Journey (14 page)

“Now there's a news flash for you. So what else is new?” Greg answered. “Are you telling me this has never had a ring of familiarity to you? The only thing he doesn't do is kick the shit out of you on Saturday nights, but he doesn't need to do that, he controls you in every other way, and when you misbehave and he doesn't like what you do, he yanks you off to Europe and gets you off the air for two weeks and fires me. I'd say you're married to a control freak.” He didn't want to say “abuser,” but it meant the same thing to him.

“Maybe, Greg,” she said, torn between defending Jack and sympathizing with her co-anchor. He hadn't painted a pretty picture for her, and she didn't disagree with him. She just didn't know what to do.

“I'm sorry, Mad,” he said quietly. She meant a lot to him, and for a long time, he had hated the things Jack did to her. And what broke his heart was that Maddy seemed not to notice. But Greg did. And Greg was sure that all of that was part of why they'd fired him. It was too dangerous to have him close to Maddy. “What he's doing to you is abusive.”

“It sounds like it,” she admitted sadly. “But I'm not sure. Maybe we're overreacting, Greg. He doesn't beat me.” She knew better than that, she just didn't want to see it, or hear it. But it was hard to avoid.

“Do you think he respects you?”

“I think he loves me” was her instant answer, particularly after their recent trip to Europe. “I think he wants
what's best for me, even if he's not always right in the way he does it.” Greg disagreed with her, and all he wanted her to do was think, and take a closer look at the life she led with Jack.

“I think even abusive men love the women they abuse. Do you think Bobby Joe loved you?”

“No, I don't.” She couldn't believe Greg was comparing Jack to him. It was a terrifying thought, and she didn't want to hear it. It was one thing to think Jack was abusive, another to listen to Greg say as much to her. It made the terror of abuse far too real to her again.

“Well, maybe Bobby Joe didn't love you. But think about some of the things Jack does to you. He moves you around like a thing, an object he's bought and paid for. How loving is it for him to tell you that without him, you'd be nothing? And he wants you to believe that.” Worse yet, she did, and Greg knew that. “Maddy, he wants you to think he owns you.” As he said the words, she felt a chill run down her spine. Those had been Jack's words to her in Europe.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because he's not abusing me, and he doesn't own me. Maddy, I want you to do something for me.” She thought he was going to ask her to talk to Jack about getting his job back and she was willing to do it, although she didn't think Jack would listen to her.

“I'll do whatever you want,” she promised.

“I'm going to hold you to that. I want you to go to a group for abused women.”

“That's silly. I don't need one.” She was surprised by the suggestion.

“I want you to decide that after you've been there. I don't think you have any idea what's happening to you,
or who's doing it to you. I want you to promise me you'll do it. I'll find one for you.” It was exactly what she had tried to do for Janet McCutchins, but she had been covered with bruises, and Maddy wasn't. “I think it'll open your eyes, Mad. I'll even go with you.”

“Okay … maybe … if you find one. What if someone recognizes me?”

“You can say you came to lend me support. Maddy, my sister went through this. She attempted suicide twice before she figured out what was happening to her. I went with her too. It was like a replay of
Gaslight
, and she had four kids with him.”

“What happened to her?”

“She divorced him, and she's married to someone terrific now, but it took three years of therapy to get her there. She thought that just because he didn't beat the shit out of her like my dad did to our mom, that he was a hero. Not all forms of abuse leave bruises.” She knew that, but part of her still wanted to believe that what Jack did was different. She didn't want to feel like a victim, or that Jack was an abuser.

“I think you're crazy, but I love you. What are you going to do now, Greg?” She was worried about him, and she was trying not to think about what he'd said about Jack. It was just too threatening to her. She had already started trying to convince herself that Jack wasn't really abusive. Greg was upset and confused, she told herself.

“I'll be doing sports on NBC. They made me a great offer and I start in two weeks. Do you know who they have for you yet?”

“Brad Newbury,” she said, sounding depressed about it. She was going to miss Greg more than she could tell
him. And maybe it would be worth going to an abuse group with him, just so she could see him. She was sure that Jack wasn't going to let her socialize with him. He'd find a way to cut Greg out of her life completely “for her own good,” and make it impossible for her to see him. She knew that much about her husband.

“The guy from CNN?” Greg said in disbelief when she mentioned Brad's name. “You've got to be kidding. He's awful.”

“I think our ratings are going to go straight down the tubes without you.”

“No, they won't. They've got you. It'll be okay, kid. Just think about what I said. That's all I want you to do. Think about it.” Doing the news with Brad was the least of her problems.

“I will,” she said, but without much conviction. And for the rest of the morning, every time she thought about Greg she felt anxious. The things he had said to her had touched a nerve somewhere, and she was doing everything she could to deny them. When Jack said he “owned” her, all he meant was that he loved her with a passion. But now that she thought about it, even their lovemaking had an odd quality to it, especially lately. He had hurt her more than once, and in Paris pretty badly. It had taken a week for her nipple to heal, and when he made love to her on the marble floor at Claridge's, he had hurt her back and she could still feel it. But that hadn't been intentional, he was just insatiable and highly sexed, and he thought her desirable. And he didn't like making plans. How abusive was it to take her to Paris, to stay at the Ritz, even without much notice? And he had bought her a bracelet at Cartier and a ring at Graff's. Greg was crazy, and probably just upset
that he'd been fired, which was understandable. And the craziest thing of all was comparing Jack to Bobby Joe. They had absolutely nothing in common, and Jack had saved her from him. But the one thing she couldn't figure out was why she felt sick every time she thought about the things Greg had said to her. He had made her incredibly nervous. But just thinking about abuse did that to her.

She was still haunted by Greg's words when she went to the First Lady's commission on Monday and sat next to Bill Alexander. He had a tan, and said he'd visited his son again in Vermont since they last met, and his daughter in Martha's Vineyard, over the weekend.

“How's the book coming?” she whispered, as the meeting began.

“Slowly, but well,” he smiled at her, admiring her, as everyone did. She was wearing a blue cotton man's shirt, and white linen slacks, and she looked summery and pretty.

The First Lady had invited a guest speaker to come and speak to them about abuse. Her name was Eugenia Flowers. She was a psychiatrist who specialized in victims of abuse, and a supporter of numerous women's causes. Maddy had heard of her, but never met her. Dr. Flowers went around the room, talking to each of them from where she sat. She was personable and warm and looked like a grandmother, but her eyes were sharp, and she seemed to know exactly what to say to everyone. She asked questions of each of them about what they thought abusive behavior was, and most of them said pretty much the same thing, that it meant hitting or beating or battering the victim.

“Well, that's true,” she agreed amiably, “those are the
obvious ones.” And then she listed several others, some of them so perverted and obscure that it made each of them wince to think about them. “But what about other forms? What do you think those might be? Abusers wear many hats and many faces. What about controlling someone, their every act and every move, every thought? Destroying their confidence in themselves, isolating them, frightening them? Maybe just driving too fast in a dangerous situation until you terrify them? Or threatening them? Disrespecting them? Making someone believe that white is black and black is white, until you confuse them completely, or taking money from them, or telling them they'd be nothing without you, that you ‘own’ them? Taking their free will away from them, or forcing them to make reproductive choices they don't want, either having babies one after the other, or constant abortions, or maybe even not allowing them to have children at all? Do any of those sound like abuse to you? Well, they are, classic forms in fact, and they're just as painful, just as dangerous, just as lethal, as the kind that leave bruises.” Maddy felt as though she couldn't breathe as she listened. She went deathly pale, and Bill Alexander noticed, but said nothing to her.

“There are many kinds of violence against women,” the speaker went on, “some of them obvious, all of them dangerous, some of them more insidious than others. The most insidious are the subtle ones, because the victims not only believe them, but blame themselves for them. If the abuser is clever enough, he can use all of them, and convince his or her victim that it was all their fault. An abuse victim can be driven to suicide, drug abuse, crippling depression, or even murder.
Abuse of any kind, at any time, is potentially fatal to the victim. But the subtler forms are the hardest to stop, because it's harder to see them. And worst of all, the victim is so convinced most of the time that it's her fault, that she goes back for more, and helps the abuser do it, because she feels she owes it to him, and she feels so guilty and so bad and so worthless that she knows he's right and she deserves it. She believes that she would be nothing without him.” Maddy felt faint as she listened, the woman was describing her marriage to Jack in every detail. He had never laid a hand on her, except the one time he had grabbed her arm, but he had done everything the woman had described, and Maddy wanted to run out of the room screaming. Instead she felt paralyzed in her chair.

The woman went on for half an hour, and then the First Lady opened up the meeting to questions. Most of them were about what could be done to protect these women not only from the abusers but from themselves, and how to stop it.

“Well, first, they have to recognize it. They have to be willing to. But like abused children, most of these women protect their abusers, by denying, and blaming themselves. It's too painful most of the time to admit what's happening to them, and to tell the world about it. What they feel is shame, because they believe everything they've been told by the abuser. So first, you have to help them to see it, then you have to help them remove themselves from the abusive situation, and that's not always easy. They have lives, they have kids, they have homes. You're asking them to pull up stakes and run away from a danger they can't see and aren't even sure is a real danger. The problem is that it's just as real
and just as dangerous as a gun pointed at them, but most of them don't know it. Some do, but most of the time, they're just as scared as the others. And I'm talking about smart, educated, sometimes even professional women, who you may think should know better. But no one is exempt from being a victim of abuse. It can happen to anyone, and it does, in the best jobs, the best schools, with high incomes or low. Sometimes it happens to beautiful, smart women that you can't believe would fall for it. Sometimes they're the easiest targets. Women who are more streetwise are less apt to buy the bullshit. They're the ones who get the shit kicked out of them. The others are tortured more subtly. Abuse doesn't know color, it doesn't know race, it doesn't know neighborhoods, or socio-economic rules. It touches everyone. It can happen to any of us, particularly if we have a background that predisposes us to it.

“For instance, a woman who has seen domestic violence at home as a child, say with a physically abusive father, may think that a man who never beats her physically is a great guy, but he may be ten times more abusive than her father, much subtler and far more dangerous. He can control her, isolate her, threaten her, terrorize her, insult her, belittle her, demean her, disrespect her, withhold affection or money from her. Abandon her, or threaten to take away her children, but she won't have a mark on her, and he tells her she's one lucky woman and what is worse, she believes it. And you'll never be able to put him in jail, because when you nail the bastard for what he did to her, he'll tell you that she's crazy, stupid, dishonest, psychotic, and lying to you about him. And worse yet, she probably believes it. Those women have to be pulled slowly out of relationships,
and gotten off the ledge to safety. But they'll fight you all the way defend him to the death, and their eyes open very slowly.” Maddy felt as though she were going to cry before the meeting ever ended, and it was all she could do to remain outwardly calm until it was time to leave, and her knees were shaking when she finally stood up. Bill Alexander looked down at her, and wondered if she was suffering from the heat. He had seen her go pale half an hour before, and she was nearly green by the time it was over.

“Would you like a glass of water?” he asked kindly. “It was an interesting meeting, wasn't it? Though I'm not sure what we're supposed to do to help women in that kind of situation, except maybe educate and support them.” Maddy sat down again then and nodded at him. The room was beginning to spin as she listened to him, and fortunately, no one else had noticed that she was feeling ill, as he went to get her a glass of water.

She was still sitting there, waiting for him, when the guest speaker came over to talk to her.

“I'm a great admirer of yours, Ms. Hunter,” she said smiling down at Maddy, who was unable to get up, and smiled wanly at her. “I watch your broadcast every night. It's the only way I know what's going on in the world. I particularly liked your editorial on Janet McCutchins.”

“Thank you,” Maddy said through dry lips, just as Bill appeared with a paper cup full of water, and he couldn't help wondering if she was pregnant. The speaker watched her take a sip, and her eyes seemed kind and warm as she watched Maddy intently. Maddy stood up when she finished it, and she didn't want to admit to anyone how wobbly her legs were. She was beginning
to wonder how she was going to walk outside to get a taxi, and Bill seemed to sense her distress.