The Company She Keeps

by Georgia Durante

  I rose to leave. “I think I’d better be going. Thanks for the drinks.”

  “I’m gonna call it a night, too,” Sammy said. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Sammy inconspicuously scanned the surrounding area as we walked toward the parking lot. “He’s across the street, parked near the bank. I’ll follow you home,” he said, trying not to alarm me.

  “Thanks, Sammy.”

  I wasn’t home long before my phone rang. I snatched it up on the first ring, hoping my parents weren’t awakened by the noise.

  “You’re pretty brave with your friends around, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t plan for that to happen.”

  “Making me look like a jerk, huh? What’d I tell you I would do if I found you out?”

  “Joe, I’m not coming back. You can’t dictate my life forever,” I answered bravely.

  Infuriated, he screamed, “You’re still my fucking wife! You’re not gonna make me look like a fool! You—”

  “Joe, I’m not doing anything wrong. I just wanted to get out and see my friends. There’s nothing I’m doing that makes you look like a fool,” I said, trying to calm him.

  “What the fuck do you think you just did? You just remember one thing, you no-good whore: Your friends can’t always be around when you need them. Just keep that thought in mind, little girl.” With a bitter, mocking laugh, he hung up on me.

  My informants told me Joe was planning to take a date to the racetrack on Sunday. I wasn’t as interested in this information as in knowing he would be gone from the apartment long enough for me to get my portfolio and my clothes out.

  I heard the door open as I reached the top of the stairs with another armful of clothes. Oh, my God! There was only one exit—and he was blocking it. I froze. My fast-beating heart pounded loudly in my ears.

  He raced up the stairs. “When are you gonna stop being such a fuckin’ liar?” he screamed, jerking the clothes from my arms and throwing them down the narrow stairway. “When?” he shouted. He clutched my face with both his hands and pushed me to the floor.

  “I didn’t lie. I didn’t lie!” I cried, covering my head.

  “You said you’d be back in a week, and I believed you. I let you go because I believed you. You lied to me again, you fuckin’ whore!”

  “I never said that. You told me to be back in a week. I never said I would. I didn’t lie!”

  He kicked me in my side, knocking the wind out of me, and dragged me into the bedroom. Frantically, I struggled to breathe.

  “I’ll show you!” he screamed, kicking me again.

  I still hadn’t recovered from the last blow. I lay helplessly doubled up on the floor. Wide-eyed, I watched him take the gun from the drawer. He grabbed me by my hair and knocked my head against the dresser.

  “Where are your friends now, dear?” was the last thing I heard.

  I don’t know how long I was out, but upon waking I was wet; my hair was wet. Had he shot me? No—just the water he threw on me to bring me back, only to torture me some more. He was taking the bullets out of the gun now.

  Maybe he’s coming to his senses.

  “You didn’t answer me. . . . I said, where are your friends now?”

  He placed one bullet back in the chamber and gave it a whirl. He then placed the gun at my temple.

  “What are you doing?” I cried.

  “I’m gonna find out once and for all how badly you really want to leave,” he snarled.

  “Please, Joe . . . don’t.”

  He brought his face within inches of mine. All I could see were his eyes. I watched in horror as demonic possession took place. In a voice that I didn’t recognize, he spewed, “Are you sure you want to leave?”

  Paralyzed with fear, I couldn’t talk. He pulled the trigger. Click. My life passed before my eyes. I saw my daughter, my parents, Babe and Billie.

  I’m going to die.

  “Do you remember now what I said I’d do if you ever left me? Well, the time has come.” He was crying, too.

  “I won’t leave! I’ll stay! Please don’t kill me. What about Toni? Oh, my God . . .”

  He considered this for a moment, then dismissed it. “You’re lying again. I don’t believe you.” He pulled the trigger again. Click.

  You know what to say, White. You’ve been here before.

  “I love you, Joe. I was just hurt. I had to punish you for hurting me. I was going to come back after you learned a lesson. I love you too much to stay away from you forever. You know that!”

  He hesitated. Relief surged across his face, and then slowly he removed the gun from my head. Pulling me to my feet, he gently picked me up and lowered me onto the bed.

  “You do love me, don’t you?” he asked, wanting to believe.

  “If I didn’t love you, why would I be so angry over what you did?”

  The demon evaporated. “Yeah, I guess you do love me, but you’ve got to forget about that now. It won’t happen again; I promise you that. I can’t live without you, Georgia. Promise you’ll never leave me . . . promise.”

  “I promise.”

  The violent Joe was nowhere to be found as he tenderly undressed me and made love to me. Grateful for my life, I cried silent tears and pretended to enjoy it. It was all too painful to cope with, so I did what had become a common practice—I plunged into nothingness.

  During this time, I had no idea that I was a classic example of a battered woman. We were all in the Stone Age then. There were no safe houses. To see a therapist was to admit that something was wrong with you. The church turned its back on women. Police were notorious for siding with the man, leaving a frightened woman with no safe place to turn. There were no books to educate you on the subject, or at least none of which I was aware. I didn’t even know a name existed for what I was experiencing.

  Shame and embarrassment kept me from reaching out. Society pointed the finger at women and blamed them for men’s behavior. This served only to immobilize me even more. I was psychologically paralyzed—virtually left on my own to wade through the confusion in my adolescent mind. And the vicious cycle continued.

  In the months that followed, Joe was exceedingly nice. Of course, I didn’t know this was typical batterer behavior after an extremely abusive act. It is called the “honeymoon cycle,” a time of flowers and remorse in an attempt to restore the woman’s positive feeling for her attacker. It worked.

  Joe went out of his way to do romantic things. He took me out more often, and kept his temper under control. His actions showed his remorse. Soon the incident faded from my mind, replaced by all the reasons I had fallen in love. We could be so good together. I wished he could be consistent, but I subconsciously knew the demons would eventually overpower him. The pattern was becoming evident, but I was still in denial. I felt as if there were no way out, and I resigned myself to my fate. Maybe Joe would change this time.

  During the peace before the next storm, Joe laughed a lot more. Laughing was rare for him. The only time he laughed heartly was when someone made a fool of themselves, or did something stupid like falling and getting hurt. In any event, the fact that we laughed more often was a refreshing change.

  Winter turned into spring, and we planned a trip to the Adirondack Mountains with four other couples. The cast of characters was a strange combination: the typical gangster types, sprinkled with a couple of detectives, one of them being Sal Ruvio. I’d always liked Sal’s company. His warm personality and soothing nature made me feel safe. The peculiar mix promised a colorful trip.

  It was the off-season in the mountains. The nearby reservation Indians being restless, we were warned not to go. Right. A few bloodthirsty Indians couldn’t deter this mighty crew.

  Together in a large, rustic cabin with the lake outside our door, we barbecued our dinners and laughed nonstop. Everyone had a story to tell, the cops describing their exploits and the others sharing their crime adventures. To see these guys outside their normal environment was more than comic
al. No signs of macho men were present. They were sillier than a bunch of kids.

  The old Joe was back; he was loving and attentive. We took a long hike in the woods, away from the others. He stopped, took my hand in his, and leaned against the thick trunk of a maple tree. Its newly sprouted green leaves shadowed his face as he spoke. “I don’t know why I’m such a jerk sometimes,” he said softly.

  “I don’t know why either, Joe. It could be so good with us—if you’d just control your temper. Every time you act violently, you push me farther away from you.”

  “There’s gotta be something wrong with me. Every guy here thinks I’m the luckiest son of a bitch alive. I don’t know why I treat you the way I do. I don’t want to lose you, honey. When I think I might, I don’t know, something snaps. I want to kick myself in the ass afterward, but when you get me so goddamn hot, I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Maybe you should get some help,” I replied cautiously.

  “I’m not gonna tell some fuckin’ quack my life story. Whatta you, fuckin’ nuts?”

  “Well, I just thought—”

  “Honey, don’t think.”

  We were silent as we continued to hike. The air was still and the mood was serene as we walked quietly, listening to the sounds of the dried brush crunching beneath our feet. Joe took my hand and helped me up an incline and we continued, both in our private thoughts.

  “Yep, I’ve decided,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “Decided what?”

  “We’ll go out to dinner at least twice a week, like we used to. We’ve gotta get the romance back. But I get to pick the restaurants.”

  “Screw you, you selfish creep.”

  “All right, we’ll take turns.”

  “That’s better.”

  He slowed his pace and turned to me. With soft, loving eyes, he looked deeply into mine. “Georgia, I love you very much. Please forgive me for being such a fool. I really don’t want to hurt you, honey.”

  “Why don’t we use a code word?” I suggested. “When I see you starting to lose it, I’ll say the word, and you’ll know to stop, okay?”

  “Okay. What’s the code word?”

  “Help.”

  “That’s easy to remember. I just hope I don’t get it confused.”

  Suddenly he became mischievous. “Hey, there’s a sandy beach over there. . . . You wanna make love?” he asked, taking my hand and leading me through the trees.

  Night had fallen. While we sat on the water’s edge looking at the moon’s reflection on the still, dark water, I silently wished we had more times like this. So loving and peaceful. We walked past the smoldering fire, across the cool sand toward the cabin. Our porch light, the only light for miles, guided us home.

  Maybe there was hope.

  In the summer of 1974, Joe decided we should move to Las Vegas on a temporary basis. He had sold Caesars II to Jimmy Massaro’s brother, and the money was burning a hole in his pocket.

  Well, why not? It’s only for a few months. A change might be good for us both. Toni wasn’t in school, and it would give my Nevada relatives a chance to know her. Eight months had passed since Jimmy Massaro’s murder. The city had been quiet, but things were simmering since Bill Mahoney had taken over as the new chief of detectives. Maybe the timing was right.

  Las Vegas turned out to be another prison. Not having my mother to run to when Joe lost control was a frightening experience. Away from my roots, I was suddenly alone with Joe in unfamiliar territory. I attained an agent, but there really wasn’t any substantial work. With neither of us employed, we spent considerable time together in our small apartment. Like caged animals, we had vicious fights. It was the same old pattern and my hope was gone. I got some relief by visiting my relatives, but Joe put time limits on my visits. He wanted me around to cook and wait on him—and do whatever else he desired.

  My cousin Mickey instantly recognized my situation. He was a burly guy with a deep, booming voice, contrary to his teddy-bear personality.

  “Leave him, Georgia,” Mickey urged. “We’ll help you.”

  “I can’t involve you, Mick.”

  “I’m not afraid of that asshole. When he leaves for the casino, I’ll come over and help you get your clothes out. Just leave him a note and tell him you went to Los Angeles.” Adjusting his glasses, he waited for my reply. “We’ll put your car in my garage. After he realizes you’ve gone for good, he’ll probably go back to New York.”

  “I don’t know, Mick. I’m scared. He’ll just find me, and it’ll only be worse.”

  “What time does he leave for the casino?” he pushed, dismissing my fear.

  “It’s always different; he’s not punching a clock.”

  “This is bullshit. I’m not taking no for an answer this time. I can’t believe you live like this. I’m off tomorrow. I’ll stay home and wait for your call. How long does he usually stay out?”

  “Two, three hours. Depends if he’s winning or losing,” I answered, feeling pressured.

  “Is that enough time to get your things out?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Just call me the minute he leaves,” he insisted, giving me a big bear hug. “What’s family for?”

  “Mickey, if I leave, I can’t go back to Rochester. He’ll find me and kill me for doing this.”

  “You can stay with us for as long as you need to.”

  The liquid surface in the glass pot trembled as I poured Joe’s morning coffee. He noticed.

  “Okay, what’s the problem, Georgia?” he asked, raising a suspicious eye from the pot.

  “There’s no problem,” I answered, trying to sound staid.

  “You’re awfully jumpy this morning. Don’t tell me there’s no problem. I know you better. I can read you like a book.” His eyes searched my face. “You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?” he asked suspiciously.

  How does he always know what I’m thinking?

  “If you are—don’t!”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not thinking of anything,” I answered, failing miserably in my conviction.

  “You know what I’m talking about. It’s not like we haven’t been through this before.” He got up from the table.

  “I, um, need to get some groceries. Could you leave me some money?”

  “I’ll stop at the store on my way home. Whatta we need?”

  Damn! He must have some money stashed in here somewhere.

  He stopped at the door, as if just remembering something. He went into the bedroom and came back out again.

  “How would you like to go out to dinner tonight?” he asked.

  “That’d be nice. I’ll see if one of my cousins can babysit.”

  “I love you, Georgia,” he said, giving me a heartfelt kiss.

  “I love you too, Joe,” I responded, and he walked out the door.

  I can’t do this. I’ll wait till he hits me again. Then I’ll have a better excuse. He won’t be so angry when he catches up with me.

  There isn’t a right time, White. Just put your fear aside and go for it! You’re gonna have to do it someday, ya know. You may as well face it sooner, rather than later.

  The phone rang and I hesitated, but the ringing persisted until I finally picked it up.

  “Did he leave yet?”

  “He just walked out.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “Mick—”

  He hung up. I was committed now. I gathered a handful of clothes and quickly took them down to the car. My keys were gone!

  “Toni, did you see Mommy’s keys?” I asked, distracting her from her favorite cartoon.

  “No, Mommy,” she answered, unconcerned.

  That’s why he went in the bedroom! He took my keys, but I had another set hidden. Mickey showed up ten minutes later and we were gone within half an hour.

  At four o’clock that afternoon, Mickey’s phone rang.

  “No, she’s not here. I talked to her yesterday an
d she said something about a modeling job in Los Angeles. Sure, I’ll let you know if I hear from her.”

  Mickey hung up with a satisfied smirk.

  Two weeks passed. I caught sight of Joe, driving by the house a few times late at night. I was beginning to feel trapped.

  “Mickey, I don’t have any money. I need to get a job. I can’t expect you and Gloria to keep feeding us,” I announced.

  “I don’t know. Do you think it’s wise at this point?” he asked.

  “I’m getting a little stir-crazy. I think it’ll be okay,” I answered as I glanced through the French doors and watched the kids splashing each other in the pool.

  Mickey sat in his brightly lit kitchen, squeezing his lower lip as he contemplated my need. “I know the Cashman brothers who own the camera concession at the Sahara. One of them owes me a favor. I’m sure I can get you in there as a camera girl. Maybe I can even get you into the showroom. You won’t be as visible there.”

  Three days later I was confined to the showroom at the Sahara Hotel. I actually liked the job. Just being around people, regaining my independence, and loving the ambience of my freedom felt good. A month went by. The heaviness which I usually carried was gone. I had opportunities to date, but survival was my only concern. I did my job and just went home.

  After a few weeks at the Sahara, I finished work at two a.m. as usual and walked out to the deserted employee parking area. Putting my key in the door lock, I felt fingers sink deep into my shoulders.

  Into my ear he whispered, “Did you really think you could get away from me?”

  Like a captured bird, my heart started beating so rapidly I thought it would burst.

  “Get in,” he ordered, jerking the door open and shoving me into the driver’s seat.

  I climbed over the seat to the passenger’s side. My mind raced. How can I escape? He started the car and began to drive.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home. Where you belong,” he answered shortly.

  “I don’t want to go home,” I cried.

  He hit me with the back of his hand, bouncing my head off the side window. Blood filled my mouth. But I didn’t cry.