The Company She Keeps

by Georgia Durante

  If Academy Awards were given for driving performances, I would have won hands down that day. I drove at high speeds through traffic, up and over sidewalks, and between cars where a bicycle couldn’t squeeze through—or it least it seemed that way. It played in my mind like watching a video in fast-forward. My only thought was to create distance between us and those cops or someone was going to get killed. Squealing around corners at dangerous speeds, we lost sight of the flashing red lights on 1st Avenue. Hanging a quick right on 76th Street, I sped down to East End Avenue and ducked into an alley near the park until it was clear to pull out.

  Only then did I have time to think about what had just happened. I was getting in way over my head. This was a serious game, one I didn’t think I wanted to play anymore.

  Later that evening we met some other men in the back room of a dark and dingy after-hours club. I still hadn’t stopped shaking from the robbery I had participated in earlier, but they were all exuberant. They lifted their glasses, toasted me for escaping the law, and presented me with an envelope stuffed with one-hundred-dollar bills for a job well-done. I accepted the three thousand dollars and the praise, but not without guilt.

  Of course, greed always plays a part in corruption, but for me it was the adrenaline rush. Hooked on that high, I spent the rest of my life in pursuit of it. The exhilarating feeling of defying death. Why? I have no idea. But as far back as I can remember I’ve been seduced by danger and the mystery of the unknown.

  That I would see Frankie again was inevitable. All I had to do was walk into Bino’s Tavern on the corner of 2nd Avenue and 30th Street. The spicy-sweet aroma of sauce cooking filled my nostrils from a block away.

  Bino’s mom was in her usual place—the kitchen. She was a short old woman with a concerned, round face. Wearing a flowered print dress, her body showed evidence that she thoroughly enjoyed her own cooking. Dining at Bino’s took me instantly to my own mother’s kitchen, to the warmth always surrounding her. The richness of that world. The safety.

  The guys were all sitting on the same bar stools where I had left them a long year ago. All except Frankie. We’d spoken off and on, but I hadn’t seen him since I’d gotten married.

  “Hey, Ma, look who’s here, Georgie Girl! Cook up her favorite macaroni. Make enough for all the boys. We’re gonna have a celebration!” Bino yelled gaily, as he began pushing tables together.

  Bino was pure Italian, but he looked more Scandinavian. Light hair and complexion are not so uncommon in natives of nothern Italy. He stood six-one, and had kind blue eyes and light brown hair. He could be counted on as a friend, but he wasn’t one to be crossed. Underneath his unassuming looks and tranquil demeanor he was a tough guy who’d learned how to survive, just as most of his friends in the neighborhood had.

  Rosa came out of the kitchen with a wide grin on her face and her gray hair pulled back in a loose bun, wiping her hands on her soiled apron as she approached.

  “It’s-a no’ the same without you, bella,” she said, kissing my cheeks. “You got a bambina now, no?”

  “Yes, Rosa, I named her Toni. She’s beautiful,” I answered.

  “Like-a her mama. Toni . . . that’s a good Italian name. Sit, I go cook for you. You look-a too skinny.”

  She turned and hurried her plump body toward the kitchen, hitting Bino on the head with the spatula as she passed. “Bring-a the olives and the bread!”

  “Okay, Ma, I’m coming, I’m coming.” Bino affectionately rolled his eyes and followed his mother into the kitchen.

  “Does Frankie know you’re here, Georgie Girl?” Flip asked.

  Flip. What a perfect name. I towered over him, and I wasn’t what you’d call tall. He was an exact replica of Leo Gorcey from the old TV movies of the “Dead End Kids.” All he needed was a cap turned sideways on his head to finish off the look.

  “No, Flip, I thought I’d surprise him.”

  “He should be walking in any minute,” he said, glancing out the fogged-up window.

  “How is he, Flip?”

  “He’s fine. You know Frankie. . . . To be honest with you, Georgie Girl, he’s been a bear since you left.”

  Frankie waltzed in the door before I had a chance to ask Flip what he meant. His eyes lit up when he saw me. Mine did too.

  “Georgie Girl? What a surprise, baby! What are you doing in the city?” he said, unzipping his worn leather jacket.

  “I’m here for a modeling job.”

  “How long ya here for?”

  “I’m leaving tonight.”

  “Tonight? You gotta be kiddin’. You just got here.”

  “I know, but I—”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer, baby. Y’can leave tomorrow. We’re going to the Play Lounge tonight. Our favorite band is still playing. We’ll get Flip on the stage to sing us a few songs. It’ll be just like old times.”

  The food was served family-style. Rosa came out of the kitchen, eyeing everyone’s plates.

  “Mangia, mangia,” Rosa said, encouraging us all to eat. “How you let dis-a one go, Frankie? What’s-a matter wit’ you, huh?” Rosa scolded, slapping Frankie on the back of the head.

  “The question, Rosa, is how do you keep one like this?” Frankie answered, shielding his head in anticipation of the next blow.

  “You a man, no? You no tink of someting? Ah, you stonato!” she said, waving her arms as she waddled back into the kitchen.

  Time had stood still here. The whole gang was at the Play Lounge: Billy, Chippy, Flip, Tommy Red, and Vic, of course, who still owned the place. We drank and danced the Lindy until four o’clock in the morning. I had not laughed like this since I’d left New York the year before. It seemed to me that I could step in and out of time, picking up in each world exactly where I had left off.

  Soon I’d come to realize from my own endeavors why secrecy had to be a priority in the underworld. I’d keep the same kinds of secrets from Frankie that he had once kept from me. It would all make perfect sense.

  I flew back to Rochester the following day, only to become even more frustrated with my life. Tired of living a lie, I told Tom about my previous affair with Frankie.

  “Tom, when I was living in New York . . . I had an affair,” I blurted out, hoping to bring an end to a marriage that had no hope of making it.

  “I know, Georgia. Do you really think I’m that stupid?” he said passively.

  “If you knew, why didn’t you ever say anything?” I asked, amazed that he could hold that in.

  “Because I was afraid of losing you,” he answered, looking pained. “Did you see Frankie in New York this week?”

  “How do you know his name?” I asked, stunned.

  “I found a letter he wrote you. You’re not too good at covering your tracks. So, did you see him?” he asked, still calm.

  “Yes,” I answered, feeling guilty.

  “At least you’re honest.” He paused to study my face. “I followed you from your hotel . . . and I also know you came back alone. So does this mean it’s over?”

  “You were in New York?” I asked, wondering if he’d seen where I went when I’d landed. But then I realized he couldn’t have, since he had dropped me off at the airport.

  “Georgia, I love you very much. I’m willing to forget this and try to make our marriage work. Will you please try . . . for Toni’s sake?”

  Again I voiced the reasons for my discontent, and again he made concessions. I knew our marriage would ultimately end, but I felt so bad for him that I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him any more that night than I already had. Putting his happiness before my own, we continued to live the lie. Although Tom had never met him, Frankie would always be an irritant in his subconscious.

  Life with Tom was mere existing. Even if Frankie had never come into the picture, it never would have worked. I couldn’t stand staying home all the time, so I started doing things with my girlfriend Susie and my sister, Sharon, on the weekends, leaving Tom contentedly sitting in front of the TV with Toni a
nd his popcorn. Fortunately, Toni was a good baby. She quietly amused herself without interrupting Tom’s television programs, although he was an attentive father. Tom was really a good person and I loved him in my own way, but I wasn’t in love with him. My friends and I went bowling or played cards—anything to break the monotony—but that got old too.

  I had paid Tom’s tuition to the Rochester Institute of Technology. RIT is considered one of the best schools in the country for photography. He lasted for six months before he quit, an occurrence that validated my dismal outlook for our future. Tom didn’t have much going for him in the ambition department. The only time we ever went out was to visit his family, all of whom I liked very much, especially his brother, Babe, and Babe’s wife, Billie. But I needed a little more excitement than I was getting. I was bored to tears. On the other hand, Tom was disgustingly content.

  My daughter wasn’t even a year old when I concluded I couldn’t live this way. The humdrum pace made me crazy. Life had to hold more than this. Stifled, I wanted to learn more, to expand my horizons. I was a curious cat with a mate who didn’t want to explore. I was adventurous, with a ferocious appetite for whatever was on the other side, just out of my reach. But Tom would never change. He was happy just the way he was. I had to get out. Breaking his heart wasn’t something I looked forward to.

  Having a silent moment to myself while Toni slept, I poured a cup of coffee and sat at my kitchen table. Watching the sparrows flying around outside my window made me yearn to be as free as they were. The shrill sound of the phone ringing interrupted the escape options swirling around in my head.

  “Georgia? This is Don Maggio, your favorite photographer.”

  “Hi, Don, thanks for announcing yourself. I tell them all they’re my favorite, you know. What’s up?” I asked, laughing.

  “We finally got approval to go ahead with that job in Puerto Rico.”

  “No kidding. I thought that was pretty much dead.”

  “No, it looks like Kodak got American Airlines, Sam sonite luggage, and the Puerto Rican government to all go in on the deal. It’ll be a longer schedule, but I think we can handle a few more days of sunshine, don’t you?”

  “Sounds great,” I said. “When do we leave?”

  “On the tenth, two weeks from now. Are you clear?”

  “I’ve got some catalog work booked for that week, but I’m sure they’ll let Susie replace me.”

  “Wait’ll you hear this,” Don said. “Jim Alquist is trying to get out of his other bookings, but it looks like he’s pretty locked in. What do you think about using your husband as the male model?”

  Tom was perfect model material. If you can call a man beautiful, he was. His facial features were delicate for a man. Though he was of Sicilian descent, his heritage wasn’t obvious.

  I hesitated. “Well . . . it would put a damper on the reason I want the job.”

  “What do you mean? Aren’t you two getting along?”

  “Well, we’re not fighting or anything, but I’ve been thinking about telling him I want a divorce, and I could use some space right now to think this over.”

  “Jesus, after all I went through to pull this off! Do you think you could hold off telling him until the job is over?” I sensed his blood pressure rising. “You’re supposed to be a honeymoon couple on vacation in Puerto Rico. I sold the client on the money we could save on the room, and how real the photographs would look because you’re really married. They flipped over the idea. Do you think you could—”

  “Don, I get paid to pretend. I do a pretty good job of it in real life too. Don’t worry; your shoot will come out just fine. They’ll never know. Have I ever let you down before?”

  “No . . .” he said, taking a deep breath.

  Putting down the receiver, I sighed. But then, this was exactly the vehicle I needed to send Tom out into the world on his own. He wasn’t working and depended on my income. My persistence in hounding him to better himself caused him to quit Kodak, and he hadn’t been able to hold on to a job since then. The money from this assignment would give him a nice cushion with which to embark on a new life for himself.

  The first night in Puerto Rico the governor threw a party on his yacht in our honor. The guests made a big fuss over the loving couple who would soon grace their brochures. I put on my professional mask and fooled them all. Little did I know, this was a mask I would wear for years to come. I could have won an Oscar for my performance that evening and throughout the shoot.

  Our final sunset had finally come. A week of conjuring up heartfelt, loving looks was wearing on me. Tom had no idea that it was just pretend. In a romantic setting, we posed on a steep cliff under a picturesque tree. The orange glow of the sun sank slowly in the background into the angry sea below. My long chiffon dress blew softly in the evening breeze in silhouette as Tom and I exchanged tender expressions of love.

  “You’re doing great, guys,” Don yelled out, feverishly clicking his Nikon.

  “I love you, Georgia,” Tom said with genuine sincerity as we gracefully posed for the camera.

  I continued to reflect the illusory mood.

  “Okay, we’ve lost the light. I think we’ve got it, kids. It’s a wrap, everyone,” Don announced.

  I stood on the edge of the cliff, deep in thought, watching the sun’s final radiance before it disappeared into the ocean. I yearned to be as free as the wind that gently blew my long blond hair against my face. Turning back to Tom, I engaged him with my eyes and revealed my agonizing thoughts.

  “Tom, I want a divorce.”

  Chapter Five

  It took a while for my eyes to become accustomed to the darkness as I walked into Caesars II, the latest happening place on the west side. Low ceilings covered in red burlap disguised the musty smell of what had formerly been a cellar. Rooms partitioned by hanging beads left over from the sixties lent a cozy feeling to the vast, soulless space. Spotting Sammy G and Joey Tiraborelli sitting at the front table near the band, I walked over to join them.

  “Hey, kid, how ya doin’?” Sammy asked as he stood and kissed each of my cheeks. The two women sitting with them didn’t seem as pleased to see me.

  “Whatta ya drinkin’?”

  “I’ll have a Scotch, Sammy. In fact, make it a double.”

  “Bea!” he yelled to the waitress as Jimmy Cristo came through the door. “Bring us another round and a double Chivas for the lady. And take care of Jimmy’s table. Line up another shot for our proprietor, too, while you’re at it.”

  “Sure thing, Sam,” she said as she whisked away, fighting her way through the crowd.

  The band took a break, making it possible to hear.

  “A double, huh? What’s going on with you, kid?”

  “I left Tom, Sammy. He’s not taking it very well.”

  “Yeah, well, I knew that would happen sooner or later. You’re goin’ places, kid. I knew that the day I laid eyes on you. What were you then, thirteen, fourteen years old? I’ve watched you blossom into a beauty. You deserve better anyway.”

  A man appeared from behind, pulling the back of a chair up to the table and straddling it. I continued my conversation with Sammy, sensing the man hanging on my every word. Finally, I turned and looked at him for the first time.

  Seated with a straight back, he appeared a little over six feet, weighing approximately 165 pounds. Mystery peered out from his unwavering dark brown eyes. He didn’t smile; nor did he introduce himself. He just stared at me with a truly piercing look.

  “I’m going to marry you,” said the stranger.

  I laughed at him. “Get serious,” I said, looking over at Sammy, my eyes asking, Who is this jerk? With a crooked half smile, Sammy shook his head in disbelief.

  “I am. You’ll see,” the man said with unfettered confidence.

  Well, if I hadn’t heard it all. A little egotistical for my taste, although he was unusually handsome, with olive skin, a sharply etched jawline, and a perfectly straight nose. Arrogant, to say the le
ast, but he had an enticing allure. A curl from his thick, jet-black hair fell softly onto his forehead as he lifted his glass in Sammy’s direction.

  “Thanks for the drink, Sam.”

  “Salud,” said Sammy, raising his glass and taking a swig.

  “Well, is anyone going to introduce me to this gorgeous girl?”

  No one looked too eager to make the first move. Finally, Joey Tiraborelli spoke up. “Joe, this is Georgia Durante. You’ve probably seen her on TV and in the newspapers,” he announced proudly.

  In an attempt at regaining some attention, the sexy-looking redhead seated at the table cleared her throat as she crossed her legs, exhibiting a suggestive amount of creamy thigh.

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “Weren’t you on the cover of Upstate magazine last Sunday?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “That was a great article.”

  “Thank you,” I responded, allowing myself a small smile.

  “Georgia, this is Joe Lamendola, the owner of this joint. He’s turned it into one hell of a gold mine.”

  “I can see that,” I said, looking around at the people pouring in. “This is my first time here.” I hadn’t been out in the club scene much since I’d been married.

  “I know,” Joe said. “You never could’ve gotten by without me noticing you before.”

  I ignored the compliment, convinced it was a line he’d rehearsed many times before. “I like your choice of bands.”

  As he began to respond, someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Joe, I think we have a problem in the back room.”

  He excused himself and disappeared into the crowd. Joey Tiraborelli watched me as my eyes followed him until he was out of my view. Something about him intrigued me.

  “Hey, Sammy,” Joey Tiraborelli yelled above the music. “Looks like our little Alice in Wonderland has eyes for Casanova.”

  “Beauty and the Beast is more like it,” Sammy said under his breath.