come home. His phone was obviously turned off. She went to all of the bars she thought he liked and didn’t see him or his car anywhere. The loser didn’t
have
any friends. With his mother dead, Lydia didn’t even know if he had any family anywhere close. It had actually never come up in conversation. Weird.
Ex-coworkers?
Right
. When they met, he wore a very nice suit and talked about his job as a “financial planner.” Always running off to client meetings and what he called strategy sessions, he seemed like a real go-getter.
Later, after they married and he stopped working and she realized that he never made
any
money, she investigated his former employer. It turned out the company’s name only
sounded
like a famous Wall Street investment bank. Matt actually shilled for a multi-level-marketing scheme that charged its recruits $200 for the privilege of urging other people to join the company and … pay $200, etc. There actually was a legitimate insurance product, but Matt never sold any of those. Never attracted any recruits, either.
Stupid her, she saw the suit and heard the job title and assumed he was college educated with an MBA or something. Took her a while to get it out of him, but he finally admitted that his only education past high school was a semester at Modesto Junior College in which he earned all F’s.
Matt said he lived with his mother in that dump out on Rumble on a temporary basis because she was dying and needed his care and help. Part of that was true, at least. The bitch did have cancer and was near death, and Matt seemed to really love her, but he didn’t give her much care—she had County Hospice for that. She thought that nice old Mercedes was his, but it turned out it was the mother’s. He drove it because he didn’t have a car of his own. He did help her spend her social security checks. In fact, she was certain that he kept cashing those checks for months after she died to finance his drinking and gambling. He didn’t even hide that he was selling off anything of value in the house on eBay and Craigslist. She figured that’s how he paid for the suit.
“Hey,” he had said, “It’s all going to be mine anyway, I may as well get whatever I can out of it now before it gets all tied up in legal shit. She’s so hopped up on morphine now she can’t appreciate any of it anyway.”
Matt was vague about
everything
and changed his stories
all
the time. As far as Lydia could tell, he’d been living with his mother since his crazy ex-wife Jennifer Marlin kicked him out eight years earlier.
Lydia and Matt married at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. Still in her Matt-induced fog, she paid for it all because he said he was having “cash-flow” issues with some of his investments. They were there four days. The first two days were fun, and, yes, they did get married by an Elvis impersonator—the video was a big hit at parties—and they spent a lot of great time in bed.
Then, on the third day, Matt started drinking. Well, he
always
drank, but up until then, he was very controlled, just like anyone else. Nothing like Ralph Tilley, or some of her boyfriends in the past. But at this point, he stopped faking. They were playing the slots at the Mirage at around noon, and all of a sudden, he was gone. Worried something happened to him, she was about to call the police when he came into the room at 2 A.M. , sat in a chair, and peed and shit all over himself before passing out.
In the morning, when he got up, she was packed and ready to end the marriage. No more drunks for her. Somehow, he talked her out of it, but she never did feel as close to him after that. She did try, though, she really did.
That afternoon, he won more than three grand at a progressive slot machine. When they got back, he quit his fake job because he said he “needed to deal with his mother’s death and think about how best to utilize his skills in the investment marketplace,” conveniently forgetting he didn’t have
have
any friends. With his mother dead, Lydia didn’t even know if he had any family anywhere close. It had actually never come up in conversation. Weird.
Ex-coworkers?
Right
. When they met, he wore a very nice suit and talked about his job as a “financial planner.” Always running off to client meetings and what he called strategy sessions, he seemed like a real go-getter.
Later, after they married and he stopped working and she realized that he never made
any
money, she investigated his former employer. It turned out the company’s name only
sounded
like a famous Wall Street investment bank. Matt actually shilled for a multi-level-marketing scheme that charged its recruits $200 for the privilege of urging other people to join the company and … pay $200, etc. There actually was a legitimate insurance product, but Matt never sold any of those. Never attracted any recruits, either.
Stupid her, she saw the suit and heard the job title and assumed he was college educated with an MBA or something. Took her a while to get it out of him, but he finally admitted that his only education past high school was a semester at Modesto Junior College in which he earned all F’s.
Matt said he lived with his mother in that dump out on Rumble on a temporary basis because she was dying and needed his care and help. Part of that was true, at least. The bitch did have cancer and was near death, and Matt seemed to really love her, but he didn’t give her much care—she had County Hospice for that. She thought that nice old Mercedes was his, but it turned out it was the mother’s. He drove it because he didn’t have a car of his own. He did help her spend her social security checks. In fact, she was certain that he kept cashing those checks for months after she died to finance his drinking and gambling. He didn’t even hide that he was selling off anything of value in the house on eBay and Craigslist. She figured that’s how he paid for the suit.
“Hey,” he had said, “It’s all going to be mine anyway, I may as well get whatever I can out of it now before it gets all tied up in legal shit. She’s so hopped up on morphine now she can’t appreciate any of it anyway.”
Matt was vague about
everything
and changed his stories
all
the time. As far as Lydia could tell, he’d been living with his mother since his crazy ex-wife Jennifer Marlin kicked him out eight years earlier.
Lydia and Matt married at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. Still in her Matt-induced fog, she paid for it all because he said he was having “cash-flow” issues with some of his investments. They were there four days. The first two days were fun, and, yes, they did get married by an Elvis impersonator—the video was a big hit at parties—and they spent a lot of great time in bed.
Then, on the third day, Matt started drinking. Well, he
always
drank, but up until then, he was very controlled, just like anyone else. Nothing like Ralph Tilley, or some of her boyfriends in the past. But at this point, he stopped faking. They were playing the slots at the Mirage at around noon, and all of a sudden, he was gone. Worried something happened to him, she was about to call the police when he came into the room at 2 A.M. , sat in a chair, and peed and shit all over himself before passing out.
In the morning, when he got up, she was packed and ready to end the marriage. No more drunks for her. Somehow, he talked her out of it, but she never did feel as close to him after that. She did try, though, she really did.
That afternoon, he won more than three grand at a progressive slot machine. When they got back, he quit his fake job because he said he “needed to deal with his mother’s death and think about how best to utilize his skills in the investment marketplace,” conveniently forgetting he didn’t have
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