Archive for March, 2012

Post #54 – The RECKONING in Brooklyn…

Posted in Family, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

After many agonizing hours considering my situation, I finally forced myself to admit my hamster wheel of misery was no way to live. Since I was raised Catholic, deciding to ax my marriage to Ronnie Ray (one of my 3 ex-husbands, two of whom were musicians).

However, the last six months, if we weren’t arguing, we were pretty much silent. And for some odd reason, I thought our move to New York would help because he would have more opportunities with his music, but I was so wrong.

To his credit though, during the worst spats, Ronnie never spouted such degrading  monikers as “ugly bitch” or “stupid cow” as some men do.

However, on the dark side, there were many nights characterized by a bawdy game of dodging the dishes that Ronnie lobbed in my direction. In fact, he once kicked the loveseat so hard, it rolled end over end during this conversation:

“Okay,” I said calmly, “If you spend our entire tax refund ($1700) on a new amplifier, then  can I buy a new couch with our refund next year?” Sounded reasonable to me…but Ronnie  did not agree…

“How dare you compare what I need for my music to fucking furniture! I’m an artist, a musician! What the fuck?!” he screamed, and there went the loveseat bumbling toward the dining room.

But, unfortunately, guilt is an unyielding witch. After a brief separation, Ronnie’s late night phone calls from New York lamenting his loneliness prompted me to try again. I feared he’d be back to punting furniture in no time, despite his promises, but like a dumb-ass, I caved.

The first few weeks after I moved to Brooklyn were better than any honeymoon, complete with roses, stolen from a nearby park, LOL. Until our 3rd anniversary a month later. We went to dinner at Salvano’s, his favorite Italian haunt, even though Ronnie had been sick with the flu all week. Jody, a friend of his from work, came over to babysit our son Tim, who was 8 months old and my son, Rory, who was almost 4.

Jodie was an odd duck, I thought. She was barely 5′ tall. She had unkempt light brown hair and the figure of a 12-year-old boy. And her nose occupied quite a bit of real estate on her face. But she was very pleasant, and  she really fawned over the boys. So, she seemed like the perfect Nanny. Unattractive and crazy about my kids…right? Um, no…

Anyway, Ronnie was overly affectionate at Salvano’s, kissing my hand, laughing too loudly at my jokes, his eyes rarely straying from mine. However, in the middle of dinner, he asked if we could just go home instead of going to The Jazz Alley on the lower East Side, his favorite club, where we’d planned to hang out and check out a new Punk band playing there that night. He had been sick with the flu all week, so I didn’t think anything of it.

As soon as we got home, Ronnie called a cab for Jody, and I went to bed with a good book and a glass of wine, assuming he’d be along shortly. And he didn’t give me the wink, wink, caress my ass – I’ll be right in to harass you into having sex with me look (LOL), which I thought was odd. It didn’t matter to him if he didn’t feel well. He was still always in the mood for sex, but I dismissed that clue as well.

Anyway…at 1:00 A.M., I woke to the sound of rattling plastic.  I hopped out of bed thinking maybe he was getting a snack in the kitchen. I tossed my black nightie to the floor – thinking I’d sneak in on him sans clothing, which he loved.

Grinning, I stepped out into the hallway where Ronnie walked out of the bathroom and was sauntering away – buck naked in the opposite direction. There was a condom in his hand. That’s what made the rattling plastic sound! He was going to FUCK HER, the ugly babysitter in our living room?! OMG! How could this be happening? How could he do this after begging me to take him back? WTF? And my heart splintered into a million pieces…

On gelatinous legs, I hobbled back into the bedroom and began trekking back and forth. I shivered from the cold November wind blasting against the windows, and I collapsed onto the floor, weeping quietly while praying to God that Ronnie and his BITCH-SLUT couldn’t hear me. I didn’t want them to know that I knew…not yet…

I was certain they would share a few belly laughs (naked belly laughs) over how they were so sly, and I was so blind that night.  Above all, I didn’t want that atrocious ho-bag to see me cry.

I started to snatch my nightgown when I heard a soft moan.  And the anger spiked.  I couldn’t remain there one more second while he drilled another woman on that goddamned green couch where I nursed our baby boy – where we’d been sitting when he proposed to me, the fucking prick!

I struggled to my feet and turned on the light. I slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater when I was hit with the realization that my boots were not in the bedroom. They were in the living room closet – 3 feet away from the fornicating fuckheads. There was two feet of snow on the ground. Tennis shoes wouldn’t do. And, oh, God, my purse was in there too!

I took a deep breath and stormed through the living room and beyond into the kitchen, not sure why. I was out of my mind, capiche?

Trying to block out their urgent whispering and the sound of blankets shifting, I opened the fridge and stared at the contents. What now?

I heard Ronnie’s beer bottles rattling on the door of the fridge, and I grabbed two bottles with a smile, trouncing back into the living room.

“Don’t mind me, you fucking assholes!” I screamed, turning on a lamp. “I just need my boots and,” I stammered, opening the closet.

“Kennedy, this is not what it looks like,” Ronnie mumbled.

I laughed. “Don’t give me that, you piece of shit!”

I looked over at them despite myself. All I could see was Ronnie’s sweaty forehead in the glow of the streetlight streaming in through the window. Yes. With HER sweat!

WHY? Does he hate me that much? It had to be premeditated sex because I heard shuffling sheets! There were no sheets on that couch last night, more evidence of his premeditation…


“Here, you look a little thirsty,” I said, lobbing the first beer over Ronnie’s head. The crash of the glass was very satisfying as was the waterfall of beer that now soaked them and the horrific couch and the thrift store sheets :)! I hurled the second beer over her head and said, “Have a nice, fucking life!”

And what happened then? Stay tuned, boys and girls, there’s more sin and FUN to come…(not to be confused with cum – wink, wink)…

Until next time at the same bat time and the same bat channel…

~TENACIOUS BITCH and her truth-spouting psycho hippies! 🙂



Post #53 – The Second Attempt…

Posted in family battles, memoir, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 14, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

My heart wrangled wildly hearing Danny’s belligerent threats and his fists pummeling my door at the Red Roof Inn*. I turned on the bedside lamp and studied the dresser I’d shoved in front of the door earlier. I feared he’d barge right through the barrier because he’s always been as strong as a damned ox.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief, seeing that the steel door and the dresser were holding steadfastly under the stress of his attack.

I called the hotel office while Danny continued to rage and shout. “You fucking bitch, open this fucking door! You’re not getting away with this!”

Getting away with what?

“This is Kennedy Smith in 209. My brother is here again,” I stammered to Gladys, the hotel manager, over Danny’s violent bullshit.

“I know you’re in there!” Danny yelled. “Open up!” The noise of his blustering and banging was starting to give me a headache.

“Oh, my God, is that him in the background?” Gladys asked.

“Yes, but I’m okay, and-”

“Let me in, Kennedy, right fucking now, or I’ll knock this door off the fucking hinges!” Danny screamed, followed by more explosive thrashing against the door, but the furniture blockade didn’t budge. “We need to talk! You don’t know what’s going on!”

“I’ll be right there,” Gladys said.

I hung up and started to call the police, but, then, I thought, perhaps…not. I rushed over to the door and took a deep breath. “I called the cops, Danny,” I said as loudly and as calmly as I could, given the circumstances. “You need to go! I don’t think you wanna go to jail-!”

“If you don’t open this door, I’ve gotta screwdriver, and-” he sputtered, finally giving my door a rest. “I’m not afraid to use it!”

“Danny, did you hear me?” I hollered as loud as I could over his blathering of threats.


Thank God, he finally stopped yammering for a second. “I called the cops. You need to go,” I said angrily with the same stern demeanor as with my boys when they were younger and definitely NEEDED to go to their rooms before things got REALLY ugly…

I knew by his silence, he’d fallen for it. I sighed thinking maybe, just maybe…I’d get back to sleep before 8 a.m. if I didn’t have to deal with the local P.D.

“I just wanted to talk,” Danny barked. “You didn’t have to call the cops. You’ve got-”

“Excuse me, are you a guest here?” A man called out in the distance. I assumed it was Jeff, the manager’s son.

“What’re doing there?” Gladys shouted.

No response from Danny, and then, in that controlled but infuriated tone I’ve heard him use so many times when he’s trying to intimidate someone, “This isn’t over, bitch.”

I heard the sound of several footfalls on the asphalt parking lot.

“Unless you’re a guest-” the man said tersely, his voice nearer now. “You need to leave the property, right now.”

“What’s your name? What’re you doing here?” Gladys hollered at Danny, but her inquiry was answered by the echo of Danny’s slow gait moving away from my room.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” Danny said politely in the practiced manner of a used car salesman. “Nothing to see here.”

Yeah, okay, I had to smile at the irony of that statement as my heart rate started to decline from volcanic to uneasy. And I had to wonder considering Danny’s last comment if this was all just an elaborate and never-ending shell game to hide his crimes.

I looked out the window, and I saw Danny getting into his crappy-assed Malibu.

He slammed the door and started his car. His eyes flickered in my direction. Seeing me at the window, he flashed his middle finger, a gesture I returned.

“Fucking prick,” I mumbled to myself as I heaved the dresser out of the way.

A gentle knock at the door. “Miss Smith, are you okay?” Gladys asked through the door.

I watched Danny drive away before I opened the door. Though I did feel a little shaky, I said, “I’m fine,” to Gladys, who looked a little pale, and her son, Jeff, the hulking maintenance man.

“I thought I’s gonna have to clobber that asshole,” Jeff said laughing.

“Next time, go right ahead,” I said, smiling.

“Redecorating are we?” Gladys asked with a faint smile, gesturing at the cock-eyed dresser.

“Yes, I thought it looked better reinforcing the entranceway.”

They both laughed.

“Did you call the police?” Gladys asked.

“No, I knew all I had to do was threaten to call Barboursville’s finest, and Danny would be gone.”

She nodded.

“Thanks for showing up so quickly.”

“No problem. What’s his story anyway?” Jeff asked. “Not that it’s really any of my business, but-”

“He’s a drug addict, and I’m about to expose all his lies and misdeeds,” I said with a grin. “Most people just let him do whatever he wants because they’re afraid of him, but I drew a line in the sand after our mom died, and I’ll walk through fire to make sure he doesn’t cross it, if I can.”

“Good for you,” Gladys said.

“And Danny always SAYS he’s gonna kill people or, you know, beat them up, but he hasn’t done anything like that since a bar fight more than 20 years ago, that I know of, anyway.”

Gladys nodded.

After all the chaotic milieu ended, I flopped onto the bed again and finally drifted off to sleep sometime after 6 a.m. I was supposed to leave around 8:00 to drive Dad’s BMW to Georgia for him, but I knew I’d never make it up that early. I re-set the alarm on my phone for 9:00. Dad knew I wasn’t an early riser, so he wouldn’t be concerned if I called him when I got up.

However, I wasn’t given the opportunity to sleep that late. At 8:30, the phone rang and woke me up. It was Nana. “Your brother tried to kill himself again**,” she said, matter-of-factly as if rattling off a grocery list. “He took some of your dad’s epilepsy pills and some of my heart pills. He’s out cold in the basement.”

Resentment stifled the concern I should’ve felt. I shook my head, trying to shake off the fogginess from lack of sleep. “Did you call an ambulance?”

“No, your dad was afraid to, afraid they’d put him in jail.”

“In jail? For what?” I asked wondering if they had somehow gotten wind of Danny’s antics at the hotel in the wee hours.

“I don’t know. Taking someone else’s pills, I guess.”

“They don’t put you in jail for that – unless you get caught driving.”

“Oh,” Nana said. “Well, he didn’t know that.”

“He should still call.”

“I’ll tell him,” Nana replied, seemingly unfazed by the morning’s events.

“I’ll be over in a little while.”

I dragged myself out of bed, hastily ate a granola bar, took a shower and arrived at Dad’s about an hour later. Dad still hadn’t called for an EMT.

“How much did he take?” I asked, sitting down across from Dad at the kitchen table where he had been reading the paper.

“He took at least 3 of my Mysoline. I don’t know how many of Maude’s pills he took.”

“Quite a few. I’d just filled that bottle,” Nana said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting down next to me.”

“Have you checked to make sure he’s still breathing?”

“Yeah, he was about an hour ago before Monica got here. That’s her Jeep out front.”

“Monica? How’d she know about this?”

“I called her,” Nana said. “Found her number on a slip of paper on his desk. They’ve been going out again. She was just here a couple of nights ago.”

I nodded. Monica was an ex-girlfriend of Danny’s from high school. “I thought she lived in Maryland?”

“She did until she lost her job. I always liked her, smart girl. She does something with computers, doesn’t she?” Nana asked.

“Yeah, I saw her at the mall last Christmas, and she mentioned working as a computer programmer, I think. She was still in Maryland then.”

Nana nodded. I went downstairs, and there was Danny lying face down on the couch in the cold basement. Monica, a tall, dark-haired beauty in her late 30s, sat beside him, tears in her eyes.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“He’s pretty out of it. He woke up and smiled at me and asked me why I was here, why anyone would care. What happened? Why did he-?” Monica asked.

“You’ll have to ask Danny about that,” I said.  “It’s not my business to say.”

I gave Monica my business card with my cell number and email address and asked her to keep me posted about Danny’s condition, and I headed out for Georgia shortly after.

Dad and Nana flew to Georgia later that afternoon, and Monica stayed with Danny that night and most of the next day.

That night, I returned Monica’s voicemail from a hotel in North Carolina. She said he’d been awake long enough to eat a cheeseburger she’d brought him from McDonald’s, then immediately slipped back into slumber. He slept pretty much nonstop for almost two days, but he fully recovered to blaze yet another trail of chaos upon the world and everyone’s sanity within 1,000 mile radius and then some.

And, that, my friend’s, is the saga of Danny’s second endeavor to punch out early…and/or permanently.

The sad thing is the best emotion I could rally at the time was ambivalence, and I have difficulty feeling bad about that. If that makes me a bad person, so be it…

Over and out from SHE who shan’t be crossed… 🙂


*See the previous Post #52 – The Red Roof Incident for the WHOLE story as to WHY my brother Danny had shown up at my hotel room.

**The first attempt was when Danny was 20ish. This is the second attempt, hence the name of the post, and his third attempt is the subject of Post #5 – The Dreaded Call at Midnight”…

P.S. DISCLAIMER: This story is a combination of TWO different events, which happened at different times…but it’s all true, save for a few altered details to protect the innocent and those who do not wish to be mentioned in my blog or my memoir.

Post #52 – The RED ROOF incident…

Posted in Family, family battles, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true crime, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 8, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

In the fall of 2005, way before Danny pilfered* ALL Nana’s cash, he left his wife, Belinda, and moved back home to West Virginia with Mom, Dad and Nana. But Nana wouldn’t allow him to stay with them at her house in Georgia, thank God.

Then, a year after Mom died, in the spring of 2008, Nana called me all upset because none of their mail was being forwarded to WV. And her friend, Margaret, told her that her mailbox in Georgia was always empty. Initially, Nana and Dad thought their bills had been getting lost from going back and forth between WV and Georgia. And the Post Office was no help.

It really stressed Nana out worrying about her utilities being shut off since neither of them knew how to pay their bills online on Mom’s computer. Dad had always HATED computers.

Then, about two months later, Nana told me, “Danny literally RUNS out to the mailbox every day, and he says there’s nothing but junk mail and mail for him,”. Hearing that, I knew the Post Office had nothing to do with the missing mail.

“Why would he take the electric bill, Kennedy? That doesn’t make any sense,” Dad said on the phone a couple days later.

“Maybe, he’s taking ALL the mail to make you think your mail isn’t being forwarded, but what he’s really after are the credit card bills.”

“I paid off all my credit cards except for Penney’s, and I just pay them at the store when I take your Grandmother to the mall. And if he’s run up a bunch of charges, no one’s called about any delinquent payments.”

“That you know of. What if he opened new accounts in your name and gave his cell phone number?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“And you know Danny, as long as you don’t know about it, he’ll keep on until all your cards are maxed out. You need to cancel all your credit cards.”

“Yeah, I guess, I should.” But it was too late – as evidenced by the mysterious BOX…

“When your Dad and I got back from Georgia, I noticed a HUGE cardboard box from a widescreen TV on the back porch. Danny said JACK  had bought a new TV, and the garbage men wouldn’t take the box because it wouldn’t fit in his trashcan, so he brought it over to your Dad’s house to throw away. But I think he bought a TV on your dad’s Visa and sold it to buy dope,” Nana surmised on the phone one night, and I assumed the same thing.

Interestingly, Jack**, a longtime friend of Danny’s, lives about a mile from Dad’s on Route 1. Therefore, the same garbage truck that picks up Dad’s trash also services Route 1. Said factoid places Danny’s explanation in the very lame category.

However, it was worse than Nana and I suspected. Long about the beginning of October, Danny started working during the day as Christmas help at Radio Shack at the mall. A couple weeks later, Dad called me –  absolutely livid.

“Finally got my credit card bills. And Danny bought, not ONE, but THREE TVs on my credit card! They were over $1500 each, and now the total bill is over $6,000. My limit is only $3000. God knows what else he bought. And I’ve got all kinds of over-the-limit fees and late fees because the bill hasn’t been paid in months. The minimum payment is $380!”

“Dad, I’ll be glad to lend you some money-”

“No, I can make the payment. I was hoping you could get a credit report for me, so I can figure out exactly how much I owe to whom. I can’t have one mailed because Danny quit that job at the mall, so he’s home during the day now.”


“Who knows. He got into it with the manager over something. Point is, he’s snatching the mail again, and he’ll just take my report if it’s mailed to me. But I’ve seen that ad on TV about how you can check your credit online? Can you do that?”

“Sure, Dad, I’ll get a report for you, and I’ll bring it with me when I come home Thanksgiving weekend.”

Assuming Danny was, most likely, living on beer and crack and knowing he’d be FURIOUS when he found out I’d gotten the goods on him, I decided to stay at the Red Roof Inn.  I hated telling Dad I didn’t feel comfortable staying in the very house where I grew up.

“I understand, Kennedy. It’s okay,” Dad said when I called him from the road. “It’ll be good to see you anyway, and you’re still driving my car down to Georgia, right?”

“Of course, I will. I don’t want you and Nana to make that long trip, but Dad, you need to press charges against Danny-”

“I can’t do that to my own son.”

“Yes, you can,” I said angrily, wishing I could drop kick Danny straight into county myself. “Just because he’s your son doesn’t mean he’s immune to the law, and, maybe, some time in jail would straighten him out,” I replied.

But no matter what I said, Dad wouldn’t file charges against Danny.

I arrived around noon the day after Thanksgiving, and Dad and Nana were both very happy to see me. We had a nice visit while Danny was passed out in the basement. But in my haste to leave Ohio, I’d forgotten to bring Dad’s credit report.

“That’s okay,” Dad said, but I felt REALLY shitty about it.

I promised to read it to him over the phone when I got home. And that evening, I went out with some friends and my cousin, Shauna***, who were also in town for the holiday.  We were having a great time until we walked out of Davis’s Tavern around midnight, and Shauna glanced across the street and said, “Hey, isn’t that Danny’s car over there?”

I looked over, and sure enough, there was Danny, parked at the closed dry cleaners, watching me. “Quit following me, asshole, or I’ll call the cops!” I hollered.

Five seconds later, he whipped out of the parking lot in his beat-up Chevy Malibu, gave me a contemptuous SCOWL and flipped me off.

“Fuck you, dickhead!”  I screamed after him, watching him disappear around the next corner in a squeal of brakes.

“You want me to follow you?” Shauna asked.

“No, Danny is ALL talk.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine.” And off I went. While sitting at the stoplight at Baskin Robbins on 16th Street waiting to turn onto I-64, I looked in my rearview mirror, and I saw Danny AGAIN right behind me.

I tried to tell myself that he was just driving home and just happened to end up directly behind my car- especially when I turned onto I-64 and he drove straight onto Washington Blvd., past Meadows Elementary.

However, when I arrived at the Red Roof Inn, someone called out behind me, “Hey, bitch!”

I was two steps away from the office at the motel when I turned around and spotted Danny in the Malibu, his eyes smoldering like a black panther, lying in wait.

“What the fuck’re you doing here?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” he said in a voice that was bubbling with anger.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I mean. All that bullshit you told Dad about me using his credit cards. That’s a load of horseshit, and you KNOW it.  I’ve been paying on Dad’s credit cards, you stupid bitch! He’s been really hard up since Mom died. Why do you think I’m working TWO jobs?”

“Really? I heard you were down to one.”

“You need to stop running your fucking mouth, or you’ll be sorry, cuz you don’t know what’s REALLY going on!”

“Is that right? Well, we’ll see about that after Dad reads the credit report I ran for him,” I said bitterly.

Danny’s face tightened in fear, an obvious sign he knew he’d finally screwed himself, and this time – there was no way out…I couldn’t help but enjoy watching Danny turn so pale, he could easily have given Casper a run for his money in the SPOOKY department.

“And good luck finding out WHERE I sent it, you know, to which one of Dad’s FRIENDS since he knows he can’t send it to the house.”

“I have NOT been stealing his mail!”

“Funny, I didn’t say ANYTHING about stealing the mail. What gave you that idea, Danny?”

“You fucking bitch! You better watch your goddamned step if you wanna live to see your next birthday!”

“Whatever,” I said, flatly, knowing I had Danny by the short hairs.

“I’m gonna kill you, you fucking cunt!”

I fielded that nasty moniker with a flat-eyed glare and turned away. He kept screaming insults, but I didn’t bother to listen at that point. Even still, the altercation with Danny made me go a little noodle-kneed, and I hung onto the door handle of the Red Roof Inn’s office door a little too tightly for a second.

“Hi, I’m Kennedy Smith, and I have a little problem,” I said, half dragging myself into the office.

My red suitcase trailing behind me, I shuffled into the lobby of the Red Roof Inn and slumped over to the counter where the manager, an overweight but pleasant-looking woman in her 50s, stood smiling. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you can,” I said, “That man in the Chevy who just drove off?” I asked gesturing to the direction where Danny’s car had been.

The manager nodded.

“That’s my brother, and he threatened to kill me just now,” I said, noticing her name tag, which read: Glady’s Akins.

“Oh, dear,” Gladys said, picking up the phone, “Should I call the police?”

“There’s really not enough to charge him with anything, but, maybe, I’ll call them after I get settled.” I briefly explained that Danny is/was a crazy drug addict, and…

Gladys nodded. A few minutes later, Gladys, and her son, Jeff, who worked maintenance, both walked me to my room on the second floor.  Jeff set my bag inside the door and refused to take my $5-dollar bill.

“No tip is required for damsels in distress,” Jeff said, smiling. “Now, you let us know if you need anything or if your brother shows up again.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I really appreciate it.”  After they left, I moved the dresser in front of the door, slipped into my pajamas and collapsed onto the bed.

At 4:12 a.m, I was awakened by what sounded like gunfire. I bolted upright, reaching for the phone when I realized the loud THUMPS were from someone banging on the door.

“Open this goddamned door, Kennedy, I know you’re in there!” Danny yelled in a slurry voice while hammering on my door with his fists.

And THUS, it began anew…

….to be continued…

STAY TUNED, ladies and gentleman…the conclusion will arrive here, same time, same channel…NEXT WEEK… 🙂


*For more info about my brother, Danny, taking all of Nana’s money, check out the first post, As My Mother Lay Dying through post #25 or so.

** For more info on Jack, check out Post #29 – The PRICK, the Proctologist and PIGIN English…..and Post #41 Run, Jack, Run…

*** For the 411 on Shauna, check out the infamous post:  #30 An Ode To Barboursville.