So, having dumped “Jeremy” the slug actor and considering myself well rid of him, I had a couple of weeks of peace until a phone call late one night... Me (groggy): Hello? Abrasive Female Voice: Okay, let me talk to him. Me: Who? AFV: C’mon, I know he’s there. Me: Who? AFV (agitated): Don’t bullshit me! Put.him.on.the.phone. Me: I’m sorry? AFV (screaming): JEREMY, YOU BITCH! I NEED TO TALK TO HIM RIGHT NOW! Me: He’s not here. AFV: HE’S GOTTA BE THERE! PUT HIM ON RIGHT NOW! Me: Nope, not here. Hasn’t been here in two weeks. AFV: YOU TELL HIM TO CALL ME! Me: Not gonna be seeing him, you woke me up, and I’m not the frickin’ answering service. Did I mention you woke me up? AFV: Bitch! (hangs up)

I started getting these calls nightly -- and this one was pretty standard -- until I started unplugging my phone. One night before bedtime as I was leaning over to pull the plug as usual, the phone rang. No Caller I.D. in those days, so I picked up. Me: Hello? Jeremy: Hey! It’s me! Me (wary): Yeah? Jeremy: Well...it’s me! (Was I supposed to be overjoyed?) Me: What do YOU want? Jeremy: Can I come over? Me: No. And do me a favor and call the BBBBB (“Brainless Bottled Blonde Bimbo Bitch”). She’s looking for you. Jeremy: Oh, I moved out. I know I slept with her, but I didn’t know her very well, and she turned out to be a real psycho. Me: Uh huh. Why has she been calling me, anyway? Jeremy: I sorta told her I was staying with you. Me: Well, you can UNtell her. You can’t come over, I gave away your stuff, get lost. Jeremy: You gave away my stuff?? Me: I told you three times to come and get it. Jeremy (after a pause): Bitch! (hangs up)

Well. A fitting denouement. Eventually, the BBBBB must’ve moved on to harassing some other girl(s), since I didn’t hear from her again.

Fast-forward two years. I’m working at the International Theatre Festival and have been hiring box office people for the six months up to and including the Festival. I get a call from a friend. She: Are you hiring right now? Me: Yes, some box office people. Why? She: Well, I know this girl...she’s in bad shape and needs a job. Me: Define “bad shape.” She: Well, she just got out of drug rehab and is living in her car. She’s been depressed and can’t find a full-time job. I hear she’s been reduced to turning tricks to get by. Me: Oh, gosh, how can I resist? She: She’s clean, I swear. And smart. And reeeeeallly needs a job. Winter’s coming...

(Chicago winters are nothing to fool around with. And the thought of somebody living in their car...well...)

Me: Send her over. I’ll at least talk to her.

And sure enough, just to illustrate what they always say about karma, it was...you guessed it...the BBBBB. She knew who I was the minute she saw me, and looked devastated. I was dying to exact my revenge, but...she really did look threadbare, haggard and terrible (and no longer blonde...I guess hair dye was expensive). And as she talked about how Jeremy had glommed off her, spent her money and dumped her, I reflected that we were both victims. I was just lucky to be strong enough to deal with it...and she wasn’t.

To make a long story short, I hired her, and she did a competent job, never giving anyone any trouble. We didn’t ever became friends, but I heard she at least got back on her feet.

What do they say? “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” Sometimes you have to try to pay it forward, I guess. Lest you think I’m a saint, though...

I’ve never known what ultimately became of Jeremy, his poor wife and his named-after-me daughter, or where they ended up. The daughter would be a teenager now, and I’m a small enough person to hope she’s giving him all kinds of headaches! That would only be fair. g