all, my husband was in all of them!

  I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

  It was late in the day and I knew I had to make a fast recovery and replace these hidden CDs quickly before he arrived home. My cat brushed past my legs and mounted the shelf by the front door. She sat intently watching the driveway for the whole time it took me to replace everything. Then she and I went into the garden as usual. I needed more than a glass of wine today, so I sat with a stiff drink and she with a bowl of milk. Our union was perfect, but my life was not.

  I think that’s when the headaches started. I associated it with the stress of uncovering more than his extramarital affairs. However, I couldn’t stop. The searching became an obsession. Next, I found his membership cards for secret sex clubs. Some were online and others were in the LA area. One of these was exclusively for people wishing to pursue sadomasochism and this immediately resonated with my seeing abrasions on his lower legs. When I’d questioned him, he'd dismissed them as nothing more than scratches from the plants in our yard. “But you never go outside,” I’d said. “You never even sit in the yard.” This angered him and ignited a fit of rage.

  There were a series of incidents and I logged every one of them in my journal. Men are creatures of habit and inevitably a pattern emerged. I worked my way through the week, recording the clothes he wore and the days on which he’d choose something special; a tight pair of casual pants or a sexy thong. Once he’d even asked my opinion on his choice of clothing. He’d said he needed to look upscale in his appearance. I made a remark about men who have affairs with trashy women. He turned, looked me in the eye and said, “Some men trade up,” and then he laughed in my face. I was humiliated, again.

  I discovered that Thursday afternoons were for S&M (Sadomasochism) and the Swingers club card was used exclusively on business trips. Once, when he was packed for such a trip, I investigated his hand luggage and found a neatly folded Kleenex containing two Cialis sex pills. This was tucked carefully into the top pocket, which I assumed was for easy access, possibly during the flight. So I decided to have some fun. I remembered something I loved to eat and went to the kitchen to find it. I spread out the packet on the kitchen bar, found two that perfectly resembled the Cialis and I exchanged them. I often wonder about the effect of those pine nuts and the scenario that followed.

  I knew when fresh bait was in the offing. The prospect of a new sex partner would change his whole demeanor. He’d become upbeat and rosy faced, challenged and eager for the chase to begin. The new affairs would last anywhere between three weeks to three months, but by this stage, he’d have a couple more lined up and raring to go. His appetite seemed insatiable.

  People usually describe these men as womanizers, so I studied the psychology, researched the subject and soon realized that the correct term for men exhibiting this condition was sex addict. Without a doubt, he was a sex addict! Whether it be alcohol, drugs or sex, they all conform to the same pattern. Armed with this information, I asked myself what I should do. Do I offer to help him, or do I simply leave him? Is he aware of his damaging trail and downward spiral? With so many unanswered questions spinning in my head, I decided the best option would be to seek professional help.

  I informed my primary care physician and she recommended a psychologist who specialized in addiction and abuse. My first visit was to assess me, which I entered into willingly. After my assessment was declared normal, I bared my soul and relayed my story. She advised me that I couldn’t help him unless he was willing to enter a program of recovery. “Once men reach a certain age,” she said, “it’s highly unlikely that they will give up the one thing in life that they love.”

  “Their addiction?” I tentatively asked.

  “Correct. Now let’s concentrate on helping you.” She smiled and proceeded to teach me how to address his behavior. I was a good student and learnt how to diffuse his verbally abusive attacks by using a verbal shock tactic and it worked. I learnt to read his body language, recognizing his patterns of deceit. I read his lies like an open book and added this information to my already acquired knowledge which I gained from his “memorabilia”. At last I had a coping mechanism in place and when challenged, I would hurl a clever riposte in his direction and he would retreat, as all bullies do when confronted by someone with courage. But, I still had to find a solution. Fundamentally, I knew that he didn’t care about me. All he cared about was the house, which gave him a secure base, money and a dependent with ready cash. These things were essential to perpetuate his lifestyle and I had to think how to get rid of him, without losing my home and my money!

  The next day, while working at the TV studios, I found that I needed to rest in between shoots and sorted out a chair in a quiet corner. My director, Gina, came over and sat beside me. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “I have a headache,” I said. “I’ll be fine by the next scene.”

  “They’re becoming more frequent,” she said, sounding concerned.

  “Yeah, migraines seem to be my new thing. They only began a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Ummm… there’s something else,” she said. “I know you too well. Want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.” When we’re holding back emotion, it only takes a kind word to trigger the release. With tear-filled eyes I briefly related the story of my miserable marriage.

  Gina immediately took charge of me and cancelling the remainder of the day’s shoot, we sat together talking for an hour or so. She was kind and before we parted, she said thoughtfully, “I may have a solution to your problem. Let me speak to my cousins and in the meantime, I want you to promise me that you’ll see a doctor about those headaches, ok?” I was pleased of her friendship and readily agreed.

  Gina, came from a large family of Italian immigrants. I’d often observed the cousins when they visited the set. They were all men and they dressed in black designer suits and the requisite dark glasses. They were sleek, handsome, charming and way too young for me. They’d fly in from New Jersey where the family is based, attend to their business, spend a couple of hours around the studio, go to dinner and fly home.
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  Early the next morning I received a call, “I talked with my cousin and I have news. Meet me for breakfast, 8:30 at Gerome’s Bakery.” I obeyed Gina’s request and found her sitting in a quiet booth at the back of the diner. She began talking fast, “You know, my cousin said that if you don’t act, your husband will. He has everything to gain and you have everything to lose!”

  “Which cousin?” I asked. “They all look so similar.”

  “Ricardo, he’s the one who’s… a little on the heavy side, but cute. He likes you. Wishes you were single.”

  “I’m not and he’s too young!”

  She smiled, then paused to look around to check if she could be overheard. Lowering her voice, she continued. “He knows how to help you and you don’t need to worry, he’s a professional. This is what you have to do.” I listened intently. “You and I will go to dinner and you’ll tell your husband that we’re driving out to some fancy restaurant in the hills. After an hour or so, you’ll call him, saying that you’re feeling unwell and you’ll ask him to come and get you… we’ll give him an obscure address. Then my cousins will intercept his journey and your troubles will disappear.”

  “God Gina! Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Sure, it happens all the time. It’s what they do… it’s business.”

  “Nothing personal then,” I said in disbelief.

  “Look, business is business. You can’t let personal feelings get in the way. They’re doing you a favor. Where we come from, there are feuds between families that go back generations.”

  “New Jersey?”

  “Sicily,” she said, accompanied by a hand on the heart gesture. “Our family’s based in Sicily, but we and other Sicilians have invested heavily in the States. There are territories and businesses to protect here, so we take care of ‘business’ wherever it may be.”

  “I understand,” I said, accepting her answer, feeling it was best not to question anything at this point.

  “I like you. My cousins like you, so we’re offering a favor… without payment. Don’t worry, it’ll look like an accident. They’re professionals, they don’t make mistakes.” She was very convincing.

  “I need another coffee, and time to think this over,” I said, shaking a little as I digested the conversation.

  “Ok babe, take your time. I’ve gotta get moving. Pleased we can help and remember he likes you! This could be a new beginning for you. Who knows… you might even become one of our family.” She laughed and waved and I sat and shook. I had to consider a favor, or how to decline it without seeming ungrateful. Both prospects were alarming. Not to mention that I now knew too much about their family and that one of them wanted to date me… ostensibly when I was single again, which was very much in his hands! I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and it felt very uncomfortable.

  Once again I found myself sitting in a sterile building, but this was my doctor’s office. “I’ve been getting these headaches,” I told her. “They began two or three weeks ago.”

  “Could be migraines? Do you have any other symptoms, such as nausea or flashing lights?”

  “No and they’re no longer responding to painkillers.” I explained. She then examined my eyes and advised me to have an MRI.

  “That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?”

  “I always find that elimination is the best route,” she said. “Your blood pressure is raised and that’s often an indication that things aren’t quite right. So best to check, ok?” I of course agreed and drove to the MRI unit to make the appointment.

  “We can squeeze you in next Monday,” the receptionist said. “Is 9:30 a.m. good for you?”

  “Sure, yes, that’s fine. Probably not really necessary… only headaches. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.” I rambled on to try and excuse the fuss this was causing. “I think my doctor’s overreacting, but best to make sure.” The receptionist assumed I was nervous and proceeded to calm me. I left the office wondering how I was going to pay for a procedure that I didn’t need.

  *

  About a month ago my husband had asked me if we could have his boss to dinner. He said it would be good for his promotional prospects, so I agreed. I enjoyed cooking for special occasions and thought it would be a distraction from the mounting stress which was overtaking my life. His boss had a new wife and I was looking forward to meeting her, but when they arrived I noticed how cold she was towards him. Every time he touched her she cringed. He cast his eyes downwards to disguise his discomfort, then followed a sideways glance at my husband, then his eyes darted back to her. The tension became apparent when my husband made eye contact with his wife. I’d noticed this familiarity before and now after my intense training, these signals screamed at me! Every time he filled her glass their fingers would touch. He’d pass by her chair and his body would brush against her back. It was too obvious and it was embarrassing. There was an atmosphere mounting like a chemical reaction which was about to explode! To calm myself, I walked across the room, picked up my cat and began stroking her. I held her tight against my chest, so she must have felt my heart pounding and realized my distress. As I passed by the other woman’s chair, my cat suddenly lashed out with her claws, attacking her head and pulling out clumps of auburn hair. The woman screamed, the pain must have been unbearable… I know something about pain now. As the two men rushed to her aid, I walked on and before carefully depositing my cat outside the house, I rewarded her with a kiss. Now that she was safely out of reach from my husband’s foot, I returned to the chaos. The woman was crying, my husband was fuming and I was covered in her blood. With a napkin wrapped around her wound, she and the boss left for the emergency room.

  The aftermath was not pretty. My husband wanted to kill my cat. I leapt to her defense.

  “She was protecting me.” I said.

  “From what?” he said.

  “From infidelity,” I said, defiantly.

  My life was spiraling downwards at an accelerated rate. I had made my decision regarding my director’s favor. I couldn’t go there. Even with all the unhappiness my husband’s behavior had caused, I couldn’t live with blood on my hands. Now I had to think how to placate Gina and her Mafioso cousins. The consequences could be dire. Losing my job and her friendship would be bad, but upsetting her cousins could be a whole lot worse! As if this wasn’t enough, I had also to figure out how to terminate a marriage without losing my home and financial security. It was not surprising that I was getting headaches!

  Chapter 5

  DEATH

  The next morning I found myself in a cylindrical tube. The MRI center had called with a cancellation slot, which I took. “We’re going to give you a full body MRI and then decide if we need a separate image of your head,” the medical team explained. I obeyed and went through the uncomfortable, but not painful procedure. After waiting half an hour, they took my head and held it rigid with clamps, while a camera slowly circumnavigated my brain. I remember thinking that if ever I take a trip into space, they’ll equip me with something similar. I decided to take the remainder of the day off work to try and decompress. The timing was perfect, as my husband was away on business and I could quietly focus on solving my problems. I sat in the garden, opened my journal and listed my problems in order of importance and waited for inspiration. None came. “Best to take a philosophical approach,” I told my cat. “All things pass with time and so will this.” She purred in compliance.

  *

  The studios were buzzing today and we were making up for lost time. This conveniently ruled out any hope of a discussion with Gina. I worked hard and tried to ignore the persistent headache that accompanied me, despite dosing myself with stronger painkillers. At 4 p.m. I received a call from my doctor. “I have your results from the MRI unit,” she said.

  “Ok, tell me what’s wrong with me?” I asked, feeling anxious about the prognosis.

  “I’d prefer that we discuss this in person. Could you come in at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning?�
�� she said, evading a direct answer. “It may be a good idea to bring someone with you,” she added. “At times like this, we often need a little moral support.” Gina had been watching me, and realized that all was not well. We sank into the hospitality couch and I explained the situation.

  “Sounds serious,” she said. “You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll come with you.” I nodded in appreciation and we independently went home.

  I couldn’t sleep at all that night. My mind was racing with all kinds of gruesome scenarios as to the state of my health. My cat was restless too. She sensed my agony and remained with me throughout the night. Our union was one of perfect symbiosis.

  As with all dreaded moments, they eventually arrive. Gina and I sat together across the desk from my physician. There was an uncomfortable silence which I broke by asking that she tell me straight. “I’m prepared for the worst news,” I said, smiling and trying to be brave.

  “It does seem to be the worst,” she replied, calmly. “I’ve consulted with two senior neurosurgeons, I sent them your MRI results and they both returned the same diagnosis. You have an advanced malignant tumor growing inside your brain. The headaches are due to the building pressure.” I tried to speak, but no words manifested, so Gina spoke for me.

  “The tumor can be removed, can’t it?” she asked.

  “It’s lodged in a part of the brain that would make it impossible to reach.”

  “Can’t they try?” she persisted.

  “I’m told that if surgery were performed it would cause instant brain death.”

  I found some courage and asked the concluding question, “You’re telling me that the tumor is inoperable and I’m going to die, aren’t you?” I said pragmatically.