Chapter Seven
Guilty Pleasures

CALIFORNIA OR FLORIDA—THAT WAS AN ONGOING debate in our marriage. As much as I missed having my family around and raising our children with my family in their lives, I honored the commitment I made with Terry and we stayed in Florida.

In 1992, we had been searching for a bigger house and finally fell in love with one on Willadel Drive in Belleair. It was an old Spanish-style mansion from the early 1900s, positioned right on the water. Legend has it that the home once belonged to an old mafioso who became extremely wealthy from bootlegging. He had a boat basin right on the property and a seaplane would fly in to drop off the moonshine, which was then sold to the historic hotel nearby. Although it was a magnificent piece of property, the home needed to be remodeled in a big way. The contractors told us that the concrete walls were eighteen inches thick, so the remodeling would be extremely costly. They suggested bulldozing it and starting over from scratch. Terry and I agreed. The lot cost $2 million and we would embark on spending another $7 million to build our dream home. There was no “dream a little dream” when I was married to Terry . . . we always dreamed big.

Years before, I had seen an unusual house on Lake Arrowhead in California. A wealthy shipping magnate had a chateau in France moved to California, and it was breathtaking. I remember saying to myself that if I ever got a chance to build a home, I would want one like that.

Well, I had my chance.

Terry loved the idea of having his own gym, a boat dock, and a big office, and he pretty much let me do anything I wanted. I made a trip to France along with my mom, Brooke, and an import tile expert from the States named François. We located unique tile and stone from four-hundred-year-old castles that had been demolished. I had the authentic tiles from those structures shipped in a container to Miami and then on a truck to Clearwater. I wanted the house to look like it had been there for two hundred years, with everything authentic and original. It was actually cheaper than buying the reproduction tiles from Chicago, which would not have given me the same antique look. I also got antiques from Paris flea markets and dishes from quaint French towns. I threw myself into the building of the house. I needed something to do for myself to take my mind off the past.

The Willadel estate we were hoping to build took a year of planning and two and a half years of construction. I was at the construction site, checking closely that everything was running smoothly. Every day, I would drop the kids off at school and then go directly to the site. Later, I would pick Brooke and Nick up and bring them to the new house. If they had homework, I’d let them do it in the construction trailer while I oversaw the crew. My presence at the construction site caused a lot of tension between Terry and me. He expected me to be home promptly with the children after school and wanted me to stay there. A nanny would have been a big help, but I liked the kids with me and they liked to be with me. I loved taking care of my kids. At the construction site there were a lot of guys with their shirts off. Big deal! I wasn’t looking, nor did I care. Terry was constantly around actresses and beautiful models in his line of work and I just had to deal with that. I’m pretty sure he didn’t like it when the shoe—rather, the construction boot—was on the other foot.

When the house was completed, it had everything we needed. A home gym and glass-enclosed spa, not to mention the views as we were right on the water. I absolutely adored the big kitchen and dining room, where I looked forward to having our friends over for dinner.

It was a magnificent French manor house—a one-of-a-kind place that I put my heart and soul into. In the end, we had built the ultimate showplace for the ultimate showman in wrestling. Looking back, I think the house may have been the biggest guilt gift ever.

Terry needed to get knee surgery, so he scheduled time off from work for the first time in years. While recovering in Florida, he took this opportunity to spend more time with the kids. Prior to this, I had done everything for the kids on my own. All of a sudden Terry was at home and eager to try to chip away at some of the duties that were a part of my regular daily schedule. The home had long been my domain, and this took some getting used to; it would be like me jumping into the wrestling ring and being his tag team partner. Quite honestly, at first it was hard having Terry around all the time after he was never home. He was so close to losing us that maybe he realized you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone!

Although I know Terry adored the kids and loved spending time with them, I also felt he wanted to prove to me after the Kate Kennedy situation that something like that would never happen again in our marriage. He didn’t want to just tell me he was sorry, he wanted to show me how he was a changed man and how much he loved me. For my fortieth birthday he bought me a beautiful black convertible Rolls. He got the family our own private jet. Terry bought me a new wedding ring because the stone had fallen out of mine. He also had my name tattooed on his finger. Terry was really trying to make things right with me again and put our life together back in the positive direction it once was. I would have liked to have been more appreciative, but after everything that happened, it was just difficult to be my old self again. It was less about punishing him, and more about staying true to my feelings at the time. He was the one who messed up, and I wasn’t going to pretend just for his sake.

Terry wanted to take all of us on a family trip to Carmel, California. We took our private plane to California, picking up my mom, sister, and brother in Los Angeles. We had a couple of really nice days walking around Carmel taking part in wine tastings and enjoying the weather. On Saturday afternoon, my mother told me to get ready because we had a very special dinner to attend. I wore a beautiful blouse with a cream-colored skirt. A bunch of flowers were delivered to our hotel room, which included a wreath for my head and a corsage. I was baffled. I was curious and didn’t understand what was going on. My mom told me, “Terry wants to remarry you.” Wow, I felt stupid that I didn’t put two and two together. It was our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Again, Terry wanted to make it right with me, and renewing our vows seemed like the next step in reestablishing us as husband and wife. He was clearly pulling out all the stops and not only wanted to apologize privately, but he was doing it publicly in front of my family as well. I appreciated it.

Just like he always stepped up in the ring, he was trying to step up in our marriage.

A Cup of Crazy

Terry enjoyed acting in film and television, but wrestling was in his blood. He loved the sport. He enjoyed the art of the deal. To him, wrestling was his family—his home away from home. Even though it was physically hard on his body, I think he began to miss the wrestling life.

Terry eventually went into business with the World Championship Wrestling organization (WCW), which was owned by Ted Turner. They decided to take the ultimate hero and make him the ultimate villain. Hulk Hogan as a villain? I couldn’t imagine it. Hulk Hogan became Hollywood Hulk Hogan. People loved to hate him now but still tuned in to the show.

Terry turning into a bad guy reverberated back into our real life. People would hiss at him in public and they didn’t want his autograph anymore. Fans would approach him and say things like, “Why did you turn bad? Our grandson was your biggest fan.” Kids would go up to Brooke and Nick at school and ask them, “What happened to your dad? Why is he like that?” Even though Hulk Hogan being a villain was a great business move, I think that it began to bother Terry emotionally. He loved being loved and didn’t really like how the fans perceived him now as a bad guy. This new persona was kind of a mental trip for him.

With the success of the WCW, Terry was back again on the road in full swing. It was funny that I had just gotten used to him being around the house all the time, and now he was never home. Terry was on the same hectic schedule as he was in the old days. However, unlike the old days, the kids were older now. I began to feel bored at home alone all day long. I needed a purpose other than taking the kids to school, going to Target, and then picking them up when the bell rang at two thirty. I decided to open my own business, a small used furniture store that offered gourmet coffee and homemade muffins. I named it the French Hen.

I leased an old three-bedroom house that had once been an antique shop. I redid the place and used some of the leftover tile and sinks that were ripped out of our house on Willadel Drive. I filled the store with all of the random antiques I had in my old house and applied for a food and beverage permit. The place was taking shape. Business was booming! The line of customers who wanted to have a cup of gourmet coffee and an oversized muffin while browsing in my little store went out the door. I had a few bistro tables on a patio, and soft music played throughout. Eventually, I installed a full kitchen and offered lunch. I was trying to bring a little twist of L.A. chic to Florida—the type of trendy places you see on Melrose and Robertson boulevards there. And, of course, the food had to be good, too! Florida’s cuisine was boring and not the healthiest. It’s tough to keep a bikini bod on fried gator and fritter tails, right? I decided to offer some healthier choices for the locals. We served croissants and chicken walnut pineapple salad, among other healthy dishes. Also, there was fresh fruit offered on the plates instead of fries. Everything was freshly baked and prepared. Most of my customers were women, and I did a great lunch business. As the business grew, I was often asked why my restaurant wasn’t open for dinner. So a few months later I decided to give it a try at night. Although we did gangbusters for lunch, dinner was not as busy and I eventually ended up closing my little business due to the financial strain. On top of that, I was emotionally drained from what was about to come.

One day when I was working at the restaurant, the manager came into my office and handed over a postcard addressed to me. Written in English, it was from a woman who lived in the Netherlands and said she was a flight attendant. It was not a friendly postcard. This woman wrote a graphic and obscene message that shocked the hell out of me! She wrote that I didn’t know her but that she knew my husband and they had been lovers. She wrote that they saw each other whenever they could and even named a date that they were together in Canada. She also wrote that she “loved his cock,” among other vulgarities and details about their sexual life. She informed me that she would see him again and there was nothing I could do about it. All this was written in plain view on the back of the postcard.

As soon as I was done reading it, my knees got weak and I crumpled to the floor. Andrea and Jenny, two of my employees, came to my side. I let them read the card. It was so shocking and hurtful after everything I had been through with Terry. I sobbed uncontrollably. It was hard for me to believe that all the time that I was working to reestablish our relationship that this kind of thing was going on behind my back. When I got home, I showed the postcard to Terry. He read it and started laughing. “You really believe this? This is some crazed fan,” he said.

Whether I believed him—or I just wanted to believe him—I felt a little better after we had spoken. For the next two years straight, I would receive a postcard a week from this woman. She would continue to tell me where she and Terry hooked up and how she couldn’t wait to see him again. She said that they were in love and there was nothing I could do about it and told me how much she disliked me. After close to a hundred postcards, I wondered why they were still coming. I told Terry that I was sick and tired of it. It was embarrassing because the manager of the restaurant handled all the mail at work and I’m sure he read every postcard. The woman talked about things in our house that were dead-on. She talked about events and dates when she met him on the road that were actually right!

Eventually, one day, I was handed a package at the restaurant. I received an audiocassette in the mail from the Cup of Crazy in the Netherlands. I reluctantly pressed Play. The woman told me—in a heavy accent—that she was tired of writing and decided to tell me how she felt. She went on to explain that she loved my husband and wanted to be alone with him. She said that he complains about me all the time to her. Then she said that she wanted to cut my face and burn down my house because she didn’t like my decorating. She didn’t like me being in the way of her relationship with Terry. She ended the tape by saying that she was nine months’ pregnant with Terry’s child! Oh my God, that was it! I didn’t believe Terry anymore. None of it.

My heart was beating hard, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was scared. This woman was clearly psychotic and needed to be stopped. I played Terry the tape and told him I was going to hire a private investigator. It was time to get to the bottom of this. I told him that if he was innocent in this situation, then he should come to the investigator with me. Terry told me that he wasn’t going to go with me to the investigator, but encouraged me to do so. It angered me that he wouldn’t come with me. What was there to hide? Tampa was a small town and Terry had known everyone there since he was young. Word travels fast, and he didn’t want to be embarrassed by anything or for rumors to start about trouble at home, especially if they were false rumors.

I found an investigator myself. I took all of the postcards and the tape to my meeting with him. He assured me that he was going to get busy on it and put an end to it. I was relieved. I paid him $2,500 on my Visa card, hoping for someone to help me.

Two weeks went by and I didn’t hear anything from him. Then, three weeks. I called the office and the investigator said that he hadn’t discovered anything yet. In the meantime, I was still receiving more postcards from the crazy bitch in the Netherlands. I told Terry the investigator hadn’t found anything out yet.

I decided to go back to the investigator’s office in person, but it was closed down. I found out that he had relocated to north Tampa. I got his new phone number and told him I was going to drive to his office to pick up the tape and postcards because I was firing him. He said that was going to be hard to do because he lost everything during the move.

I felt my jaw drop. Something was very wrong. It all spelled foul play to me. I can’t describe how devastated I felt. I couldn’t even drive. I remember stopping in the parking lot of the West Shore Mall in Tampa to try to collect myself. I pulled into a spot and started crying and shaking.

I came home and told Terry that the investigator said he lost all of the tapes and I didn’t believe him. I said, “You need to call this guy right now!”

“I’m not calling him,” Terry responded.

Terry had been so supportive and encouraging when I first wanted to hire an investigator, but now he didn’t want to help me get my stuff back? There was no continuity to his actions or intentions, and my anger knew no bounds. I just felt like I was being fed a line of bullshit. I was so confused. I didn’t know fact from fiction. I wanted to believe Terry, so I decided to play investigator myself. I made Terry sit down with me and compare the dates and cities when the woman said she saw him against the dates and cities he had listed in his book. Some of it made sense and some of it didn’t. It took me to that insane level where it was hard to look at him or to function. He kept telling me that I was making a big deal out of nothing and that anyone can get his schedule off the TV. It was impossible to look for any clues.

I was working so hard on everything in my life, and now this? I was at my wit’s end. Breaking under the stress of my relationship and the pressure of owning a business and being a mom, I decided to close the restaurant. Also, the trust that had been built between Terry and me over the years was extremely fragile. Terry needed to be on his best behavior, and I tried to be tolerant and forgiving. I wanted to be the woman behind the man, but I was questioning everything.