I was never really much of a drinker. In those days I was seriously into running. That one morning I was scheduled to do a training run. I ended up bailing out on it because we had a couple bottles of Chardonnay between the two of us. I woke up the next morning and every part of my body said, “we are not doing that anymore.”The clue was the timing of our first encounter. It was right after the time I did a loan for the self-confessed Mexican Mafia named “Curly”. That’s when the Task Force really started showing up - the FBI, DEA, OC Sheriffs and Costa Mesa PD. I can’t explain what it was but she and I immediately hit it off and became fast friends. In those days we were still both married but were as close as two people can become without fooling around. We used to spend hours together, just talking about anything and everything, sometimes well past into the late evening, to the annoyance of our spouses.
After a while I moved away and so did she and we simply lost track of each other. All that time, I entertained the question of what it could have been had we decided to do something. We hadn’t seen each other for a while until one day I saw her at a parking lot saying goodbye to one of her friends. It was completely unexpected and a chance to rekindle our friendship. It wasn’t for another several days until we met up at a restaurant one afternoon. We were both already divorced. From there, we started having long conversations on the phone, hours at a time. The strange thing was, we both lived in the same city but she insisted on having these conversations on the phone - hours at a time. I didn’t key in on this until well after the fact. Our conversations were being listened to.
We started dating now and again and somehow, I found myself as a part-time associate at the business that she had been building for years. I was in transition, or so it seemed. She was in financial services and through presentations she made and my own research found a way to parlay my mortgage banking experience. I wanted to really get to know her.
She was really the first romantic interest I had since my divorce in 2002; and the only real threat to that little complication called a “vow of celibacy”. I was married for 10 years and came out of it a broken man. I told myself that I was going to remain celibate for the same number of years that I was married. My celibacy started in 2001, a year before my divorce.
She was definitely one of the most attractive women that I have ever dated, at least in those days. She was blond, blue eyed with an amazing smile and a great personality. She was also an accomplished public speaker with the presence of a successful corporate executive. Still, a vow is a vow. However, at this point I was so completely taken by her that I was willing to make an exception, even break it if I needed to. I remembered the long evening chats we used to have. The talks had such a soulful quality that sometimes it made me feel as though dreams were actually taking shape.
She claims to have been raised in South Orange County, but everything about her was anything but. People don’t realize how difficult it is to pull a deception like that off. Living in South OC is one thing. Being raised here is another. It’s an attitude about life and a lot of other things. But I played along with it. If I had to make a guess, I would say that she was raised and educated somewhere in Illinois. And you have to ask why she was assuming another identity. Did she leave because she had just concluded another mission and had successfully discredited another target? For the UN Women, that usually means devastation at some level.
On one date I brought her a huge bouquet of flowers and took her to an exclusive club that I used to be a member of in Costa Mesa. A few days later, I delivered a vase of flowers to her door steps and then called her on the phone a half an hour later and asked her to open her door. She said that she loved it.
That’s around the time when all the strange things started happening. The order may have gotten to her a number of ways. But it would have likely been by phone. The man’s voice would have been distinct and gruff. He would have said - “take the guy down”. From that point forward it was a Dr. Jekkyl and Mr. Hyde scenario. For a long time during our friendship she was one of the sweetest people that I have ever known. Then, as if a switch was flipped, she became one of the most ridiculously mean-spirited that it was surreal.
FBI psychologists (mind breakers) understand that healthy human relationships and a good self-image are essential human needs. It was a tough assignment for her because I had accomplished much up until that point. I certainly had a very good self-image. I was a successful salesperson, a somewhat accomplished runner and the object of my children’s affections.
Her job was to undermine all that I have accomplished. The job turned out to be comprehensive and systematic. It began with the choices I made. For example, in those days I used to drive a Mercedes Benz C230 Kompressor, arguably the least expensive cars in their line up. I chose that car because of my sporting orientation and its fuel economy. Mercedes Benz fields the C Class in the DTM (Deutsch Touring Car Championships) because of a platform that is best suited for motorsports. When I took delivery of it, it was one of only four cars in California listed on the dealership inventory system that had a stick-shift. Naturally, it wasn’t good enough. She had to say that it was cheap, that it was a stick-shift and it was only a C Class. When I heard her criticisms I dismissed it as a lapse of judgment, but it simply kept on escalating.
She was slightly taller than I and found ways to take pot shots at the height differential. One afternoon, I hit it off with one of the women working with her who was even taller than she was. I remember talking about sports with her colleague. It may have been NASCAR or something else that somehow alienated her because she was not familiar with the personalities we were discussing. Sometime during the evening we found ourselves alone and she said, that her colleague has a boyfriend who is taller and bigger and he can sit on me. I can’t recall exactly what I said, but it was to the effect of, “let him try”.
We don’t remember the many days in our lives when we got drenched by rain. But I bet that if you were walking down the street and barrel of water from the sky gets poured on you, you’ll never forget it. I had a strong background in selling and have built up a rather thick skin. Words never really get to me that much. What bothers me, though, are the things that hit me in the pocket. In FBI parlance, that’s called economic sabotage.
I had arranged for a client of mine to take a look at their line of financial products. One of the investments that was being offered required a cash-out refinancing of her home. The proceeds were to be re-invested into an annuity as a way to diversify her investment portfolio that was concentrated in real estate. We had an understanding that I was going to arrange the loan and earn the commission if she decided to proceed with the plan. Because I wasn’t always at their office as a part-timer, I later found out that the company did the loan and arranged for the annuity. In effect, I was left out of the transaction and a commission. Unfortunately years have since elapsed and the statutes of limitations have probably already ran out barring me from filing an action against her individually. However, on the basis of outrageous actions by the FBI as her employer, this shameful act of economic deprivation will most certainly be added to a fast expanding list of civil rights violations.
The UN Women are very skilled at documenting communications, particularly someone asking them for a date. If they were to call the cops and say that the person was stalking them, they can produce all these communications that showed a man doing what society expects him to do - be persistent. It’s like a game for them and an object of professional pride. Manipulative suggestions like “I want a man who never gives up” are all part of that fishing expedition. A man is easily pulled into that, hunters that they are. Unfortunately, for some men, it does not end very well.
She never had a chance to pull off any of those on me. One day, we were riding in her car after a business meeting out of town. I told her that I couldn’t do it anymore. And that was it and it was final. No calls. No conversations. No texts. Nothing. When she sought my friendship on Facebook, it wasn’t even responded to. It was a risk I wasn’t prepared to take.
If you want to know why I called her Wine ‘O, it’s because she was a miserable drunk in need of a serious alcohol intervention program. She also owes me a commission check.
UPDATED SEPTEMBER 3, 2011 - 0720PM
