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A DANCE WITH THE DEVIL
PROLOGUE TO TRUST OR NOT TO TRUST
I
was sitting at my office desk staring at my November day planner when I
made what seemed like an innocuous decision – I would invite my
recently reconnected friend Rex to the Justice for Murder
Victim’s dinner dance in San Francisco. It was less than two weeks
away. I reached for the telephone and paused as a pang of guilt
reminded me that I didn't like it when people changed plans
on me at the last minute and inviting Rex meant putting my mother off
after she had been my date for the charity affair the last
several years. She won’t mind, I rationalized. She’ll be happy that I
will have someone to whisk me around the dance floor.
My hand
grasped the receiver and I shuddered. A sense of impending doom
enveloped me. Before the receiver reached my ear I dropped it back into
its cradle as aparalyzing déjàvu washed over me like a ghost from the past, taunting me with memories best left undisturbed.Was I reacting as I once did? Without abandon? Could Imake the same mistake twice? At
least I had learned one lesson - I didn’t trust my decision to extend
the invitation without bouncing the idea off of a neutral party. Igrabbed the receiver and quickly punched Pam’s number. “My plan feels too close to how I got started with John,” I fretted. My stomach knotted at the memory. “This is different,” Pam counseled. “Didn’t you have a good time at the lunch I arranged a couple of weeks ago? “Yes,” I conceded, “it was fun reconnecting with him at the Potato Barge.”
“You’ve
known Rex since nineteen sixty-nine, even if you hadn’t seen him for
eight years before the lunch. You know his history and he’s already agood friend. You cantrust him.” We discussed my
feelings of impending doom and in the end I had to agree with her that I
could trust Rex. I knew his background. As former co-workers, we had
learned a lot about each other during the six years we
tested production samples in the analytical lab at the Excelsior
Chemical plant in Martinez, California. Rex, a chemist, transferred
from the mid-west in 1969. He specialized in the emerging technology of
gas chromatography, and Pam and I occasionally worked directly with him
when we rotated into his area as lab assistants. We lost contact when he transferred to another company.
“You’re right,” I said. “Rex is a kind man without hidden agendas.”
I
thanked Pam for her friendship and closed by saying she had helped
bolster my resolve to ask Rex to the dinner dance. I barely returned
the receiver to its cradle when thephone jangled with a double ring indicating an outside call, startling me into a nervous jump. I laughed. Another one of my mother’s endearing traits that she passedalong to me,I thought. My
reverie was short lived. The call was from my divorce attorney who
let me know my now ex-husband had just thrown another monkey wrench into
what I thought was afinal property settlement. My
shoulders tightened. I slammed the receiver down and took a brisk walk
to regain my composure. Later that afternoon I called Rex. Hegladly accepted my invitation and, because of logistics, we decided that I would drive. This is just a date with a friend, I thought to myself as I hung up the phone. Then Icalled my Mom. On
a brisk, clear Sunday evening Rex escorted me to the flowing staircase
in Gabbiano’s, an upscale restaurant tucked between the San Francisco
Ferry Building and the Bay Bridge. Rex looked dapper in his
dark suit that complimented my one-piece black velvet and crepe jump
suit. I grabbed my point-and-shoot camera from my purse and solicited
a passing waiter to snap a picture of us before we climbed the stairs
to the dining room overlooking the warmly lit Bay Bridge and twinkling
city skyline. We mingled with the guests – all advocates
for victim justice – and I proudly introduced Rex as an old friend.
Later he shared that it felt strange to be in a group where murder had touched everyone’s lives.
Outside
on the deck near the shimmering water, over dinner with flickering
candlelight, waltzing around the shiny dance floor, sipping mellow Napa
Valley cabernet, we rediscovered our common interests. We
laughed at lab episodes from the past, like passing Rex around to the
ladies in the darkroom at the annual Christmas party or him watching
me as I cleaned the inside of the fume hoods wearing a short skirt. He
was there when I took my two younger sisters skiing, gladly escorting
us to the company ski cabin because his wife and my first
husband didn't want to have anything to do with swooshing down slippery
slopes. It was all in good fun. At that time were both married to others and had no designs on crossing the other person’s boundaries.
The
Ferry Building’s ornate clock tower chimed eleven p.m. - not quite the
midnight from Cinderella fame but time to head for home nonetheless. I
selfishly didn't want the evening to end. I had
rediscovered an admirable friend, someone I could talk with freely, and
someone with whom I shared a past - a respectable past without any
secrets. As I pulled onto the lower deck of the Bay Bridge I
remembered another night - my university graduation night - when the
fog was held at bay outside the Golden Gate Bridge and bright stars illuminated the dark sky.
“There’s
a great view of the city from Treasure Island,” I said. “The night’s
so clear. Would you like to stop for a few minutes?”
“Just a few,” he laughed. “I have to get up at three thirty in the morning to get ready for work.”
I
parked the car in the visitor’s lot outside the main gate. We got out,
climbed onto two rocks and sat next to each other, savoring the
sparkling lights of the city spread before us from the Bay Bridge to the Golden Gate Bridge, like a scrumptious dessert.
“It’s a great shot,” Rex said, breaking the silence. “Too bad we don’t have our thirty-five millimeter SLR cameras with us.”
I
loved that he shared my interest in photography beyond the popular
point-and-shoot cameras. “We’ll have to plan better next time,” I
laughed. “And bring warmer coats.”
I hugged my arms and rubbed
them to generate some warmth. Icouldn’t help but feel like we were two
awkward teenagers on a first date at the movies. We shifted a little closer
tgether. Our shoulders touched. Then slowly, and gently, Rex wrapped
his arm around my shoulders and I snuggled into his embrace. We sat
tranquil for a few moments. It felt good to be able to trust a man again.
“I almost didn't ask you to come tonight,” I whispered. “The scenario reminded me too much of how I started dating John.”
Rex
didn't answer, but I could feel his sympathy as he squeezed me a little
tighter. In the warmth of his embrace, I was drawn back to another
time and another place, the most dangerous in my life, when
misplaced trust had escalated into a nightmare and almost took my life.
Of course, I didn't imagine any such thing at the time. Back then, it had started just like this, on what should have been nothing more than a carefree date arranged by a friend….