Sandy dated Bill for five years in an on again off again relationship. She was a strong-willed, ball-of-fire redhead who managed a busy grocery store in Orlando. She handled the problems and headaches of running a large retail store and didn’t take grief from anyone; but when it came to Bill and his share of faults, his crooked smile, curly blond hair, and romantic sweet talk brought forgiveness from her after occasional abusive actions. Six months ago, his begging broke down her better judgment and she let him move into her house. Sandy hoped that when they were together all the time, their love would grow and he would treat her like a real lover. Soon after Bill moved in, he lost yet another job. Sandy soon discovered he was a recovering alcoholic whose only job was to go to AA meetings.
Little did Sandy know that Bill also had a bad case of wandering eyes. He favored sleazy strippers and easy barflies. Sandy soon suspected Bill was running around on her; another woman’s smell and perfume on his clothes was hard to ignore. At first, she tried to ignore obvious signs, but they became too frequent to overlook. One day Sandy could stand it no more, so she decided to follow him as he left for another AA meeting in his work van. She slipped into his old Chevy and trailed him while he drove a few miles from home and parked at a run-down apartment close to a strip joint off Orange Blossom Trail. From her car parked down the street, she watched as Bill got out of his van and greeted a hard, thin blond with a big kiss. His hands were all over her as they disappeared into her apartment.
Sandy was furious! Her worst suspicions were true! That dirty dog was running around on her and they weren’t even married yet. And with a cheap tramp to boot! She’d been shamed and would by God get even.
She drove into the parking lot behind Bill’s van and turned into a parking space opposite his. She put her car into reverse, slammed the pedal down. Her car barreled backward wildly across the parking lot and slammed into Bills van! Smash! She’d showed him.
Sandy picked up her cell phone and called Bill’s cell phone. With caller ID, Bill knew Sandy was calling so he handed the phone to the blonde floozy.
“Yeah,” she answered.
Sandy screamed, “Put Bill on the damned phone.”
“He don’t want to talk to you. If you were taking better care of him, he wouldn’t be here getting his love from me.”
Sandy yelled, “You tell Bill he has ten minutes to get home and get his stuff out of my house or he’ll be sorry.”
Sandy sped home, plotting her next move.
She waited ten minutes, then collected his clothes, shoes, important papers, credit cards, fishing gear, stereo equipment, and every remaining trace of his possessions. She piled them on her driveway and emptied a gasoline can onto the pile. She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and flipped the match onto his belongings. Poof went the bonfire burning away every trace of Bill.
Soon sirens sounded and a flashing fire truck showed up. A bewildered fireman ran up and asked, “What’s going on here?”
With a wicked grin on her face, Sandy snarled, “I’m burning my boyfriend’s stuff.”
He grimaced. Domestic disputes were always bad. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“At his bitch’s house.”
He shook his head “Lady, I’m sorry, but it’s against the law to have a fire in your yard.”
“I know, but it feels so damned good,” she replied, glaring at him. Not moving a muscle.
He groaned. Suspecting there might be foul play, he had no choice but to call the police as his men put out the fire. Soon a squad car pulled up. The policeman talked to the fireman then walked over to Sandy.
“I am Officer Anderson. What’s the trouble?”
“I’m having a bonfire for my boyfriend. You can find that sorry dog Bill with that cheap slut at apartment 312, Running Lane Apartments. He’s there right now and all of his stuff is right here with me where he should be.”
The policeman rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have to search your house.”
“Be my guest,” leered Sandy.
After looking through the house, he said, “I need to confirm Bill’s whereabouts. I’ll send a squad car over to 312 Running Lane Apartments”
“Great,” said Sandy. “Tell him I said hello.”
Soon a report came back that, yes indeed, Bill was at the Running Lane Apartments.
It wasn’t long before Bill’s van with a wrecked quarter panel slowly entered her driveway. He got out of the car, hanging his head low.
Sandy stood defiantly in the middle of the driveway with her hands on her hips. “I’m not letting him back into my house! Tell that sorry dog to get the hell off my property.”
The policeman stepped between Bill and Sandy to ask, “Mr. Smith, do you live here?”
“Not anymore,” shouted Sandy. Bill slunk into his van and drove away in shame.
The burnout pile stayed on her driveway for a week for the neighbors to see before she cleared it into a trash can.
After a few months of silence, Bill called Sandy one night to beg for forgiveness.
“You are the love of my life. Please let me come back. I swear I’ll never cheat on you again.”
“What happened? Did the slut kick you out?”
“Don’t say that. I just moved on.”
Sandy finally gave in after three months of his pleading and crying. She told Bill, “You can come back on two conditions. Pass an STD test and no sex until we’re married.”
He received a clean bill of health from a doctor and she forgave him. He moved back in and soon was pressuring Sandy for romance.
She held her ground. “No sex until we marry.”
Twelve months later they married, but not before they both went to the doctor for another clean bill of health.
For three years Sandy and Bill were happily married, successful in business, and traveling the country in their camper. One morning bliss ended when Sandy noticed burning pains after a night of passion. She was mortified when the doctor informed her she had herpes. Sandy knew it didn’t come from her. Bill again!
“I’m ruined, infected for the rest of my life,” she screamed in the car as she drove home to confront him for the last time. He wasn’t home. Good. Once again, she gathered his belongings from the house and plotted what to do. Burning was over too fast. She had to stretch out his agony. She put all of his possessions in her car and began a trek around Orlando. Searching for restaurants and convenience stores, she emptied a few of his clothes, papers, and fishing gear in each of the scattered dumpsters. She threw away all of Bill’s belongings to erase all physical records of his existence. Then she cleaned out the checking accounts. Next, she canceled their credit cards, leaving him with only the clothes on his back and his car. When Bill came home that night the locks were changed. Back to the streets he went again with no money and no wife. He had no choice but to go back to his current tramp.
The ensuing divorce was nasty, with Sandy giving extensive accounts of Bill’s previous affairs and the doctor’s reports of her ruined life. She declared she could never remarry or have sex again because Bill had infected her.
Bill kept asking Sandy to return his effects, so she told his lawyer to give her a detailed list of everything he wanted. Bill generated a long list of every last shirt, shoes, underwear, and gear that was missing.
Meanwhile Sandy schemed about their camper. Each month Sandy had Bill make the payment instead of her. As the divorce drug on, the camper became closer and closer to being paid off. When the last month on the note rolled around, Sandy marched to the bank and made the payment. While she was there, she had the title of his last asset transferred to her name.
Soon the divorce court date arrived, so Sandy went on a journey to every thrift shop and goodwill store in town. She bought the grungiest pants, shirts, underwear, and wrong sized shoes she could find that matched the list of Bill’s clothes. She looked for clothes or shoes that had holes in them. If there were no holes she would cut holes in them. The next day, Sandy went into court with old suitcases full of worn out clothes and turned them over to Bill’s lawyer. She had accounted for every last item on his list with second hand threadbare clothes ready to fall apart.
When the time arrived for settlement of their camper, Bill’s attorney asked for the trailer be sold and the proceeds split evenly.
Sandy told the judge, “There’s nothing to discuss. The title is in my name.” She gave him the title to inspect.
After a moment, he smiled slightly and turned to Bill. “This is not your camper, it’s Sandy’s camper.”
Bill and his attorney were aghast. Sandy had outsmarted them again.
Bill ended up receiving nothing from the divorce. After it was over, his attorney told Sandy, “It is a pleasure to meet a real lady. You are the smartest divorcee I’ve ever seen.”
Bill moved in with another tramp on Orange Blossom Trail. Eighteen months later he died from hepatitis and aids.
Sandy is still alone, unwilling to become too friendly with other men, not wanting to infect them as she had been infected. Sandy learned she does not need men and leads a happy life on her own.