A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 03

Then over an intercom outside somewhere on the gas pump someone said, "Sorry, you've got an invalid card. You're supposed to bring it for me to examine. If it really is invalid I'm supposed to take and keep it."

'What,' I thought, 'that's insane! This is my VISA card!' I tried it again, 'we've got a terrific limit; no way we're over...oh no...oh...no.' Oh my stomach, the rumbling. Don't start; not now.

I found the speaker, or I think I did and answered, "No that's all right. We've got good credit. There must be some mistake."

The voice on the intercom responded, "You got a bad card lady."

I stood there beside the pump. Francis no. He didn't. He wouldn't. I've been using this card all summer. I just bought gas Thursday... This is Monday. I got pa...pers...last... I felt queasy. I needed to pee. A car pulled up behind mine. The voice in the intercom growled, "What are you going to do ma'am?"

I answered the voice. "I'll be right in. I'll pay cash."

The hidden voice retorted, "Come in and I'll credit you the amount you want."

Still confused I went inside. This was troubling. Francis had to know I needed my credit card. He's certainly been checking the monthly statements. He must know... I got inside. I checked my purse and found just over $40.00. I pushed a twenty across the counter, "I'll take twenty." The elderly gentleman at the counter, a man I'd seen around over the years, a widower now I thought, took my money and said I should go and pump my gas.

Back at the pump I put in my twenty dollars' worth. I wondered, 'Francis had turned my clothes in to Goodwill. He'd moved out of our house, or his parent's house we'd always lived in. He'd moved further down the road, and he'd filed 'separation papers'. OK, get a grip, I deserved it, I had it coming, but he couldn't have cut off my credit. He knew I didn't have any of my own money. He knew how much I depended on my VISA. He wouldn't have done that to me-would he?'

I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. I'd read stories. These were the kinds of things people did when they were getting divorced. I'd been gone half a year. My father had warned me Francis might do something, but I refused to believe it. Had he? He couldn't have. No he wouldn't. What was I going to do if he had? He wouldn't hurt me like that. Not Francis, my Francis. I should have come back sooner. I should never have left. Was I that stupid? How could I have been so stupid?

I pulled my Avalon over to the edge of the BP lot. I still had to pee. I got out and went back inside the station, got the bathroom key, and went and did my duty. I still felt sick. I was so nervous!

I had my cell phone. I could call Francis and find out if he'd done anything with my VISA. If he had I could tell him how much I needed it. He'd fix it for me. I'm sure he would. I think he would?

I got back in my car and pulled my phone out and decided, 'I'll just give Mr. Francis Campbell a call.' I looked at 'my' cell phone. I didn't open it. The cellular contract was in Francis's name. I'd used the phone just, just...well I'd charged it just a couple days ago, last Thursday. What if? I opened the phone; the light came on but no Verizon...nothing, darkness, no real signs of life, not a hint, not a smidgen of communicable life. I tapped on all the appropriate buttons, still nothing.

This was awful!

I was beginning to feel really extraordinarily nervous. 'No,' I said to myself, 'I couldn't be a 'Nervous Nellie, not today.' I needed to do something. I reached back and scratched around on the back seat and found my sewing kit. Opening it I rummaged around. Xanax. I needed a Xanax. I found one of the bottles, opened it, and popped one in my mouth. I took a sip out of my water bottle. OK, just sit quietly, sit here and relax, let my little friend take over. Things will be all right; it'll be all right.

After a several long moments the fear started to dissipate, my confidence started to ooze back in. Oh, it felt good.

I restarted my car. I thought, 'Maybe instead of Walmart I'll just go to Mrs. Bielson's; get my apartment straightened out, then Walmart.' I popped it into drive and took off. My, I pretended it felt good to be driving along familiar roads. The weather was good. The sun was out, not a cloud in the sky, but I still felt jittery. Maybe if I took another... I reached over to the passenger seat, opened my sewing kit, and got out another pill. I turned on the radio; ah a country station, real music, written by real people, about real pro...blems. I turned the radio off.

~~V~~

Reaching the Bielson house I jumped out and walked briskly to the front door. My legs felt kind of rubbery. On the way I saw Mrs. Bielson in the backyard; she was hanging out some wash. I eschewed the front door and slipped around the side to where she was. As I rounded the corner I called out, "Hello Mrs. Bielson!"

She turned around. At first she smiled, but I guess seeing me she thought of what I'd done; the smile left her face, "Leslie. What takes you here?"

"Oh, mom didn't tell you? I came about the apartment you have for rent."

"Oh that old thing," shrugged Mrs. Bielson, "you're not interested in that."

"Yes ma'am. I am"

I watched as Mildred Bielson hesitantly and uncertainly set her wash down on a picnic table, "Well come on." She didn't look at me. I didn't look directly at her either. I was scared.

I followed her inside through her back door, through her kitchen, her living room, and to the large foyer area in the front of her house. I was feeling a little better, calmer. Thank god for Pfizer.

Mrs. Bielson's house had been built for her by her father years ago, long before her husband died. The front door led into a large foyer area. Immediately facing the front door was a long stairway that led to her second floor. On either side in the front was a door; one led to her living room, the other to her dining room. The way the place was constructed it allowed for privacy entering and leaving the front door. She'd apparently decided to 'let out' her second floor, and by keeping the two side doors closed and locked the front door and stairway afforded a good degree of privacy.

We got to the stairs, she started up, and I followed. When we reached the top the one thing that immediately accosted me was the total absence of furniture. I'd thought the place was going to be furnished. My mind started to close; it was like I was entering a narrowing tunnel, no clothes, no VISA, no phone, no furniture...

Mrs. Bielson turned to me and interrupted my thoughts, "There are two large rooms. One you could use as a living room, the other as a bedroom," she pointed to a door behind her, "there's a small kitchen in there, and," pointing to the right, "there's a bathroom with a shower."

I asked, "Any furniture?"

She replied, "No, and I expect you to get carpets for the living and bedroom areas. I'll want padding for the carpets too. There's a stove, but you'll need your own refrigerator. The rent's $700.00 a month, in advance, and I'll need $100.00 deposit.'

My mind was in a whirl, 'Carpets, padding, a refrigerator? The rent's $700.00 plus a deposit.' I kept feeling sweaty, sweaty and gritty. I asked, "What about utilities?"

"I've got those," she replied, but I want it quiet up here. No friends, no loud music, and no 'men friends'."

I noted she'd said 'men friends' in a somewhat less than familial way. She didn't like me. I asked, "Can I write you a check?"

Mrs. Bielson answered, "I'll take your check Leslie, but I'm not happy you're renting. I know what you did, and I'm more than a little ashamed of you. I'm only taking your money because I'm afraid I might lose my house, you know, taxes and all."

My stomach turned into a hard tight ball. I bet I had an ulcer, or stomach cancer. 'No,' I said to myself, 'stop making a catastrophe out of everything.' I wasn't sick, not physically, but heartbroken for sure. But why did I... I needed to hide someplace, if I had a Valium, "Mrs. Bielson I need the bathroom. May I be excused?"

Mildred's indifference fled; her face took on real concern, "Sure, right in there," she pointed to the bathroom door, and I fled.

I got to the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. I was having trouble breathing again. I needed another 'pick me up'. A glass of red wine, maybe another Xanax; I needed something, anything. If I could just go lie down someplace. I checked my wrist watch. I usually took my mid-morning nap about this time.

I held my stomach and tried to regain control. I felt light headed. I knew why too. My mom, dad, Lori-Ann, now Mrs. Bielson, I bet everyone knew, small towns and such. I felt like I was branded, and I was. I was a deceitful lying conniving cheating bitch, and everybody knew it. I was back at the scene of my crime. Francis had... It was awful. I told myself, 'You can't, you mustn't cry.'

Mildred Bielson's comment made me feel like I'd been stuffed through a shredder. She had always been one the nicest people I'd known. She and my mom were like good friends. I remember listening to her when Francis and I were first married. Mrs. Bielson wasn't just a nice old lady; she was wise, and now she hated me. I knew she'd had it tough since her husband had passed. When her husband was alive they'd lived a happy comfortable life. They'd always been...faithful...not like me. I felt small. She made me feel small. I was getting a headache. I shouldn't have had that second Xanax.

Her house was on a side street. Officially it was on Algonquin Avenue, but because of the appearance and the values of the homes the street was commonly called 'Quality Hill'. Realtors in the area were always traveling about trying to latch on to one of these quaintly beautiful old Victorian 'almost' mansions. There were those in the county government, and others among the 'Nuevo riche' who would've loved to get her property. No wonder she was worried, alone, no man, probably on fixed income, she was scared even maybe.

After several minutes I was able to go back out. After several sips of tap water I felt a little better, and Mrs. Bielson looked a little less threatening, "You said you'd take my check?"

"Yes."

I sat cross legged on the floor; got out my purse, found my checkbook and wrote out a check for $800.00. I got back up, handed her the check and said, "I'll run out to the Furniture Warehouse and get some carpet first thing."

Mildred took the check, "I'll get you the key." I followed her back downstairs. She found me a key to the front door, and in short order I was on my way to buy two rugs, with padding.

~~V~~

I felt like I needed another 'pick me up'. I checked my watch, it had been long enough. I found my sewing kit, opened it up, got another Xanax and dropped one in. I demurred on the Furniture store; we had a Lowe's and they sold cheaper carpet. It was an easy drive, just a hop skip and a jump.

I got to Lowe's, pulled up as close as I could, walked in, and to the back where the rugs were available. 'Gee,' I wondered, 'would Lowe's take my check?' I walked back to the front to customer service, found the counter person and asked. The woman checked their computer, found Francis and I were in their system, and said my check would be accepted.

Thanking god for that I went back to the rug selection area. There were dozens to choose from, but I decided to be careful. I found two 9'X12' carpets for under $100.00 each, and I selected the least expensive padding. They told me delivery wasn't free so I asked if they'd help me load them on my car. They said they would.

We went outside. I brought my car around, and after a considerable amount of finagling we managed to lay the carpets and the padding over the hood and down the back on top of the trunk. Using the twine they had we were able to hold them pretty firmly by wrapping the twine through the windows and the trunk respectively and by tying each carpet and each rolled set of pads off separately. The workers asked me how far I'd be traveling. When I told them they said there'd be no problem as long as I went slowly. I told them I was up for that. I felt kind of dizzy.

I got in, restarted the car and checked my rear view mirrors. If I relied on my side mirrors I knew I'd be all right. I also felt I'd have no problem dragging the stuff up the steps at Mrs. Bielson's. I pulled out of the lot. I was on my way, I felt good, this was going to be easy. Driving along I stayed close to the 'shoreline'; that was I stayed as close to the right side of the road as was possible without actually drifting into the shoulder. I'd turned the radio back on, and they were playing a Reba McIntyre oldie. Keeping time with the music I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. I was fine. Things were fine.

Things would have been fine too if that teenaged idiot in the pick-up had been looking where he was going. What happened? About half way through town I had to stop at one of the few street lights. I stopped, or I thought I did, well I was within my legal area. I think I was. Some high school boy in a grey truck came through his green light and snagged my left front fender. Honest, it was hardly a scratch, and his old grey truck wasn't damaged at all, but we were in traffic. Wow, it happened so fast!

It just so happened a state trooper was driving down Main Street and he saw us. The boy insisted we do everything 'by the book'. I couldn't really blame him. He was just a kid, and he said his dad would kill him if he got in an accident and it was his fault. I didn't know the boy, but when we exchanged insurance I did recognize his name. His dad worked for the railroad, but I think he'd been injured or something and was on disability. They probably didn't have much money.

The state trooper meanwhile had pulled a U-turn and had come up behind my Avalon. He told us to get our cars off to the side since we were blocking traffic. He asked me if I had any trouble seeing since the rugs were draped across my car. I felt fortunate the rugs hadn't been jarred loose when the kid hit my car. It got a little more complicated after that.

The state trooper was Gary Pomeroy, and I knew his mom and dad. I said, "You're Ben Pomeroy's boy aren't you?"

He smiled officiously and replied, "Yes ma'am."

"You know me," I said, "I'm Leslie Campbell. You were an upperclassmen when my boy Richard was in high school. My husband was your scout master. You remember him, Francis Campbell."

He said, "Yes I remember Richard. I remember Mr. Campbell."

I said, "This is really a very minor thing, this silly little thing. I'm sure Gary and I can take care of it." I was getting my names mixed up, I changed what I said to make it sound better, "I mean you're Gary," I smiled sweetly and added, "The young man and I can take care of it. You can go now."

Officer Pomeroy replied, "May I see your license and registration please ma'am, and yours too young man."

I said, "Oh come on Gary." I'd slipped again, "I mean officer. You know me. This is such a tiny little mishap."

"Yes ma'am," he said, "now may I have your license and registration?"

I was a little miffed. I thought for sure he'd let it go. He didn't though.

Officer Pomeroy took our information and stepped back to his car. He came back, handed the boy's paperwork back to him, but kept mine. He said, "Mrs. Campbell did you know this car isn't insured, and when I checked with the MVA they said you had no insurance."

'Oh no,' I thought. I answered, "I'm sure there must be some mistake. You've...no I mean the MVA's made an error."

The trooper answered, "No ma'am, there's no mistake. I'm afraid I'm going to have to write you a citation, and those tags will have to come off the car."

Had he just said he was taking my tags? "Officer," I responded, "this is a mistake. I'm sure I'm insured. Couldn't we call my husband?"

He wrote out and handed me a citation, and then went back to his accident report. He completed the report, excused the boy who ran into me, and, looking back at me said, "Where were you going when this happened?"

"I was going to Mrs. Bielson's over on Algonquin. I needed these..."

He leaned into my face and interrupted me, "Have you been drinking? Have you been taking anything Mrs. Campbell?"

'Oh wow,' I thought, 'this is really getting bizarre,' "No I, uh, I took a Xanax earlier, but I'm fine." I think he softened.

"Mrs. Campbell you're driving an uninsured automobile without personal insurance, and you've had an accident, plus I could cite you for the driving a motor vehicle while impaired and the load you're carrying could be perceived as a road hazard."

Gosh, I hadn't even done anything wrong, "Oh please..."

"Mrs. Campbell I want you to get back in the car, and I want you to drive very slowly and carefully over to Algonquin Avenue."

I asked, "And you won't write me up?"

He replied, "I've already written you one citation. Now I want you to drive slowly and carefully to Algonquin Avenue"

"Yes sir," I hoped I was suitably obsequious.

I drove back to Mrs. Bielson's with the officer close behind. When we got there, to my surprise and somewhat of a relief Officer Pomeroy carried my carpets and padding upstairs for me.

Mrs. Bielson, upset about having the police on her front lawn came out front wringing her hands in her apron, "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Officer Pomeroy, while unloading my car told Mrs. Bielson I'd been involved in a minor accident. He also asked if she had a pair of pliers or wrench set. She said she did, and went and got it.

Once the trooper finished unloading and hauling the carpets upstairs he used the pliers and wrenches to remove the tags from my Avalon.

I asked, I pleaded, "Please don't take my tags. I need my car, and besides even if you did I can't just leave it here. Mrs. Bielson," who was there and watching everything, "won't like it."

Officer Pomeroy very politely told me, "Call your husband and have him get someone to tow the car to a safe place." After that he sympathetically smiled at me and tipped his hat to Mrs. Bielson, got in his car and drove away.

I guess I was kind of stunned. I swiftly ran over, opened my car door, rummaged around till I found my sewing kit, found my Xanax, skipped them and grabbed the Tranzene bottle and took one. 'Phew,' I thought, 'I needed that.' I stood back up, closed the door and walked over to Mrs. Bielson.

~~v~~

So there we stood, Mrs. Bielson and me. We were in front of her house with my car parked in her drive without any tags. It might just as well have been an old truck up on cinder blocks. I was upset. I'd lost my wheels. My phone wasn't working. I didn't have my VISA, and there were scratches on the hood and trunk of my Avalon from where the rugs had been. I just knew Francis was going to be furious when he saw the scratches.

Mrs. Bielson looked at me, "You can't just leave it out here. I have neighbors you know."

I felt listless. This hadn't been a very good day. I answered, "I know Mrs. Bielson. May I please use your phone so I can call my husband?"

Mrs. Bielson looked at me in a funny way, kind of skeptically. I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered if she'd noticed my sewing kit. Couldn't have that. Then she sort of stoically nodded and together we walked into her house. She led me to the kitchen where she handed me her wall phone. She checked the clock, it was late, "I was about to fix myself some macaroni and cheese. Have you had anything to eat?"

I took the phone and I guess you could say I sheepishly answered, "...no...," I was going to be polite. I mean what else could go wrong?

She said, "You can call Francis while I heat up this frozen macaroni and cheese," then she added, "and coffee?"

As I punched in my husband's cell phone number I said, "Yes thank you." Things seemed kind of blurry.