Leslie Dishes on the Infamous Incident Report

About a year ago, Ignacio Duarte yelled at Bonnie Blossman during the fall gala at the country club. He did not touch her, threaten her, push her, scream expletives at her, spit demands that she leave or vow to "bust up" her son. However, Bonnie grabbed her cell phone, called 911, and told the dispatcher to send the police. Someone stepped in and defused the situation. My point is this: With little provocation, Bonnie felt the right to call the police on Ignacio.

I am a woman who does not feel protected by the corpulent and craven Jason Myer, self-proclaimed "defender of women." Jason did do those aforementioned things to me and mine.

When Bonnie Blossman and I first met, we seemed kindred souls. We exchanged the kind of confidences that women share. At the time of the Ignacio incident, Bonnie blithely mentioned that her husband would kill someone who threatened her or her family. I laughed, and she said, "No, I mean it. He really would." I thought she was exaggerating, but the night her husband assaulted Tyler and me, that memory—and her certainty—nagged at me.

I instinctively felt that the assault had not satisfied Jason's bullying nature, and that Ty and I were in danger of his self-righteous rage resurfacing if Jason could maneuver one of us into a vulnerable position. I determined that I would never be alone with him and I would certainly avoid any kind of situation where Jason might be found. We were watching our backs. When Tyler saw Jason drive by our home, I decided we really ought to talk to someone.

I filed an incident report with the Dallas Police Department. An incident report is a detailed description of an incident that has transpired. The report sits fallow and does not require follow-up by authorities. It is hoped that an incident report will serve as a deterrent. I received an arrogant and dismissive note from Jason that was supposed to pass as an apology. It did not, believe me, incline me toward withdrawing the incident report.

I considered canceling our girls' getaway to New Orleans. My heart was not in it, and I thought Bonnie might be more than a little embarrassed. But I didn't want her to feel I held her responsible for her husband's behavior. The arrangements had been made, and I thought perhaps New Orleans was what we all needed. How wrong I was.

By evening of the second day in New Orleans, Bonnie knew about the incident report, and she became savage. She can muster up a self-righteous rage that matches that of her husband.

I need to point out that at the time of Jason's assault on Ty and me, Cindy was the only one of the girls still present at the engagement party, and she did try to restrain Jason.

Bonnie told the other girls, who had not been present, that one hundred witnesses and surveillance video would prove that sweet Jason had done nothing much at all. We all know how that turned out, but at the time, she was able to get away with it. She claimed I had filed a report with false information and the only possible explanation was that I was out to RUIN HER FAMILY. The girls had already been drinking heavily, and Bonnie was able to gather them behind her in an alcoholic haze of collective indignation.

Bonnie and her puppets left me and spent the next few days in philistine revelry, reeling along Bourbon Street. I spent the night alone in our haunted mansion, where the dining room chairs move by themselves. I slept very well. Demons cannot scare me; I know Bonnie Blossman. Wonderful Rip arranged for me to fly home in the morning, which I gladly did.

Bonnie says I had no reason or right to file an incident report on a man as "sweet" as Jason. I had every right to do so, and my only regret is that I did not file a full-on police report, which would have required police follow-up. Jason Myer has no concept that I went easy on him; he remains pompous and remorseless.

NOLA, baby!