The Company She Keeps

by Georgia Durante

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What went on here tonight?”

  “My husband and I were having an argument when—”

  “Must have been some argument,” the cop said.

  “—we noticed that weirdo, the superintendent, watching us through the back fence, over there.” I pointed. One of them walked into the living room to check. “Joe opened the patio door and—”

  “What’s his last name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know your husband’s last name?”

  “Oh, I thought you meant the other guy. It’s Lamendola.”

  “Isn’t he the guy who owns Caesars II?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then what happened?”

  “Joe yelled at him, called him a degenerate, among other things, and the guy went away. Obviously insulted, he got a gun and waited outside for Joe to leave. He started shooting at him, and then you guys showed up.”

  “What were you arguing about?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “We’d like to talk to your husband. When will he be back?”

  “Never, I hope.”

  “Here’s my card. Have him give me a call when you talk to him. If we don’t hear from him, we’ll drop by the club.”

  “What are you going to do with that nutcase?” I asked.

  “You won’t have to worry about him for a while. We don’t like it much when people shoot at us. But I do suggest you look for another place to live—and I wouldn’t leave a forwarding address. We may need to talk to you again, so save us some legwork and let us know where we can reach you. We’ll be in touch.”

  Their suspicious eyes swept the house one last time and they were gone. I made a few long-distance phone calls and packed my suitcase. The sun was peeking over the horizon as I turned down Lake Avenue, heading for my mother’s house.

  Toni was more confused than I was. I smiled down at her sleepy face. Peace for her was just a few more miles away. Mine was a little farther. I left Toni with my mother and boarded the first plane to Miami.

  “Georgie Girl, baby, what a surprise,” Frankie said in his usual casual manner. His tone changed as he lifted my suitcase into the trunk. “What’s wrong now, baby?” Without answering, I opened the car door and got in. “C’mon, baby, I know when something’s eating at you. This is Frankie.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?” I snapped.

  “Okay, okay, baby, that’s fine; you’ll tell me when you’re ready. But I do have to know one thing right now.”

  “What, Frankie?”

  “Is he keeping his hands off you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any guy who can push a woman around ain’t a fuckin’ man. If I’d known you was gonna end up with an asshole like him, I would’ve married you myself.”

  “Frankie, please, can we talk about something else?”

  We drove without saying a word. I turned on the radio to fill the gap in the silence.

  “You hungry?” he finally asked, turning onto Collins Avenue.

  “That’s a stupid question.”

  He smiled and ruffled my hair. “That’s my Georgie Girl. It’s good to see you, baby.”

  As we drove, I took a good look at Frankie. A few years had passed since I’d seen him, although we had secretly talked on the phone and kept up with each other’s lives. He looked good—better than I remembered. Ah, I’d never seen him with a tan before. The color of his skin somehow made his deep brown eyes more vivid.

  “So what brought you to Miami, Frankie?”

  “I got a call about three months ago to come down and take over the Dream Bar. There wasn’t much happening in Manhattan, so here I am.”

  Frankie made us a salami sandwich at the Dream Bar. We sat alone in the deserted bar, listening to Frank Sinatra on the jukebox and reminiscing about New York. Frankie didn’t discuss the present. I was grateful for that.

  “I’ve gotta set up the bar for tonight. Why don’t you throw on your suit and relax on the beach? I’ll join you when I’m done.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  I walked out the back door onto the beach. The transition from the dark atmosphere of the bar into the bright sun instantly gave me a headache. I hadn’t slept at all since the craziness of the night before, and my muscles made their vivid complaints known. I sat on the warm white sand and stared out at the ocean. The sound of the waves made my problems seem distant. Not gone by any means, just farther away. The tension began to drift from my body.

  Little children were building sand castles about twenty feet away. When was life that simple? Watching them made me miss Toni. Why hadn’t I brought her with me? Then again, attending to her needs when I was overwhelmed with my own troubles was an emotional feat. How could I ever make this up to my child?

  Feeling depressed, I sat for what seemed like hours. Frankie joined me eventually. He came up from behind, saying something funny. I wasn’t in a laughing mood.

  Defeated, he sat down facing me. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”

  Looking beyond him to the sea, I answered, “You lost me, Frankie, the day you let me go.”

  “But I always thought, no matter what, or who you were with, you’d always be there.”

  My hair blew softly around my face as I turned to him. “Well, you weren’t wrong; here I am.”

  “Yeah, but your head’s not here, baby.”

  “I know, Frankie, and I don’t know where the hell it is either.” I transferred my sight out toward the ocean again and fought to keep from crying.

  By the next morning, Joe had gotten a message to me through my girlfriend Susie that if I wasn’t home the following day he was going to burn my portfolio. To build up my pictures again would take years. Modeling was all I had left of my independence. I couldn’t work without my portfolio. I went home.

  Reluctantly, I climbed the stairs to the apartment over the club. Joe was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in, looking as though his last few days had been as bad as mine.

  “Where were you?”

  I didn’t answer. His eyes bore into mine. I looked away and shifted uncomfortably in my chair, losing my temporary belief of having the upper hand. He waited. An awkward silence ensued. He put a finger to his lips and ran it back and forth across his mouth. My heart began to pound as I sensed his simmering hostility.

  Punctuating the silence, he slammed his fist on the table. “Where were you?” he screamed, demanding an answer.

  I grimaced, but quickly regained my confidence. “Someplace wonderful, until you called,” I retorted.

  Oh, aren’t we brave. I’m proud of you, White.

  “Answer me, goddamn it!”

  Well, you got away with it so far—go for it.

  “No, you answer me. What gives you the right to question me after what you did?”

  “I’m not going to ask you again. Where were you, and who were you with?”

  “Where’s my portfolio?”

  “You little bitch,” he screamed, lunging at me.

  I dodged him and ran into the bathroom, locking the door just in time. Trapped again.

  “Open this door or I’ll fuckin’ break it down!”

  “I haven’t done anything. You did. Why are you acting crazy?”

  “I won’t hurt you, Georgia; now open this goddamn door!”

  “You promise?”

  Don’t believe him.

  “I said I wouldn’t,” he answered, trying to sound convincing.

  He’d break the door down if I didn’t open it, only making it worse. I unlocked the door and opened it cautiously.

  “Where were you?” he asked again, trying to control his temper. Arms stiffly at his sides, he clenched his fists, taking deep breaths as he paced.

  “I went to Florida.”

  “With who?”

  “Myself.”

  “Who do you know in
Florida?”

  “No one.”

  “Don’t lie to me! Who did you sleep with?” he screamed, pulling my hair.

  “I’m not lying! I’d never stoop to that level just to get back at you. Although I can’t think of anyone having more of a reason.”

  You’re pushing it now, White. Quit while you’re ahead.

  “So, you were thinking of it, weren’t you?”

  “No, I’ve got too much class for that.”

  “If I ever catch you screwing around on me, Georgia, I’ll kill you,” he yelled, pointing his index finger in my face.

  “Oh, and what’s your punishment to be? I’m just supposed to forget what happened? Sorry. I don’t have that kind of power over my mind,” I retorted, backing away, but determined to get my point across.

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “What? I can’t believe you said that! Why would it carry a death sentence for me and not for you? I don’t see where it’s so different.”

  “I’m a man.”

  “You’re a sick man.”

  “What was I supposed to do, Georgia? She took her damn clothes off. She seduced me, for Christ’s sake—”

  “She’s your cousin, Joe.”

  “She came on to me, Georgia. I was just trying to help her.”

  I laughed. “Give me some credit for once, Joe. Do you really expect me to believe that? Why didn’t you bring her here if you just wanted to talk?”

  “Honey, I’m sorry. I can’t undo it now. Whatta you want me to do? I’ll be reminded of it every time I look at my leg. You got your licks in pretty good.”

  “How many stitches?”

  “Too many to count, but Clyde’s still attached—that’s all that matters.”

  “If you want it to stay attached, you’d better think twice the next time.”

  “I love you, Georgia.”

  He pulled me toward him, but I jerked away.

  “Don’t. I can’t get that picture out of my head. I just can’t.”

  His frustration was building. I didn’t want to get him angry again. He was calm now; we were talking. Expressing my feelings was an uncommon occurrence.

  “Where’s my portfolio, Joe?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “It’s in the bedroom. I didn’t do anything to it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How long is it going to take, Georgia?”

  “How long is what going to take?”

  “How long is it going to take before you’re over this?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. Knowing you’ve cheated is one thing, but seeing it with my own eyes is quite another. I don’t think I could ever sleep with you again without seeing that picture in my mind. I just don’t know.”

  “I understand. I’ll give you time. Why don’t you pick up Toni and I’ll take you out to dinner?”

  He wasn’t getting it.

  Joe followed me into the bedroom as I casually tried to collect some belongings.

  “Joe, I think I want to stay at my mother’s for a while. You really didn’t give me much time to think this through. I’m too angry to stay here right now. I need time.”

  “A week, Georgia, you got a week.”

  “I’d better go,” I said as I walked out of the bedroom with a few articles of clothing and my portfolio.

  “Where you going with that?”

  “I might need it.”

  “Leave it.”

  “What if I need it?”

  He reached out and took the portfolio. “You won’t. I’ll call you later. And Georgia—be there.”

  I suppressed my own anger countless times in order to avoid his. All throughout our turbulent marriage, Joe danced with his demons. Whenever I wasn’t silently hating and resenting him, I was feeling sorry for him. He was truly a tormented soul. As twisted as our relationship was, he had a strong hold on my heart. Somewhere in the depths of his darkness, there was a man that I loved.

  Nurturing by nature (a gift from my mother), I sometimes felt I was the single thin thread that held his fragile life together. He needed me. What would become of him if I were no longer around to supervise his happiness? This responsibility weighed heavily on my heart. It would prove to be my downfall with Joe.

  In future years, this caring quality, among others I possessed, would meet an untimely end. As a result, other deserving men who passed through my life had no possible access to my heart. Georgia Black stood guard.

  I left the apartment knowing I would not be returning. But I couldn’t break it to him face-to-face. One couldn’t talk to Joe like an ordinary person. He had already given me gonorrhea and actually had me half believing I’d gotten it from a toilet seat. No, I could never forget the sight in my bed that night. Even if I could forgive, I would never forget.

  There had been good times in the beginning, but the laughter isn’t what I remember. We had such an intense love, but somehow it all changed. Fear kept me there, but it also pushed me away.

  Gathering the courage, I finally called Joe and told him I wasn’t coming back. I knew what would follow. Not a day went by that he didn’t call. He cried and begged. I held firm. When the pleading didn’t work, he resorted to threats. Forced to stay one step ahead of him, I moved around, staying with different friends, hiding, hoping time would solve the problem.

  After a while I ventured out. I went to Greenstreets, a bar that was highly competitive with Caesars II. The owner, Tony Sapienza, was a friend of mine. I had worked for him and his brother, Sammy, part-time in their hot-dog stand when I was fourteen. Tony had come a long way from those days at Willow Point Amusement Park. He developed into one of the city’s most prominent restaurateurs. Wherever he opened, the crowd would follow. Greenstreets was the current addition to the nightclub scene in Rochester.

  Having been imprisoned for quite some time, I was enjoying myself for a change. I was sitting at the bar talking to some of my modeling friends when Tony approached me.

  “Georgia,” Tony said nervously, “Joe just walked in. He’s asking people if they’ve seen you.”

  “Oh, shit, Tony. I never expected him to leave Caesars on a Friday night. Does he look mad?”

  “He doesn’t look happy. Here’s the key to my office. Go downstairs and wait there until I come for you.”

  “He’s probably seen my car, Tony.”

  “Just go. Now!”

  I hurried down the spiral stairs and through the downstairs lounge. In a panic, I bumped into Sammy G as I rushed toward the office.

  “Hey, kid, where you goin’ in such a hurry? Join us for a drink.”

  “I can’t, Sam. Joe’s looking for me. I have to hide. He’ll kill me if he finds me here.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he said, taking my arm and leading me to his table. “Sit down,” he demanded. He signaled the waitress and ordered me a double Scotch and water.

  “Please, Sammy, I don’t want a scene,” I pleaded, as I reluctantly slid into the booth and tried to become invisible.

  Seated at a table with six of the most notorious gangsters in the Rochester syndicate, I was uncomfortable, but couldn’t have been safer. Something sinister was brewing. Judging by their frowns and focused stares, they certainly weren’t in the mood for Joe Lamendola using physical or verbal force on a 114-pound woman.

  “How ya doin’, Georgia? Haven’t seen much of you these days,” said Donny Paone, reaching across the table to light my cigarette.

  My hand shook as I took my first drag, hoping it would help to calm me. “I’ve been okay, Donny,” I answered, nervously searching the crowd for signs of Joe.

  The waitress arrived with my drink and I immediately gulped it as if it were water. I hated scenes, and this one in particular would not be one I wanted to live through. Joe spotted me and started over. My forehead creased with worry.

  Please, Joe, keep your cool.

  Rene Piccarreto’s deceivingly kind eyes were half closed as he blew out a puff of smoke, “Thi
s ain’t gonna fly, Sammy,” he said, tapping his lighter on the table.

  Oh, God, why did Sammy make me sit here?

  They watched Joe in agitated silence as he approached the table. Tony Sapienza paced nervously in the background. Joe was cool. He had to be. He wasn’t stupid. He looked directly at me, avoiding the explosive personalities that cloaked me like a second skin.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asked like a perfect gentleman.

  “Sure, you can talk to her. What is it you’d like to say?” Sammy asked with fire in his eyes.

  “I’d like to talk to my wife, Sammy—alone,” Joe retorted, breathing deeply, trying to keep his fragile temper under control.

  He’s gonna lose it. Oh, God, Joe . . . please, just go away.

  “You got anything you want to talk to him about, Georgia?” Sammy asked.

  Their focus was all on me now. I looked at all the faces before raising my eyes to meet Joe’s. “No,” I answered, lowering my head and staring into my half-filled glass of Scotch.

  “Well, there you have it. Guess she doesn’t want to talk to you, Joe,” Sammy interjected.

  I was cringing in my seat. Please don’t let this escalate, for Joe’s sake, please. He was hurting, but I knew how it would end if I left with him.

  “I’ll call you later, Joe,” I said to give him an out, and hopefully to defuse the tempers beginning to flare.

  Ignoring the men, Joe shot me a penetrating look, turned, and walked out of the bar. I took a deep breath, gulped the rest of my drink, and silently thanked God.

  “Fuckin’ asshole,” Rene Piccarreto said under his breath.

  “What do you see in that guy, Georgia?” Donny Paone asked while twisting a napkin.

  Adrenaline flowed like wine at the table. Their combined negative energies shot through my body like a series of lightning bolts. The intensity bore down on my shoulders. Joe was a renegade; he didn’t always follow the rules. These guys didn’t need much of an excuse to take him out, but I didn’t want to be the reason.

  “Leave the kid alone; she’ll work it out in her own time,” Sammy G said.

  I stayed and had a few more drinks. I’d won the battle, but the war was long from over. I wasn’t anxious to leave; Joe could be out there somewhere waiting for me. This could even be worse for me than if I had called the police. I knew the pride Joe took in his manhood—his ego had to be shattered. I wasn’t going to get off easily.