So there you have it. How does a perfectly sane woman get caught up in an insane situation? Hormones. And that also explains my predicament. There I was, 9:59pm, a 37 year old woman shinnying down knotted bed sheets from my open second story bedroom window. Certifiably insane with hormones.
I arrived breathless at his door...his back door, knocking frantically. “Let me in...Quick!”
It took him a minute to answer and when he did it was with definite confusion. “What are you doing back here?”
“Hard to explain.” I said “Please let me in?”
He did, and I found myself standing in Barney’s mysterious home. It was not at all what I expected. I mean, he was a bachelor, but usually bachelors have a few comfy chairs...all in black. He had a table, with a beautiful lace table cloth and four chairs. Two at the table, one with assorted papers and another facing a small TV. That was about it. And it was very, very clean. I started to get nervous. What was I doing? What kind of bachelor has a small TV and no pizza boxes? Isn’t this exactly the kind of house that criminals or worse lived in? The kind of set that Abigail was probably watching right now on Lost? I slowly reached towards the door handle.
“You look lovely tonight, Elizabeth.”
“Hmm?” I laughed nervously. Then I remembered my outfit, a shimmery blouse and dress pants that I had bought over a year ago, which had then been promptly consigned to my closet. Too revealing? “Well, I.... I am probably too dressed up. I’ll go change and be right back.”
“It looks wonderful.” He smiled. Those eyes were something else.
Really, I thought, how often in the grand scheme of things did kidnappings happen anyway? Just a few minutes and I’ll stay near a door.
“Want to sit down? I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?” He opened the fridge. I reached for the door handle and held my breath hoping that the fridge was not cold storage for his victim’s severed heads. No. Hot dogs, a bowl of Kraft dinner, Orange Juice and Milk in a carton. So he was a bachelor after all. Just one who cleaned up. I released the doorknob.
“Orange Juice.” I said and sat down at the table, making sure I was out of sight of the kitchen window...just in case. He set the orange juice in front of me with a small smile. Was he nervous? His eyes looked gently into my own for a moment and then away.
“I’m sorry Elisabeth. I wish I had more time.”
“Um...Sorry about what?” Maybe I should have stayed near the door.
“I hate having to do this to you. I really do like you but...”
I stood up. “Do what? Maybe I had better go.” I turned to leave.
He grabbed me by the arm. “Please, I need to show you something. It’s important.”
Oh boy. By now I was frantic. He persistently pulled me towards the door that led from his kitchen to, presumably, his garage. I waved out the kitchen window and mouthed help.
He stopped, and looked puzzled out the window, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing!” Perhaps I could get away in a moment when we wasn’t looking. He opened the door and there, beyond was the dark garage.
**********************************************
“Elizabeth! Elizabeth!” I could hear a voice through the darkness and a fuzzy white light. This was it! Now, was I supposed to go towards the light or what was...”Elisabeth!” My vision snapped back into focus. Barney Bean’s face was unbelievably close to mine and I was held tight in his arms. A strange warm sensation was rushing through my body.
“What happened?” I mumbled.
“Oh. Thank God.” he brushed the hair from my eyes. “I opened the garage door and you passed right out. I barely caught you before you hit the cement. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I...” I remembered. Was I already in his dungeon of doom? Did I miss my chance to escape because my method of dealing with conflict was losing all the blood in my head? I wriggled free of his arms and looked around. I was in his garage. It was well lit and extremely tidy. There was a bench where a number of tools, clean and sharp, were hanging and there in the middle of the room ... Oh! A beautiful old Cadillac. “What’s that?”
“I wanted to show you. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Uh...” was all I could mumble out.
“I’ve been working on it for years. Took me a while to find just the right model, paint color...”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Do you think so?” His eyes lit up like a child. “I really hope so. She’s not quite done...there’s the paint to touch up and a little more upholstery...well, it might not make it after all.”
“It’s amazing. I never would have guessed that this was the reason you...” woops! A little too much information.
“Pardon?”
“Um...you just don’t seem the type.”
“Yeah, really I’m not. Self taught you know. Too busy in school to take car shop. Want to sit down?”
“I’d love to!” He opened the door and I glided easily on to the white leather seats. He sat down on the drivers’ side and rested his hands on the wheel.
“Elly, can I call you Elly?”
“Yeah, sure” I said, how strange to have another man call me that. A warm smile rose on my cheeks.
He looked sadly down at his hands on the wheel. “Could you tell me, please, is Harvey going to … is he dieing?”
He looked so sad. I was sure they had never met. Sensitive man! “Yes, Barney. It looks like he is. He hasn’t been well for a while now. The doctor says he hopefully has one month, maybe two at the most. Nice of you to ask.”
Barney looked sadder still, “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell? You got to keep it secret Elly, no matter what.”
All kinds of terrible visions ran through my head. “Um, could you give me an idea … I mean, if it’s against the law, I don’t know … please don’t hurt me!”
He laughed, “Elly you sure are funny! It’s just … well, personal.”
Had I been out of the dating world a little too long! “Sure, sure.” I said, “Tell away!”
There was a long sigh. “My father left us when I was nine.”
“Oh I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks, seems like ages ago now. I must have always known that he was going to go. You see, he was away a lot. Traveling salesman. He would drive up to the house in his beautiful white Cadillac, gleaming like a float on parade day. It always felt like parade day when he would come home. I would run out the door to meet him and he would pick me up in his arms … he always smelled like pine, he sold cleaner, you see. That was when I was young. By the time I was nine he visited less and less. I just kind of knew something was not quite right. Kids always know. He was somewhere else in between those visits, he had to be. Each visit my mom and dad argued more and more. The worst of it is that I hated my mom for being so mad at my dad. I thought she was making him stay away. The last day I saw him they were arguing pretty bad. I ran out of the house to the car. I loved the way the car smelled, clean, and new. I loved to close my eyes and pretend I was driving far away where nothing was wrong. Well, that was the day I opened the glove box for the first time. There was a brown paper envelope and it was pretty heavy. I thought it was the match car I was hoping to have for my birthday so I peaked. Inside was a picture of a beautiful lady and a ring. A man’s wedding band. I knew then, I knew! My dad was living another life. Maybe he had another little boy with matchbox cars and baseball hats. Maybe he loved him more. Maybe he would never come back again. Most of all I was angry that another little boy would drive around with his daddy in the beautiful Cadillac, the only thing that didn’t seem to be a lie. I took my little pen knife and I cut all of his upholstery, each piece twice, one for me and one for my mom, long, thin strips of leather. Then I waited for him to come out. Finally the yelling stopped and he came out the door with his suitcase. He was so mad already but I didn’t care. I waited until he saw the car then I started to yell, “You lied to me! You lied! This is not your home!” over and over again. When he finally turned to face me there were tears in his eyes. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “You’re my boy, Barney, no matter what happens, you have to believe me.” He held me while I kicked him. He kissed me. Then he opened his door, sat on the ruined upholstery and left. That was the last time I saw him.”
I didn’t know what to say. What do you say to someone with a story like that? Sorry really doesn’t cut it, but all other words seem sad and pitiful. “Sorry,” I said. “I really, really am. You never found him? Did you find his other family? Is he still alive?”
“Oh, I said I never saw him again. I’ve found him.”
“Really! Well, that’s great … or not so great depending on how you feel about it. Um … are you going to visit him?”
“Oh yes. You see Elly, I know where he is. I’ve known for a while … Elly … my dad … you take care of him. It’s Harvey.”
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