Three Loves (Chapter Twelve)

"What's that noise?" Jan asked me.


"You mean on the phone?"


"Yeah. There seems to be an unusual amount of static or something.


"Oh, that's just my phone being tapped. . ."


"WHAT!?!"


She knew that I was in love with my DEMOCRAT LAWYER--after all, she had been the one I'd called on March 13 with the exciting news that I was in love--and she had heard from me about the problems that he'd been going through, but this was something new to her.


I told her that there were other people affected by the mistakes he'd made and that they didn't want any chance of his making things worse by making MORE mistakes--especially, something that might leave the impression that he was an irresponsible skirt-chaser or something.


He had started out his practice making housecalls where it might be difficult--in the case of an incapacitated person filing a personal injury suit--for the client to make it to his office.


He'd told me that he no longer did that but didn't tell me why. Now, I was pretty certain that I knew why: that being that they wanted all of his dealings done in a public place.


Dave had told me that he knew someone who could give me actual proof that my phone was being tapped, but I told him not to bother. I didn't want to get anyone in trouble or cause unnecessary headlines. They had at least borderline reasons to tap my phone legally, so why make a fuss out of it that could increase the chances of what they were going all out to try to avoid: bad publicity.


These were basically-good people with the best of intentions--even though, according to Dave, the detective that he suspected that they had hired for the job was about as shady as one could get (this was a guy who, years later, was given two choices: go to jail or leave the state--and he chose the latter).


But, even though I could understand why, I didn't really appreciate their treating my DEMOCRAT LAWYER like a two-year-old or as if his elevator didn't go all the way up.


But I still found the humor in it.


"They want scandal!?! Let's give 'em scandal!" I exclaimed.


"Yeah!" Jan agreed. "Let's!!!"


"**** was over here last night, and we really had a hot, steamy time?"


"Oh REALLY!?! What did you do?"


"Nothing much! We just chased each other around the house wearing nothing but whipped cream!"


"Hey, you wire-tappers! Are you listening!?! Smoke THAT in your computer!!!"


"YEAH! Smoke THAT in your computer!!! Wanna hear what we did NEXT?"


"TELL me!!!"


And we went on like that for awhile, wondering what the eavesdroppers were thinking!


When it came to anything REAL that was going on (and nothing like the above EVER went on! But I mean things like knowing that he was going to be in one place or another), I NEVER discussed it over the phone.


Dave showed me how the tap was likely put on my line by showing me one of those phone boxes--which served several homes and businesses in a certain area--that was up next to ACE Airport (now pretty much defunct except for use by skydivers and a few recreational flyers and hot-air balloonists). The door to the box had obviously been jimmied with a crowbar, and, even though it was now closed again, there was an uneven gap showing.


Again, we never reported it because we didn't want to cause problems.


Some rather interesting things happened in our neighborhood.


For one thing, my folks got a phone bill for over $1000 one month, and it was loaded with calls to 900 numbers. There was no way they could have made these calls--even if they were so inclined--because most of them had taken place during the times when they'd gone out to eat, were at church, etc.


"Do you have any idea what these calls are about?" they asked me.


"The only things I know of that 900 numbers are used for are calls to answer opinion polls--which are usually a flat fee of about 99 cents--psychic hotlines, and sex lines."


"Well, we've never called any of those," the told me--which I suspected that they hadn't. Besides, most calls like that required a touch-tone phone, and they still had rotary dials on all of their phones.


I told them to just call the phone company and have them removed--and that is what they did.


Even so, my dad (whose name is the one in the phone book, being the man of the house) began getting these plain brown envelopes in the mail containing advertisements for sex lines.


A lot of them were in the form of stupid stories with dumb pictures.


One of them showed this lady with long, wild hair who was wearing a skimpy, black teddy and was down on her hands and knees.


She had a dumb expression on her face, and a strand of her hair was clenched between her teeth.


The caption read something like, "You're my sex slave! I can make you do anything! Come on over and see me, and I'll have my whips and chains ready!"


We later found out from a neighbor that she had gone to work in a garbage disposal business up the road.


One day, she'd gone to make a phone call and had heard a really smutty conversation going on between a man and woman. She hung up and looked at her co-workers, but none of them were on their phones.


A little later, she picked up the phone again and heard an old guy with a twangy Texas accent graphically propositioning a teenaged boy. She was so embarrassed that her face turned red.


Again, she looked around to see who might be on the phone--and, again, nobody was.


She figured there must be a crossed wire or something. She waited a VERY long time before trying again to place her call--this time, she got a normal dial-tone, and everything seemed normal after that--until the next phone bill arrived showing calls to 900 lines being placed from the number of the business. The total of those calls came to around $1200.


Nothing like that ever happened to me. However, the cement plant up the way had their lines crossed with mine from time to time where it was as if they were either on a party line or else on an extension in my house.


I tried calling the operator to get it fixed, giving both their number and mine--but it wasn't fixed for a very long time.


As for my DEMOCRAT LAWYER and myself, we had no contact except for the letters and cards I sent to his office.


I would either put no return address on them or else woud put the return addresses of various pieces of tear-down property around central Indiana (except for one in Illinois). I'd even have trusted friends and relatives to address the envelopes.


I'd write the letters, enclose them in the misleading envelopes, and take them to the towns where the properties were and mail them from there in order to get the postmarks.


Since I loved road-trips, anyway, this was a fun adventure to me.


Still, I longed for the day when we could be left in peace to socialize with each other, whether this would lead to marriage or simply just the forever type of friendship I wanted us to have no matter what.


The elements would wear away one yellow ribbon, and I would replace it with another one.


Except for seeing him a couple of times on TV (brief flashes of old footage and footage I'd recorded onto my own blank VCR tapes), I now hadn't seen him since about July 17, 1990.


Some of the letters I wrote to him told him that I would be at this restaurant or that restaurant at such and such a time. He never showed up--but I did happen to look out on a couple of occasions and see what looked like his car cruising around the parking lot. Did I just imagine that the driver of the car (whose image wasn't plain to me from the distance between where I sat and where the car went by) had flashed his headlights on at least one occasion?


One evening, I went to this romantic hotel that was next door to his apartment complex. I'd written telling him that I'd be eating dinner and dessert in the lounge where the fireplace was.


He never showed up, but the waiter was very attentive to me.


After I was finished and had sat there awhile longer waiting for my friend--who never showed up--I requested the check.


The waiter told me that there was no check, because they were doing a promotion, so tonight's meal was free. Not only that but he was giving me a voucher for a free dessert with any meal I'd order the next time I was in.


What a lucky break! When I went to the car, I took one more look at the voucher before putting it away. Had I been their 1000th customer of the month or had I just been picked at random or because he liked my personality or something?


All at once, I noticed that this was a promotion that had expired several months before. I was about to return to the restaurant to give the voucher back to the waiter so that he wouldn't get fired when I suddenly put two and two together--and the banshee shriek I gave was nearly enough to shatter all of the windows in the car!!!


I was dancing and singing with the radio all the way home!!!


A week later, I was back there again for dinner and a free dessert.


I believe I got one more free dessert voucher, then this came to an end. By now, I was sold on their tuna melt and came there often.


One day in December of 1991, I was down in Indianapolis.


I was feeling a little disappointed because I'd recently learned that Little Ms. Lawsuit's case had been postponed again. The longer this was postponed, the longer my love and I would be apart.


Anyway, I was hungry but wasn't sure just what I wanted. I reminded myself of Etta, so I did my best imitation of her saying, "I'm tired! I'm hungry! I don't know what I want! Bobby? What do I want?"


Actually, Hickory Villa sounded really good to me, but it was unrealistic to make the near-300-mile drive to eat there--especially, when it was almost six or seven in the evening.

Tuna melt sounded good to me, too--but it would remind me too much of us.


Actually, everything sounded good to me, but nothing sounded completely good and/or feasible.


I finally decided that it wouldn't break my heart too much to have a tuna melt, so I was about to head in that direction--only to find a car stalled on this cold night. I stopped long enough to ask the people if they needed help and took one of them to get help.


Looking back now, I think about the difference in timing my stopping to help those people provided.


After I'd helped them, I headed on to the hotel.


As I neared there, I happened to look in the rear-view mirror, and I couldn't believe what I saw.


My DEMOCRAT LAWYER was right behind me on his way home.


He looked preoccupied as if he were thinking about his next case or something.


When he reached his apartment complex, he pulled over into the left-turn lane.


Since nobody was ahead of me who might think I was telling them to hurry up or something, I tapped my horn a couple of times.


He turned in the direction of the honking, saw me, and his entire face lit up like Christmas and the Fourth Of July combined!!!


He waved back, I waved to him, and we kept on sitting there and waving and grinning at each other until the light changed and we had to get moving.


A few yards later, I turned into the hotel--and I must say that, though dinner had always tasted delicious there in the past, my tuna melt, iced tea, dessert, and the salad bar I added extra because I was in such a celebrating mood was the best meal I'd ever eaten there!


This was a wonderful evening, even though I knew that we would probably be kept apart for months to come--but who knows? Maybe, not!


It turned out that I would be spending an entire day with him the following spring.


TO BE CONTINUED. . . "Three Loves (Chapter Thirteen)"