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Wrapping Up Cannes; Sociopath at Play

AngryEyes and I finally found BaD DaD who’d apparently been too busy to answer my calls. Why did he ask me to come if he wasn’t planning on spending time with me. Insert a sad face. “He” immediatly disliked AngryEyes, but, big BUT, he needed AngryEyes to over hear french conversations as he was always trés paranoid. That’s what happens when people are lying and denying, they are always using their frontliners and know we are needed. “He” had met a french young woman, younger than me, at a perfume shop. He wanted us to go out with them to a disco and then later in the week it would be her birthday and she had invited us all to her party. Strange I thought, why would this young woman not even my age invite him to a party; but hey a party sounded cool at the time. AngryEyes is happy BaD DaD is buying all the booze and his eyes are perhaps, for that short time, twinkling with amusement. BaD Dad was quite the entertainer; I was so skilled at following his different personas that I just ignored his game of playing the role of a filthy rich and ever so distinguished, tall American man now. The rented convertible porsche and staying at The Carlton (or whatever the biggest and most expensive hotel in Cannes was) seemed perplexing since he’d moved five times in under two years. I was to be staying with him there and he’d dumped me in the California strong woman’s hotel room. Could it be he was using me? Gee, back home he had a piece of plywood covered with a white table cloth to eat off of. He had just kicked out or been left by a bitter chinese puerto rican woman who wouldn’t allow me to wash my clothes or open the refridgerator door myself. How did he weasel himself into Cannes? I stopped caring as part of me still had hope he would become more stable mentally. I had to watch out for him around my little sister often. I cooked her food so he wouldn’t take her out to eat, get drunk and drive back with her in the car. He did that with me and I would not let him do it with her. Yet, he did, sometimes anyway.

We meet the french woman and she was exactly his type, short dark hair, dark eyes (preferably) and she had a handsome beauty, almost a boyish charm. Her skin was brown and warm just like AngryEyes. She was thin and I did love her big smile as well as the way she laughed immediatly. The eve of her party AngryEyes and I went along with BaD DaD in his cool car down the boulevard along the sea to find the party. We, that is AngryEyes and I, were quick to feel outrageously uncomfortable as we were into the artsy punk scene, “The Cure” and a “Peter Gabriel” kind of world. Our parties did not play french disco tunes. Yikes. In all black we sat drinking wine and cutting off huge chunks of cheese while the main party gathered around her and stood grilling outside. She had on a very strikingly 80’s pastel dress that had ballon like shoulders and BaD DaD followed her around like a hound dog on a hunt for rabbits.

Then, Bad DaD appears before us where we have sunk into a very soft sofa and whispers something in my ear. “Can you and your friend go listen to see if they are talking about me? I think they are.” Ah-ha, there’s the real reason he asked us to go along; clear as a bell. He needed ears and a back-up plan. We glided through the laughter and stood by the grill. “What are they saying?”; BaD DaD looked like he would start with one of his manic attacks so we tried to inch in closer to people we didn’t know. The handsome young woman was talking with a very beautiful man and the man kept looking over her shoulder at BaD DaD. Finally near her and this man we hear that the steaks should be ready in about fifteen more minutes and it appeared he was looking back at BaD Dad because he’d been staring him down in a odd manner. I think the man felt as uncomfortable as we did. We relayed the information back and BaD DaD was relieved. He told us that he would drive us back to the California woman’s hotel and that the next morning at 10 a.m. he would pick us up and we would all drive to Nice where he would catch his flight back to the states. He said we could use the car for another week. That did sound fun! It was all paid for and we just needed to drop it off and catch our train back north.

The next morning we are all packed and I say goodbye to the sunny California woman and thank her for letting us stay in her room. She says, “just so you know, the room was put in your father’s name after he left me no choice. It’s his bill to pay.” I called the concierge at BaD DaD’s hotel and he said that he had checked out and there was an envelope for me. Now what. Shit, shit, shit. More McFuckery to deal with. AngryEyes sits with the suitcases and I walk down to the sea, down the boulevard and into The Carlton. I asked for the envelope. I opened it and began to cry and lose my breath. It read, “Running late, Love D.O.D.”, his signature for Dear Ole Dad. We had no money to pay for the hotel! He’d conned his own daughter AGAIN! He was gone. He knew that we would not catch on to his scheming; this was the game all along. I slowly walk back up to the other hotel and tell AngryEyes. His response was, “Putain”.

Somehow AngryEyes had a friend wire him money to pay a 900 US dollar hotel bill; a bill that wasn’t ours to pay. BaD DaD invited us there and knew we had no money for such a place. I had to pay for it by getting more hostility from AngryEyes, he refused to buy us tickets back. He said we would hitch hike back to Nantes from Cannes. And that’s what we did. He made us sleep under bushes by the highway and live outside and refused to speak to me. He repeated over and over “I want my money back from that asshole”. What kind of a person does this to anyone, much less their own daughter? I had no self esteem and was scared. I needed AngryEyes. My own father set me up, used me again and he had NO regrets. I will tell more about the Real Life confrontation when I am able.

Inside Me with ROCK

ROCK says, “Enough!”. Too many bad memories will make “little me” sick again. Thank you ROCK. I feel like dirt. Dirt feels better probably. I am a piece of lousy, wet, trash blown up aganst a metal fence, behind some weeds and trees by the highway. I am cold and it’s not the first time BaD DaD did such a thing. I slither up against my inner wall; I’ve fallen down a few flights of stairs and must hide and brood for awhile now.

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