Anita Hill, Have You Heard of her? I think you just nailed your coffin shut

I have never been as low as I was in 2000.  I thought many days if I could just end this, the pain would go away, but there were people, the ones I have spoken of, that entered my life for a reason, who saved me.  I was forty years old and facing what appeared to be my second divorce. I was unemployed, at least from a real job.  I lived in a state that I did not want to live in, nor planned on living in if things continued to head south. I was miles from friends and family and no one really knew how bad things were in my little bubble. 

Chappy and I sat in the master bathroom one day and he suggested that "if" we get a divorce that we just split everything in half, "no reason to get any attorneys involved and pay them a lot of money, we can do this very civilly between us."

Silly, silly man.  Had his  memory escaped him?  Just eight years ago, I made a promise, I guess it was time to remind him.  "You've never been divorced.  You really have no clue what will happen.  In divorce, there is no such thing as being civil.  When you draw that line in the sand, remember what I told you just before we got married, I'll take you for every dime you are worth.  You weren't worth much back then, but you are now and I'll take it all.  You want out of this marriage, walk in that closet and pack your clothes up because that is all you will get.  I left Killer with the clothes on my back, because like you, I was unhappy.  I won't make that mistake twice."

And then he spoke, again, assuring me that he really thought I was crazy. "You aren't going to find anything. I have a company phone, company credit cards, I can do whatever I want and you won't find a trail."

"You just keep thinking that, you've never been divorced." And I walked out of the bathroom wondering when he was going to draw the line in the sand, but preparing for the day it might just happen.

There were days I was so weak from not eating that I couldn't function.  Lorna, my friend for a reason, the manager of the salon called me one morning to see how I was.  She told me she'd see me at work and I told her I didn't think I could make it, I was so weak.  Within minutes she was at my door, helped me finish getting dressed and drove me to work.  She stopped at Steak and Shake and bought me a chocolate shake.  "I can't eat, I'm so sick to my stomach."

"You don't have to eat it all at once, sip it, until it is all gone.  Do that for me." And she walked me into the store, to my desk and checked on me through out the day to make sure I finished every ounce of that shake.

In May, Chappy left his briefcase where he always did, on the kitchen counter.  He was outside mowing the lawn. I stopped mowing the lawn.  I stopped doing everything, except what was absolutely necessary to get through the day.  I never snooped, had no reason to, but some thing drew me to this briefcase.  I opened it up and didn't have to look far, there on top of all the papers was a receipt for the Marriott Hotel.  I had traveled enough to know when you book a room, your name is at the top of the receipt.  If, oh, perhaps, two people are standing at the registration desk, the receipt might say, Mr. & Mrs., and I don't recall being at this Marriott Hotel, but there at the top of the receipt, it clearly stated, I was.

I took the receipt and placed it in my purse, I'd be needing a copy of this as I found the charges to pique my interest.  Room service - $50.00.  That is a lot of food for one person to eat, because I really did not recall eating at this hotel, in our room.

I called the Marriott. I told them that I was Mrs. Chappy Schafer and that my husband and I had been at their hotel on such and such a date, there was a charge for room service for fifty dollars and I really could not recall ordering that much.  Would they be so kind as to tell me what we ordered or perhaps, "there is an error on our bill."

"Not a problem, Mrs. Schafer, we'll connect you to room service, have a nice day."  Little did they know my day was pretty shitty and some thing told me it was going to get even worse after someone picked the phone up in "room service."

I was shaking like a leaf.  I didn't want to know. I couldn't believe I was stooping this low, calling to check out a charge on his company bill. "Mrs. Schafer, yes, we've pulled the charge, the invoice states there were two chicken dinners, one glass of wine, one diet coke and two pieces of chocolate cake. Did you order that?"

"Why yes, of course, how could I forget that divine chocolate cake of yours, thank you so much."  I put the phone down and stared at this receipt.  Two of everything, in his room, Mr. & Mrs. Chappy Schafer.  Another blow taken to the gut, another piece of my heart ripped out and served on a platter. What was I going to do?  I made a copy of the bill, I made notes on it of whom I spoke with and what I had been told.  I went home that night and placed it back in his briefcase as though it had never been touched and I plotted.

I made several copies of the invoice. I waited a couple of days and then I strategically placed them around the house, where he would see them, they couldn't be missed and then I left the house. I didn't want to be there when he came home.

When I walked in, late, knowing he'd be there, I acted like nothing had happened.  The invoices were all gone.  Shredded in the waste paper basket. Torn up in tiny pieces. I could almost envision the look on his face as he destroyed the evidence.  Little did  he know, I still had several copies.

My copies had the notes from the phone calls. The ones I had placed out for him to see, looked just like the one I had lifted from his briefcase.  I walked into the family room, he was staring at the TV, but I knew he didn't see a thing on the screen, although it was a 50 inch big screen, hard to miss when you are less than five feet from it.

"I laid a piece of paper here on the counter, have you seen it?"

"No."  I went upstairs and came back down.  

"Funny, I placed the same paper on your vanity and dresser and they aren't there, have you seen them?"

"No."

"Oh, perhaps you don't remember what they looked like before you tore them into a million pieces and threw them away, they looked like this" and I handed him another copy, without my notations clearly stating what I had discovered.

"Do you remember it now, Mr. Schafer?" I asked sarcastically. "And do you want to tell me who the Mrs. Schafer was that just  happened to share a meal  with you in your room?"

"No one shared a meal in my room, I ordered a bottle of wine?"

"Lucky you, they must have left that off your tab, I called to see just what "we" ordered and wine was not on the menu that night. So, I'll ask you again, who is Mrs. Schafer?"

"There is no "Mrs. Schafer," that is just  how my profile is at the Marriott. You are making things up again."

"Let me share with you a little information that might help you, I used to travel a lot and I know when Cindy reserved a room, Cindy's name was on the invoice and I know if Cindy and Killer reserved a room, Mr. & Mrs. Henshaw was on the invoice, so I'll ask you one more time, Who is the Mrs.  Schafer and what did you eat in your room that  night?"

"It appears you already know what was on the menu. I had a meeting with Courtney and we had dinner in my  room, you are making a little too much out of this, it was a business dinner."

"Have you lost your fucking mind?  YOU had a woman who reports to you directly in your hotel room  for a business dinner and meeting?  You think I am crazy, you've lost your fucking mind!  Do you know what you did?  YOU invited a woman to  your hotel room that reports to you?  What happens when she gets a hair sideways and decides to pursue sexual harassment? She has the invoice showing Mr. and Mrs. Schafer AND the receipt to prove she was in your room. You really are fucking naive aren't you."

"She's not like that."  

I wanted to say neither was Anita Hill before she took Judge Clarence Thomas down, but I figured he wouldn't understand what he had just done to himself on so many levels.  I left the room, went upstairs and filed my document in my briefcase, along with a diary I kept of his coming and going, his excuses for not being home, the flights he missed and from where, slowly I started collecting evidence that I had no idea when I was going to use it, but knew one day, it'd be very useful to me for something.