The Company She Keeps

by Georgia Durante

  I still managed to keep in touch with Tom’s brother and his family. Another broken rule. I would occasionally sneak over to visit my ex-sister-in-law, Billie, for coffee. She was always happy to see me pulling into the driveway. A simple housewife, she was stuck at home with four children, all less than nine years of age. She loved hearing my stories of the outside world.

  Billie was becoming increasingly discontent with her existence, and she often vented her frustrations over coffee during our visits. As I had also felt when I was married to Tom, Billie wanted more from life than a humdrum existence. Now my life was anything but humdrum. There had to be something in between.

  The only time Billie and Babe ever went out was to church socials. They took no vacations, and there were no dinners away from the kids. Determined to start getting out, she joined a women’s bowling league—an act of independence which I could readily understand. Babe, being the typical possessive Sicilian, didn’t agree with this sudden show of independence. In his view, a woman’s place was barefoot, pregnant, and chained to the stove. Billie reluctantly dropped out of the league.

  Only twenty-eight years old, she looked closer to forty. Her dark hair sported a plethora of gray, quite a bit more than you would have expected for a woman her age. She wanted to color it, but Babe refused to let her. His fear was that the effect would make her more attractive to the opposite sex. It was simply out of the question. Although miniskirts were in fashion, Billie could wear her skirts only below the knee. If Babe had allowed her to wear makeup, she could have been a truly attractive woman.

  Over time, Billie’s resentment continued to grow.After all, she wasn’t asking for the moon. She definitely didn’t want any more children, but birth control was against the Catholic religion and Babe opposed it. She took the pill anyway and hid the containers in her drawer. When Babe stumbled upon them one day, he became convinced Billie was having an affair. He started popping up at home at all hours to check on her.

  An obedient wife from the beginning, Billie eventually began to rebel. This confused Babe. The only explanation could be that she was being unfaithful. He became obsessed with the thought, and their marriage started to go downhill fast.

  Babe became so depressed he took an overdose of sleeping pills. Barely found in time, he was rushed to the hospital. Billie begged the doctors to keep him for psy chiatric observation, telling them that the next time he would kill them all. They said they didn’t have enough beds and sent him home.

  How could this be happening? This was not the happy-go-lucky Babe I remembered. In her kitchen, not long after Babe came home from the hospital, Billie told me in a prosaic tone, “He’s going to kill me, Georgia.”

  Billie was emotionally drained. Her eyes appeared dull, and the dark bags under them were big enough to pack clothes in. Her sparkle was gone. She was giving in to her belief in the inevitable.

  “What are you saying, Billie?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like, Georgia. Every time I have to run to the store for a quart of milk or a loaf of bread, I have to pile all the kids into the car. I’m terrified to leave them home alone with Babe. I’m afraid he’ll kill them.”

  “Oh, Billie, come on. He would never kill his own children. Remember how he tore down your pool when David almost drowned? Babe loves those kids! He wouldn’t hurt them.”

  “Something is very wrong with his mind, Georgia. You don’t believe me, the doctors don’t believe me, no one believes me.”

  Babe arrived home unexpectedly just then, interrupting our conversation. Billie began to twitch and nervously bite her lower lip, fearing that Babe had overheard us.

  He seems pretty normal. Billie must be paranoid. Joe has threatened me too, but Babe is not like Joe. Babe is compassionate. He could never do anything like that.

  “How are you, Georgia? It’s been a while,” Babe said, kissing me hello. He acted like the same old Babe, but his face showed signs of stress. The playfulness that normally shone in his eyes was absent.

  Babe was only about five-six, with tight, curly hair and an outgoing personality. Always the teaser, he never stopped kidding around. I’d always enjoyed his company. He constantly went out of his way to do you a favor. He was my favorite of Tom’s two brothers. Tom had even been jealous of our rapport.

  “I’m fine, Babe.”

  “Saw Toni outside playing with the kids. She’s getting big.” He looked down at the table and paused. His face flushed red with rage. “Why aren’t you using the china?” he shrieked. He picked up a half-filled coffee mug and threw it against the wall. Billie shrank in her chair as the mug shattered.

  God, could Billie be right? I’d never seen Babe behave this way.

  He stormed out the door, slamming it so hard that the pictures rattled on the wall.

  Billie looked at me wide-eyed. “Do you believe me now?”

  “Geez, Billie. What’s happened to him?”

  She ran to the front window to be sure he’d really left while I picked up the broken mug and wiped up the mess.

  “I don’t know what to do, Georgia. I have to get out of here.” Her hand shook uncontrollably as she pushed her dark, tangled hair from her face. “I’m going to my sister’s in Pennsylvania tomorrow after he leaves for work. I can’t take this anymore. I’ve got to get away from him for a while.”

  “Does Babe know you’re going?” I said, comforting her with an arm around her shoulder.

  “No, I’ll leave him a note. You can do something for me, if you would,” she said with pleading eyes.

  “Sure, Billie, anything.”

  “Call him after I’m gone. See if you can get him to go to your nightclub. Try to talk to him for me. Please,” she said, desperation dripping from her voice. “Convince him there’s no one else, that it’s just his behavior that’s driving me away. Will you do that for me, Georgia?”

  “Consider it done,” I answered. “I’ll help in any way I can. You know that.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’m so scared,” she said, bursting into tears.

  Deeply troubled, I drove home, considering Billie’s fears. Was Babe possibly capable of fulfilling Billie’s prediction? They were just going through a tough period. Babe was acting a little irrational, but time would eventually heal that. Surely this was true.

  To keep my promise to Billie, I had to admit to Joe that I had done something against his wishes. I had committed the sin of visiting with my ex-in-laws. This would not sit well, but I had pledged myself to help.

  “You sneaky little bitch!”

  “Joe, they have a right to see Toni; she’s their niece. Why is that so hard for you to understand?” I yelled back in my defense.

  “They’re not your family anymore! You divorced that fuckin’ guy. Now divorce the family,” he said heatedly.

  “I gave Billie my word I would try to talk to Babe. I can’t go back on it now. I think I can help,” I insisted. “Babe listens to me.”

  “You actually think you have anything intelligent to say?” he said, laughing.

  “Yes,” I said defiantly, “I do.”

  “Stay out of it! It’s none of your business,” he demanded in a booming voice.

  “You say you hate it when I lie, but you make me lie. I’m being honest with you now. I’m going to try to talk to him,” I retorted, standing up to him.

  He flashed me one of those don’t fuck with me stares. “Go ahead. Try it. You’ll see what fuckin’ happens. Get me a lighter,” he ordered, brushing off my brazen attempts to get my way.

  Frustrated, I picked up a pack of matches and threw them at him. “Here! Light yourself on fire!”

  That did it. Joe grabbed my neck and shoved me against the wall, his thumbs pressed hard into my throat. “Don’t you dare defy me. If I hear you’ve talked to those people again or anyone I’ve forbidden you to, you’ll fuckin’ live to regret it. Do you understand?”

  I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even nod. The only way he knew I understood was from the tears strea
ming down my cheeks. When he finally let go of my neck, I gasped for breath.

  “Okay, okay . . . I won’t call,” I answered, backing away.

  Satisfied, he went downstairs to the club to prepare for the evening. Anger festered inside of me.

  Follow your heart, White. You’re surrendering again.

  I can’t. . . .

  Why was I letting him take control of me? I was afraid. Fear of the pain that he would inflict on me overpowered my will. It made me a coward. And he was a master at this game.

  No one could ignore Joe’s presence in a room. The false confidence in his demeanor made everyone aware of his domineering sense of superiority. Mr. Authority, he got off on holding court, expounding his theories, and daring anyone to challenge him. If they did, he’d pounce. He had an uncanny way of knowing others’ secret fears, never passing up an opportunity to point out their shortcomings. Joe enjoyed mentally mutilating people, stripping them of their own self-confidence. He squashed them like insects, without a hint of compassion. He was downright cruel.

  One night after hours, a cop showed up at the club. New on the beat, he stated confidently, “It’s after two. Lock it up or I’m going to have to close you down.”

  Joe laughed at him. “Who the hell do you think you are, Gunga Din?”

  I couldn’t believe he had spoken to a uniform like that. But such was Joe. He respected no one. When the cop got angry and cited him, Joe ripped the citation up in his face and showed him the door. The next day the officer was reprimanded and transferred out of the division.

  It wasn’t just strangers who Joe treated this way. He even bedeviled his own family. I recall him belittling his younger brother Jimmy in front of customers while Jimmy worked behind the bar. Jimmy walked out, leaving Joe stranded without a bartender on a Friday night, the busiest night of the week.

  Later that night, after closing, Joe went to his mother’s house and woke his brother from a sound sleep by choking him. Joe told Jimmy that if he wasn’t out of their mother’s house by morning, he was going to burn all his clothes. The next day Joe found Jimmy’s clothes still hanging in the closet. He loaded them into his car, drove to the nearest dump, and set them on fire. Jimmy came back to work the next night. This was the man I lived with.

  During these times I was slowly being brainwashed, and continually being convinced that I was worthless, just as Joe said. Joe constantly confirmed all of my self-fears. He was a real pro.

  Somehow, ever so slowly, my inner shadow began to extend a hand and pull me out when I was in trouble. She grudgingly encouraged me and told me I deserved more. I was too scared to listen most of the time, but she had obviously never completely given up. To grow strong would take time, but she would, eventually.

  Breaking my promise to Billie bothered me. Every day I thought of calling Babe, but I could not summon the courage to openly disobey Joe again. The night Billie was due to return home, Joe and I went to an opening of a new dinner club in Billie and Babe’s neighborhood. I couldn’t stop thinking of them. Were they all right? I should’ve done more. But how? I struggled with my guilt. An uncanny heaviness gnawed at me all evening.

  Call her, White. She needs you.

  Spotting a pay phone outside the ladies’ room, I dialed their number. It rang twice before Joe became suspicious and sauntered over. I hung up quickly.

  “Who you calling?” he asked.

  “I was just checking on Toni,” I answered casually.

  Babe had kept himself busy while Billie was away. He’d gone to a nursery and bought grass seed for the lawn; then he had stopped at a gun shop where he purchased a shotgun and ammunition. On the day of Billie’s return, he occupied himself making a giant sign that read, “WELCOME HOME,” and he hung it over the kitchen door entrance from the garage. He’d apparently planned for it to be the first thing Billie would see when she opened the door and saw his dead body sprawled under it. But he changed his mind.

  As soon as Joe left home the following day, I called Billie. The phone rang and rang—no answer. I tried again later that day, and still there was no answer. That feeling again . . . something’s wrong. Joe returned and I couldn’t make any more calls. I wanted to discuss my fears with him, but it was out of the question.

  Then the phone rang.

  “Georgia,” my sister, Sharon, said, “are you alone?”

  “No, Joe’s here. Why?”

  “I have to tell you something and you shouldn’t be alone.”

  “What’s the matter, Sharon?” I asked, but I already knew. The feelings were too strong to doubt them. I felt a thousand invisible pins piercing my skin as I waited for her to confirm my premonition.

  “It’s Babe. Georgia, he killed himself.”

  “Oh, my God! I knew it; I felt it . . . Oh, God, Sharon—”

  “Georgia, that’s not all. He killed Billie, too.”

  “Oh, no . . . oh, God . . . she told me he was going to do it. I didn’t believe her. Oh, my God.”

  “Georgia . . .” She hesitated. “He killed the kids, too.”

  “Please, God, no. No . . . No, not the kids.”

  “What happened?” Joe kept repeating.

  I handed him the phone and began crying uncontrollably. After Joe hung up, he tried to comfort me. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said, putting his arms around me.

  I abruptly pulled away from him. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Joe! If I hadn’t listened to you, they might still be alive. I hate you!”

  I’m the one you need to hear, White. Start listening.

  I had never been to a funeral with six caskets in one room. Not many people have. I sat numbly looking at the pictures on top of the caskets, remembering.

  Billie’s body was found on the bed, severed in half from two .12-gauge shotgun blasts to the abdomen and chest. Michelle, the oldest child, was found on the floor of her bedroom. A bullet from a .22-caliber rifle had gone through her hand first, then into her head. She must have been awakened from the sound of the shotgun blast that killed her mother. My heart ached for that child. She was old enough to realize what was happening.

  Then there was Karen, only seven, found in her own bed with a bullet in her head and one in her stomach. And four-year-old David, the only boy in the family, Babe’s pride and joy. He was found lying on the living room couch, one bullet in his head. Why had he shot David only once? The baby, just a year old, was found in the family room on the couch, one bullet in her skull and another in her tiny torso. They found Babe next to Billie in their bedroom with his brains splattered against the walls. Babe had been determined to keep his family together, one way or another.

  Gradually, the shock wore off, but the reality of how closely I was walking that same line haunted me as I tiptoed through my own mind fields in the years that followed.

  Chapter Six

  A cry in the night jolted me from a sound sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, my face moist with sweat. A nightmare? Yes, I was awake, but I kept hearing that pathetic cry for help. No, it wasn’t a dream. The real nightmare was outside, just below my window.

  I looked out of my window from the second floor at the parking lot below. Joe glanced up at the same moment. He stiffened. The lights were out, but the drapes were slightly parted. He knew I was there. Quickly, he returned his attention to the men around him, so as not to let on that they might have been seen.

  A man lay on the asphalt, groaning, begging for his life. Every time he’d make a move, they’d kick him. They viciously kicked him in the head and body simultaneously. They couldn’t seem to get enough. I stood in the shadows, frozen with fear for this man’s life. What could I do to stop the madness forty feet beneath me? Nothing.

  “Whatta ya wanna do with him, Joe?”

  “I don’t give a shit. Just get him the hell out of here.”

  They tossed him in the trunk with seemingly little effort, and the two men drove away. Joe watched as they disappeared into the damp, drizzly night, then peered up at the window onc
e more before heading down the cement steps into the bar. I ran to the bathroom and hung my head over the toilet bowl, taking deep breaths, trying not to gag.

  In the darkened room, I lay shaking, fighting to expel the images from my mind. Mental pictures of that man being continually kicked long after he had ceased to move wouldn’t leave my head. At five a.m., the door opened and I heard Joe’s footsteps shuffle up the stairs.

  He knows you saw what happened, White. Pretend you’re sleeping.

  How do I lie? He’s going to know I’m lying; he always does.

  Scared, I started crying before he even opened the bedroom door. He’d been drinking heavily.

  “Why, Joe? Why? What did that poor guy do to deserve that? Is he dead?”

  Leave it alone! Don’t question him, not now. He’s been drinking.

  “What did you see?” Joe demanded.

  “Enough.”

  He slapped me so hard my head slammed against the headboard, dazing me for a moment.

  “I said, what did you see?”

  “Nothing! I didn’t see anything!” He slapped me again.

  “That’s right, honey. You didn’t see anything, and don’t you ever forget it. Stop that fucking crying before I really give you something to cry about,” he yelled as he stormed out of the room.

  Minutes passed in silence. I lay there in the dark, my mind racing and my head hurting, fighting hard to keep my hysterical gasps from being heard.

  The door burst open, and Joe climbed on top of me. He wrapped his hands around my neck and began choking me. I started to feel light-headed. My eyes felt as if they were going to pop out of their sockets.