When I was spending more time in tears or in staring out at the Bay or in pretending to
be asleep when Alan got home, I gave up and called my father to come rescue me. He
immediately flew to San Francisco and hired a cab to drive him to Sausalito. I left Alan a
note that I was leaving him, but didn’t mention my destination. I packed some clothes
and a few of my belongings, took my adorable white Westie, Mr. Boo, and drove back to
Los Angeles in my black and white Rambler with Daddy by my side.
Alan was devastated. He called everywhere to find me. I didn’t care whether or not he
would be worried about me. I wanted some peace. What surprised me most was how long
it had taken me to understand that our marriage was doomed from the beginning. Torn
between two worlds, Alan would never be capable of loving me for me. As long as we
were only friends, he had been able to have a relationship with me. But marriage had
made him feel both guilty and trapped.
He flew down to Los Angeles and we met again, but our discussions got nowhere fast.
“Nothing will change, Alan,” I said, finding it easier to assert myself than ever before in
our relationship. “This is as painful to me as it seems to be for you. But, Alan, I have so
much more inside to give to and share with my lifetime partner, and I want a chance to
prove that. You can’t offer me such an opportunity. I will feel incomplete.”
Even in those days, divorces could get messy when money and property were
involved. Ours required a hearing in court months after our separation before the final
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