“Don’t you ever, ever fucking question me! Who the hell are you to question me?”
He released the pressure on my throat when I started slipping into unconsciousness. I lay there half in and half out of consciousness as I felt him enter me. He moved inside me like a crazed animal as I lay limp as a rag doll. The smell of alcohol filled my nostrils as I drifted into a dreamlike state. Then he passed out. So did I.
When I first awoke I didn’t remember what had happened the night before. That is, not until I tripped over Joe’s shoes, now crusty with dried blood. I struggled to drive the images out of my head. Joe’s lack of compassion repulsed and terrified me. He had become a stranger. I felt as a mouse must feel stuck in a trap, half dead, half alive.
I stumbled into the kitchen, still not fully awake, and made coffee. The slow tick of the wall clock, which I normally found comforting, seemed almost unbearable. Lighting a cigarette, I sat at the table and stared at the black-and-white-tiled floor.
No natural light graced the room to brighten my shattered spirit. The entire apartment had only three windows: The one in our bedroom overlooked the parking lot, the one in Toni’s bedroom faced a brick wall across the alley, and the living room window had the most beautiful view of garbage cans housed between buildings.
I walked into the living room with my coffee mug and idly studied the red-and-black flocked wallpaper. My attention lingered on the heavy Spanish furnishings. The stink of stale cigarette butts in an ashtray on the wooden coffee table suddenly made me feel like throwing up. The dreariness of my surroundings was suffocating.
Pulling back the thick red drapes, I hoped to bring in some desperately needed light, not only into the room, but also into my soul. But as luck would have it, the sky was gray and threatening rain. I stood with my coffee and stared through the barred window at the empty trash cans below. This place was a prison, and I was its prisoner.
Joe emerged from the bedroom, interrupting my thoughts of escape. He looked like death. I didn’t dare bring up the incident, and he acted as if nothing had happened.
“Oh, honey, did I do that to you?”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Your face.”
I ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The right side of my face was swollen and bruised. Damn it! You son of a bitch! No way makeup could cover it. I’d have to be confined to the house again until it faded. If my friends and family saw me, I’d only have more restrictions placed on my contact with them. Joe could not tolerate their contempt. And they didn’t try to hide it either. It was a wearisome balancing act for me.
I swallowed hard. “This is the third time in the last two months I’ll have to cancel a shoot. I hate you, Joe. I hate you!”
How did you get here? You can’t let this happen anymore, White.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Joe said. “I’m really sorry. You know I love you. I don’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know what happens to me when I drink.”
Don’t fall for his bullshit. Get the hell out the first chance you can.
“Then please, Joe, stop drinking.”
“How can I stop drinking, Georgia? Don’t be ridiculous. You know how the shots line up downstairs. If I don’t drink, the guys get insulted. It’s not good for business.”
“Then have the bartender pour yours from a watered-down bottle, I don’t know, but you can’t keep doing this to me, Joe. I can’t take it anymore.”
“I love you, Georgia. You’re the only one who understands me; you’re the only one who cares. Oh, God, please don’t ever leave me, Georgia. I’d be a dead man without you.”
“I’ll be a dead woman if I stay.”
Stop threatening—do something about it.
“Let’s not start that again. You’re not going anywhere.”
The phone rang. I picked it up and Joe jerked it from my hand.
“Hello,” he said sharply. “No, she’s not here.” He slammed down the phone and pulled it out of the wall.
“Who was that?”
“That was that long-haired blond bitch you think is your friend. I thought I told you I don’t want you talking to her. Don’t you ever fucking listen to a word I say? She’s jealous of you, Georgia. Wake up! I’m not gonna tell you again: If that bitch calls here one more time, or I find out you called her, you won’t be able to work for a fucking month! How many black eyes is it going to take before you learn?”
“Susie’s been my friend for a long time, Joe. You hate her because she lets me know what she thinks of you. Let’s be honest,” I retaliated.
“Keep it up, Georgia,” he yelled, looking as if ready to pounce.
Toni entered the kitchen, awakened by the noise. She inched around the screaming monster that was her stepfather and ran into my arms. She hid her face under my chin, clinging to me with one hand and pressing the other against her ear.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” I whispered softly into her ear. Her tiny body trembled as I stroked her hair, trying to calm the fear.
Defeated again. Not wanting to subject Toni to Joe’s escalating temper, I agreed to his terms and avoided another confrontation I could never win. But someday . . . someday . . .
The image of the man in the parking lot wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t talk about it to Joe—or to anyone, for that matter. Had he lived or died? I checked the papers every day but didn’t see anything that gave an indication. I had difficulty looking at Joe without replaying the scene of that night in my head. Why had Joe become such an angry man? This was not the person I had fallen in love with.
Joe had changed in many ways. Of course it was my fault, but what had I done that made him so cruel? Was it because I wouldn’t go along with his sexual fantasies? He’d get angry and hold a grudge, punishing me in little stupid ways that made me crazy. He beat me with silence. But I just couldn’t do the things he desired. His sexual demands became overwhelming, perverted. I was his wife, and according to him my duty was to make him happy. When I refused, he would force me, leaving me dreading the next encounter. I went to a priest for counseling, and was urged to stay and try to work it out. I didn’t think this could be fixed.
This is insane, the way you’re living. Get out of it now. He’s never going to change. You don’t deserve it, and neither does Toni. You want a miracle.
I finally summoned the courage to leave Joe. He left to check out a band in Toronto, and when he returned I was gone. Surprisingly, he didn’t put up a fight. The reality was, he now had a good excuse to carry out a fantasy. In all likelihood he was already carrying out the fantasy, since he wasn’t making his usual scene. I knew about Roxanne. She was the beautiful red-haired sex kitten I had seen making eyes at him in the club. After a very short time, I’d heard he bought her a horse. Not much got past the gossips in Rochester. It hurt, but the pain came from the memories of the old Joe. Moving forward, I avoided thinking about it. It felt good to have the needed space without harassment or the threat of violence.
Quite by accident, I met someone too: Gino Provenzano. I felt as if struck by lightning. We were instantly attracted to each other. He was the spark I needed to lift my sunken spirit. Knowing it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, I accepted a date with him.
Gino was tall, about six-four. A mass of curly hair worn in an Afro suited him. He was stylish in his dress, and his height and slenderness made everything he wore look as if it were tailor-made. I’d always been attracted to men who took pride in the way they dressed. Gino’s inviting eyes were soft and genuine, and they had a seductive invitation to mischief. His overall appearance was gentle, yet rugged. The chemistry between us was electrifying.
I hadn’t anticipated this happening. The timing wasn’t right. I couldn’t date Gino publicly; not enough time had passed. Joe would go nuts. I was taking a big risk seeing Gino, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been suffocated for so long.
Our first date was to a concert in Toronto, a three-hour drive out of Rochester, but even there I ran into people wh
o knew me. The next weekend we went camping with three other couples in Letchworth State Park. Eight of us huddled in the tent while rain pounded down on the thick canvas. The constant crackle of thunder and lightning was frightening, but that was what I found most exciting. I fell in love with Gino that weekend—or at least the idea of Gino. He made me feel alive, the way I used to feel with Frankie—the way I wasn’t feeling with Joe.
I couldn’t help but compare my life with Joe to this new feeling. There was no comparison. Joe was once fun too, but as much as I wished he could be that person again, he couldn’t, at least not with consistency. I was bursting with spontaneous happiness. But Gino was nervous about Joe. I couldn’t blame him. So was I.
Joe enjoyed his freedom until he heard I was seeing someone. He called.
“I want to talk to you,” he said casually.
This freedom couldn’t last, but why make him angry by refusing to see him?
Stand firm. You haven’t been this enthusiastic about life in a long time. This is the way it’s supposed to be. Don’t let it go.
“Come to the club at closing time. There’s something I want to say to you.”
Hmm . . . Maybe you don’t have to say a thing. Maybe he’s crazy about this girl and he’s going to tell you it’s over. This could be easier than we thought. Just be careful what you say.
I drove to Caesars II at two o’clock in the morning. I sat at the bar and waited until he finished closing out the cash register.
“Come on—let’s go have breakfast,” he said as he locked the door.
We drove in silence to a twenty-four-hour diner—not the one nearest the club. Why had he chosen this particular place? Inside I spotted Gino sitting with a few of his friends. Coincidence? He saw me at the same time. We just looked at each other, both in quiet shock. I could tell by his quizzical expression that he was wondering why I was there with Joe, but he wasn’t about to ask.
We sat two tables away. Joe’s back was to Gino, and I faced him. Not looking at him was hard. Our eyes locked a few times and I forced myself to look away. His face expressed hurt and confusion. I wanted to shout out, It’s not the way it looks!
“Hey, Gino, how you doing?” said a man passing by.
Joe swung around in his seat and his eyes flashed wildly; then he turned back to me. I sat there frozen, trying my hardest to act normal. He studied my face briefly before he spoke.
“So, I understand you’re seeing someone; is that true?”
“Who told you that?” I answered calmly. My heart was racing.
“Never mind who told me. Is it true?”
“No, it’s not true,” I answered, staring into my coffee cup. I couldn’t look at him. He’d know I wasn’t being truthful.
“Why are you lying, Georgia? You know it’ll be worse if you lie.”
My gaze rose from the coffee cup to meet his eyes, but instead drifted over his shoulder to meet Gino’s. I quickly looked back down at my coffee and struggled for something to say.
“What about Roxanne?” I asked finally.
He tried to hide his surprised expression. “Roxanne’s just a piece of ass,” he answered, as if it were of no consequence.
“I’m amazed you’re not broke by now if you make it a practice to buy a horse for everyone who’s just a piece of ass.”
Annoyed that the focus was now on his behavior, he leaned over the table, and raised his voice. “We’re not talking about Roxanne now; we’re talking about Gino Provenzano,” he snapped.
His hooded eyes bore into mine, waiting for a reaction. I clutched my purse and looked away uncomfortably. Pressure pounded in my ears. Does he know what Gino looks like? Does he know he’s here? Did he bring me here for a reason?
“So it is true, isn’t it?”
“I have to go to the ladies’ room,” I said, and started to get up.
He grabbed my arm and pushed me back into the seat. “Sit down!” he demanded. “You haven’t answered me yet.”
Gino started to rise. I knew Joe was packing a gun inside his jacket. I looked at Gino and told him all was okay with my eyes. He relaxed. I wanted to get out of there. What did Joe know? I feared for Gino.
“I don’t think this is the place to have this discussion, Joe. Let’s go home.”
“I don’t think there’s going to be much of a discussion, do you?” He rose and threw a $20 bill on the table.
We walked by Gino’s table on the way out. He and his friends stood after we passed and followed us out the door. I was too terrified to look back to see which direction they were headed.
As we approached our car, someone yelled out from the parking lot, “Hey, Provenzano, don’t you return your phone calls anymore, or what?”
Joe stopped dead in his tracks. He pivoted around to see Gino, who returned his icy stare. The air was thick with tension. They stood facing each other like pacing pit bulls for what seemed like an eternity.
“Get in the car, Joe,” I said as calmly as I could.
They continued to stand in their frozen positions and glare at each other. Joe slowly raised his arm toward his jacket.
“Joe!” I screamed. “Please, let’s go. Come on. Please get in the car.”
He lowered his arm, but never broke eye contact. The Provenzano name rang a bell. Joe wasn’t quite sure what family connections there might be. The only connection to the name as far as I knew was Gino’s uncle, a prominent judge in the city. But Joe wasn’t sure. Anyway, four to one wasn’t good odds—and only I knew that Joe had his six little friends hiding under that coat.
“Joe, if you don’t get in the car right now, I’m gonna call a cab.”
Gino broke contact first. Joe turned to me with a twisted smile and finally got in the car. My fear for Gino had been so great that I’d forgotten what I had to look forward to.
“Where the hell’s your taste?” he asked sarcastically.
I didn’t answer.
“Did you sleep with him, Georgia?” he asked accusingly.
“No.” I hadn’t—yet.
“Liar!” he shouted, slapping me.
When we arrived back at the apartment I was still crying from the abuse in the car.
“I’ll teach you to embarrass me, you no-good whore!” he screamed as he dragged me to the window. “You’re going to leave me? I’ll show you the way out if that’s what you want!”
My upper body was hanging out the window as I pleaded for my life. He shoved me all the way out, holding me by my ankles. The blood rushed to my head as I tried to assure him I’d stay and never see Gino again. When he was convinced, he pulled me inside. His entire personality changed instantly and he became loving and apologetic. I was grateful to be alive and somehow managed to forgive him his bizarre behavior.
The tragedy of my sister-in-law and her children was proof that threats do get carried out. Clearly I’d been caught up in a phenomenon known as Stockholm syndrome, where a hostage eventually bonds with her captor. When the warden locked the door to my invisible cell, I obediently stayed to finish out my sentence—till death do us part.
Little did Joe know that Gino, having heard about Joe’s reputation, had already decided it wasn’t in his best interest to see me anymore. And that was that.
I pushed open the office door in our apartment above the club. Joe shifted nervously in his high-backed leather chair, trying hard not to laugh. The shyster accountant’s back was to me. He spoke in a businesslike fashion as Joe sat across from him, facing in my direction. In a playful mood, I lifted my shirt and exposed my breasts to Joe. Toni wandered in and imitated me. The two of us stood there for several minutes, practically giving Joe a nervous breakdown.
“Do something about it! I’m not paying it,” Joe demanded, trying to focus on the business of the day.
Badly in need of a shave, Carl the accountant rubbed his stubby fingers back and forth across his chin as he sifted through the papers strewn on the desk. His eyeglasses were as thick as windshields, and I seriously doubted he
could see us even if he did look our way. Fighting a smile, Joe sneaked another look at us. Without a sound, he mouthed, Stop that. He’ll see you.
We quietly smiled back and continued to hold up our shirts. Joe lost his concentration but continued to babble, keeping the accountant’s attention on him. A return smile in our direction would surely cause Carl to turn his head, catching the children at play.
The game was over at the sound of the doorbell, at least for me. Toni continued to play.
“Get the door, honey,” Joe said, grateful for the intrusion.
I bounced down the stairs and opened the door. My good mood faded when I saw Frank Valenti and Gene DeFrancesco standing outside.
“Hello, Georgia, is Joe around?” Frank asked in his gentlemanly voice. Always dressed like an elegant statesman, he walked with the grace of royalty. Only his stone-cold eyes gave a hint of the darkness which lived inside.
“Yeah, come on up.” The bounce in my step disappeared as I led them up the stairs.
I knew this was not a visit Joe was expecting. Frank rarely made personal appearances.
“Hey, Frank . . . Gene,” Joe said. “Carl, can we continue this tomorrow?”
“Ah, sure, Joe,” Carl answered, quickly gathering his papers.
“Honey, why don’t you and Toni go out and have a nice lunch,” Joe said, handing me a $100 bill.
Hmm, Frank should stop by more often.
I took Toni to McDonald’s and then headed for the shopping mall. When I returned, Joe was in the office leaning back in the chair. A bottle of Scotch sat on the desk. He wasn’t in a good mood.
“What was that all about?” I asked, not expecting to get an answer.
“Who the fuck does he think he is?”
“He is who he is, Joe. I don’t know what the problem is, but I think you’d better keep that in mind.”
He threw the glass at me and missed. It shattered against the wall. Toni grimaced and ran to her room.
I turned back to Joe, exasperated. “Jesus, what the hell did I say that was so bad?”
The Company She Keeps Page 15
