Shattered Perfection (22 page)

He sipped at his wine while he watched me for a while.  I felt very uncomfortable having him in the room, expecting him to criticize or berate me for something at any minute.  Instead he just stood there quietly, watching my every move.

“You look very pretty today, Mimi,” he said softly.

I stiffened.  He hadn’t given me a compliment in ages.  I was suddenly suspicious, wondering what he was up to.

“Thank you, Vance.”  I said carefully, not wanting to do or say anything that might set him off.  This was new territory and I was unsure how I should react.  I felt like prey in the face of a new and unknown predator.

“Is that a new outfit or something?  Have you done something different with your hair?” he asked.

“Nope.  Same plain old me, I’m afraid,” I said as I transferred the pot of potatoes to the stove and set them to boil.  He came up behind me and rested his hands on my hips, breathing in the scent of my hair.  I stood stock still, afraid to move.

“I remember that smell.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been close enough to catch your scent,” he whispered into my ear.  “Perhaps we can get even closer tonight.  I believe your new attitude and pleasantness tonight is having an effect on me.  It reminds me of how we used to be.”

I swallowed, pulling all my strength to me and turned in his arms.  I wrapped myself around him and rested my head on his chest, doing my best to hold my tears at bay.  How I wished this hug was like all the others I used to cherish, to take such satisfaction in.  Now it was just a hollow impersonation of what we used to have.  I squeezed him tightly and looked up at him with fake, but what I hoped appeared sincere, affection in my eyes.

“It’s very nice, Vance.  Unfortunately, if we stay like this, I’ll never get this dinner finished and our celebration will be ruined.”

He smiled, squeezed me and stepped away.  “To be continued later then,” he whispered suggestively.  “I have a few things to finish up in my office.  Call me when everything is ready.” 

“I will,” I nodded as he picked up his glass of wine and left the room.

I continued preparing the meal on auto-pilot.  I had too many thoughts floating through my head to fully concentrate on everything I was supposed to be doing.  I didn’t want to go to New York.  I didn’t believe it would be a new start for us, even if it was where everything began.  I had no illusions that we could recapture any of the magic that we had shared before.  The way I felt when he touched me tonight had not rekindled any feelings of affection or desire.  All I felt was sad and cold.  What did that foretell for any future we could have together?  Here or anywhere else?

Distracted, I made the mistake of frying the chicken while I steamed the broccoli, before I mashed the potatoes.  When I realized what I had done, I quickly mashed the potatoes, and whipped them with the hand mixer for a lot less time than I normally did and didn’t make sure they were as smooth they could be, in an effort to get everything on the plate while it was still hot.

Once I had everything on the table, I called Vance in to eat.  His good mood seemed to have waned a little after working in his office for the last hour, but it hadn’t completely dimmed.  He examined his plate with a satisfied look. 

“I’m really looking forward to this, Mimi.  I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he said with a big grin. 

He lifted his chicken to his mouth and took a big bite.  The look in his eyes changed instantly as he chewed.  He wiped his mouth with his napkin, spitting his food into it discreetly.  I took a delicate bite of my own food, to see what was wrong with it.  Other than being slightly cool, I could taste nothing wrong. 

He then took a forkful of mashed potatoes, and put it into his mouth.  That’s when all hell broke loose.

Present Day

After succumbing to my tears, I wipe my face and pull it together.  I can’t stay another minute in this place.  Vance is a danger to me and every second I stay is a second too long.  I’ll come back for my things tomorrow while he’s at work.  I can pick up toiletries that I’ll need tomorrow at a local store, but I need to get out now and find a place to stay for the night.  I turn off the kitchen light and quickly walk through the living room, swiping my purse and car keys off the side table by the front door.  I quietly open the front door and slip out into the night.  Once the door is closed behind me, I flee as fast as my feet will carry me to the safety of my car and jump inside.  I lock all my doors, stick my keys in the ignition and back out of the driveway as fast as I can.  I don’t care at this point if he hears me leaving.  I am out of the house, out of the immediate reach of his violent hands, and if he wants to get at me now, he will have to run me off the road. 

I drive across Los Angeles, over the hill into the San Fernando Valley, stopping only at drug store to pick up some cheap shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste.  After driving around a little longer, I eventually check into a Hilton in the west valley.  Once safely in my room, I take the hottest shower I can stand, letting the water beat down on my sore muscles for long minutes before reaching for the tiny bar of  hotel soap and scrubbing every square inch of my skin.  I wash my hair twice, before I complete my shower.  After drying off and putting my sweatshirt and leggings back on, I’m grateful that I chose such comfortable clothes when I changed in the laundry room.  I’ll be able to sleep in them, and they won’t look any worse than they already do when I have to wear them again tomorrow.  My only regret is that I don’t have fresh underwear with me, but all things considered, I think I can suffer a pair of day old panties this one time.

I turn off the lights and climb under the covers.  The bed is comfortable, but I can’t sleep.  I keep having visions of Vance tackling me to the floor and mauling me like an animal.  Only, in my thoughts, I’m not able to fight him off.  It’s an endless cycle of what if…what if…what if?  I toss and turn for what seems like hours.  Around midnight, the muffled sound of “Marry Me” begins playing repeatedly from the depths of my purse.  I never changed his ringtone, even after things began to fall apart.  It was one of the things I held onto, a happy reminder of our past, a romantic memory of the man he used to be.  I don’t bother to get up and answer his calls or to even shut the phone off.  I just let it ring until it finally falls silent, sometime after one-thirty.  He never leaves a message.

When the sun finally rises, so do I.  I order a pot of coffee from room service and make arrangements with the front desk to stay another day.  Fully caffeinated, I go into the bathroom and take photographs of my injuries from Vance’s attack last night.  The bite mark on my neck and five distinct finger prints around my throat are the most obvious.  There are a number of bruises and scratches on my chest and waist where he tore at my clothes, and a few on my arms where I fought against him, but the ones on my neck are those that really tell the story.

Once eight o’clock rolls around, I leave the hotel and drive back over the hill to my office to speak with my one of my bosses, Bob Miller.  Both of the partners at my firm are great men, but Bob, who is the managing partner, is my favorite.  His partner and my direct supervisor, Steve Dickerson, is nice, but all business.  He is the driving force behind the firm, always out networking, seeking more cases to take on, and the reason behind the continuing success of the company.  Bob has the personal touch.  He is always taking the time to make sure the employees are happy, that office morale is good, and makes us all feel like we are a family.  Either one of them would help me with this problem, but Bob is the one who will care about me in the process and hold my hand figuratively (and literally) if I need it.

When I arrive, I walk straight back to Bob’s office, which means I have to traipse past the whole work floor to get there.  My appearance gains me some odd looks from the secretaries, but thankfully no one says anything to me about it. 

I stop to check with Sheila, Bob’s long time secretary, to see if he is available.  Fortunately for me, he doesn’t have anything on the schedule all day.  She waves me back, and I go straight in.  He doesn’t stand on formality.   We’re never required to be announced or knock, he always maintains an open door policy for the employees.

As I enter the office, he looks up from his computer and his mouth drops in shock.  “Good lord, Mimi.  What the hell happened to you?  Come here, sit down and tell me everything this instant.”

I fall into one of his guest chairs and look at him for a few moments.  I want to open my mouth and let it all fall out, but this is harder than I expected.  Finally, I say, “I really don’t know where to begin.”

“How about who gave you those bruises and that nasty bite mark on your neck, and if you have any other injuries I should know about,” he says, pulling a legal pad toward him and a picking up a pen.

I take a big breath, and letting it all out in a rush, I say, “Vance did it.”

He drops his pen and looks at me in shock.  “Vance?  How long has this been going on, Mimi?”

“Last night was the first time he was ever physically violent with me.  He’s been verbally abusive for about the last six months, and has been violent in that he started throwing things around somewhere in that time.”

“Oh my dear, I had no idea things were bad at all.  You’ve always seemed so much in love.  I wish you would have come to me earlier so we could have done something about this, gotten you out of this,” he says genuinely.

“I wasn’t ready, Bob.  Things had been so wonderful between us, it took a long time for me to give up hope that they would eventually go back to the way they had been.  I kept making excuses for him; it wasn’t him, it was just stress from his job that was making him act this way, once the deal he was working on was over, things would go back to normal.  Then, if I could get him away from that firm, everything would be fine.  You know how it goes.  It’s always some external influence, rather than something wrong with the individual.  Turns out, this is just him.  He was on his best behavior the first year of our marriage, I guess.  I shouldn’t have been so impulsive.  I should have listened to the little voice in my head that told me to slow down and get to know him better rather than rushing into things like I did.  Live and learn, as they say,” I finish while tenaciously clinging to my composure.  I’m doing my best to present a strong front and be as matter of fact as possible, but inside I am falling apart as I finally admit to the nightmare my marriage has become.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks gently.

“The very first thing I want to do is file for a temporary protection order and a temporary restraining order.  I don’t want him anywhere near me or to be able to contact me.  He already called me after midnight several times last night.  In fact, he called for more than an hour, over and over.  I came to see if you could refer me to a good family practice,” I say, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes.

“Sure.  I know a couple of great people that will do right by you.  Do you also want to begin divorce proceedings or file for a legal separation?”

“I hadn’t given that any thought yet,” I say, refusing to allow myself to break down.  “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m ready yet.  I know I probably shouldn’t give myself any opportunity for second thoughts, but I really need time to think about it, to come to terms with it.  I’ll be doing it sooner rather than later, but I just have to wrap my mind around it.” 

“I understand completely, Mimi.  It’s not something you can be hasty about.  You made a lifetime commitment, and even though things have broken down beyond repair at this point, since in my opinion physical violence is, and should be, a deal breaker for everyone, making the decision to break that commitment should be made solemnly and in one’s own time,” he says with more compassion than I could ever expect from anyone. 

Fresh tears fill my eyes with gratitude for this man I have come to love in a very fatherly way.  I knew I could count on him.

“So, aside from the referral, what can we do for you?  Obviously, you’re going to need some time off to get into an apartment or some other place to live right away.  You let me know how long.  I’ll arrange to have a temp brought in to cover your job while you’re out.  Steve will miss you, but once I fill him in, he’ll understand.  Do you need any money to cover the expenses of getting a new place?”

“Thanks for the time off.  That’s all I really need.  I have enough for a place and movers to get me there.  All of the stuff I had from before I got married is still in storage, I never got rid of it,” I say, running a trembling hand through my hair, my voice not as strong as it had been when I first walked in.

“Well don’t hesitate to ask if any surprise expenses pop up.”

I nod, as he writes down the names of three top-notch family practice attorneys that can help me with obtaining temporary restraining and protection orders.

After meeting with the first lawyer who could see me that day, providing a statement and printing out copies of all the pictures of my injuries, I am assured that the proper paperwork will be filed with the court that afternoon and Vance will be served before the end of the business day.  Once I’m back out in the car, I sit for a while tapping my index finger against the steering wheel trying to decide what to do next.  Do I go back to the house and pack my things?  Do I go apartment hunting?  It’s almost noon and Vance should be at work.  I look down at my clothes and flip flops.  They still look relatively clean, but probably not the best presentation for trying to convince someone to rent to me.  That makes the decision for me. 

Just to be on the safe side, I call the house phone to make sure Vance didn’t decide to work from home for whatever reason.  I let it ring ten times, but there’s no answer.  I feel reasonably safe that I can get in and out without running into him, so I start up the car and point it in the direction of our house.

As I arrive, I notice his car is nowhere in sight.  Exhaling a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, I pull in the drive and hustle into the house.  I waste no time dashing to the bedroom and dragging out the designer suitcases Vance had bought for me as a gift before one of our trips shortly after we were married.  I throw them on the bed and begin emptying my drawers into them, not caring about making sure anything is folded or not.  I grab everything from the closet and do the same.  I dump the contents of my jewelry box on top of the clothes and zip them up as fast as I can.  I grab the small valise from the closet and rush into the bathroom, grabbing all my personal products and make-up, and likewise dump them inside.  The sides of the case bulge from all of the items I’ve stuffed inside, but I manage to get it zipped up anyway.  I return to the bags and hook the valise over the telescopic handle of one the suitcases.  Pulling both cases behind me, I take one last look around the room.  My eyes land on a photo of Vance and me from our wedding.  We both look so happy, Vance is looking directly at the camera, smiling that wide, beaming smile that used to give me butterflies every time he turned it on me.  I’m turned slightly into his side, looking down, my eyes hooded with a soft, dreamy look on my face.  Impulsively, I grab the frame and open one of the suitcases and stuff it in.  I just can’t let go of every single memory I have.  There was a time when we were blissfully happy, and this photo captures one of the happiest of those moments.  Tears prickle my eyes, but I blink them away and resume my trek out of the house, bags in tow.  I toss them in the back of my SUV and scurry into the driver’s seat as fast as I can.  If I left anything else behind, it can be replaced or returned to me later.  I have the essentials, and that’s all I need for now.

Just as I’m about to back out, Vance’s car swings into the driveway.  He jumps out of his car, leaving his door open and runs to the side of my car, knocking frantically on the window.  I don’t think there’s been enough time for the papers to have been filed, let alone for him to have been served already, so there wouldn’t be much point in calling the police unless he tries to harm me again. 

I watch his face as his fist raps against my window.  He looks panicked, his eyes scared and nervous.  I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m not about to roll down my window and I know I don’t want to hear anything he wants to say.  Only mildly concerned about his toes, I shift the car into reverse, look over my right shoulder and back the car down the drive and around his car.  I turn into the street and drive away.  In my rear view, I see that he has run after me, presumably calling out to me, but I couldn’t care less. 

A few minutes later, “Marry Me” begins to float out of my purse.  I really need to change that ringtone.  That song, which used to bring a smile to my face, now only   drives a spike of pain through my heart.  I reach over and dig my phone out of my purse.  I press the button to turn it off, and it goes blissfully silent.  Tossing it onto the seat next to me, I continue driving back to the hotel to drop off my luggage.

It’s about two p.m. by the time I’m able to turn my thoughts to looking for an apartment.  I contemplate putting off beginning my search until the following day, but I decide I need to keep busy.  I’m familiar with the area, and know there are several large apartment communities that are fairly upscale.  They would have the kind of amenities that I would want, like a secure perimeter gate and a twenty-four hour guard.  Maybe even an individual unit alarm system.  Unfortunately, I failed to grab my laptop in my haste to get out of the house, so I’m going to have to drive the city and find the complexes by memory hoping they have vacancies, rather than doing most of the “footwork” by phone.