Lola's past

My name is Delores, which translates,
roughly, to "one of pain". 
It is also an English word, dolorous, meaning a sad and
somber event. 
My nickname is Lola, the name of a Barry Manilow
song.  In that
song Lola's lover and her admirer kill each other, and Lola goes
crazy.  Lola is
stays forever at the moment in time when she sees this whole thing
happen, being the ghost that haunts the Copa Cabana. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Those things, be they
coincidences or not, do not really bode well for me, or for my
future.  I find
it funny, actually, that my father chose such a name for me twenty
years ago, before anything had ever happened in my life, style="mso-spacerun: yes">  before he even knew
what color eyes I had. 
They're green, by the way.  He said, just as I began to cry my first
cry, "She looks like a Dolores!"  Does that mean that I've always looked sad,
or felt sad, or just made other people feel sad? style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Is that my lot in
life, sadness? 
I don't know, but I do know that I was happy enough when I
was younger, growing up as the youngest and most spoiled daughter in my
family, the one who never was told no to and was always the center of
attention.  I
was always happy playing with my new toy, or singing in a recital, or
even just sitting out in my lawn in the sun. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  I grew up filled with
promises, the promise or a good college, the best there was even, and
then the best career for me, everything perfect. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  And then when I found
the perfect man for me, there would be the perfect house with the
perfect white picket fence, a shaggy dog in the backyard, with a shiny
new van out front for me, and a sporty sedan for my husband. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  I would have two and
half children, and then they would grow up to be just like me or their
father, perfect in every way.  I would never want or need for more than a
moment before I got whatever it was that I wanted or needed. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  The world would never
look down on me, and I could be whomever I wanted. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  That was my dream, and
it was very quickly becoming my reality.  Until reality, the real reality
struck.  I fell
one day during my jog, and met a man who gave me the most exciting job
I thought I could ever had. 
All he wanted me to do was to dress up in a fancy cocktail
dress, any one I wanted, he'd buy and let me keep it, and then go to a
party and befriend a man, and get information from him. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  So just talk to him
while I sipped on a drink, a drink I wasn't even supposed to have, but
with the fake id's he gave me, who would know? style="mso-spacerun: yes">  That job worked out
perfectly, just like the rest of my life, so he gave me
another.  And
then another. 
Pretty soon I was very wealthy, and rented an apartment of
my very own. 
That man, he became my friend, we became best
friends.  I
actually liked spending time with him better than spending time with my
boyfriend, who was a cop. 
I was seventeen and dating a 26 year old cop. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  My father had set us
up, wanted us to marry. 
If only he had known what I had really wanted. I hadn't
wanted to marry so soon, but I had wanted to live my life, and perhaps
to travel someplace outside of my southern California home. I tried,
and he always said, "No, you can't go there?it's not safe." And that
was the end of that.