Getting It Through My Thick Skull

by Mary Jo Buttafuoco

  “That sounds like a lot of fun,” I said.

  “Oh, we’re all going to be there. It’s going to be great!” Tommy went on and on.

  “You know, I was thinking of going to Vegas myself in a couple of weeks,” I said casually. “Could you do me a favor, Tommy? Could you call Tony and just find out if he’ll definitely be there? He was really nice. Maybe I’ll stop by and say hi.” I could not believe what I was doing. I hadn’t done anything like this in thirty years! But I was happy, it was fun, and I was excited for the first time in a long time.

  A couple of days passed, and the phone rang with an unknown number. And just as I am wary of answering doorbells, unidentified numbers prompt me to screen the call. When I listened to the voice mail, it was Tony! The message said, “Hi, Mary Jo. Tommy gave me your number. It was great to meet you at the show . . .” My heart was pounding like a sixteen-year-old girl. He called me! He called me! My mouth was dry, and I paced around excitedly . . . It was unbelievable to me that I could feel and act this way again. He called! Should I call him back? What do I say? What should I talk about? Does he know who I am?

  I didn’t know the “rules” of dating, so I didn’t wait three days to call Tony back. I called him back that night and acted very casual, though I was falling apart inside. I’m telling you, I was a teenager. We stayed on the phone for half an hour and had a very pleasant conversation about cars, old friends, and his son. We stayed completely off the subject of Joe. It was going so well that I was really emboldened. “Hey, I’ll be meeting a friend in Vegas that weekend,” I totally lied. “I’d love to stop by and hang out at the car show.”

  “That would be nice,” he said. I was putting myself out there in a big way, but it seemed to be working all right.

  The week before the show, Joey called me. The power had shifted, and I was now putting him off. “I really love you. I want you to come back . . .” Not so fast! The timing was suddenly very inconvenient. I said, “You know, Joe, I want to stay here in Newport through January to get the school credits I need. It’s not a good time for me to leave right now. I’m making great progress. Tell you what, let’s see how everything goes, and we’ll think about me coming home for Christmas.”

  This discussion bought me about six months. I decided to give the single life until the end of the year to see what unfolded and make a decision then. Maybe I really was destined to live out my days with Joe. But, meanwhile, I was very distracted. And he could sense it. “Remember when we saw Barris at that car show?” he suddenly asked.

  “Oh, sure,” I said cautiously.

  “Yeah, I got a call from Tommy. Heard you really hit it off with Tony,” he said. Oh boy, apparently word traveled fast. It felt like we were back in high school.

  I left that one alone. “It was good to see those guys again,” or something like that was all I could say.

  “So . . . you know that big car show in Vegas coming up? It got postponed. George couldn’t get the right permits for Vegas in time, ya know,” Joe said.

  “Really?” I asked. What bad luck for me.

  “Yeah, I was talking to Tommy and George, and apparently there was a problem.” I felt like a deflated balloon, but I wasn’t about to discuss the matter any further. We hung up, and I felt very sad. The old me took every word Joey said as gospel. The new me decided to call Tony and ask about the change of plans. It gave me a good excuse to call him, if nothing else.

  He was happy to hear from me, and we were having a pleasant chat when I said offhandedly, “I was talking to Joey and he mentioned that the car show in Vegas was canceled . . . that’s too bad.”

  “That’s news to me. I plan on being there next week,” Tony said.

  “You sure there was no problem with the permits?” I asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean, I can ask George, but there’s no problem with permits. That’s crazy. Of course we’re going—we go every year. It’s the biggest car convention in the country!”

  The controlling and bullshitting on Joey’s part was never going to stop. If I’d had any doubts before, they were banished. I was for sure going to Vegas. And I wasn’t going to tell anyone I was going or say another word about it. Tony and I met for a friendly lunch before that weekend, and we had a nice little vibe going. He took me to visit his shop, where I was reintroduced to George and saw all the amazing cars on which they were hard at work. It was great to be out again. I had to admit that putting myself out there was getting great results so far.

  I had no problem imagining myself driving to Vegas and walking into that car show to see Tony again. The flirtatious girl I’d been thirty years ago in high school came back with a vengeance. A surge of confidence came over me. I was going to give it a try! This behavior was so uncharacteristic of me, yet it was the “me” I remembered from so many years ago. I was nervous, afraid, and seriously out of practice, but I was going to do it. I was going to try because my girlfriend said that I never looked back. I was a good person. I deserved to have some fun, and I was going to look back. Who knew that deciding to look back would be the first step in moving forward?

  The morning I set off for Las Vegas, I was singing all the way. It was so thrilling to have someone who took my mind off Joe for a change. Someone in Vegas was waiting to see me! Not Joe’s wife, nor the sidekick, the drag, or the wet blanket. It was so cute—Tony called me twice while I was driving. “Where are you? When are you getting here?” I was driving, but I felt like I was flying. I hadn’t felt this happy and excited in years. I had forgotten I was capable of feeling this elated.

  I checked into my room at the Rio Hotel, a place I’d been many times before with Mr. Good Times Joey, but he was the last thing on my mind. I took a taxi across the street over to the Palms, where the show was being held. It was less than a mile away, but it was the middle of August and probably 120 degrees in the desert.

  Tony was genuinely happy to see me when I arrived at his booth. He greeted me with a big hug and kiss, and I felt much better—not so much like a wanton woman chasing after some guy. He was thrilled that I was there. I was thrilled, too—and scared. I hadn’t dated in more than thirty years. The excited part battled with the nervous part, especially as the day wore on and I foresaw myself being alone with Tony. I wanted my big brother around, someone to look after me a bit, help me if I needed it. Joe’s brother Bruce was truly that figure in my life. I loved him as much as my own sisters.

  I called him from the show and told him how amazing the displays were and what a great time I was having. He decided to jump on the thirty-minute flight and come see the show. I knew Joey, of course, would get wind of this plan, as Bruce lived in his house and would tell him where he was headed. I also knew that Joe’s pride wouldn’t allow him to react negatively. Plus, he had his hands full with a serious girlfriend. Whatever he really might be feeling about my weekend wasn’t my concern. I felt like the forty-seven-year-old virgin and simply wanted a friend by my side. I was excited and scared to death at the same time.

  After thI had been absolutely e show ended for the day, Tony, Bruce, and I had a lovely dinner with George Barris, where I met some very fancy- shmancy bigwigs from the car industry and a few celebrities. I was having a great time, one thing led to another, and I soon had a decision to make. I was a forty-seven-year-old woman who had slept with one man her entire life. It was a big leap to consider actually becoming intimate with someone else. But I thought about my girlfriend, Toni, who’d had many boyfriends over the course of her life. “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all,” she used to say. I wasn’t in love with Tony. I was giddy with excitement, fun, and anticipation. I was saying yes for a change. To everything!

  Bruce stayed in my room because I didn’t use it that night. I lay awake all night long while Tony slept peacefully. I could not believe I had done this! It was a momentous event. The butterflies and the high from this entire night would not allow me to rest for even one hour. When Tony woke up, he couldn’t have been nicer, bu
t I urged him to go ahead to the show without me. I would find breakfast and meet him later. I was exhausted, but still too wound up to sleep. I raced around like a teenager, running on sheer nerves, and prepared for the day.

  I was having such a good time with Tony that I spent the entire day hanging out in the booth. I didn’t want to leave his side, even to go gamble. I was wearing a cute little pair of shorts and a matching tank top and feeling great. At one point, Tony got a call on his cell phone and told me when he hung up, “Hey, that was my friend Stu; he’s here in town. He’s staying at the Rio, too, so I told him to come by and say hi. You’ll like him. He’s from Long Island, too—Bellmore.”

  I had been absolutely reveling in a feeling of anonymity all weekend. I wasn’t Joey’s wife, he was nowhere around, and I didn’t know or care if anyone was aware of my history. For the past two days, I had simply been “Mary Jo,” and I liked it that way. My heart sank a bit. Anyone from Long Island would certainly know who I was, but I put it out of my mind.

  A couple of hours later, a man about our age showed up and found Tony. I was standing in a fast-food place inside the casino, munching on some French fries, not paying much attention to who was coming and going, when Tony motioned me over. “Mary Jo, come over here . . . This is my friend Stu I was telling you about.” He had just walked a mile across the street in the blazing midday desert sun and was sweating and out of breath. “Hi Stu,” I said, “so nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” he replied.

  “So, you’re from Long Island, too,” I said.

  “Yep, that’s right,” Stu said.

  “Well, I guess you know who I am,” I said, half cringing, waiting for the inevitable.

  “No . . . who the fuck are you?” he answered abruptly. Clearly, he was a little out of sorts. I was so embarrassed, my face burned. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Sorry, I thought you said you were from Long Island!” I said.

  “Well, yeah, but I left in 1979,” he said. I glared at Tony. He hadn’t mentioned that part. Now Stu was really looking at me closely. “So who are you?”

  “Never mind, never mind, forget it,” I said, wishing I could just fade away. In fact, that’s what I did—I just walked away, leaving a very puzzled Stu behind me. “Am I supposed to know who she is or something?” he was asking Tony as I got out of there—fast. Hardly a storybook beginning! I could not have imagined that this man would soon become the love of my life.

  My Eighth Grade Graduation from

  St. Rose of Lima in Massapequa, 1970.

  Joey’s and my engagement party, May 1977.

  Our wedding day, September 4, 1977. I couldn’t have been

  a happier bride. I knew this was the right thing to do.

  The lights of my life— our son, Paul, and daughter, Jessica, 1988.

  New Year’s Eve 1990. Joey was sober, and I thought that

  everything I worked so hard for had finally come together.

  On Christmas 1991, I was perfectly content. I had no idea the

  sociopath I lived with was finding life just a little bit too dull.

  May 17, 1992, two days before I was shot and two days

  after my 37 th birthday. We were going to a friend’s daughter’s

  communion party on the North Shore of Long Island.

  It was a perfect day that I thought was going

  to be the start of a perfect summer.

  Around noon on Tuesday, May 19, 1992. This is the bench I was

  painting when I was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

  These are the gloves I was wearing and holding in my hand when Amy shot me.

  The dark spots are blood.

  The jacket I was wearing.

  What’s left of the T-shirt I had on—

  paramedics had to cut it off of me.

  In the hospital—the bullet hole had to be cleaned out and

  packed four times a day. It was agony.

  Surrounded by flowers, balloons, and Jessica’s favorite

  stuffed animal pig, I still couldn’t believe what was happening.

  A view from my bedroom window. The media was a constant,

  intrusive presence in our once quiet neighborhood.

  The Board at the Biltmore Beach Club voted to put a gate

  in our backyard so we didn’t have to go out the front door.

  The beach club and our friends and family were the

  only respite we had that summer of 1992.

  A home-made get well card from my daughter, Jessica.

  September 1992. My first TV interview from my home.

  Raphael Abromowitz, a reporter for the news magazine

  Hard Copy, and crew in my living room.

  Thanksgiving 1992. Thanksgiving had a very special meaning

  to our families that year and Joey’s and

  my family celebrated it together.

  At my sister Eileen’s wedding, April 22, 1994.

  I was hoping that life was returning to some sort of

  normalcy, but a month later Joey was arrested for soliciting

  a hooker in L.A., starting the insanity all over again.

  Standing in front of our rental house in Agoura Hills, California, feeling very alone in the winter of 1997.

  Paul’s high school graduation, 1998.

  Jessica’s high school graduation, June 2001.

  It’s funny, looking at this picture now, we had been

  separated for a year and a half by then, and yet I still

  leaned into him when our picture was being taken.

  The Buttafuoco family: Joey and his brothers and sisters.

  From left to right: Joey, Bobby, Bruce, Anne, and Lucretia.

  The Connery family: My sisters, parents, and me at my parents’

  house in Maine, August 2002. Left to right top: me, Ellen, my

  mom Pat, Kathy, and Jeanne. Dad, Al, in middle and Eileen in front.

  My new life! Stu and me in our backyard, June 2008.

  Stu and me in 2008 before a friend’s wedding.

  “Our” kids—from left to right (back row): Martine, Paul,

  and Jessica; (front): C.J. and Hutton.

  CHAPTER 11

  LOVE REDUX

  Iwas having the time of my life mingling in the huge anonymous crowds at the car show in Las Vegas. Tony hadn’t mentioned my history to anyone the entire weekend. We had just been two people hanging out, having fun with all kinds of other car buffs. Tony had met Joe and Bruce at the fair in the Valley. He and I had talked a bit about my marital situation, but that was all. He had no interest in hearing about Amy Fisher, my injury, or Joey. Years of being pointed at and whispered about had taken their toll. I was constantly paranoid that everyone had heard of me and recognized me. To Tony, I was simply Mary Jo, a nice woman who had accompanied him to the show, which felt freeing.

  When Tony explained my rather unique situation to his old friend Stu—and mentioned my last name for the first time— Stu was mortified that he’d spoken so sharply to me. When I showed up at the booth an hour or so later, Stu walked right up to me.

  “I am so sorry. You must think I am the rudest idiot. I had just walked a mile from the Rio—it’s 120 degrees outside— and I hate the heat. Maybe you can tell by the looks of me that I’m not a big walker,” he said, as he gestured toward his husky stature. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Clearly, he felt terrible, but I just laughed it off. It was a very minor incident. I was so caught up in Tony and the excitement of a new man, what did I care? I didn’t give it, or Stu, another thought.

  On my drive home on Sunday I was on cloud nine. When I thought of Joey, I knew there was no way I was ever going back. There were other possibilities in the world. I had found a nice guy who liked me and didn’t care who I’d been married to. Tony and I began dating. He introduced me to his circle of friends, who were the most fun, warm people I’d met since I moved to California. Several were married couples, and there were a f
ew singles. All of them were friendly, down-to-earth men and women who couldn’t have cared less that my last name was Buttafuoco. Together we had great times, and I could not have been happier.

  A few weeks into the relationship, Jessica accompanied me on a trip back East for a long-planned family reunion. My daughter was pleased to see me looking so good, laughing, joking, and glowing. Much as she would have liked her parents to reconcile, she could see that I was blossoming. Whatever I was doing, or whoever I was seeing, was clearly good for me.

  For forty-plus years I had played by the rules. I had done everything a good Catholic girl, wife, and mother was supposed to do. I remained very dependent on my parents’ approval. For the first time, as I spent time with them at the reunion, I decided to reevaluate this relationship, too. Dating Tony had done wonders for my confidence. I decided I was going to live how I wanted for a change, and if they didn’t approve, so be it.

  My father and I sat outside, just the two of us, and I poured out my heart to him. “Dad, I’ve been so unhappy, so lonely. It’s not going to work out with Joe. We were talking about getting back together, but I can’t do it. I’ve met a man, and he’s really great. I feel like I’m a teenager again. He makes me happy.”

  “Mary Jo,” my father said, “turn the page. It’s your life, and you need to live it. Turn the page and start a new chapter.” It was amazing that my father, of all people, would say this to me. My mother, bless her heart, took a much harder line when she heard that I, technically still a married woman, was dating someone new.