Play Misty for Me

I had lived here, at what later came to be known as Happy Acres, in peaceful cohabitation with my girlfriend Debbie for four years.  The romance had been slowly leaking out of our relationship for some time.  Looking back, I have to agree that I had not been "watering the garden" often enough; a phrase Debbie had read in a relationship book somewhere.  The phrase referred not just to sex, but all things intimate and romantical (sic).  One morning we were lying in bed when she suddenly blurted out that she had met someone at the cosmetology school she she was attending and wanted us to part.  After my obligatory cry at the prospect of goodbye, I gallantly agreed that it had probably been my "lack of watering" that caused her to drift into the arms of another man and I agreed to move out.  The one hard and fast agreement I wanted from her was that I would get to move back in when she decided to move on.
  

During my roughly year and a half exile, I lived in a boxy little apartment complex nearby with my volleyball protege, Bob.  Although we had fun during that time which included, among other things, my affair with Naomi Judd (I had to sneak that in...) and lots of sociable volleyball activities, life in an apartment complex was somewhat stifling.  I missed the knotty pine living room walls patina-ed in years of the wood smoke that came from the "Hagar-the-Horrible" fireplace.  I missed looking out the bay windows at the horse pasture below with horses and deer grazing peacefully.  So I was overjoyed when Diamond Deb (see blog...) informed me that her father and her grandfather had died within months of each other and she had "assumed some dough" as Frank Sinatra put it in "Guys and Dolls".  "Since I'm assuming responsibility for my floating crap game, is it not right that I should also assume some dough?"  Frankie was great in that roll; "good ole Nathan, Nathan, Nathan Detroit".

So sometime in late '79 or early '80 I joyfully moved back into my beloved Happy Acres.  Now the place was truly mine.  I would be paying the rent and the utilities.  I opened accounts with the phone company, PG&E, the power company and MMWD, the water company.  The last of the boarded horses from "the old days" had moved on and the horse pasture was starting to sprout weeds.  I arranged to rent the rest of the three plus acre homestead from Norm, my landlord.  I had plans to fix it up and bring horses in again.  We were already renting the old garage that I and two partners had turned into a funky little eight track recording studio.  (that's where I met Naomi Judd, at about that time---I had to sneak that in...).  I put a piece of new red shag  carpet in my old bedroom downstairs and painted the walls baby blue...  The knotty pine living room walls had been cleared of all decoration so I mixed up a solution of TSP (tri sodium phosphate--a cleaning product) and sponged down the walls.  I had to change out the water after several swipes as there was so much accumulated smoke that had "patina-ed"  the walls through the years that the rinse water looked like coca-cola...  When I finished, I marveled at how much the lighter the walls, and the living room in general looked.  Mine; all mine!
  

Now I could truly start my political career as the Mayor of Happy Acres.  Such a momentous event obviously calls for a house warming party.  I had recently, tearfully left my former employer of the last four years; Phoenix Leasing (more on that some other time...) and had many dear friends there.  My new employer was a nascent magazine about the professional recording studio industry and I had made new friends there too.  I also had my loyal cadre of Marin County volleyball gangsters who would be mandatory guests.  Then there was my recording studio buddies.  They were overjoyed to have me back on the premises since Diamond Deb had never really cottoned to the idea of these strange and rowdy musicians taking up the parking spaces and making raucous music till all hours of the night.  When Diamond Deb got wind of the planned proceedings she insisted that she and her entourage be invited also.  I mailed all the invitations to the aforementioned announcing my triumphant return and the party that would be celebrating my "dog leg in the river of  life".

I procured copious amounts of food and drink for the occasion and I also did a little "splashing out" (as the English say) for myself.  The wacky idea had come to me to rent a full white tail tuxedo outfit complete with white satin top hat and cane.  Cab Calloway redux...  I also scored a little white bindle of party favors for myself and a select few...  The guests started flowing in and quickly filled up the house.  I excused myself, went down to the bedroom and changed into my pearly white and shiny tuxedo outfit.  As I re-ascended the stairs, the conversational hub-bub died away to be replaced by a group cheer.  "As the new Mayor of Happy Acres I would like to welcome you all!", I jubilantly announced to the throng.  It was quite a night.  At one point I stopped to speak to one of the gals who I worked with at Phoenix Leasing:  "Bonnie! So glad you could come!  Are you enjoying yourself?"  She looked up at me with a coy little stare and replied.  "Why yes I am.  You sure look splendid in your outfit...  Do you ever wonder what I look like under my dress?"  I had never experienced a blatant come-one like that and before I had time to formulate a more diplomatic response all I said was:  "Why, uh...no...Bonnie...I really haven't".   Her "come-hither" stare quickly turned to a "hell-hath-no-fury-like-a-woman-scorned" look and I quickly moved on.  I had to go back down to the local liquor store two more times that night.  Sometime after midnight the Sheriff showed up and asked us to tone it down.  In the morning I found several people slumbering on couches, inside and outside the house.  (there was a temporary couch parked in front of the house).
  

As I was standing in the middle of the living room surveying the after-birth of my party, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.  One of my studio partners, who was quite a womanizer (we called him the great white

 shark of love--in subsequent years he hit on a succession of my girlfriends), had bedded down in the downstairs guest room with one of my former co-workers from the leasing company.  I could tell that she was somewhat embarrassed at her current circumstances and whereabouts and I tried my charming best to put her at ease.  I offered her a cup of coffee and a bit of chit chat and then she was on her way.  I never did see "the shark of love" that morning.  I suspect he sneaked out the side door while she was still asleep.  She called me a few days later to invite me to her home for dinner and though I was actually juggling two girlfriends at the time, for some reason (gallantry and chivalry, no doubt...) I accepted.  We had a nice quiet little dinner at her nearby condo and she told me that she was newly divorced and shared custody of her two kids.  She seemed somewhat sad and at loose ends and I tried my best to sympathize with her situation.  I must admit, I was a perfect gentleman and didn't try to take advantage of her.  After all, I already had two girlfriends.

My situation, in contrast, was nothing but jubilation.  After cleaning up the house, I took my gas powered weed whacker and set upon the seven foot tall Queen Ann's Lace forest that was starting to take hold in my horse pasture.  After a few hours of manly whacking, I took a break back in the living room.  I was dirty and sweaty but basking in an endorphin glow...  The phone rings and it's "the girl".  "Hi Mike; it's Adrian (we'll call her...) I wondered if I could come over and see you."  I told her that I was sweaty and dirty and was in the middle of a heavy weed whacking session.  " I don't care what you look like or what you're doing I just want to be with you...".  At this point I felt a little tingle of concern (my brother would say: "frisson of fear"...) and I believe the hairs on my neck stood up.

In the ensuing months she proceeded to come to the house uninvited a number of times.  I tried to explain to her that whatever she was feeling for me, I was not reciprocating.  "Look Adrian, it takes two to tango.  And my love life is already "tangoed" up enough...".  She wouldn't take no for an answer and revealed to me that she knew that I was controlling her thoughts and the only time she felt safe was when she was in my presence.  Oooookay...  Houston, we've got a problem.  With my psych major from Stanford in my back pocket I tried the friendly therapist approach.  I asked her if there was anyone she could talk to about these weird feeling of hers.  I quickly disabused her of any notion that I was controlling her thought processes.    

Me: "How about your parents?  Can you talk to, like, your               
    mom or something?"        
    Her:  "No my parents are both dead" 

    Me:  "I'm so sorry to hear that.  When did they die?"

    Her:  "Yesterday"

At this point, I felt like I was being dragged into the forest of Queen Ann's lace out back and I realized this gal was past reasoning with.  I didn't see her for awhile and I was starting to feel hopeful that she had come to her senses.  Meanwhile, when I mentioned this predicament to my friends, their group response was:  "Have you seen the movie "Play Misty for Me""?  I hadn't but they warned me to keep my doors and windows locked.  At night I found myself glancing in the window in the back door to the living room.  Finally I rented a video of the movie and really started getting alarmed.  Adrian was a good sized gal and with a knife in her hand I'm sure she would be a formidable foe...

So I'm sitting at my desk studying for an accounting test in my MBA program.  I hear a voice at the nearby window.  "Mike; Hi, it's Adrian.  It's mother's day and my kids are with their dad.  I'm so sad and confused I knew the only place I could be was here with you."  I tried to reason with her but I knew from our former conversations that that was folly.  Eventually, despite my protestations, she convinced me that if I just let her in she wouldn't bother me.  She would sit quietly in the living room and not bother my studying.  She would do her knitting...  "Great!  I thought.  Instead of a knife, I'll be jousting with knitting needles!"...  I must say, though, she was true to her word.  As I poured over the various methods of valuating business inventories: LIFO? or FIFO?  Depends on your corporate tax situation...  All I heard from the adjoining living room was the quiet click of those long, sharp knitting needles...  After awhile the rhythmic clicking stopped and I began to get uneasy.  Had she removed the needles from whatever garment she was knitting?  Was she, at that very moment, silently creeping down the hall towards me in her bare feet a deadly knitting needle lance in each hand?
  

  "Adrian?  Are you still there?  What's going on, Adrian?"  With mounting apprehension, I crept into the living room.  No Adrian.  Her knitting bag was there.  I peeked in.  Good; the needles were in there and not on her person.  Now to find the person.  She wasn't in the kitchen so she must be downstairs.  "Maybe she's using the bathroom" I thought hopefully.  All was deathly silent.  I stood there for the duration of what should have been a decent bathroom break.  No bathroom noises.  I started to get a bad feeling about this; my bedroom was down there.  I went down the stairs and peeked in my bedroom.  There lay Adrian, snuggled up under my covers.  Oh Houston...  I eventually coaxed her out of the bed and up the stairs.  She started to get nasty at me for man handling her.  I thought of those knitting needles gleaming evilly in her bag and I decided that, since I had some momentum going for my I should just keep pushing her down the hall and out the front door.  Which I quickly locked.  Adrian started screaming at me at the top of her voice hurling all kinds of unjust profane language at me.  Including the fact that I had her purse and knitting bag.
  

By this time I had had enough and I dialed the sheriff's office.  As I was waiting for the phone to pick up, I heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the end of the hallway.  At the time, the front door was all leaded paned glass.  Adrian had taken a rock and broken the pane next to the door handle and was reaching in to unlock the door.  "I'm coming in you !@#$%^&*!  I want my stuff!"  Fortunately, my living room phone had a very long chord on it.  With my ear still to the receiver, I grabbed the phone and ran down the hallway, jamming my foot at the base of the door just as she was about to open it.  In order to do this, the phone chord was not only fully extended, the curly receiver chord was also fully uncurled and the phone was suspended in mid air.  Seeing that I had successfully blocked the door, Adrian let out with another lusty round of epithets "!@#$%^&*!"  she yelled out at the top of her voice.  Meanwhile the sheriff's dispatcher had finally answered the phone and I explained the situation as quickly as I could; noting that the trespasser was now throwing shards of glass at me from the glass pane that she had broken.

I mentioned to the dispatcher that maybe we could go into my current employment status and my mother's maiden name some other time and that I was currently dealing with incoming shards of glass.  She said not to worry a squad car was on its way.  Sure enough, thankfully, I could hear the siren wailing as a squad car wended its way up the hill.  Meanwhile, in addition to Adrian's angry exhortations, I could hear my neighbors from across the street, urging her on.  "You tell 'em babe!  That @#$%^&*-ing guy is nothing but a *&^%$#!!!  By this time the sheriffs had come to my rescue and quickly had Adrian in hand.  I opened the door and followed the sheriff outside.  There I could see my neighbors standing on the deck overseeing this whole imbroglio with highballs in hand.  Since we were sworn enemies because of the recording studio, they booed lustily as Adrian was deposited in the back of the squad car.
  
     The other officer, with clip board in hand, asked me for a full report.  I explained all of the above to him.  He looked at me and saw the blood where several of Adrian's shards had found their mark.  "Do you want to press charges?", the officer asked.  I thought about how none of my reasoning had gotten through to the poor girl, and decided it was time for the professionals to take over.  "Yes, officer, I've tried to reason with her but nothing has worked and I think it's time to put her in the hands of the professionals.  I can't have her continuing to come here like this.", I replied.  The officer responded: "Alright, Mr. Stevens, that's attempted 'Breaking and Entering' and assault with a deadly weapon.  As they hauled her away to the boozy boos and jeers of the peanut gallery across the street, I thought to myself:  "Better a couple of superficial glass cuts on my arm and neck than twin knitting needles plunged into my back".

    I had no idea, when I let my fingers out of the box this morning, that they were gonna run away with this story like that.  And for that I'd like to apologize.   I promise to stop soaking my fingers in coffee before I turn the computer on...  Next up:  I hitch-hike from Palo Alto to Chicago for my brother's wedding in 1970.  Doesn't that sound like fun???  Love and kisses, Mickey da Mayor of Happy Acres.