Chapter 13 - The Mind Of The Mark.

I read somewhere once that the reason that we have no reliable statistics on fraud is because most victims don't come forward. It's a very underreported crime. And the reason for that is because society judges victims of fraud-type crimes so harshly. Society, as a whole, treats these victims like they were somehow responsible for their own victimhood. Maybe they deserved what they got if they were so easy to fool? So people just keep quiet, hide the fact that they were duped, and refuse to report the crime to the police.

To a large extent, the same goes for victims of abuse.

No one likes to admit they weren't strong enough to stand up for themselves. That they were stupid. Gullible. That they should have known better. And that sense of shame, it helps the abuser, because we’d rather believe the abuser than admit we've been abused.

I know this sounds counterintuitive. I remember, back when I was just a kid, my mom consoling a friend of hers who’d just left an abusive relationship. Listening in, I kept thinking to myself, why did she stay? Why didn’t she leave his ass the first time he hit her? Doesn’t she have any self-respect? And her excuses about how he’d always seemed so sorry afterwards and promised it would never happen again sounded to lame to me. 

So Credulous.

You tell yourself that you’re too smart to get into a situation like that. You’re a strong person who wouldn’t put up with any shit. You’re way too intelligent to get taken in by the conman or the fraud. Or the abuser.

But that’s the framing the abuser wants you to use. Being a victim of abuse has nothing to do with how intelligent or strong YOU are. If anything, a manipulative person will use those very traits against you. 

You tell yourself there’s no way you could be taken in, you’re not a gullible person, and you’re smart enough to know who to trust and who not to trust. Ergo, because you trust your own judgment, this person who you’ve fallen for MUST be alright. You would have known right away if there was something off with them, right? I trusted this person before, so there’s no reason to distrust them now either.

Although it’s never quite that simple. It's not a conscious choice. It's not like you're sitting there asking yourself, do I admit that I've been deceived? No, all this goes on in your subconscious. It’s kinda your brain’s way of protecting itself. When facing reality means facing something unpleasant about ourselves, we simply ignore reality. You really don't even see the red flag because, in your mind, it's inconceivable that you were wrong about this person in the first place.

Accepting that you’ve been taken in means accepting that you’ve made the biggest mistake ever and nobody wants to do that.

So you let the first little thing pass, assuring yourself it’s not that bad. There’s some other explanation. It won’t happen again. You make excuses. And when it does happen again, there’s even more shame because you should have seen it coming after the first time, but by then you're so invested you can’t just walk away, and you are determined to ‘fix it’. And then it happens again . . . Each time, the shame you feel for ‘letting this happen’ gets worse and worse. You almost HAVE to double down on your denial to protect against that much compounded shame.

So, can you imagine how much worse the embarrassment is when someone else - someone outside - notices what’s been happening and calls you out on it . . .

“Hey, you!” Daphne’s voice burbled out of the phone line as exuberantly as always. “It’s about time you actually answered your phone!”

“Sorry, Daph. I’ve been so busy lately, between work and school, that I just haven’t had a chance to call you back.”

“That’s okay. It’s your turn to buy lunch anyway, so you can beg my forgiveness over sandwiches at the cafe.”

“I’d love to but I’m afraid I’m totally broke,” I confessed.

“How can you be so busy working you don’t have time to call me back and still be broke?”

“That’s a good question, actually,” I half-answered her. “I guess I never knew how expensive shit is until I was living completely on my own.”

“Tell me about it,” Daphne sympathized, although I happened to know that Daph’s folks were more than comfortable and gave her a generous allowance while she was attending university. “No matter. I’m happy to buy again if that’s the price of spending time with my favorite blond boy. Just tell me when you’re available and what you want to eat.”

We arranged to get together on Thursday at Daph’s favorite cafe just off Allequippa up by the University of Pittsburgh. I was looking forward to it, actually. Daph and I had talked a few times after the Rage Party Debacle, but that had been more than a month ago and we hadn’t spent any real quality time together since. I was really looking forward to what we always jokingly called ‘girl time’. 

It truly had been a whirlwind month, though. My entire world had changed in those thirty-some days and I was still sorta reeling from the abruptness of it all. It would be really good to talk things over with Daphne. She’d given me great advice in the past and she was always supportive; I definitely needed some time with my bestie. But first, I still had two crazy days of classes and work to get through before our lunch date. 

“Who was that on the phone?” Ethan asked, the question causing me to jump because I hadn’t actually heard him coming up behind me. 

“Just Daphne,” I replied, scooting over on the bench where I was sitting so my boyfriend could join me. “We’re doing lunch on Thursday.”

“You know I have practice on Thursdays, Babe. You’re gonna have to call her back and cancel.”

“What?”

“I can’t make it on Thursday so you’re gonna have to reschedule.”

“Uh . . . It’s Daph’s treat, Ethan, and I don’t think she meant to buy for you too,” I corrected him.

Ethan didn’t say anything more, but I could tell from his disgruntled silence that he wasn’t happy about being left out. But, come on. The two of us are practically joined at the hip most days: we live together, go to school together, he even performs at the place where I work some days. I was actually looking forward to a little alone time with a friend who wasn’t part of Ethan’s clique. 

“Oh, Justin! Look at your hair! You've gone full Meg Ryan on me!” Were the first words out of Daphne‘s mouth when she saw me.

“Ha fucking ha! Have you seen my best friend around here? Because I’m sure if she were here she would not be making fun of my hair.”

“Sorry, Jus, but I just wasn’t  expecting . . . This . . . I mean, haven’t we already talked about this before? Remember back in sophomore year, when you went temporarily insane and decided to grow your hair out and then got so disgusted with it you shaved your head? If I remember correctly, you made me swear that if you ever threatened to grow your hair out again I should take whatever steps were necessary to stop you.”

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it, although I could feel my cheeks burning with a blush. “Ethan likes it longer.”

“Yeah, well, if he likes long hair let him use his own head to grow it,” Daphne laughed at me. “You don’t have to keep your hair styled the way your boyfriend likes, you know?”

“It’s not that bad,” I countered trying not to feel offended by Daphne‘s doubtful look in response.

Instead of saying anything, though, she simply reached up and picked a little flake of blue paint out of the lock of hair that had fallen forward across my forehead, holding the tiny gobbet of paint up as Exhibit A.

“Can we just order already and you can make fun of my hair later?” I pleaded, earning myself a laugh from my friend.

We went up to the counter and ordered our food. Daphne got this yummy pasta salad with grilled chicken and I ordered a bacon and egg croissant with a cup of tomato bisque on the side. I was actually starving so the conversation flagged for the first few minutes after we got back to the table with our food while I scarfed down everything in sight. I ended up eating all my food and half of Daphne’s pasta. Thankfully, she didn’t comment on my less than stellar table manners.

“So, what have you been up to? Daphne asked as soon as my food consumption rate had slowed down enough to allow for conversation. “It feels like we haven’t talked in forever. Are you adjusting to life with Ethan?”

“Yeah, mostly. It’s definitely been a big change . . .”

“I bet. But are you happier? Because that’s all that matters, right?”

Daphne’s question kind of shook me. Nobody had yet asked me that question in the month since I’d left Brian. So far, everyone I’d talked to since the Rage party had merely informed me of their opinion about what I did. My mom had, as expected, commented on the fact that Ethan was a more appropriate choice for someone my age. Debbie had refused to take sides, her only concern being that I hadn’t kept in touch with her afterward. Michael, of course, didn’t care how I felt and only looked at my actions in light of how they reflected on Brian. Ethan was overjoyed with my decision and made sure to tell me about it at least a dozen times a day. But not one person had asked me if I was happier now than I’d been before. Hell, I hadn’t even asked myself that question.

“I guess . . . yeah,” I answered, a little ambivalently.

“You don’t know?” Daph pressed.

“I don’t think I’ve actually had time to think about it. Everything just happened so fast, you know. It’s not like I actually even planned to leave Brian until I just did it. And since then, things have been so crazy busy that I . . . I don’t really know. I guess I'm happier. Sorta.” 

“Oh, Jus,” Daphne looked at me with these big, concerned, brown eyes, and it made me feel almost like I’d let her down somehow.

I quickly rushed on, trying to reassure my friend and maybe even myself. “But things are sort of starting to settle down now, so I’m sure it’ll get better. The money thing has definitely been an issue, though. I suppose it’s just gonna take me awhile to get used to being poor,” I explained, forcing a little laugh at the end. 

“Well you can’t be too poor,” Daphne commented as she pushed the rest of her plate of pasta all the way across the table towards me. “You’ve been working practically nonstop for the past month. Every time I call you’re either on your way to work or just leaving work or planning to go to work again in a few hours. What have you been doing other than working?”

“Nothing. There’s no time for anything besides classes and work, it seems. And even if I had the time, I don’t have any money so I can’t afford to do anything . . .” I heard the whiny words coming out of my mouth before I even realized I’d spoken, but didn’t like the implications I’d voiced so I just stopped.

“I thought you said this catering job paid okay?”

“It’s alright. It’s basically the same hourly wage I was making at the diner, but we don’t get tips so it ends up being a little less in the end. If I was over 21, and I could work the bar, then I’d get some decent tips and a raise, but that’s a ways down the road,” I explained.

“But with all the hours you’ve been working, it should add up a little, right?”

“You’d think, right? But after Ethan and I pay all our bills, it doesn’t seem like there’s anything left over.”

“It sounds to me like you need to budget better, young man,” Daphne lectured using a pseudo-parental voice and shaking her finger at me. Then she actually pulled a pen out of her purse and started making notations on her napkin just like she used to back when we were in high school and we had a tricky calc problem that we had to figure out together. ”Okay, let’s figure this out. First, how much are you bringing home after taxes each paycheck?”

I had to smile at my efficient and rational friend, always ready to help, but kind of a nerd at the same time. “I get paid weekly,” I answered, “and my checks have been about $400, maybe $450 on a good week.”

“That’s not that bad. So, altogether, you’re bringing home about $1,600.” She scribbled that number at the top of her napkin. “Now, what are your expenses?”

“I don’t really know exactly . . .”

“And that’s why you have no money left over at the end of the month - because you don’t know what you’re spending,” Daphne declaimed. “Which is why we're doing this exercise. So, work with me here. Let’s start with your rent.”

I must’ve looked completely dumbfounded because Daphne sighed and gave me that disappointed look she sometimes got. “I don’t know exactly,” I confessed. “The lease is in Ethan‘s name and I never really asked.”

“Justin . . .” she sounded absolutely disgusted with me. “I can’t believe you’re living someplace and you don’t even know what the rent is.”

“Well I never asked what the rent was when I was living with Brian either.

“Yeah, but Brian wasn’t asking you to cough up a contribution towards his mortgage payment either.” All I could do was shrug because I honestly didn’t know what the rent was and her lecturing me wasn’t going to help. “Okay, we’ll estimate. A fourth floor walk-up studio apartment in a so-so neighborhood and a building that looks like it’s about to fall down . . . There’s no way your rent could be more than $800 in that dump.” She scribbled the figure at the top of her napkin, right beneath where she’d listed my salary. “Now, utilities?” I shrugged and shook my head again. Daphne sighed, “well, my roommates and I pay anywhere between $225 and $250 a month for gas and electric combined. But that’s for a two bedroom house. You guys only have one tiny room to heat, so it couldn’t be more than $75 a month. Do you pay water too or is that included in the rent?”

“I don’t know,” I responded, getting a little annoyed - at her but also at myself - because I should know these things right?

“I think, for most places around here, the water is included in your rent. So we’ll skip that. What other utilities do you pay for?”

Finally, something I could answer. “Phone and Internet. Ethan managed to put me on his plan, because it would be cheaper than me paying my own. I think it’s about $150 a month combined.”

Daphne added that number to the rest. “Good. We’re moving along quite nicely, here. Now food . . . If you still eat the way you used to when we were in high school, I’m guessing groceries cost you at least 100 bucks a week and maybe another 10 bucks for toiletries and personal items. Which leaves only art supplies and school stuff. How much do you spend a month on that?“

“Lately? Nothing. I haven’t had the money for any art supplies since I left Brian’s.”

“You can’t skimp on your education, Justin. This is going to be your profession eventually - at least that’s what we both hope - so you’ve gotta make it a priority. I’m going to budget $50 a month for art supplies.” Daphne quickly looked over her numbers, thinking to see if she missed anything and then nodding at the end, obviously satisfied. “I’ll add another $50 in for miscellaneous and entertainment and that should be good.“

I looked at the napkin from my upside down perspective, and it looked like a lot to me.

She quickly added up the figures and jotted down the total at the bottom. “So, your total monthly household expenses, according to my estimate, are $1,565, of which you would owe half. So, give or take, that’s about $800/mo.” Daphne wrote a division sign and the number ‘2’ below the total of all the expenses, drew a line under that, and wrote ~$800. Then she drew another line under that number and wrote, ‘Estimated discretionary income after expenses’ with a great big $800 that she quadruple underlined. “So, where is all the rest of this going, huh?”

“That’s a really good question . . .” I replied, completely staggered. 

“You don’t know?” Daphne seemed a little confused by my lack of a good response. “Come on, Justin. That’s a lot of money. You’ve got to have some idea where it all went. Unless you’ve taken up online gambling or started doing inordinate amounts of drugs, you shouldn’t be struggling for cash right now.”

And the thing was, she was 100% right. I SHOULD have known what happened to all that money. Only, the reason I didn’t know was because I, apparently, was a total idiot. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining that to my friend though. 

“Justin?” Daphne clearly wasn’t going to let me get away with staying mute. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s just that . . .” I groaned, looking everywhere BUT at my friend. “I don’t actually know where the money went because . . .” I screwed up my courage, and my face, and just blurted it all out. “. . . Because I’ve just been signing my checks over to Ethan to deposit in his bank account so he could pay all the bills for the both of us.”

“What? Why on earth would you do that, Justin?”

“Because it just seemed easier and I was always so busy, working all the time, so I didn’t have time to go do the grocery shopping or anything and Ethan offered to do it and . . . ugh.”

“That’s totally whacked, Justin,” Daphne wasn’t buying my lame explanation. In fact, she was so angry on my behalf that you could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “So, he’s basically been stealing your money all month.”

“No.” I was adamant on that point. “Ethan wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t steal my money. I’m sure there’s some other explanation. Maybe your estimates are off or something? Or maybe he just made a mistake and thought there was less money left over after paying the bills than is really there?”

“Or maybe he’s freeloading off you while you work yourself to the bone?” Daphne wouldn’t let it go. “I mean, come on, Justin? How stupid do you have to be to overlook $800 extra in one month?” 

“Stop, Daph. You don’t know that it was intentional. There has to be a mistake.”

“Fine . . . Okay, then answer me this; where does Ethan work? How much is HE bringing in every month?”

“He . . . he doesn’t really work, per se,” I admitted. “I mean, he gets paid for some of his gigs, I think. There’s a stipend for the times he plays at the symphony and sometimes he and his friends pick up paying gigs playing at weddings and stuff. And he busks for cash around town sometimes.”

“That’s it? How much could that bring in? A couple hundred or so a week, tops?” There she went with her impeccable logic.

“Last Saturday he made $75 playing by the park,” I offered lamely.

“So how did he afford his rent and utilities and stuff before you moved in?” Daph asked the next logical question.

“I don’t know.”

“Well you better find out, Justin. And you better not let him have any more of YOUR money until you do.” Daphne was already clearing away the plates from our lunch. “Sheesh, Jus. This is like, ‘Relationship 101’ stuff here. You NEVER let anyone else control your money. I don’t care how much you love them or trust them. You keep your finances separate. Period.”

Thankfully, Daphne ended her lecture there. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to listen to much more. I was feeling really embarrassed by all these revelations and there was a heavy ball of dread lodged in the pit my stomach. She couldn’t be right, could she? There HAD to be some explanation. Ethan wouldn’t just take my money like that and then lie to me about how broke we were. He wouldn’t do that. He loved me. It had to be a mistake.

“Come on, broke boy,” Daphne had finally relented and was smiling at me again. “I’ve still got about an hour before I have to leave to get to my biology class. How ‘bout I buy you an ice cream to go with your lunch and we can talk about something other than personal finances for a while?”

“Deal,” I accepted with a half-hearted smile in return and we headed out of the cafe together.

Only to find Ethan standing there on the corner waiting for us as we left the cafe. “There you are, Babe! Did you guys have a nice lunch?” He immediately put his arms around my waist and swooped in for a long, deep kiss that was sort of rude considering that Daphne was just standing there waiting for us the whole time. “Damn, I missed you.”

“What are you doing here, Ethan? Didn’t you have rehearsals this afternoon?” was the first thing I asked as soon as I was released from the kiss.

Ethan smiled at me like he was offering me a special prize. “I rearranged things with my professor. He let me do a private rehearsal earlier in the day so I could come join you two after all. This way I get to meet my boyfriend’s best friend.” Then he turned to face the concerned woman standing at my shoulder with one of his extra-charismatic smiles. “You must be Daphne. Justin talks about you all the time. I’m excited to finally get to meet you.”

Daphne accepted the hand he held out to her, but the handshake was brief. “Justin was telling me all about you over lunch, too.”

I discreetly elbowed her in an effort to get her to hold her tongue. I did not want to get into the money thing with Ethan right that moment. Daphne gave me a stern look, her mouth all puckered up in a disapproving moue, but when I refused to back down, she shook her head, rolled her eyes, and eventually relented. 

“We were just heading over to get an ice cream. Would you like to join us, Ethan?” Daph offered, trying to be at least ostensibly polite.

“Sounds great!” Ethan accepted with alacrity and we all headed off together down the block. “So, how was lunch? I’ve never been to that cafe before but the menu sounds delicious.”

Okay, that comment struck me as odd. How would Ethan know about the menu in the cafe? As far as I knew, they didn’t have any sort of internet presence. 

And then another question popped into my head. 

“How did you know where Daph and I were having lunch?”

Ethan hesitated for just a second too long before he answered, “you told me last night where you were meeting.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Or course you did, Babe. You were going on and on about the place and how much Daphne loves it. How else would I have known where to find you?” Ethan concluded so glibly that it was almost impossible to doubt his assertions. 

Only, I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned where we were going for lunch. And even if I had, it was kinda off the beaten path, and not easy to find. Tucked in between a bookstore and a Korean market, it was almost literally a hole in the wall. And yet, Ethan had managed to track me down there? That just seemed . . . improbable. But maybe I HAD said something and just forgot I mentioned it to him? I’m not sure how I would have forgotten something like that, though. 

However, I didn’t say anything more right then. Daphne already thought I was a moron after I’d admitted to her that I wasn’t paying close enough attention to our finances, and I didn’t need to fuel her distrust of Ethan any further. Plus, I was already going to have to confront Ethan about the money thing, so there was no need to set him off about the surprise cafe meeting too, was there? No. What I needed to do was strategize and then find a way to broach the topic of our budget. I was sure we could work things out if we just talked about it. Yes, that’s what I would do. As soon as we got home that evening. 

But, of course, best laid plans and all . . . 

After Ethan magnanimously paid for ice cream for all three of us, we chatted for a little while longer and then Daph had to leave to get to her next class. Ethan and I headed back to PIFA and then, later I had another shift at Carnegie Hall. When I got home, I found a note from Ethan explaining that he’d gone out for drinks with his friends and I shouldn’t wait up for him. Which meant that there wasn’t any chance to talk to him about the money thing that evening after all. 

And, somehow, there didn’t seem to be any opportunity the next night either. Or the next. Or on Sunday.

But even more concerning, when I went to see Luke after my shift on Sunday to pick up my paycheck, he informed me he’d already put through the automatic deposit request I’d submitted. I had to ask him a second time what he meant before I understood what he was saying. Apparently Ethan had dropped off the automatic deposit form I’d signed earlier that week, so my paycheck had been electronically deposited directly to the bank. 

And when I asked to see the form, it clearly showed what looked to be my signature . . . directing all future paychecks to be deposited into Ethan's bank account.