Purple Golf Cart: The Misadventures of a Lesbian Grandma (12 page)

I’d been to Key West many times prior to that particular visit, and had a deep fascination for the island. Whenever I was there, I felt as if my feet, my heart, and my soul were connected to the combined land and sea. I knew I would return.

~~~~~

Susan and I dated, then lived together, for about eight months. When I left the Task Force in March of 1983, I had nowhere to go so I moved in with her in her mobile home on five acres of land in an isolated area near the St. John’s River, just west of Daytona Beach. Susan and I were both unemployed. I was receiving unemployment checks. Susan said her father was supporting her, guilt money for years of abuse as a child. I believed her. Soon, though, I learned that Susan was actually a cocaine-using high-priced call girl, seeing clients at lunch time when she went into Daytona “on business.” When I said I needed to leave, that I couldn’t be lovers with a druggie and a hooker, especially since AIDS was becoming more prevalent in Florida, Susan kicked me out before I had time to figure out a plan.

“You’re leaving me? You must be nuts! You have no money and nowhere to go! You have to stay here. I demand you stay!” Her small size was overshadowed by her large raspy voice. She was enraged at my desire to leave, never mind that I had no place and no plan in that moment. I just knew I had to go. It seemed reasonable to me to get the hell out of hat strange situation.

“I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you. My business is keeping you fed!” She was screaming, pacing like a madwoman, shaking her tiny fist, then flailing her arms. Even her dog, a Doberman Pinscher named Bunny, was cowering!

“Susan, I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.” In reality, I don’t know if it was her “business,” her drug use, or me just being over another crappy (and creepy) relationship. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just needed to get out.

Susan went ballistic! She gathered my few things like a tornado, tossed everything into our truck, and with a 22 caliber gun in her hand—Crap! Where did THAT come from????—she yelled, “Get into the truck. NOW!” I foolishly thought she was going to give me the truck since she drove an anniversary-edition Corvette, a gift from one of her “clients.”

“Get IN!” She screamed at me. “Not THAT side! I’m driving. Just shut up and get in.” I did. She drove me to Orlando and left me downtown near Eola Park. I was once again in a precarious emotional state, this time finding myself homeless and on the streets in Orlando. Waving the gun, her last words to me were, “Get OUT! Get your shit and get OUT.” She peeled away. I was scared but at least I didn’t get shot.

The good news was that horrible relationship with a crazy drug-using hooker was over. The bad news was I was homeless. But I still had some silver left, tucked away in my clothing. I also still had my beloved Selmer Mark VI alto saxophone, that beautiful instrument my father bought for me while I was in high school and on which I majored in college. While it hurt my heart to part with my saxophone, the money I got for it and the remaining pieces of silver kept me from hooking or getting involved with drugs for street survival. Because of my love for the Keys and my feeling of belonging there, I bought a bus ticket and left Orlando for the place where I had found solace several times in the past—Key West.

Like many Bohemians (better word than homeless, I thought), I “lived” on Bahia Honda Key. Once voted the best beach in the U.S., it’s at the western end of the 7-Mile bridge. It’s fairly remote, and to this day, is still a haven for Bohemian types. Henry Flagler’s railroad bridge, built right through the island, was destroyed by a hurricane in 1935. The remains of that bridge, my temporary home, still provides shelter for folks like myself who needed a place to stay for a while. (Ironically, years later, my own son, as a young adult who needed to find himself, did his self-searching under that same bridge, not knowing that the mother from whom he was estranged had been there a decade earlier.)

I still had not hit bottom, though I suspected I was getting close. I was so ashamed of my poverty, of my homelessness, of not having my children, who, by now, I suspected, were better off where they were. I was ashamed about being a lesbian, though I knew so clearly that it wasn’t something I chose. I was a loser, unlike anyone else in my family, and I couldn’t—didn’t dare—tell any of them what I was experiencing. When I spoke with them or wrote to them, I acted as if everything was fine, just fine. I was an expert liar, desperately trying not to feel any of this. To feel it would bring me down, would take me to a place of utter despair from which I might not survive. The big question for me, I realized, was this: why on earth do I want or need to survive? Life was shit, and I could see nothing of any kind of future. But for some absolutely unknown reason, I still felt that I had not hit bottom. Bottom must be really, really low, I figured.

In late 1983 during one of my forays into Key West from Bahia Honda, I ran into a couple of women who had supported my work with the Task Force. I returned to Orlando with them. They made arrangements for me to stay with a friend of theirs named Rhea who had a spare bedroom. Rhea was very active in her church so I spent much of December of 1983 there as she practiced with the choir for their Christmas program, begging God to let me know all would be well. I sat there, either on a wooden pew or out in the church garden, reflecting on the past and the future. Both scared me.

~~~~~

After being fired from so many piddly jobs, being on unemployment, being homeless, living on food stamps and the cash I got from selling my silver piece by piece, I was ready to do something—anything—else. I knew I could and should do better. My life certainly wasn’t over and, really, I deserved more than this, I decided. I needed to figure out how to move forward.

I talked my way into a job as a receptionist with Snelling & Snelling, an employment agency in Orlando. While helping others find jobs, I found a great job for Rhea. Her areas of expertise were religion and technology, so her new job was as an audio/visual sales rep where she would sell equipment to churches, utilizing both of her skill sets. Though Snelling employees were not supposed to search for jobs for themselves, I saw a job as a social worker of sorts, with International Rehabilitation Associates, or IRA, a subsidiary of CIGNA. The position seemed interesting, certainly within my abilities, and came with a decent starting salary and a car. I applied and was hired. Things were beginning to improve. It was early 1984.

My former girlfriend, Susan the hooker, learned of my new job and called my boss, one of the biggest fears for gay and lesbian people who have extricated themselves from failed relationships with crazy people. She proceeded to list my character defects to my brand new boss and also, of course, told her that I was a lesbian. Though I wasn’t closeted at all, I just hadn’t mentioned it yet. My boss, a woman, told me about the phone call. “Ronni, you were hired because you are qualified for this job. I’m glad you’re here. She can’t hurt you.” I breathed a giant sigh of relief.

~~~~~

I enjoyed the work at IRA which was to assist people who had been injured on the job and were receiving workers’ compensation. The real purpose of the work, of course, was to eliminate CIGNA’s financial exposure by finding appropriate work for clients which would get them back on someone’s payroll in jobs they could physically do. Sometimes that meant getting clients into re-training programs at community colleges; sometimes it was re-engineering the seats of their vehicles so they could drive. I enjoyed the career counseling part of this work, and I especially enjoyed the creativity of helping people improve their lives. I also learned to read medical records which I found fascinating and which would serve me well later.

Rhea’s company transferred her from Orlando to Jacksonville so I requested a transfer, too, which was granted. In Jacksonville my boss, the regional vice president, was an openly gay man. I felt I had finally found a safe employment environment. As long as I did my work well, I would not be fired because of my sexual orientation. With that barrier removed, I felt free to explore my capabilities.

I rose quickly in the company and was soon a regional supervisor for the Northeast Florida area. I became known as the one who made sure clients were treated fairly and satisfactorily while still effectively protecting company assets. I loved the work and hoped to continue moving up the administrative food chain with IRA.

Rhea and I became lovers though she insisted on maintaining a relationship with her long-time “straight” woman friend from her church. Rhea had a temper that frightened me, and she treated my children disrespectfully when they were with us. After one particularly disturbing episode with Rhea, I put the kids in my car and headed for the beach (remnants of my own childhood when my mother took us kids to the beach when the neighbors fought). Berit, my now eight year-old daughter, sitting behind me in the car, patted my shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Mom. People who don’t have kids don’t understand about people who do.” Out of the mouths of babes…

~~~~~

While I felt very successful with my work, my relationship with Rhea dissipated rapidly and we separated in early 1985. I moved aboard my new houseboat, the
Curious Wine
.

15.  The
Curious Wine

__________________________________________________________________

1985

U.S. President
: Ronald Reagan

Best film
: Out of Africa; Kiss of the Spider Woman, The Color Purple, Witness

Best actors
: William Hurt, Geraldine Page

Best TV shows
: Mr. Belvedere; National Geographic Explorer; Larry King Live; The Golden Girls

Best songs
: We are the World, The Power of Love, Careless Whisper, St. Elmo’s Fire, Crazy for You, One More Night

Civics
: Gorbachev becomes Soviet leader; first report of an enormous hole in the earth’s ozone layer over Antarctica

Popular Culture
: Rock Hudson dies of AIDS; Madonna launches Virgin Tour.

Deaths
: Rock Hudson, Marc Chagall, Kousie Brooks, Frank Oppenheimer

_________________________________________________________________

I had been hungry all the years,

My noon had come to dine,

I trembling drew the table near,

And touched the curious wine.

                         Emily Dickinson

When I was young my parents would often take us kids to two places that thrilled me: the Bayfront Park docks in downtown Miami to buy freshly caught fish from the incoming boats, and the Dinner Key Auditorium in Coral Gables for the annual Miami Boat Show. I loved boats. The promise of great adventure on the high seas touched the heart of this young Pisces.

When Jake and I married we bought a small Sunfish sailboat. It was fun but awfully tiny and could be sailed safely only in the lakes near our Central Florida neighborhood. After we divorced I often went to the many marinas along the St. John’s River, checking out houseboats from Sanford to Jacksonville. I wanted to live on the water, in my floating home, a full-fledged laid-back Bohemian type, the vision I held of myself.

I wasn’t much of a Bohemian at all when I was finally able to buy my boat. I was an upwardly mobile corporate type. But my desire to live on the water never waned. When Rhea and I separated, I headed straight for the Lighthouse Marina in Jacksonville and bought the brand new houseboat of my dreams. I named her
Curious Wine
.

After years of cruising the cruisers at boat shows or dealerships, I knew exactly what I wanted. She was a 43-foot Aqua Cruiser—with three bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, living room, and front and rear covered porches. A ladder on the back wall led up to the roof which had outdoor carpeting and railing around the top. The boat itself was constructed of two 43’ fiberglass pontoons. A much shorter center pontoon at the rear of the boat held the single 115 horse power Mercury engine, too small for such a big boat, but what did I know? She had an engine. She would go.

The cabin was a long rectangular box, much like a mobile home. An aluminum railing wrapped around the entire deck, surrounding the boat to prevent anyone from falling off, which was usually—though not always—effective. A much smaller 12-foot by 4-foot rectangular box across the back deck housed the gas tanks, battery bank, and generator. The
Curious Wine
was 14-feet wide, white with blue stripes and blue outdoor carpeting on the decks and roof. She was brand new and she was mine!

One weekend while the
Curious Wine
was still in the boatyard being prepped for placement into the water, my children were with me. I couldn’t wait to show them our new home! I picked them up in Orlando and drove directly  to the marina in Jacksonville. We climbed aboard the dry-docked boat. I wanted the kids to see the inside, especially their bedroom with the neat bunk beds. We walked around the outside deck then went into each of the rooms. I was very excited but I noticed that the children were rather subdue.

We left the marina and went to the Waffle House. As we sat down, Erik said, “If I go to the hospital, I’ll die.” Die? Hospital? What was he talking about?

“What do you mean, son?” I asked, trying to be calm, never knowing quite what to expect.

“Well, if people touch people who are sick then they get sick, too, and they go to the hospital and die. I don't want to die.” Die? Where was this coming from?