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From Spin Class to Suspicion: A Cautionary Tale

Peg sat at her kitchen table pondering how she was going to get to work. Her car died in the driveway the night before and her bank account was pretty much depleted. She’s had a rough time of it lately; she’s had a rough time of it her entire life. Born in Detroit, immigrant parents from Slovenia, nothing had ever come easy. Except that she is smart; she’s smart and she’s resourceful. And despite the dead car and her financial situation, things were looking up.

About a year ago, when Peg was cleaning up after a spin class, she was approached by someone who had been with her in class.

“Hi, I’m Sheila. I think we both take the same spin class on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Hi, I’m Peg.”

“Tough class today, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty beat.”

“Would you be interested in getting coffee after class sometime?”

Peg was tentative; she told Sheila that it would be nice, but she usually had to run to work after class. The two agreed to try to work it out.

Weeks went by, Sheila would wave to Peg in class, but neither woman would ask the other for coffee. On a beautiful spring day in April, Peg decided to go into work a bit later than usual. After spin, she walked over to Sheila to see if a walk over to the coffee shop might be possible. Sheila seemed delighted and ten minutes later they were sitting across from one another at Cuppa Joe’s.

Peg was curious to learn more about her new acquaintance. Sheila seemed so sure of herself and not at all vain. Peg also wondered why Sheila had approached her in the first place. She was suspicious of anyone who seemed to want anything to do with her. But Sheila was different, genuinely sweet and engaging.

Sheila asked Peg where she worked, if she was married and whether or not she had children. There seemed to be no judgment, only a desire to learn more about her new acquaintance. Peg held back. She was afraid to scare Sheila away.

Sheila wouldn’t have been scared away. She looked for people like Peg and preyed on them. It would start with coffee. She played a mean game of finding unsuspecting women at their lowest and bringing them down further still. Each successful takedown, empowered Sheila more. Prior to meeting Peg, she has destroyed the lives of over ten women. Perhaps Peg would be her next victim.

After several weeks of coffee dates and pleasant walks, Sheila asked Peg if she’d like to come over Saturday for dinner and a sleepover. Peg had never been asked to share this sort of intimate evening before. She hesitated accepting Sheila’s invitation, knowing she’d never be able to reciprocate. Before she could even respond, Sheila said:

“Listen Peg, I know you hardly know me, but you don’t have to worry, I’m not expecting that you’ll have me over to your place. I have a guest bedroom with an ensuite and I love having people over. It will give us a chance to really get to know one another and share some silly girl time.”

Peg happily agreed to Sheila’s invite. She said she’d be responsible for the cocktails, having tended bar out of high school. Sheila seemed delighted.

Sheila’s home was absolutely gorgeous. Everything was in its place and the decor was tasteful. Peg was shy at first, hesitant to look around and barely touched the appetizers Sheila put out. She liked her own cocktails and Sheila seemed to enjoy them as well — Sheila sure did knock them back.

As the evening progressed, they ate less and talked more; well it was mostly Peg who talked. Sheila asked a lot of questions, complimented Peg a lot, and listened. Peg had never had a friend care so much about how she felt and what she thought. She believed she had hit the jackpot. They finally went to bed at 3:00 a.m. Sheila got up early, letting Peg sleep until noon. Peg felt terribly guilty and made an excuse about having an appointment.

The two texted one another that night and the following day. Peg didn’t want to be pushy, but she was anxious to make future plans. Sheila sensed Peg’s excitement, making sure to fill Peg’s dance card for the next two weeks. After five or six ladies outings, Peg started to question Sheila’s character. She rarely spoke about herself and after all that time, Peg knew little to nothing about her. Being mysterious is one thing, but Sheila was almost certainly hiding something.

The second sleepover was scheduled for Saturday, three weeks after the first sleepover. Sheila was as excited as the first time and requested Peg’s bartending magic be repeated. The two were about an hour in and Sheila realized she had no coffee beans for the morning. Peg told her not to worry, but she insisted that she could be at the grocer and back in 10 minutes. She asked Peg to watch a bit of television, promising to return quickly.

Peg sat on the sofa for a bit, thinking about the house and how stunningly beautiful it was. She also realized that she had never seen Sheila’s bedroom. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to venture upstairs for a peek. She opened Sheila’s bedroom door and her jaw dropped. She had never seen a more beautiful bedroom, wondering why Sheila had not shown it off. She walked around the room admiring all of Sheila’s beautiful things. Out of the corner of eye she spotted a vanity in an adjacent dressing room. She had always dreamed of having her very own vanity. She walked over to glance at Sheila’s jewelry and cosmetics, noticing many labeled glass vials. She picked one up to examine it. It was a stick on label with a female name. She didn’t recognize it as a perfume; in fact she had no idea what the vial contained — it was clear and odorless. It bottle read, The Essence of Susan. She picked up another, The Essence of Lisa, and there were a dozen others like this. Peg found herself confused and frightened by this discovery. She went back downstairs and waited for Sheila to return.

As she waited, Peg realized that she needed to somehow find out who the names on the vials represented. Were they friends of Sheila? Did Sheila formerly work for a perfume company? Where did these bottles come from? She sensed something was off, but she couldn’t quite shake her worry. She decided to stop drinking that evening without letting on to Sheila. She would discreetly pour out the contents of her glass in the bathroom sink. She needed to be fully alert for the rest of the evening.

Sheila returned with coffee beans and some other things she said she needed. She didn’t waste any time asking Peg to make some cocktails. She even said,

“We are going to get drunk tonight.”

Peg just laughed and started their drinks, making sure to put very little vodka in her own glass. Sheila prepared dinner, providing Peg with an opportunity to ask her some probing questions. Sheila was evasive and guarded. She danced around responses about friends, past boyfriends, and family. Peg acted as though it didn’t matter. She even started slurring a bit to throw Sheila off. Sheila did eventually let down her guard just enough to reveal a bit of her past.

Sheila accidently mentioned two friends that she said she no longer spends time with. Peg had an idea where she might find them. She behaved as if she was about to pass out and told Sheila she was going to bed. Later, she sensed Sheila was in the bedroom, but Sheila stayed far from the bed. She spent about ten minutes in the ensuite. Peg was now certain something was not right and she needed answers.

Peg spent the next few days tracking down Sheila’s friends. She asked around at Cuppa Joe’s and learned that two of Sheila’s friends used to go to the coffee shop after spin class. She spoke to their spin instructor and found out where at least one of the two women lived. She decided she’d pay Leila a visit that week.

Leila answered her door. She was obviously very weak and out of sorts. Peg asked her if she could come inside and speak to her about Sheila. Leila said that she didn’t really see Sheila anymore, but she was happy to speak to Peg. They sat down in Leila’s living room. Peg was struck by how this young woman looked older than her years. It was also clear that Leila was once very beautiful. Leila described how she had become friends with Sheila and how little she knew about her. She said she’d slept over Sheila’s a few times and that they’d had a great time. Leila said that she recently became very ill, unfortunately unable to work or see people. Peg asked her if she knew of any other friends in Sheila’s life. Leila told her she had once met Angela who lived across from Cuppa Joe’s. She gave Peg a description of Angela and the two said their goodbyes.

Peg went to the coffee shop the next day, sitting and watching the building across the street. Finally, after a couple of hours of hoping to spot Angela, she left her building and walked across the street toward the coffee shop. She didn’t seem to be stopping there, so Peg had to leave the shop and chase her down. Angela was not as cooperative as Leila had been. She was in a big hurry and appeared extremely disoriented. The only thing she would say is that she had not seen or heard from Sheila in a long time. Peg asked her if Sheila had ever done anything to hurt her, Angela replied:

“Not to my knowledge, but I haven’t been the same since meeting her.”

Peg was convinced that Sheila had done something terrible to these women. She suspected that Sheila may have copied her keys the night she went out for coffee beans. She decided to have a conversation with Sheila about having to leave town for a few days. Then she sat in her apartment, waiting to see if Sheila might show up.

The next morning, Peg was in her kitchen and she heard someone keying into the apartment. She quickly hid in the pantry and called the police to let them know someone was breaking in. Sheila had only been in the apartment a few minutes when the police arrived. The police arrested, handcuffed, and took Sheila to the police station. Peg provided a statement and assured the police that she would be pressing charges.

The following week, a detective contacted Peg to let her know that they had done a search of Sheila’s apartment and discovered the personal effects of over a dozen women. They found hairbrushes, tooth brushes, underwear and other items. It appeared that Sheila had been collecting the DNA of these women and creating some sort of liquid potion from each woman’s DNA. The police had never seen anything like it. They assured Peg that they would further investigate what Sheila was up to. They found no evidence of a vial made from Peg’s essence.

Sheila was eventually charged with breaking and entering several homes. She was convicted and pleaded guilty to all charges. Sheila refused to explain what she was doing with the DNA. She would serve several years for her crimes.

Peg could only speculate about Sheila’s motives and intentions. She found strength in knowing she had stopped Sheila for at least a few years. She and a few of the other women involved formed a support group. She watched them slowly regain their strength and confidence and eventually their essence.

Sheila posing for Instagram

Storyline Thoughts

I may or may not have been thinking about The Substance and Demi Moore when writing this piece. It is more likely that I ponder and think about society’s obsession with physical beauty — not just women by the way, men as well. This obsession with beauty haunts me. When I lived on the Upper East Side in New York City 25 years ago, I witnessed the wreckage of cosmetic surgery, now I’m afraid it has spread to the rest of the world.

I realize when I write these short stories character development is an issue. I wish I could say I was more committed to going on to write a novella or novel. For now, I’m just having fun indulging my warped imagination. I appreciate those of you who have stayed with me. Who knows what the future brings.

By the way, this time I used the title AI suggested. The photo is not AI.

The horrific airplane/helicopter crash this week and T’s attempt to blame DEI and the previous administration, the bogus cabinet confirmation hearings, the numerous executive orders designed to remove necessary programs, and the execution of Project 2025; I’m truly at a loss. The worst is knowing I have family who fully support the dangerous reality unfolding daily. To call these trying times is an understatement. I can’t help wondering just how bad it will get before Americans wake up. I know that I’m not overreacting.

Pornic, France in a few days. I know a change of scenery will do me some good. Not to mention the French food & wine.

Posted on by CP · 8 Comments

Acres of Dreams and Lies

I never thought much about life after the office . . . after loyalty and denial . . . after years of deception. We didn’t ruin any lives, but we sure did wreak havoc for quite a few. I wasn’t aware of it from the start. It was good money and decent hours. Rena seemed harmless enough when I met her at Fred’s dinner party. An ambitious, educated woman who started a legitimate business. That’s all I thought I needed to know. It doesn’t matter because it’s over now, Rena’s headed for prison and I’m on my way to Costa Rica to start a new life.

I worked for Rena for thirty years. She was a bulldozer with little patience for cowards and naysayers. An icon in the real estate industry and I had an interest in dabbling. I’m not sure why she chose me. I guess she figured I’d stay out of her way and out of the limelight. Who knew one day my photo would be all over social media.

The night of that fateful dinner party was like many others at my friend Christie’s apartment. She was known for bringing like-minded people together. I had mentioned my interest in real estate to her at some point, so seating me next to the famous Rena Borne was not a big surprise. I had heard of Rena, but I was at a low point in my life, therefore, zero interest in talking to anyone about anything. Looking back, I’m pretty sure Rena would have talked the ear off of a carcass.

I remember Rena asking me what I do. I thought about making something up, but I thought I might get found out, so I told her the truth.

“I work in the city morgue.”

“Doing what?”

“I prepare bodies for the refrigerated units, where they stay until they’re either claimed or taken to the city’s cemetery.”

“And I thought real estate was depressing.”

It went on like this for a bit and then she asked me if I liked my job. It’s a question I was quite use to being asked, but for some reason I said the following:

“If I tell you that I hate it will you offer me a job?”

And she did. She said that if I was willing to do grunt work, she’d sponsor me for real estate school. I could work in the office while I pursued my license. For the first time in a long time, I perked up. It would have been stupid to refuse, so I agreed to meet her at her office the following Monday.

Twenty years later, I’m kissing real estate and my old life goodbye. There are a few things I have to admit right up front. Early on I allowed Rena to charm me. She’d take me out to fancy restaurants. She’d massage my ego and make intriguing promises. And she’d write me big bonus checks at times when I didn’t think I’d earned the money. She often treated me better than her own family members. I was young, hungry, and damaged.

So what did I know about her business tactics? In the beginning I was completely in the dark. After a few months I became the office manager. I studied for my license, passed the test, and I listened and learned. Rena was slow to let me in on the workings of the business. I basically set up meetings, kept files in order, and got her coffee. She kept her door closed and her business private. She was married to her work, childless, and she kept long hours. She asked little of her staff and even less from me.

Me being me, I was curious from the start. I paid attention to office chatter and I read the fine print. Rena’s success almost seemed accidental. Yes she was charming and intelligent, but I suspected she was making a whole lot of money on the down low. It wasn’t so much her lifestyle, it was just a gut feeling. I wondered why she wasn’t flaunting her success; why she kept so few brokers, and why she did most of her own administrative work. She’d occasionally say something like,

“No matter how much you make, the government takes most of it,” or “At the end of the day, everything is suspicious.”

It took a few years before I started realizing the secret meetings and business trips were adding up to something illicit. I dared not ask her about it, knowing she’d just let me go like all the rest who ended up packing up their cubicles; expendable casualties all. I liked the money and the flexible hours. She never let me work on deals larger than half a million dollars, but I didn’t mind as long as good money was coming in.

About fifteen years into my tenure, things started changing, big things. First it was a couple of lawsuits from buyers. Rena wrote it off as buyers remorse and par for the business, but it felt different. Over the next couple of years the number of lawsuits increased and our accountant hanged himself. Rena said he was clinically depressed. What did I know, Rena discouraged socializing in and out of the office, my co-workers were strangers.

I left the office a bit earlier than usual one day, stopping at a café for a coffee on my way home. I was approached by two gentlemen while I waited in line. They told me they were FBI, flashed their badges, and asked me if I had time to talk. I didn’t feel like there were options.

Over the next two hours I learned more than I imagined could be true. I knew Rena’s deals were probably not 100% legal, but I didn’t own the business and she kept me out of her affairs. The agents informed me that they knew I wasn’t directly involved, however, because I worked for Rena, I was complicit.

Rena was buying up swamp land, filling it with landfill, and doing it all under the radar. More than likely gifting, dining, and paying off politicians. It took a good ten years for numerous houses to be swallowed up by sinkholes and for sewer systems to implode. That was the tip of the iceberg. The FBI promised to go easy on me if I cooperated. I had mixed feelings, Rena’s bonuses had made me a very comfortable man, but all of those people who’d lost their only asset left me with a sick feeling. I had to cooperate, keeping in mind that Costa Rica is a new start I could live with. We all know how powerful denial can be.

Stories are fictional unless otherwise noted.

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I was never crazy about August (except for when I lived in Maine): too hot, insanity at the airports, and most of my friends leave me. Alas, autumn is almost here: darkness comes earlier, chilly nights, and cool enough to be in the kitchen cooking.

I’ve had a couple of people tell me that they preferred when my blogs were non-fiction. I’m sorry for that, however, I’m enjoying this type of writing and at this time in my life . . .

“The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept.”
― George Carlin

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Infidelity Is Not For A Child’s Eyes

Adults can be terribly stupid, reckless, and naive; that’s fine as long as they’re not hurting anyone but themselves. Unfortunately, supposed grown ups sneak around deceiving one another without giving much thought to what children see and hear. The damage that is done, cannot be undone.

My Story

Our bedrooms were across the hall from one another, with a shared bath a few feet between us. I liked being near my parents room when they were laughing and loving, but I didn’t get to hear that very often. Instead, I fell asleep to biting words and hostile resentment. I wondered then as I wonder now, if they truly believed their closed door kept the bitterness inside.

I must admit, as a child, I mostly placed blame on my mother. She was always in control, she set the tone and made it clear that it was her house. Considering seven children slept not far from one another, her house was always fairly quiet from 8:00 to 11:00 p.m.(the young ones were put to bed at 7:00 p.m.). That was until my father came home from work. As a restaurant worker, he kept late hours. I was never up to see him come in; I wasn’t asleep mind you. I would hear my mother verbally attack him as soon as he walked through the door. I’ve blocked out most of the vile things I recall hearing her say — it was mainly about leaving her alone to deal with us. He was a man of few words, English was his second language and he couldn’t always find words to express himself.

Physical and verbal abuse took place in my parent’s bedroom for the first eight years of my life (I’ve blogged about this in the past), but it was the final months that caused the most damage. I woke up one night to the sound of a man’s voice that was not my father’s. I laid awake quietly listening. It was masculine, but inaudible; from my mother I heard whispers and quiet laughter. I shivered in my bed and waited. My mother finally left her bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body. For some time, I heard only the sound of water running in the bathroom. The water stopped and a man I didn’t know, also wrapped in a towel, left the bedroom to join her. I was confused. I was fully aware that something bad was happening, however, I was powerless to act on it.

The same deception was repeated several nights a week. I told no one for fear of revealing a secret I wasn’t meant to know. I tried to push my mother’s cheating out of my mind, but it haunted me day and night. My mind wandered in the classroom and I became distant from my brothers and sisters. At night I went to bed, made myself as small as I could and mostly wept. My mother didn’t notice the change in my disposition; she was far too busy having an affair. An affair I wish I hadn’t witnessed first hand.

Over 50 years later I am still not sure how my father found out about my mother and Frank. It was messy for all of us for a time, but my mother and father eventually divorced and she married Frank. I never revealed to my mother what I saw during those painful months. However, I did confront my mother and Frank before they were married; I told them that I’d seen them kissing where the both worked. After all, I never did actually see them being intimate, it was circumstantial evidence that proved their guilt. They denied any intimacy, claiming they were only friends; more lies. I hated this man for exposing me to their disgusting deceitful behavior and I hated my mother for being a part of it.

When you’re eight years old and your innocence has been peeled away, you feel emotions you are unable to identify. I no longer trusted the people I loved the most. My father was abusive and neglectful, but I felt sorry for him. In my eyes he was a victim. Did my father’s physical abuse lead to my mother’s deception? Did he push my mother to the point of lying to herself and her children. It always seemed to be my mother who created the chaos and deceit. As far as I knew at the time, no one else in my immediate family knew of the affair. My oldest sister later told me that she had an idea that it was happening. She and my mother had a strained relationship; she hated her for valid reasons I won’t go into here.

Years of therapy revealed hidden anger and pain that stemmed from what I had seen and heard. I know now that extramarital affairs are common and that children often know that something deceitful is taking place, even if they were not exposed to the actual act. I wonder if mothers and fathers consider what a child might be going through when they engage in such deception? I don’t believe they do. They delude themselves with lies and pat themselves on the back for being discreet.

I won’t go into all the ways that my mother’s affair has impacted my life. I have made apologies to those whose lives I have hurt as a result of my own dysfunction and mistrust. The good news is that I am learning to trust again. I am learning how to forgive. I am learning about the power of a nurturing love. I am learning how a parent is obligated to protect a child’s innocence, not take it away. I am still learning why I have pushed away anyone who has tried to love me deeply and unconditionally. I also know that I can be quite righteous and annoyingly vocal. The work is difficult, but it must be done.

I have chosen to live alone as I work through these deeply rooted issues. The absence of drama at this point in my life is an absolute necessity. Keeping the noise volume low, allows for a more rapid repair.

It should be noted, I do not write to elicit pity, I write to enlighten those who may not know the pain they are causing or the hurt they are inflicting on their children.

Resources:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/surviving-infidelity/201305/should-the-children-know-youve-had-affair

Children of Infidelity . . .

https://www.gosmartlife.com/surviving-infidelity/talking-to-your-children-when-youre-on-the-rebound-from-infidelity

I’m happy to see researchers and specialists are writing about this topic. I’m still not certain most parents recognize the damage infidelity causes.

Location this week:

I was away from home for few days in the Eastern Algarve this week. Not very concerned about COVID-19 because there are no tourists in the Algarve right now. I like to think I’m doing my part by supporting the Portuguese hospitality industry. If you’re looking for a beautiful, reasonable, quiet sanctuary, I recommend this place:

Espargosa Monte de Baixo & Art https://www.espargosamontedebaixo.com/en-us in Castro Marim, Algarve, Portugal