Helen
It was all Stephanie's fault. She never should have returned to Trenton with that band of thugs. My precious Valerie married that…that…coloured man. I got Emily Beeber to ask her daughter, Loretta, to check the marriage registry. There wasn't anything in New Jersey, so I asked if they could check with friends living in Vegas. Emily called back around lunchtime and left a message on my machine.
I was released from the hospital after the psychiatrist said I could leave. He recommended a visit to the Betty Ford clinic to detox. Pfft. I don't have an alcohol problem, nor was I an alcoholic. He had some nerve telling me to dry out. I bet he would get driven to drink if his daughter was anything like Stephanie.
The nurse entered the room to remove the IV attached to my arm. Apparently, I was severely dehydrated from alcohol consumption. I called Frank several times for a ride. He never answered my call. I had to call Angie Morelli for a ride home. It was unpleasant and uncomfortable. Angie blamed me for Joseph spending the night in jail. He wasn't arrested. I don't understand her problem. Valerie didn't press charges for the attack.
"Thank you for giving me a ride," I said when Angie parked in my driveway.
"Joey can't handle another charge against him. He'll lose his job. Please make sure Valerie doesn't press charges," Angie begged. I smiled and agreed to talk to Valerie.
After Angie left, I looked around before grabbing the spare key from beneath the rock in my garden. I would have to find another hiding spot for the key. It didn't matter. I was the only one who used the spare key to unlock the house. Perhaps I should put it on a thick chain around my neck.
When I entered the house, I noticed the lack of sound. Frank's car wasn't in the driveway, which didn't surprise me. However, not finding my mother in the kitchen was shocking. Where did she go? I shrugged and dropped into the chair at the kitchen table.
The answering machine light was blinking. I groaned when the indicator said I had fifty messages. When I hit play, it started at the beginning. People wanted to know what happened at Club Treasures. Message after message of women demanding to know about the incident at the nightclub. Some correctly guessed I hired Morelli to strip at Valerie's bachelorette party. I erased the messages, leaving the last one until I quenched my thirst with a glass of iced tea.
After taking a long drink, I prepared myself to listen to the last message. I pressed play. Emily Beeber said, "Loretta called her friend in Vegas. Valerie applied for a marriage license. She isn't married yet. You still have time to stop it."
I called every hotel in Vegas. None of them provided details about people getting married in the chapels. I contacted every chapel to inquire about couples who registered for a ceremony. A few hung up without giving me information. One woman said I had no right to interfere if the couple getting married was legally old enough. I slammed the receiver on the base and screamed. Flying to Vegas was pointless if I didn't know where to look. I would waste too much money travelling to every chapel.
A solid knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I brushed the wrinkles from my dress and quickly fixed my hair. Smiling, I opened the door. "May I help you?" I asked.
"Helen Plum?" the handsome man asked.
"Yes," I replied. He got me to sign a document.
"You've been served," the man said and walked away.
"Served what?" I asked. He got into his car and drove away. Mrs. Krezwicki, across the road, peeked from behind the curtains. I waved and smiled. She pushed the curtains back into place and disappeared—nosy neighbours.
I sat at the table and drank more iced tea. The names outside the envelope were Coleman, Pazzuti and Cromwell Barristers. Gabriel Pazzuti was Frank's friend. My hands shook as I unsealed the envelope. I tugged the papers from inside. Across the top, in large letters, read, "Petition For Divorce." Frank filed for divorce. His signature was on the back page, and his initials were on every page. "Why me?" I cried.
It took several minutes to stop crying to read the date. Frank filed for divorce the previous day. Wanting to know if he spoke to Gabriel before the party, I grabbed the phone to contact him. His wife answered the phone, then called for her husband.
"When did Frank ask you to draw up the divorce decree?" I demanded.
"Thursday afternoon. He contacted me last night after Morelli assaulted Valerie. I met with him after he took you to the hospital. You passed out on the way to the car. He was concerned and asked the doctor to check your blood alcohol level. It was higher than the legal limit. You were suffering from alcohol poisoning. The doctor admitted you to the psychiatric wing for your protection. He signed the documents and asked me to deliver them after your release. Toby Carter indicated he delivered the paperwork a few minutes ago. Is there anything else you need to know, Helen?" Gabriel asked.
"No," I replied. Gabriel hung up without saying goodbye. "How rude!"
I called hotels in Vegas, attempting to find Frank. Nobody would give me information on their guests. It was beyond frustrating. I called Stephanie, but her phone went to voicemail. Unable to contain myself, I blamed her for everything. I continued to call for several hours. She never answered the phone. After leaving the thirtieth message, I stopped calling. Frank wanting to divorce me was Stephanie's fault.
My phone rang. I finished drinking my iced tea before answering. "Hello. You have reached the Plum residence. How may I help you?"
"Helen, it's Angie Morelli. Andrea Krezwicki called. She said Teresa Carter's son, Toby, delivered you a legal-looking document. Are you getting sued?"
"No!" I yelled. "That useless bitch of a daughter got Frank to divorce me." Angie gasped.
"Is it because of last night?" Angie asked.
"I don't know. Stephanie probably convinced Frank it was the right decision. They didn't know I hired Joseph as the stripper for the night. I hoped he would reconnect with Valerie and give us a grandson," I replied.
"Helen, whatever you have planned in your ridiculous scheme to get Joseph and Valerie to marry each other, stop. I refuse to have you drag my son's name through the mud," Angie snapped. "His job at the precinct is more important than some imagined Morelli grandson."
"Are you saying you don't want a Plum-Morelli grandson?" I asked, stunned. Angie and I had wanted it since she had Joseph, and I had Valerie. We planned for them to get married after high school, but Stephanie ruined that by stealing her sister's boyfriend. I raised my daughter better than that. Stephanie was always a difficult child. She balked at my mandate and refused to conform to how the Burg viewed acceptable behaviour from the girls.
"I don't want you interfering in Joseph's life. Evelyn Nagy's daughter said they're hiring at the personal products plant. I'll have her drop off an application for you. Goodbye, Helen," Angie replied. I stared at the phone when Angie hung up. She never waited for me to say goodbye. When did Angie become rude?
I spent the following few hours calling my mother's friends, asking if they knew where she went. Nobody knew, or they refused to tell me. My mother didn't have her phone with her. I found it on the nightstand in her room. When I turned it on, I noticed it had several messages from her friends. I attempted to read them but had to enter a code to unlock the phone. After entering four incorrect codes, I received a message saying the phone was locked and the provider needed to open it. Stephanie gave the phone to my mother. I probably had to get someone from that building full of thugs and criminals to help. It was useless.
Assuming Frank and Mother wouldn't be home for dinner, I ate the leftover meatloaf. I searched the pantry for my stash of Jim Beam. The bottle I found behind the bag of flour was empty. I found the bottle of Prosecco behind the jars of marinara sauce. I opened the dark bottle and emptied it into my glass. There was barely an ounce. Everywhere I searched, I found the bottles were empty. I could have sworn there was a full bottle in the cupboard.
All of my hiding spots contained empty bottles. Frank or my mother poured my alcohol down the drain. They had no right to infringe on my privacy. I bought the Jim Beam and Prosecco. It didn't matter. I checked the clock and realized the closest store was closed.
Resigned to having the night without tippling, I sat in front of the television after washing the dishes. There wasn't anything interesting to watch. I tuned into the cooking show and laughed at how the hostess attempted to save time by cutting the meat into smaller portions. "You're ruining it," I cackled. "How do you expect the meat to retain moisture?"
The woman cooked the meal at a fraction of the time. It was no wonder the younger generation didn't know how to cook a decent meal. They spent too much effort attempting to find shortcuts. I know Valerie watched the cooking shows to find simple and quick meals for the girls. She should be at home raising her children and leaving work for the men. Valerie only had to marry Joseph Morelli. He made enough to support the family. I taught her to become the ideal housewife for her husband.
Everything was going according to plan until Stephanie got involved. That embarrassment I called my daughter, Stephanie, never learned her place. She married some Cuban thug and birthed three adorable but mixed-raced children. Why me?
I prayed Valerie wouldn't have a child with that man she likely married. What would the neighbours think? My name was already tarnished among the Burg elite. Valerie having a child with darker skin than Stephanie's children was unacceptable. I don't care that Angie and Mary Alice are the appropriate nationalities. Their reputations would get destroyed. Valerie was selfish. Doesn't Valerie care about how her actions impact my innocent granddaughters?
Unable to get settled, I read the divorce petition from Frank. He planned to sell the house. I would receive half of the equity after all debts got paid. Frank let me keep the car. Instead of an alimony payment, Frank rented a one-bedroom apartment in the building on the corner of St. James and Dunworth. I would have to work to pay for groceries, electricity, car insurance, house insurance and telephone. Why me?
I should sue Stephanie for the undue hardship she caused by interfering in my marriage. Everything was going according to plan until Stephanie ruined everything.
~~~~~
Joe
I woke up with my face pressed to the stinky bench in the Trenton Police Department's holding cell. My clothes were missing. Eddie Gazarra and Robin Russell grinned as they photographed me.
"What did Hunter say he was doing?" Robin asked.
"Aunt Helen hired Joe to strip at Valerie's bachelorette party," Eddie said. "He attacked Valerie. Jeanne Ellen caught it all on video. Nobody even noticed she was holding up her phone. Rob, you should see it."
The music from the nightclub played through Eddie's phone. I groaned and rolled to face the wall. "Ewww. That's gross. Nobody wants to see that ugly, hairy ass," Robin said. I peeked over my shoulder as Robin faced away from me. "Is Val charging Morelli with assault?" Robin asked.
"We have enough evidence if she decides to pursue it," Eddie replied.
"I think she should," Robin added. Eddie readily agreed. "Where is Valerie?"
"Getting married in Vegas," Eddie replied. I rolled to face Eddie and Robin in time to see Eddie glance at his watch. "It's eight p.m. here. I believe Valerie and Tank are getting married as we speak."
"Good for her. I'm glad she didn't marry the hairy swine," Robin retorted. I heard Edna Mazur's comment about my size and groaned.
My balls still hurt from Valerie shoving them into my stomach with her knee. I think Stephanie broke my nose. When the hell did Stephanie learn to fight? She kicked my ass. I would never live that down once Eddie shared the video with the other officers.
"Oh my gosh. Joe peeked at Stephanie's crotch before she kicked him in the head. Why did you risk looking, Joe? You wasted your chance to duck," Robin said. She shook her head and asked Eddie to send her the video.
"When can I get out of here? Where are my clothes?" I asked.
"Your pants got used as toilet paper by your cellmate. We can detain you for twenty-four hours. You have another three to go," Eddie replied. "I asked your mother to bring clothes. She sent Mooch with a duffle. You can get dressed before you leave."
"I need a doctor to check my nuts and nose."
"Bobby Brown fixed and bandaged your nose. He said your balls were fine," Eddie replied before leaving me with the scumbag in my cell. Things couldn't get any worse. Those were my famous last words.
When I finally got released the following morning, my picture was plastered on every hydro pole in the city. Someone entered my apartment and papered the walls with various shots of my hairy ass. I wanted to blame Stephanie or Valerie, but neither woman was in town until that afternoon. A friend saw them getting off a private jet.
It took Mooch and me several hours to remove my photograph from around town. Mooch attempted to make me feel better by saying it wasn't the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean. None of the women I fucked complained. How was I supposed to get laid?
In light of the viral video, several women accused me of rape. They claimed the footage reminded them of how I forced them to have sex. It wasn't just the school teacher or the TPD receptionist, either. Women from Stark Street submitted claims. A few got their friends to take photographs after the alleged assaults. With the video, someone took of me with Valerie, the district attorney would have enough evidence to send me to prison for the next fifteen years.
I got suspended from the TPD, pending investigation. Thankfully, I still received a paycheque because moving into Mom's house was not an option. I prayed like I had never prayed before. God willing, I wouldn't have to spend time in prison.