A Dance With the Devil: A True Story of Marriage to a Psychopath Read Free Page A

preoccupied with testing samples in my analytical lab at the Excelsior Chemical Company. When she’d asked me to round out the double date for a dinner party at her house that evening, she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so here I was.
    I knew what Debbie was up to. Five months earlier, in February 1981, after I split up with a man who was a close friend of Debbie and her husband, Ted, Debbie somehow saw me as her “perfect single woman” friend. Somehow she’d managed to extract a promise from me: that I would help her keep her dinner table evenly set.
    The eternal optimist, I wasn’t opposed to meeting new men myself. When I asked about who my date for the night would be, she answered, “Older than you, but you don’t have to think of him as a date. The point is, I know you’ll find him interesting. His great-grandfather was Admiral Peary. Remember? Peary . . . North Pole? John works over at Vestico with Ted. You’ll like him.”
    I wasn’t holding my breath that we’d be a love match, and I was exhausted from working long shifts, but Debbie had a way of talking me into social events, and so I found myself agreeing. Besides, what harm could it cause? It was only dinner.
    By the time I’d arrived and she’d greeted me warmly at the door, I found myself relaxing.
    “I knew I could count on you,” she said happily, leading me into her living room. “Well, I owe you, big time.” Debbie glanced toward the kitchen, then quickly leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Don’t be put off when you see John. He showed up in a foam neck brace and said he’ll tell us all what happened.” She pulled away, then quickly returned to my ear. “I forgot to mention that he wears a toupee, so don’t stare.” She smiled and, in her sweet normal voice, said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” This should be interesting, I thought. I’ve never met anyone who wears a toupee.
    She hurried off to the kitchen, where the men had already begun preparing drinks. I sat down on the sofa and looked around. The brass, ceramics, paintings, and furniture that Debbie had collected during her time in Taiwan never ceased to impress me, and as usual reminded me of how long it had been since I’d gone off to somewhere exciting. I did a fair amount of traveling for Excelsior, but the places I was sent to could hardly be considered exotic.
    “Well, hello there,” I heard a deep voice call. I turned to see John Perry emerging from the kitchen, carrying two drinks. Ted and Debbie followed. Debbie winked at me.
    Despite the medical brace around his neck, John was a dashing figure . . . tall, light brown hair, good looking with a ruddy complexion and mischievous blue eyes. He was well dressed, too, in his tweed jacket and designer silk tie. He strode confidently across the living room. “Rum and Coke for the lady,” he said, offering me the drink with an impish grin. Debbie was right, I thought. This man was already interesting to me . . . neck brace, toupee, and all.
    “Thanks,” I said, taking the drink. I felt my cheeks flush as he looked me over. I was glad I’d decided to wear my red knit dress tonight. Everyone said red was my best color, and suddenly that seemed important.
    Meanwhile, Debbie had set a tray of appetizers on the glass coffee table. John, I noticed, had already fixed a plate and was holding it out for me to take. I thanked him again.
    “Debbie,” he said, “you didn’t tell me your friend was such a looker.”
    My cheeks burned once more. John settled into a nearby chair, never taking his eyes off me. This was not going the way I had expected. Trying to exert some control, I blurted out, “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” And he did. He started out with an apology for the blue-foam neck brace and explained that a baggage cart loaded with heavy equipment had recently plowed into his neck and back while he stood waiting for a taxi at the Mexico City airport. “But it can’t stop an old Navy