So I talked to my grandparents, not about the cocaine offer or anything like that, just the fact that I didn't like the woman. They were quite hesitant, I had to virtually pry out of them the fact that they didn't really like the woman. But at the same time they were quick to point out that my father was lonely and had his "needs". And also that they were worried about him.
They were right in a way. My father had never been able to look after himself, he was used to being catered to. In the brief time he was alone after my mother left, he would survive on Le Menu frozen dinners solely. The plates would be littered all over his penthouse. Quite sad really.
Anyhow, that would be the last time I would see my grandparents for some years.
The following weekend I went up to Whistler with a group of friends. I can't really remember the purpose, I think it was someones birthday or something (There is a video of that night out there somewhere that is legendary). My father had asked me to call him on the Saturday. This was a hard time for me as I felt like a sell-out, but for me at that age it was a game of survival, so I would throw him a bone from time to time.
I called him and he said he had 4 tickets for the hockey game that night (my father hated sports) and if my friends and I wanted them we just had to go pick them up from him. Once off the call I discussed it with the boys and we decided we would head down to the game. It was probably a matter of 4 hours before we got back to town.
My father lived in Fort Knox. It was one of those new slick West Van towers built and lived in by the Lougheeds. Every unit was a complete floor with wrap around balcony and a gold/glass elevator that climbed the outside of the building. Security was tight (yes, I was able to breach it many times). The front door if the building was not what you would expect. It was a simple solid wood colonial door so "outsiders" could not see inside of the building. And of course off to the left was the video camera so the people upstairs could see what undesirable was at the door from any room inside their palace.
I rang the buzzer, and it took what seemed like a minute or two for my father to pick up. He asked me what I wanted. I told him I was there to pick up the tickets. He said he had no interest in seeing me and asked me to go away. I was quite puzzled of course, and I pointed out that he offered the tickets to us and we drove down from Whistler to get them. There was a pause again, and it gave me a moment to reflect just how strange this scenario was. I was just looking at this speaker as my friends sat in the car behind me. Finally the silence broke as his voice came across the speaker. "Please leave before I call the police."
I was speechless. I just turned and left. My friends were ticked of course, but I just told them to screw off in a way only I can. They dropped me at home where I decided to cool off for a minute before reacting. I just lit a cigarette and sat back for a minute. I decided to call my grandparents. My grandparents had this habit of answering the phone simultaneously. It was quite a feat to witness personally. They had identical Lazy-Boys, and identical phones on the table between them, and they would actually do the countdown to answer. Always on the cutting edge of technology, they had a new call display unit so they knew it was me calling.
There was no hello. My grandmother, already obviously crying said "You're a horrible young man, horrible!!" I asked her what was going on and she simply said "Your father told us about you and we never want to talk to you again!!" My grandfather didn't speak, but his shallow breathing confirmed his presence. Again I was dumbfounded. I couldn't even form words, just random stutters that were met with simultaneous slamming of phones. (You know, old school slamming, cell phones have forever ruined that for us. I feel like a should pack around a good old rotary dial phone just so I can hold my cell to it and slam it for effect).
I loved my grandparents, and they loved me. I was always their favorite. My grandmother knew I was the dreamer, and it was like she saw something in me that she had always longed for. The freedom, the defiance of suppression, something along those lines. She just always had to be around me as if I provided her with some type of life energy.
I was devastated. I didn't give a rat's ass about my father, but my grandparents were so important to me. That night when my child was born I basically alienated myself from my family, and for the most part it is still that way today. To me at the time my grandparents were the only family I had left and they were gone.
It would be six years before I would see or talk to my grandparents again. What ensued from that point was the greatest three ring circus of a divorce this country has ever seen. A law student actually told me once that they use the case as a precedent when teaching at UBC. My father fell in Icarus like proportions. This was a captain of industry. He ran some of the biggest companies in Canada. Petro-Canada, Nova Corp., Telus, etc. etc.. Now he was showing up in a courtroom in a wheelchair being pushed by my grandfather even though just hours earlier he was seen walking briskly on the West Van seawall. Some even speculated that he was wearing makeup to make his skin look greyer. He was caught in lie after lie after lie. And the judge made him pay dearly, however, the judgement itself did not have enough clout or closure and the case remains before the courts to this day. 18 YEARS LATER!!!!!! He has squandered everything in legal bills for the mere sake of winning. There is no logic. The latest case being heard before the judge as I understand is about $100,000. He has stated himself that just for this case alone he has spent $45,000 in legal fees on top of the millions he has already spent.
I just distanced myself from the whole thing. I was essentially living underground for the next 6 years. There was scandal after scandal, my fathers name would now be smeared in the press on what seemed like a monthly basis. I was even thinking of changing my name at this point to my mothers maiden name, Vincent.
Somehow, years later he found out where I worked and just showed up one day. It was a rainy day and we went out on the lot where nobody could hear us and I could hide behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. He was explaining to me how he had fixed his life up and was getting married again (Bimbo was gone a couple of months after the whole hockey ticket episode, along with a good portion of my grandparents money that she allegedly swindled them out of, although I still believe to this day it wound up in my fathers pocket), he wanted me to meet the woman and to come to their wedding.
I didn't give a fuck about the man or his wedding, but regardless of what they did to me or how they treated me I still missed my grandparents everyday. I met his bride to be, and she was nice enough, easily brain washable anyhow so right up his alley. I saw my grandparents of course and like a light switch flicking to on it was like nothing ever happened. The Hartwick family was built on denial and I wasn't going to shake the foundation, I was just glad to have them back in my life again.
To be continued....
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