She was right, I really did ruin her. She yelled it, Dad, actually yelled it. It was like she was a victim from a soap opera or a girl at a junior high school dance who walked into the auditorium, only to find another girl wearing the same shirt. What a scene—she actually came after me in court, fists up. I don’t think she intended to come up to my face. I think she expected the bailiff or my attorney to hold her back before she got there, like a batter who runs toward the mound after getting plunked, but waiting long enough for his team to get there. No one moved, though. That probably sums up her life at that moment—not a single person on her side, no kindness of strangers to get her by, nothing. So she got right in my face, and her face was surprised, and she was speechless. She didn’t cry or anything—she just blinked really fast.
She started to say something dramatic, I’m sure—”You never deserved me” or “I don’t deserve this” or “my inheritance never should have been squandered”—no wait, I remember, she said something like “I’m not the only one who will be ruined,” and then she stopped. Then she smiled. Athena smiled: her money gone, her future unclear, her ex-husband walking away innocently from crimes the whole world knows he committed (even someone as self-absorbed as me can see how this looks), her pride decimated, and she actually smiled at her failed final statement to me. What an awful parting shot. I almost feel bad that she didn’t at least walk away having given me a good insult. I don’t mean to laugh, but that was sad.
What can I say, Pops—you taught me to go for the gold. I didn’t intend for things to get this bad—of course, who plans on getting caught?—but she was a means to an end. She should have known better, frankly. I’ve always been myself, right? Bad boy, in it to win it, getting down to brass tacks, all that. No prisoners, Dad! No anchors, no obstacles, and no worries about collateral damage. How many times in history has a rich woman served as a stepping stone to a man’s greater good? I don’t write the laws of nature, I just go with them.
And she decided to defend herself! Oh my God, as if she went to law school to actually be a lawyer versus doing what she was just supposed to do as a part of that family. With a good lawyer—a real lawyer—I may have been in trouble. Jesus, Dad, I could have gone to jail. The way she began the trial, I have to tell you I thought I was dead. She actually was doing a good job. She had evidence of my financial trail and investments, and she had a series of witnesses, all of them with a reason to want to see me go away for a long time. Then one day, around two weeks ago, she just lost it—fumbling over words, dropping all procedure, pissing the judge off. I don’t know what the hell happened, but I wasn’t complaining. I’m sorry you weren’t there to see it. I know you’re busy.
She got burned, and I’m sorry for that, but think of what I’ll be able to do now. Her dreams were small—mainly concerning me and her—but mine, well you know me. I want the damn moon and the stars and even the planets. Now I can make it happen. Zakim Bridge? Watch them rename it the Jeff Turkin Memorial Bridge when I’m done.
I have money, I have desire, and I have no more baggage. Now I just have to get myself another wife, but this time for looks, sex, and kids. Am I right, Dad?
The bastard ruined me, completely. On September 2, 2010 in the year of oh my lord, I submit to you that I am ruined. My three shames in this matter are that A) I put myself in a position to be ruined, B) I let him know he ruined me, and C) I almost ruined my final victory. Right there in court, like anyone cared, or like it would change the outcome of the ruling: “You ruined me!” I yelled, the final nail in the coffin holding my pride.
Before I go further, I want to let you know that this will be my last session with you. It’s not personal, but I’ve found my own means of healing myself. Please don’t charge me for next Tuesday’s appointment, even though it’s less than a week before cancelling. I could use the money.
So anyway, my emotion took me over. What pisses me off is that I had planned my exit. I mean, two weeks earlier I had a revelation that changed my whole approach to the case. He assumes I fell apart because of emotion. That’s how stupid he is—he always assumes he’s smarter than the rest. He’s quite dumb. But he’s hot. And I wanted him. And I loved him. Whether or not I actually loved him, I believed I did. Belief is stronger than actuality, no matter how much we learn. I knew he was a lousy person, but lousy people that look like him are great in bed. Sometimes we just want what feels good.
I would have stayed with him for life, you know. He gave me nothing intellectually or emotionally, but he was wonderful to be with in society, and he was wonderful naked. I’m no complex person—I’m happy enough with the basics. I didn’t even need all of my money. But I needed some of it. I needed a little bit of it. It’s hard to enjoy sex or a party when you can’t pay your bills, like a regular person. I’m not regular. I wasn’t supposed to be anyway. That’s my crime: letting myself becoming more irregular.
Shame on me for not growing up fast enough, or thinking too highly of my looks. Belief is stronger than actuality for self-observation as well. What horrible suffering I’ve gone through to learn that. I know this now, and I am controlled and together because of it, but even then, at the beginnings of my period of triumph, my emotions almost ruined everything. Imagine, I have the final say, the long-term say, but my child-like anger comes out of nowhere. This happens when you live a pretend life in a real existence.
He was right about that—I wasn’t a real person. His downfall in the end is that he thinks that this experience has made me a real person. This experience is nothing compared to what I learned for certain on August 20, 2010, with no room for escape or justification. At this point in my life, that is the best day of my life, because that was my first day of clarity and improvement. That’s my beginning of actuality. God bless.
He’s over, and he doesn’t know it. But let me be clear about why this matters, and I will say goodbye to you forever (good riddance, to be honest. The benefit of talking with you pales with the loss of every Tuesday and Thursday night and $260 a session). My victory is not in that he now has HIV, which is great. It’s not even that he doesn’t yet realize it, which is better. It’s that when he does go to the doctor in 5 or 10 years (because he’ll wait that long to feel he must go to a doctor…oh, men), he’ll think that he gave it to me.
Not the other way around.