Who'd have ever thought I could handle something like this?
This past March, I met an older woman named Marcella while out for drinks at Katmandu. We had a brief romantic liaison, but came to the mutual conclusion that it would not work out, given that there was a substantial age difference between us and that she had a 10 year-old daughter (Vanessa) for whom I was not ready to assume any responsibility. We remained in contact over the phone and saw each other in person on a couple of occasions afterwards, but our relationship had evolved into one of friendship and confidence. Marcella found me receptive to talk to and frequently met with me seeking advice for her problems.
It was on one of these occasions, April 29, that she informed me she'd been "screwed" out of her living accommodations (I did not inquire as to the specifics) by the person from whom she was subletting and that she and her daughter were basically homeless (living with her sister in New York, which was a 6-hour round trip commute for them to get to work and school) until she could find another place to live. In what would prove to be a monumentally bad decision on my part, I offered to put them up in my apartment, which was mere minutes from Vanessa's school in Levittown and Marcella's place of business, until they could find a place of their own.
I had expected this arrangement to last a couple of days. As it turned out, it took two and a half weeks for them to find another place. Marcella had credit problems following her divorce, and could only provide suitable housing in her daughter's school district with an enormous cash deposit. She could only afford a new place with the help of Mark Anthony Polombo, a wealthy entrepreneur friend of hers who had separated from his wife. They moved into a townhouse in the Belmondo on the Delaware complex in Yardley, PA. While Vanessa was away with relatives for the summer, Marcella and Mark began to have an affair.
Weeks went by and I hadn't heard from Marcella in a while. One day in early August, she called me up and wanted to meet for drinks after work. She wanted to talk about problems she was having with her job, and the conversation turned to the subject of Mark. She revealed to me that on two occasions, he had gotten drunk and assaulted her during arguments, choking her to the point of unconsciousness. When I asked her why she wouldn't call the police or at the very least kick him out (the place was in her name, after all), she told me that she couldn't afford any other place without his help, and that she desperately needed the townhouse for when her daughter returned. Besides, she said, she fully expected that things would improve once Vanessa returned, as he was very kind and loving around her.
Two nights later, she called me up and said she needed to get away from Mark for a while, asking to come over to my apartment. When she arrived, her clothes were torn up and she had a big bruise on her neck. She told me that when she got home late from having drinks with me, Mark asked her where she had been, and she saw no harm in telling the truth. He proceeded to spend hours questioning her about me, wanting to know the extent of our relationship. Marcella told him that we were just former roommates and friends, and that he had nothing to worry about. This seemed to assuage him at the time, but the next night, the three of us unexpectedly ran into each other at Katmandu. Mark and I didn't have too much to say to one another, but Marcella and I chatted it up like we always do. Mark never said a word to me after shaking my hand.
Shortly thereafter at the townhouse, the subject of me came up in an argument, and Mark once again choked Marcella, this time putting his hand over her mouth so she couldn't scream and not letting go until she passed out. He had become convinced that Marcella was cheating on him with me. She quickly packed some things and went to leave when he began to yell at her and rip up the clothes she had on. She got outside and a couple of neighbors heard the commotion. They asked if she wanted the police, but she said no, she just wanted to leave. One of the neighbors took pictures of her injuries with his camera phone. When she was leaving, Mark shouted to her, "Where you going, Matt's? You tell that motherfucker the next time I see him, I'll gonna kill him!"
This information was all relayed to me secondhand, and I have no way of verifying it, but I also have no reason to believe it was embellished. The mark on Marcella's neck was very distinct.
I urged Marcella to go to the police, and even considered going myself (he had, after all, made a threat on my life). But she begged me not to, saying that he just needed to calm down, and that Vanessa would be back the next day. If she needed to go, she always had the pictures the neighbors took, plus their accounts of the argument. I could hardly believe it. She was so intent on having a stable living arrangement that she was willing to endure the abuse. I acquiesced to her request, but made several close friends aware of the fact that there was someone out there who wanted to kill me.
Last Tuesday, Marcella called once again to inform me that Mark had packed his things and left the townhouse after an argument over a washer and dryer payment. He said any number of nasty things to her while he was leaving, but the one that concerned me went along the lines of (I'm paraphrasing), "Oh, and your little buddy Matt? I'm gonna have him investigated and find out all about him. Don't think HE'S off the hook." When I asked what that meant, Marcella replied that Mark had friends who were State Troopers and lawyers, and can find out pretty much anything there is to know about a person.
This was the last straw for me. Mark Anthony Polombo owns the Contours Express franchise in North Brunswick, not five minutes from where I go to school. Finding out my home address is a simple matter of a driver's license check. I didn't know how seriously to take the threats, but if this guy is the type to beat up a woman, I suspected he has violent tendencies. Marcella and I couldn't go to the police with simply this story, as the timing of the accusations would only create plausible deniability -- as he just left her and now she's going to probably end up being homeless once again. She's got every motive to want to hurt him. There's no more physical evidence to substantiate the assaults, apart from the pictures the neighbor took (I TOLD her she should have gone to the police that night). And the threats to me were not made TO me, but through someone whose credibility isn't that great with the whole above plausible deniability thing. Basically, he could have said we're just making up these charges out of nowhere to get back at him for leaving her. And given that the untainted complainer -- me -- had to bring to the table is hearsay at that point, it'd probably work.
I decided that the best course of action was to simply wait it out. Losing my cool and being confrontational, while it would certainly result in a fight and settle the matter that I am not one to be trifled with (or at least give me the ammo needed to put him in jail and sue him for all the money I'd ever need), ran the risk of me getting killed. Taking stock of the situation, I decided to hang around only where there was lots of people, keep my drapes closed, and stop walking around Trenton in the dead of night. And on Thursday night, I got the news that Mark was going to try and reconcile with his wife and get his life back in order. He has since not bothered either one of us.
Looking back on it now, as badly as I wanted that fight, and as much good as it might have done everyone in getting this guy put behind bars, this was never my affair to begin with, and the second I put myself in danger over something I never wanted a part of in the first place is the moment when I can completley discount any notions I have of possessing common sense. I'm pretty sure that after this fiasco, I can officially call myself an adult.
It was on one of these occasions, April 29, that she informed me she'd been "screwed" out of her living accommodations (I did not inquire as to the specifics) by the person from whom she was subletting and that she and her daughter were basically homeless (living with her sister in New York, which was a 6-hour round trip commute for them to get to work and school) until she could find another place to live. In what would prove to be a monumentally bad decision on my part, I offered to put them up in my apartment, which was mere minutes from Vanessa's school in Levittown and Marcella's place of business, until they could find a place of their own.
I had expected this arrangement to last a couple of days. As it turned out, it took two and a half weeks for them to find another place. Marcella had credit problems following her divorce, and could only provide suitable housing in her daughter's school district with an enormous cash deposit. She could only afford a new place with the help of Mark Anthony Polombo, a wealthy entrepreneur friend of hers who had separated from his wife. They moved into a townhouse in the Belmondo on the Delaware complex in Yardley, PA. While Vanessa was away with relatives for the summer, Marcella and Mark began to have an affair.
Weeks went by and I hadn't heard from Marcella in a while. One day in early August, she called me up and wanted to meet for drinks after work. She wanted to talk about problems she was having with her job, and the conversation turned to the subject of Mark. She revealed to me that on two occasions, he had gotten drunk and assaulted her during arguments, choking her to the point of unconsciousness. When I asked her why she wouldn't call the police or at the very least kick him out (the place was in her name, after all), she told me that she couldn't afford any other place without his help, and that she desperately needed the townhouse for when her daughter returned. Besides, she said, she fully expected that things would improve once Vanessa returned, as he was very kind and loving around her.
Two nights later, she called me up and said she needed to get away from Mark for a while, asking to come over to my apartment. When she arrived, her clothes were torn up and she had a big bruise on her neck. She told me that when she got home late from having drinks with me, Mark asked her where she had been, and she saw no harm in telling the truth. He proceeded to spend hours questioning her about me, wanting to know the extent of our relationship. Marcella told him that we were just former roommates and friends, and that he had nothing to worry about. This seemed to assuage him at the time, but the next night, the three of us unexpectedly ran into each other at Katmandu. Mark and I didn't have too much to say to one another, but Marcella and I chatted it up like we always do. Mark never said a word to me after shaking my hand.
Shortly thereafter at the townhouse, the subject of me came up in an argument, and Mark once again choked Marcella, this time putting his hand over her mouth so she couldn't scream and not letting go until she passed out. He had become convinced that Marcella was cheating on him with me. She quickly packed some things and went to leave when he began to yell at her and rip up the clothes she had on. She got outside and a couple of neighbors heard the commotion. They asked if she wanted the police, but she said no, she just wanted to leave. One of the neighbors took pictures of her injuries with his camera phone. When she was leaving, Mark shouted to her, "Where you going, Matt's? You tell that motherfucker the next time I see him, I'll gonna kill him!"
This information was all relayed to me secondhand, and I have no way of verifying it, but I also have no reason to believe it was embellished. The mark on Marcella's neck was very distinct.
I urged Marcella to go to the police, and even considered going myself (he had, after all, made a threat on my life). But she begged me not to, saying that he just needed to calm down, and that Vanessa would be back the next day. If she needed to go, she always had the pictures the neighbors took, plus their accounts of the argument. I could hardly believe it. She was so intent on having a stable living arrangement that she was willing to endure the abuse. I acquiesced to her request, but made several close friends aware of the fact that there was someone out there who wanted to kill me.
Last Tuesday, Marcella called once again to inform me that Mark had packed his things and left the townhouse after an argument over a washer and dryer payment. He said any number of nasty things to her while he was leaving, but the one that concerned me went along the lines of (I'm paraphrasing), "Oh, and your little buddy Matt? I'm gonna have him investigated and find out all about him. Don't think HE'S off the hook." When I asked what that meant, Marcella replied that Mark had friends who were State Troopers and lawyers, and can find out pretty much anything there is to know about a person.
This was the last straw for me. Mark Anthony Polombo owns the Contours Express franchise in North Brunswick, not five minutes from where I go to school. Finding out my home address is a simple matter of a driver's license check. I didn't know how seriously to take the threats, but if this guy is the type to beat up a woman, I suspected he has violent tendencies. Marcella and I couldn't go to the police with simply this story, as the timing of the accusations would only create plausible deniability -- as he just left her and now she's going to probably end up being homeless once again. She's got every motive to want to hurt him. There's no more physical evidence to substantiate the assaults, apart from the pictures the neighbor took (I TOLD her she should have gone to the police that night). And the threats to me were not made TO me, but through someone whose credibility isn't that great with the whole above plausible deniability thing. Basically, he could have said we're just making up these charges out of nowhere to get back at him for leaving her. And given that the untainted complainer -- me -- had to bring to the table is hearsay at that point, it'd probably work.
I decided that the best course of action was to simply wait it out. Losing my cool and being confrontational, while it would certainly result in a fight and settle the matter that I am not one to be trifled with (or at least give me the ammo needed to put him in jail and sue him for all the money I'd ever need), ran the risk of me getting killed. Taking stock of the situation, I decided to hang around only where there was lots of people, keep my drapes closed, and stop walking around Trenton in the dead of night. And on Thursday night, I got the news that Mark was going to try and reconcile with his wife and get his life back in order. He has since not bothered either one of us.
Looking back on it now, as badly as I wanted that fight, and as much good as it might have done everyone in getting this guy put behind bars, this was never my affair to begin with, and the second I put myself in danger over something I never wanted a part of in the first place is the moment when I can completley discount any notions I have of possessing common sense. I'm pretty sure that after this fiasco, I can officially call myself an adult.