A Man Named Dave

that?”
    “Well,” Patsy said, recovering, “I just thought, I mean, you live in Guerneville and all. You don’t go out. What’s a wife to think? You leave me to go live down there …”
    I brushed off the statement. “Listen, please. I just want you to know, you were right about the office in Lincoln. I found out a few months ago. I was mismanaged. That’s why I couldn’t get enough gigs. And the books, they were ‘printed’, they were never published. They weren’t even copyrighted! That’s why they weren’t in the stores.”
    “ The Lost Boy, too?” Patsy inquired, my second book, which Jerry had about insisted that I write. I nodded. “Jesus,” Patsy scolded, “how could you be that stupid and allow so many people to take advantage of you like that? As smart as you are, I’ll never understand you.”
    I thought of myself from years ago. “I dunno,” I replied. “Ever since I was a kid … I never had the guts to really speak up for myself. I was always too intimidated. Even now as an adult, whether it was Jerry at the Lincoln office, buying a car, sticking up for myself so no one could walk over me or, no offense, even with you, I couldn’t do it. I … it was easy for me to do for others, but not for myself.”
    “David,” Patsy sighed, “it’s different with me … I’m your wife.”
    I nodded, but more to myself. “All that changes now.”
    “So, what are you going to do? Sue ’em?” Patsy had a gleam in her eye.
    “No.” I shook my head. “It’s not the money, it never was. I don’t want a dime of something I didn’t earn first. It’s a matter of honor. The worst thing I could do to them – to anyone that screws me – is have nothing to do with them.”
    “I think you’re stupid. I’d stick it to them but good. So, what are you going to do to protect yourself?”
    “Simple,” I said, smiling, “trust no one.”
    “You do that, and you’ll be a lonely old man, David Pelzer.”
    “I know,” I sighed. “But I just can’t allow myself to be hurt again.”
    “I don’t know what you think of me; I know I’ve burned a lot of bridges with you, but I’d never screw you, David,” she stated.
    “I know. It’s going to be okay. I swear, I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”
    “Well,” Patsy gushed. “I am. I mean –”
    “I know,” I interrupted. “I’ve known for a while. Are you happy? Is he good to you? To Stephen?”
    “Yeah.” Patsy beamed. “Guess you can say I finally got myself a real cowboy.”
    “And please,” I begged, “be careful. We’re adults, but I don’t want Stephen to get hurt any more than he has.”
    “So, what are you gonna do?”
    Without hesitation I said, “Be a good father and carry on. I’m not going to quit. I’m going to work hard and see it through.”
    “David,” Patsy snapped, “I’m not talking about work, or Stephen. I know you’ll be a good father for him. For once in your life, what about you*. What are you going to do for you?”
    For a moment I felt the magnitude of Patsy’s question. I sat hunched over, stymied. “I don’t … I don’t know. Just live my life day by day. That’s all I can do. I just don’t want to repeat the same mistakes all over again.”
    Patsy shook her head in disbelief. “My God, after all these years … you’re still carrying her shame.”
    I had no response. I truly felt like a leper when it came to being close to anyone besides my son.
    As we got up to leave, Patsy and I embraced. “I’ll always hold a place in my heart for you, David Pelzer. You’re a good man, and for God’s sake go out there and live a little!”
    “Thanks, Patsy, you have no idea what that means to me. I pray for you every day. Godspeed, Patsy,” I stated.
    “Good-bye, David.”
    “Good-bye, Patsy.”
    We soon filed for divorce. Less than thirty days after our divorce was finalized, Patsy remarried.
     
    Between Stephen and my work, I deliberately stayed to myself. Overall I was content. On a good week, when I felt I earned it, I would venture “out there” and treat myself to a movie. Working for myself proved more difficult than I had expected, yet I loved every minute of it. After purchasing the rights to my books from the Lincoln firm, I quickly found two publishers who wanted to publish the books. Even though I knew I could receive a better deal with a New York publishing house, I signed with a smaller publisher in Florida, partly because for years I had admired the works of their authors John Bradshaw and Jack Canfield. I assumed a smaller publisher would be able to spend more time marketing and