The Company She Keeps

by Georgia Durante

  Chapter Four

  “Jerry Vale’s at the Copa tomorrow night,” said the voice on the phone. It was eleven in the morning but I was still asleep when the phone rang. “I’ll take you if you wear that white dress.”

  “Frankie!” I hadn’t heard his voice in two weeks.

  “Hi, baby. I’m out.”

  “Oh, Frankie, are you all right?” I asked, concerned.

  “Of course.‘A horse is a horse, of course, of course. . . .’ I need to see you, baby. Can you get here faster than a speeding bullet?”

  “Let’s not talk about bullets, Frankie.” The victim of The Sundowner shooting still remained on the critical list, but it looked as though he was going to live. “I can be there on the eight a.m. plane.”

  “Lots of things for me to do, so hop in a cab to 502,” he said as though he were reciting a poem. 502 was Frankie’s apartment on East 26th Street.

  My mother and father had been ecstatic to have me home, but they knew I’d fly off again soon. They worried about me constantly. They didn’t know about the shooting, but they knew the dangers for a young girl alone in New York. Like most parents, they wanted to cloak me in protection.

  After hearing from Frankie I was so relieved. I couldn’t sleep all night thinking about seeing him. Getting up extra early, I spent a long time in front of the mirror, making sure my makeup was perfect before getting on the plane.

  Exiting the cab in front of Frankie’s building, I bumped into an old man shuffling his feet, inching his cane along the sidewalk.

  “Watch where you’re going, stupid broad,” he sneered.

  Tin cans and spilled garbage littered the curb. A derelict with skin the color of bruised parchment huddled in a doorway, speaking grandly to the sky. Ah, New York. It was good to be back.

  The elevator was broken again, forcing me to walk the five flights lugging my bags. If I had been any more out of breath, I’d have been dead. In the lightless hallway a broken TV leaned against the wall. I could smell a lingering odor of deli food as I turned the key and pushed open the door.

  Inside, the sparsely furnished room depressed me. White plaster showed through the dirt-streaked yellow paint on the ceiling. No plants. No signs of life. Dingy. Dark. If Frankie had to disappear in a hurry, he’d have no problem. Or maybe this was the place he would disappear to.

  Minutes turned into hours. I waited. I busied myself cleaning up the diminutive place, emptying ashtrays loaded with stale cigarettes and hanging up clothes that had been haphazardly strewn around the room. He finally arrived, looking pale and exhausted. No need for words. His lengthy hug told me how much he’d missed me. But then he became distant.

  “Where were you, Frankie?”

  “I had to do somethin’.”

  “Something? That’s all you can say? Couldn’t you at least call? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Weren’t you anxious to see—”

  “Georgie Girl, I couldn’t call. Please, don’t question me, okay?”

  Hurt and disappointed, I gnawed like a dog on a bone. “I don’t understand why you’re always so secretive. Why can’t you—”

  “Drop it,” he said in a tone that stopped me cold.

  Obviously on edge about something, he walked out of the room. He’d never spoken to me with this tone before. I watched his reflection in the bedroom mirror as he took a gun from inside his jacket and placed it in a drawer.

  “C’mon,” he said, “I wanna take you somewhere.”

  He was aware of his cranky attitude and was making an effort to change his mood. I had a sinking sensation in my stomach, never having seen him with a gun before. I thought I knew something about his secret life, but the reality of this sight made me aware of how much I didn’t know.

  We walked to Saks Fifth Avenue, where he bought me an outfit he had seen in the window and said I must have. I didn’t argue. Shopping was my favorite activity. But this time was different. Frankie didn’t seem to be on the same planet as me. As much as he smiled, I could tell he was deeply troubled.

  “You’re not going to believe what those rat bastards did to the club,” he said in a resentful tone as we got to the street.

  “What did they do?”

  “You’ll see,” he answered, extending his arm to hail a cab.

  As we walked up the dimly lit stairs to the club, I didn’t know what I was expecting to see, but it wasn’t what I saw, that’s for sure. My mouth hung open as I scanned the room. I still had a lot to learn about cops. They had taken the liquor and most of the tables and chairs, probably to furnish their basements, but what they had left was completely destroyed. They’d used an ax to tear down the bar. Shattered glass lay strewn from the smashed cigarette machine and the jukebox. The few remaining bar stools were slashed, stuffing covering the floor like a blanket of snow. The drapery material was pulled from the walls, exposing the decaying brick. Total destruction. I glanced at Frankie’s disgusted face. He looked so lost and defeated.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, feeling sick as my eyes focused on the large brown spot on the floor.

  “I guess I’ll just do . . . what I do.”

  “What is it that you do, Frankie?”

  “Don’t start that, Georgie Girl. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

  “No, Frankie, I need some answers. I’m tired of the guessing games. You need to let me into your life or this relationship is going to die.”

  He stared at me in silence for a long time before he spoke.

  “There ain’t no easy way t’say this, so I’ll try an’ give it t’you straight. Y’know what I was doin’ when you were flying here from Rochester? I was pullin’ a robbery! And I came damn close to killin’ a guy. Is that the kind of man you want to spend the rest of your life with, Georgie Girl? Even if you think it is, you deserve better than me. I got nothin’ to offer you, honey. I’m not proud of who I am, but these pricks leave me no choice. None of ’em will let me make an honest buck!”

  I didn’t care; I was too much in love at this point to shut down my feelings. He’ll get over this. Everything will be like it was before.

  Later that night, the line outside the Copacabana was unusually long. Spotted by the doorman, we were led to a side entrance and through the kitchen to a waiting table. Waiters respectfully acknowledged Frankie as they hurried past us with heavy trays. Frankie discreetly stuck a $50 bill in the doorman’s palm and the man disappeared. Jerry Vale joined our table for a few minutes before he went on.

  “Sing my girl’s favorite song, Jerr,” Frankie instructed as Jerry was being announced.

  For a short time the old Frankie was present, but the more Scotch we consumed the more distant he became. I hoped he would soon return to his normal self.

  After calling my agent and telling him I was back, I quickly fell back into my New York routine, running all day from go-see to go-see, lugging my portfolio.

  Susie Q had gone to see Ralph where he was stationed in California after the shooting. They eloped while she was there and she never returned to New York. Linda Bird had been seeing some rich guy and stayed at his place through all the turmoil. She decided she liked being taken care of and moved in with him permanently. I was on my own. Everything had changed so drastically.

  I still kept the apartment, and I spent most of my time with Frankie. But Frankie was different. The Sundowner was now gone, along with the “good-time Charlie” with whom I’d fallen in love. Frankie looked at life from a different perspective now. Facing the reality of his life, he battled with himself constantly. He said I had a bright future ahead of me and he wanted me to taste all the good things that were surely in store for me.

  Thinking back, it took a lot of strength on his part to do what he thought was honorable. But I didn’t see it then. I thought that I was the one who wasn’t good enough. I didn’t understand that he was protecting me from a life that was too dark. He constantly reminded me that he was no good for me.

  We still laughed and did silly
things, like go to the top of the Empire State Building and fall into hysterics when I tried to talk him into bonking old ladies on the top of their heads with quarters.

  “If we bonk old ladies from here, baby, those rat bastards will make a murder charge stick. We’d better hang with bonking from the Ferris wheel.”

  When he’d catch himself giving in to his heart, he’d pull back. I could feel him distance himself from me, yet I sensed that behind the facade he really loved me. Feeling this way, I was reluctant to let go.

  After a few months of mental torture I decided to return to Rochester, hoping Frankie would miss me and ask me to come back.

  “Frankie, I’m going home,” I blurted out, hoping to get some sort of positive reaction.

  He stared at me in mournful silence. It was what he ultimately wanted, but he couldn’t bring himself to force the issue.

  “I guess we both knew this day was comin’,” he finally said.

  Tears streaked both of our faces as we embraced.

  “I do love you, Georgie Girl,” he said, holding me firmly with his head resting against mine.

  “I know,” I answered, my heart breaking. “But I need all of you, Frankie.”

  The following day he borrowed his cousin’s car and drove me to the airport. Hanging on desperately to our final minutes together, I waited for the very last passenger to board the plane. My blood pumped hard when the announcement came.

  “This is the final boarding call for flight number sixty-seven to Rochester.”

  Trying to exhibit strength, Frankie squeezed my hand and encouraged me to pick up life where I had left it before I met him. Fighting tears, we kissed one last time before I walked down the long, narrow walkway. I turned back for a final time before disappearing into the plane. The sight of his face pierced my heart and I could no longer hold back my tears.

  “See ya when I see ya, baby,” he said, forcing a smile.

  I hadn’t been gone from Rochester all that long, but I was light-years away from the innocent little girl who’d boarded that train such a short time ago. It seemed like an eternity had passed. I tried hard to adjust.

  New York City was on another planet. Rochester was like a recurring nightmare. Nothing had changed. Eight months had passed since the rape, yet it was as if it had happened yesterday in the minds of the townspeople. I was heartbroken over my shattered love affair. To make matters worse, I had to cope with the simple minds of the gossips. My depression became severe.

  Upon walking into Woods Drug Store I noticed people staring at me, whispering. When they saw me looking they got quiet. I knew the difference between the stares of admiration and the gossiping stares. These were the vicious kind. People who smiled to my face and then danced around the flames while they burned me at the stake in the village square.

  My sister, Sharon, was barely coping with all the rumors that had followed the rape. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I sensed that she held me responsible for what she’d had to face.

  Even through all the ugliness, Sharon loved this town. If her thoughts ever strayed beyond the boundaries of home, they only reinforced the feeling that she wanted to lie within them. But the walls that were so comforting to her were the same walls I desperately needed to escape.

  I was once again subjected to the same things I had defended myself from since childhood, only now I was beginning to convince myself that there might be some truth to these rumors. I wasn’t the pure, innocent child I had been when they first had such cruel things to say. Maybe they were right. Maybe that was why Frankie didn’t want me. Maybe no one ever would. Maybe I wasn’t good enough anymore.

  I continued to seek friendship in the city, where I was accepted, away from the whispers of a small town. The dark people of the underworld had become my friends because they opened the door—and allowed me entry. But even they weren’t helping my depression.

  I stopped eating and began sleeping a lot. Facing the long days was almost intolerable. I thought of ways to end my life, but that would only make them the winners, wouldn’t it? I wrote letters to Tom describing the anxiety of what I was experiencing. He wrote back, professing his love and apologizing for not being there to comfort me. Nothing he could say would cheer me up. My mother and father thought I might be suicidal. They watched me sink rapidly into a deep depression. Although they tried the best they could to help, nothing worked.

  On a gray Saturday morning in December the doorbell rang, awakening me from a heavy sleep. I looked at the clock next to my bed. It was one p.m. Still hungover from a late night at the Living Room, I stumbled down the stairs in my flannel nightgown. Rubbing the sleep from my puffy eyes I opened the door. To my amazement, Tom was standing on the other side, handsomely dressed in his army uniform.

  The war hadn’t hardened his boyish face. His normally thick black hair that had clung to his head in soft waves was now short, accentuating his perfect features.

  “Tom? What are you doing home?” I stood there in shock, not believing what I was seeing.

  “I came home to marry you and take you away from all this.”

  “What? I don’t understand. How did you—”

  “Are you going to let me in, or do I have to stand out here and freeze my ass off?”

  Scooping me up in his muscular arms, he kissed me passionately. Still stunned, I didn’t quite know how to respond, but I felt uncommonly safe and secure in his arms. I’d forgotten how handsome he was. His soft doe eyes spoke volumes about his feelings.

  “Marry me, Georgia,” he said, looking deeply into my eyes.

  “Uh . . . when?” Panicked, I looked away, my heart racing with mixed emotions. I didn’t think I loved him. How could I? I loved Frankie. But Frankie doesn’t want me. Will anyone ever want me?

  “Well, I’ve only got two weeks.”

  “I . . . It’s so—”

  “Just say yes,” he said, not understanding my hesitation. He knew nothing about my real life in New York. I needed to talk to Frankie. I had to hear him say that he didn’t want me. I couldn’t give Tom an answer without knowing for sure.

  “We don’t have a lot of time, Georgia,” he said, pulling me back into his arms. “I want to protect you and love you, honey. We were going to get married anyway after I got home, so why not now?”

  “Just give me a day to think about this.”

  Tom didn’t detect anything strange about my reaction. He explained that he had shown my letters to his commanding officer and he had been given a compassionate leave. I hadn’t realized just how depressed I’d become, but according to Tom, his superiors thought my mental condition was serious enough to grant him a leave.

  That night I called Frankie. We still talked frequently, but his lifestyle hadn’t changed. A future with him didn’t look promising, but I still hadn’t lost hope.

  “Hi, Frankie,” I said, not sure how to begin.

  “Hi, baby.”

  “Frankie, Tom’s home.”

  “Did he get shot?”

  “No. He came home to . . . to marry me.”

  Moments passed before he spoke. All I could hear was the distant wail of sirens from the city street.

  Finally he said, “Well . . . maybe it’s for the best, baby.”

  We both got quiet. I imagined Frankie looking out his window, listening as the December wind funneled icily up the canyon of buildings. Through the silence I could almost feel the hollow sadness that filled his heart. I lay on my bed, staring at our picture from the evening at the Copacabana and quietly wondering why it had all fallen apart.

  “Frankie, do you love me?”

  “Baby . . . I love you more than I ever loved anybody. That’s not true—I never was in love till I met you, but Georgie Girl, what kind of life can you have with me? I’ve never been able to explain it to you right, ’cause there’s so many things I can’t talk about, but you gotta just trust me on this, okay? Marry him, honey. Have kids, be happy. I’ll always love you. What we have together can never be taken
away.”

  “Frankie, tell me something—truthfully. Does it have anything to do with my not being a virgin when we met?”

  “C’mon, Georgie Girl, will you stop that? It’s got nothin’ to do with the way I feel about us. Those people in that town of yours really got your head screwed up. It’s about what you deserve out of life—and I’m sure as hell not it. You can’t see it now, honey, but someday you’ll understand. It hurts me just as bad to let you go, but I gotta do it.”

  “I don’t get it, Frankie. How can you tell me to get married if you say you love me? There has to be another reason.”

  “It’s not because I don’t love you, baby; it’s because I do. Can’t you see that?” he said, sounding melancholy. “You’re making it very hard for me, Georgie Girl. All I want is for you to be happy.”

  Four days later, Tom and I were married by a justice of the peace. We drove to a honeymoon resort in the Poconos. Set in a romantic, woodsy atmosphere tailored for honeymooners, the rooms all had heart-shaped bathtubs and a bottle of cheap champagne.

  Everywhere I looked I saw recently married couples in love. They depressed me. Watching them together made me realize how I’d gotten married for all the wrong reasons. I loved Tom, but not the way I once thought I had. Grateful for the cheap champagne, I made it through the week and resigned myself to making the best of it. Maybe it would get better.

  When we returned from the Poconos, my mother and father had planned the big wedding. Amazing how they pulled it together in such a short time. We got married again in a church with all the trimmings. The reception was at Braemar Country Club, the place Mom and Dad had been running. My mother did all the cooking. She was used to putting on large parties. With the help of all my aunts, it came off beautifully.