Chapter 3: Plan for a Confrontation

I sat for minute coping with shock of what I’d just seen and all that happened over the past three weeks or so.

Lynn Seaburn, a beautiful blond, had found me out of all the people in the Universe to help her relocate to Florida. I’d helped her get a new job and she was living with me as both friend and lover. We were in love.

Lynn had fled her alcoholic and physically abusive husband in Ohio to new start in life. She thought she was hiding from him, but apparently not. We were working with a good lawyer on many of the issues surrounding her husband – a restraining order and a divorce. We’d paid a young man to drive her car (that her husband owned) back to Ohio and drop it off in front of her husband’s house about two weeks prior.

My shock came when I’d happened to look out the window of my home and watched Lynn’s old, brown Chevrolet drive slowly past the house. I had every reason to believe it was her ex-husband at the wheel. Somehow, he’d found her – us.

I called Lynn at work immediately. “Hon, we’ve got a sudden problem as of about a minute ago,” I started. My heart was beating about a thousand times a minute and I felt flushed. This was not a good situation.

“What’s going on?” she asked, obviously worried.

“Your old Chevy just cruised by the house with a guy about your age driving. Brown hair, red baseball cap. Ohio plates. It sure looked like your car.”

“Oh shit,” she gasped. “How’d he find me?”

“Was bound to happen sooner or later. How do you want to play it? Do you want to hide or what? He might be waiting for you at work when you get out or hanging around here somewhere waiting for you to drive into the garage.”

“I’ll let you know in a few minutes,” she said and clicked off. I heard her muttering, ‘Shit, shit, shit’ just before call ended.

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang. I checked Caller ID before I answered Lynn’s call. “OK, here’s the short-term plan,” she said in an anguished voice. “Karen Price and I are going to swap places for the evening. I’m going to her apartment in her car in about two minutes and she’s going to drive home to you in your car in about an hour when work ends. I’ll call you soon. If you see him again, call my cell. And we need some ideas about what to do next. I need to talk to Karen some more. She’ll have more to tell you maybe.” She sounded worried.

“I love you,” I told her just before we hung up.

One of my neighbors was an ex-cop from Chicago, long ago retired. I think he’d been on the bomb squad and somehow managed to retire in one piece. I called Len Rausch; he was home. I asked if I could walk over and see him. He said to come on at my pleasure. I locked up the house tight and strolled down the street towards his house as though I didn’t have a care in the world. I didn’t see the brown Chevy.

I told Len I needed his professional advice as an ex-cop then started at the beginning and told Len all about Lynn, her abusive husband, her getting the restraining order, our continuing to live together as she worked on a unilateral divorce, the likelihood that I’d just seen her car drive by, probably driven by her husband, and the swap of females we were about to execute. Len listened attentively to the whole story.

Len got up from his chair, walked across his kitchen where we were sitting, and got us both a beer. He came back, passed me a beer and sat down. I could almost see the smoke rising from his intense thinking.

Len began, “First, we’ll assume the worst. He’s here in Sarasota, he knows all about you, he’s mad as hell, and he’s going to do something to Lynn – like kidnap her back to Ohio or beat her up in some bout of vengeance. It might be a lot better than this, but let’s work with our worst-case scenario,” he reminded me.

“Next, he’s probably figured out she’s living with you. He may not be certain of the relationship but let’s assume he’s figured that out too. In that case, he’ll be mad as a hell at you, too – after all you stole his love from him. So, you might find you’re threatened or due for some bodily harm, too.”

He went on, “The idea of a swap is a stop-gap measure and a good idea while we figure out what to do. Sooner or later, he’ll figure out where she works, if he doesn’t already know. He might have been following her for days waiting for an opportunity to do whatever he’s inclined to do. In the meantime, why don’t you publicly meet this Karen in front of your house as though she’s the light in your life? Keep her outside a bit so the two of you are visible together; that’ll confuse him and slow things down – we hope.

Let me make a couple of calls and see what other ideas I can come up with. Go home, play outside, welcome Karen home, and expect me to drop by in an hour or more with some more ideas.

I strolled back home sipping on my beer and feeling like I had a target slightly larger than Greenland painted on my back. I opened the garage door and pulled out my two bicycles and started to service them in the driveway. I got out the hose and washed them down. I also watered most of the front garden.

Nancy and I used to ride around the neighborhood, and when she was feeling up to it, we’d even ride downtown or to St. Armand’s Key for a meal or ice cream. The bikes had sat unused for years at this point. I couldn’t stand to part with anything that was Nancy’s, but maybe that was changing.

About five-thirty, Lynn’s car came slowly down the street and pulled into the driveway. I waved enthusiastically and pulled the bikes to the side so Karen could pull my car into the garage. I walked in and quickly said to her, “Come and greet me in a big way. We’ve got other help on the way. Play your role as my significant other.”

I went back to the bikes as Karen pulled her briefcase and a pile of papers from the backseat. She appeared in front of the big garage door with a questioning look on her face. I walked up and embraced her, kissing her firmly on the lips not once but several times. After her initial surprise she kissed back with more than a passing degree of enthusiasm for the act. I was at least having fun with this dire situation.

We stood in our embrace and I looked at this beautiful woman for the first time. She was appraising me too. I figured I’d passed muster by her smile.

Karen was an attractive slim woman with long, dark hair to the middle of her back that was full of waves and curls; she was in her mid-to-late thirties. She was wearing tight slacks that clung to her shapely ass in a way that was making me salivate. She also wore a very Florida blouse that was stretched across a lovely chest, and a pair of spike heels – my greatest weakness. She looked very professional. Did I mention the tight slacks?

I whispered to her as we hugged, “Go into the house and change into casual clothes. Some of Lynn’s wardrobe is in the guest room off the kitchen and family room. Wear anything you can find and feel like. There’s some wine in the refrigerator; bring me a glass after you get one for yourself. We’re supposed to stand out here and be visible for a while as the ‘couple-in-residence’.”

Karen nodded and disappeared into the house carrying her briefcase and papers to continue our guise. I hoped that Doug or whomever I’d seen in the car was watching from some hidden quadrant I couldn’t detect. I went back to tinkering with the bicycles, now inflating the tires as though we were preparing to take a ride in the near future.

About ten minutes later, Karen appeared in one of my t-shirts and a pair of Lynn’s short shorts. She was barefoot and had long, sexy legs that I now saw for the first time. My tongue was getting hard just fantasizing over what she might be like in bed, but I had enough sense to jar myself back to the tense reality we were facing. She looked like she belonged here and was a fixture in the neighborhood.

She walked up and kissed me again. I could get used to this. She put the wine in my hand and winked at me. “Did you get the mail honey?” she asked in a loud voice.

“No,” I stammered as I took in the loveliness of this dark-haired creature. She could tell I was impressed with her demeanor. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

Karen walked out to the mailbox by the street as though she’d done it a thousand times, opened the door, and pulled a stack of mail out of the box. She strolled up the driveway, playing her role to the hilt as she sorted through the pile, obviously sorting out “her” mail from all the other pieces.

About that time Len Rausch and his wife Peggy came strolling down the street each carrying a beer. We waved to each other. I quickly whispered to Karen that she was supposed to know these folks so she waved too. In another minute, after hugs all around, the four of us were standing in front of my house talking as though we were old friends.

Len talked in a low voice. “The brown Chevy you described is parked two blocks over and no one is in it. So, assume we’re being watched and that we’ve confounded his small mind with the switch you girls made,” he nodded to Karen. “Hey, everyone laugh. We’re supposed to be telling funny stories.” We all burst out laughing at his urging although I wasn’t sure we did a convincing act.

He went on, “I want to talk to some friends on the Sarasota Police without tipping our hands just yet. Can you keep this charade up overnight?”

I nodded and so did Karen. I interjected, “We can call Lynn and tell her what’s happening.”

“Good,” said Len. “Now laugh,” and we all dutifully laughed at his remark again.

“I’ll call you later,” Len said. “It might not be until tomorrow morning. Since it’s Friday, I suggest the two of you stay around here and be visible as a couple as much as possible.”

I patted Len and Peggy on the back. The women hugged once more like old friends would do and the two of them continued on their walk around the block, beers in hand. Karen came and stood close by me, stroking the back of my hand with hers. I gave her a big smile.

“We’ve got to eat,” she said. “Do you want to do a patio thing or a downtown thing?”

I thought for a moment. “Let’s walk down to the Circle and I’ll show you one of my favorite haunts. I’ve been wanting to meet you for weeks. Lynn and you seem to have a great friendship, and now’s my time to see what she’s so enthusiastic about.” Karen beamed in the compliment so I knew something was astir.

“What do I wear?” she asked.

“Just change the top for now. A little dressier but not as much as what you wore at work. The place we’re going to is pretty casual.” Do you have runners? Can you wear Lynn’s?”

Karen shrugged and went into the house. I folded up the remnants of my driveway project with the bicycles, put them in the garage, and went in the house.

Karen appeared from the guest room shaking her head. She had a beautiful top of Lynn’s on but was still barefoot. “I can’t find casual shoes that fit. Lynn’s got smaller feet than I do. I’ll look silly if I wear the heels I had on.”

“Oh, come with me,” I said, and led her into the master bedroom and then the dressing room. “I still have some of my late wife’s old things.” I aimed her at a couple of shoe lockers. “See if you can find anything in there.”

A minute later Karen came into the living room with some of Nancy’s faux jewel-encrusted sandals on her feet. My heart twanged to see the long-familiar shoes on someone else. She looked at me. “Are these OK to wear?”

“I can’t think of anyone who’d look more beautiful in them,” I said quietly. I realized that Karen probably knew a lot more about me than I knew about her – widower, semi-retired, and all.

I grabbed my wallet and a wrap for Karen, my cell phone, and off we went at a modest walk towards the restaurant area near my home. We walked holding hands, an affectionate gesture that didn’t seem wasted on either one of us.

After we were a couple of blocks away, I called Lynn’s new cell phone.

“Hi, Love. Karen and I are walking out to the Lido Grille. According to Len, we’re supposed to be visible as a couple, at least for today. We’re pretty sure we’re being watched since Doug’s car – your old car – was parked in the neighborhood, but with no one around. How’re you doin’?”

“I love you and I’m doing fine. You listen to me; you show Karen EVERY courtesy of the house – certainly EVERY ONE that you’ve extended to me. She’s a great gal that I love and I’m sorry it’s taken this long for you two to meet. Normally, she has a busy social schedule. Now let me talk to her.”

I passed the phone to Karen as we walked along. I was left wondering what Lynn’s comments about ‘extending every courtesy’ meant. Could she have meant ... nah! I was reading too much into her choice of words and emphasis.

Karen’s end of the conversation was mostly monosyllabic tones uttered only occasionally into the phone. At one point, she launched into ensuring that Lynn knew she was to have the run of her place without reservation. “No secrets,” she said. “We’ll call you back if we have questions,” “OK,” and “Goodbye Love.”

Karen handed the phone back to me, stopped and pulled me into her and kissed me again with her arms around my neck. “We’re going to have fun tonight,” she said.

After the stir in my pants subsided, I was now left wondering how to interpret two sets of comments, one from Lynn and one from Karen. Both seemed to be aimed in the same direction – my bedroom.

We sat close at the restaurant looking out at the sidewalk as throngs of people milled around the exclusive shopping and restaurant area. I kept looking for someone that looked like the Doug I thought I’d seen in the car only a few hours earlier, but I stopped looking after seeing ten people I thought it could be. Everyone had on a red baseball cap. There were a lot of Cincinnati Reds fan around Sarasota, since it had been their winter quarters for a long time.

Karen wrapped herself around me in a comfortable public display of affection. We kissed and nuzzled frequently. I was getting used to this. Karen pulled my life history out of me in whispered tones. She was a good interviewer; I could sense her human resource skills coming to play as we talked. I gave up a lot of information but felt good about sharing it with her.

Eventually, I turned the table on her. I learned she was single, thirty-five, available but not dating anyone seriously (too many married men around), from Connecticut, schooled at Principia and had been a free spirit and free thinker on the Sarasota scene for ten years. She’d come to Sarasota to be near a great uncle that had died a few years ago.