The Night I Gave My Older Man the Scare of His Life: Part 1

For the first few trips with my older, wealthy boyfriend—the Stet­son man—I had always insisted on us hav­ing sep­a­rate hotel rooms. Apart from the obvi­ous ratio­nale of not want­ing my hus­band to call and have the front desk acci­den­tally reveal any­thing incrim­i­nat­ing, there was another rea­son: I never again wanted to share another home, room, or bath­room with a man. There is some­thing about the daily func­tions of life that takes the excite­ment out of a rela­tion­ship, and I didn’t want that to hap­pen to us.

So, when the Stet­son man and I would travel together, I would insist on my own room, where I would shower and do what­ever else I needed to do on my own. His room was where all of our excite­ment hap­pened. I felt like this helped to keep me on a pedestal in his eyes. But did it really?

Around the time that I was newly sep­a­rated from my hus­band, my best friend and I took a lot of trips to Las Vegas. In fact, we spent nearly the whole month of July in Vegas. I was run­ning away from the short­com­ings in my failed mar­riage, and so the two of us did a lot of par­ty­ing. The Stet­son man would fly in and join us every chance he had, which was pretty often.

There was one par­tic­u­lar trip when I was on a mis­sion to see just how much I could get away with. I was dat­ing a man that didn’t indulge in alco­hol, and I had so far been suc­cess­ful in hid­ing the fact that I needed Betty Ford on speed dial. The truth is that my mini­bar tabs were more than the nightly rate at the hotel, and my favorite say­ing was that “rehab is for quit­ters and I am no quit­ter.” On this trip, my best friend was get­ting espe­cially frus­trated with my drunk­en­ness: I had told a few peo­ple off and had fallen out of sev­eral lim­ou­sines. She was look­ing for­ward to the Stet­son man’s arrival so that I would be his problem.

On the day of his arrival, I was at the pool bar mak­ing friends with every­one. My best friend kept com­ing down to the pool to try and get me to go back to my room to pre­pare for the Stet­son man’s visit that evening, but I wouldn’t lis­ten. I con­tin­ued to party with my new friends, and I actu­ally orches­trated a multi-person insult on her. I had every­one give her the Hitler salute when she came down for what would prove to be her last attempt at get­ting me back to my room. The salute did it for her—she was done try­ing to make me lis­ten. She left me down­stairs where I con­tin­ued to party with the other guests. I was com­pletely obliv­i­ous to the fact that the Stet­son man would be arriv­ing in just a few hours…

Click here to read Part 2.