The Freak Pt. 04 of 05

She had just taken the oath when the jury forewoman spoke. "I can see that you're nervous. You have nothing to fear, my dear. We are here to help you, not hurt you. Just tell us what happened to you. Tell us everything. Will you, please?" Barbara seemed more relaxed when she sat and I reached out to take her hand. Barbara responded now to the questions from Mrs. Kozlowski, slowly rebuilding the events of that fateful Monday. She seemed to gather herself as she spoke. I could feel her strength in her hand grow as she progressed from the theft of her ring to, the horrendous beating she had received at the hands of the nun who should have been her caring teacher. She told how she drove frantically to my parents' house, how my mother had phoned the school and how I had responded immediately. She described her experience in the emergency room and how I had cared for her afterwards.

Barbara was excused after she had testified for an hour. ADA Kozlowski thanked us for our time and testimony. "I have no doubt that there will be indictments against all three of these monsters. I know these people. Half of them are Catholic and they hate the thought that their priests and nuns would behave in such a despicable and unchristian way. I'll be in touch with you by Friday, Lieutenant. I think you can plan to act within the next week." She thanked us again and Lt. Flanagan led us back to his car.

"I'll take you out to lunch then I think you should go home and rest. You've been through a meat grinder, Barbara. You're a very brave young woman." I gave him our new phone number, the one we'd had installed in Mrs. Mazzone's home even though she had tried to convince us to use hers as our own. I drove Barbara back to what was for now our home and put her to bed, lying with her until she was asleep then I rose and went downstairs to speak with Mrs. Mazzone.

"It must have been very difficult for her."

"It was. She's much braver than I could ever be. To relive those horrible moments over and over; I think she can feel the lashes of that whip even worse than she did that infamous day. I can't wait for this horrible episode to be behind us. That's one of the reasons why I want us to move to Massachusetts. She needs to be busy, studying as well as building our life together. She needs more work than high school can provide."

"She needs time more than anything else. I thought I would die when my dear Louis passed away. Now, almost three years later I know that I still love him, but we were not meant to grow old together. I still miss him, especially at night when I am alone, but it gets easier every day. The same will happen with Barbara. Just be sure to be there always for her."

"You need never worry about that."

* * * * *

The next three months passed swiftly, but not without a number of spectacular highlights. Barbara made her way into the yearbook—just barely when I phoned Carolyn who was the editor the afternoon after her beating. There was an April 1 deadline unless we were willing to pay a penalty. I phoned a local photographer and made arrangements for her to be photographed and for the photos to be rushed to Carolyn's home. I trusted her to pick the best, although they were all excellent. I also knew that Carolyn would write something appropriate, in consideration of her late enrollment. She did exactly that, noting that Barbara's most outstanding senior moment was, "Kissing my husband Jack after winning the state basketball championship." Funny—that was my most outstanding moment, too.

It was only six days after our appearance before the grand jury that Lt. Flanagan and a squad of police appeared at St. Claudia's School. There were arrests—Sister Mary Theresa in the main office and Sister Mary Patrick removed kicking and fighting from her classroom immediately—and two others after the records so vainly kept by a series of self-serving principals had been examined. Also found was a small treasure of purloined jewelry in the desk and dresser of Sister Mary Patrick as well as the three other nuns—baubles stolen over the decades from innocent and unsuspecting students and their families. Barbara's ring was in Sister Mary Patrick's desk. The blood-soaked whip was easily found on a hook in her closet.

Lt. Flanagan then took a small group of officers to the archdiocese offices to arrest Msgr. Moran. The list of charges went on for four pages, rivaling only those of the two nuns. Not surprisingly, the Cardinal denied any knowledge of the allegations. Barbara and I watched almost everything on the six o'clock news that evening, declining an invitation from the District Attorney to witness the arrests.

As I had anticipated, Stanley Silverman instituted a class action lawsuit on behalf of the three hundred and seventy-six victims, some of whom were old enough to be grandparents now, using the list to identify and locate them. The suit claimed compensatory damages of more than eight hundred million dollars and unspecified punitive damages. He held a major press conference on the steps of the State Courthouse in which he fervently expressed his ire at the actions of the so-called professionals, parents had entrusted with their daughters. He wanted Barbara and me there, but we politely declined. We'd done enough.

I had always gone fishing over the Memorial Day weekend so when I asked if I could use the bungalow my parents agreed immediately. We were at dinner two Sundays prior and Carole actually begged to join us. "I think that Jack and Barbara would enjoy some time alone," Mom told her. But Barbara and I had anticipated her request and agreed if we could get Carole out of school a bit early on Friday afternoon. Thus, Barbara drove from school to my parents' home on Thursday to get Carole's clothes for the weekend then she drove into Tuckahoe to get me after our game.

Unfortunately, we weren't going to the playoffs. I'd had a good year on the mound, pitching my way to a 4-1 record and a 2.05 ERA while batting for a .420 average on exactly 21 for 50. Our other two pitchers, however, had losing records and of my teammates, only Tony had a decent batting average. Even Eli who had made All-County with me last year had been mired in a season-long slump, barely batting .200.

We left the high school at 2:00 and picked Carole up only five minutes later. She was elated to be with us and we always enjoyed being with her, too. We reached the bungalow by four, stopping in nearby Rocky Point to pick up some hooks and sinkers as well as a dozen sand worms, the preferred bait for blackfish in the spring. Blacks live in rocky areas so the north shore of Long Island is almost ideal with the millions of rocks large and small pushed down from New England by the ancient glaciers.

The first thing I did was strip the monofilament from my spinning reel and re-spool with new twenty-pound test mono. When that was done, I took my two girls out for a quick dinner—pizza. Mom knew that we were now practicing Lutherans so meat on Friday was not only acceptable, it was the norm. We had a special dispensation as a result. Carole liked pepperoni while I liked sausage. Barbara, ever the diplomat, would accept both so we ordered a large half and half and a couple of Cokes. Getting to the restaurant early meant we could eat quickly and get back to try fishing while there was still daylight.

I made my first cast and stood still, my long rod resting on my thigh. Barbara and Carole amused themselves by playing tag. Somehow Carole was always able to catch Barbara, but Barbara had the utmost difficulty catching her eight-year-old sister-in-law. They were laughing like crazy when I had my first bite. This kind of fishing takes patience. The first tug occurs when the fish mouths the bait. Strike then and you'll catch nothing. You're only pulling the hook out of the fish's mouth. I've done this for years so I was ready for the second powerful tug. A strong pull on the rod set the hook. I always file the point so it's razor sharp. Blackfish have thick fleshy lips so a sharp hook is a real advantage. I pulled it easily to the shore, knowing as I did, that I would release it. Sure enough, it was a lightweight. It was only out of the water for seconds before it swam away.

The fishing was great for the next hour as I caught and kept two fish over five pounds—a gift for Mrs. Mazzone. I cleaned them at the water's edge, removing the head and the entrails then turning the knife over and scraping it against the scales to remove them. Finally, I used an old set of kitchen shears to remove the fins. I washed my hands and my tools and we were ready to hike up the path. I'd never found walking up the path at night to be terribly difficult because there was usually ambient light from the moon and stars. It was really dark once we were under the trees, but the path was surprisingly easy to see because of the contrast between the white sand and the dark green plants that appeared black at night. Barbara got Carole ready for bed while I washed the fish, dried them with a clean rag then wrapped them in aluminum foil for the refrigerator.

We hugged and kissed Carole as we tucked her in and then she asked the big question, "Barbara, where are you and J.J. going to sleep?"

"Right over here in Jack's bed."

"Both of you? In that little bed?"

"Yup! And there will still be room for you in the morning. Okay?" Apparently, it was because Carole smiled, hugged Barbara and me one last time and rolled over to sleep. Barbara and I retreated to the living room where we sat quietly reading some of my parents' extensive library of paperbacks. Only when we were sure that she was soundly asleep did we shower and make love, with Barbara seated securely on the kitchen counter, me standing between her legs. Barbara had taken a small towel from the linen closet to stifle her usual orgasmic scream. We retired as we did every night with Barbara's head on my chest and her leg over my thigh. There was one huge difference though—we were wearing t-shirts and gym shorts because of Carole's presence.

We fished again on Saturday, this time with my friends, but at night we took Carole to the drive-in movie in nearby Rocky Point. She played in the playground before the movie and enjoyed the cartoons, but lay down on the rear seat under a small blanket once they had ended.

We took Carole with us to the Lutheran church with Mom's blessing then fished all Sunday afternoon. Blackfish are funny. Sometimes you can fish all day and catch nothing, not even getting a single bite. Other times you can't reel the fish in fast enough. The afternoon was a washout, but after dinner it was hotter than I'd ever seen. I must have caught twenty fish and my buddies caught even more. Mrs. Mazzone was delighted with the fish we brought home to her, treating Barbara, Carole, and me to dinner the following evening.

And then, of course, was the wedding. Setting up the actual ceremony was a breeze, but the catering hall? Yeah...good luck with that. Everything that was worth anything had been booked six months or more in advance. So it was that we met with my parents after Sunday dinner in early April. "I can only see two alternatives, Jack," my dad explained. "Either we put up a big tent on the side lawn here at home or you book the fire department."

"Of course," I said as I began to explain to Barbara. "The upstairs at the fire department has a big open room with a commercial kitchen and they've held dozens of catered affairs there." Dad told us that he would make the booking then all we'd have to do was contract with a catering firm. I was on the phone less than five minutes later, striking gold with the first call to Keens Steakhouse in Manhattan.

Barbara and I handled the invitations and in addition to saying yes or no we asked each guest what they wanted to eat—grilled ten-ounce prime filet or steamed two-pound lobster. Then we had to deal with the florists and dresses for Barbara, Carole, and two of her closest friends—Marlene and Carolyn. Thank God all the guys had to do was rent a few tuxes; that was the easiest part of the planning. That we scheduled for Friday afternoon and evening the week before graduation was just about perfect.

Mom, Aunt Debbie, and three of our neighbors managed all of the set-up that morning while Barbara and I were in school taking final exams. Afternoon beauty salon appointments for the women and haircuts, shaves, and manicures for the guys gave us just forty-five minutes to dress and get to the church while Barbara and the other women piled into the limos.

I had given Barbara her own credit cards just in time to pay for the dresses and lunch in Manhattan. All told Barbara spent three days selecting and fitting although I suspected she was more interested in eating out in the city than the actual shopping.

The day of the wedding was perfect—sunny with temperatures in the low eighties as Eli and I stood near the altar of the Lutheran church with Pastor Moody. The hundred guests were all seated when the organist began the wedding march. Eli patted me on the back as the ushers and bridesmaids made their way up the aisle. Finally, I saw Mr. Gleason and Barbara begin their slow way forward. She had refused to say a word about her dress and now I understood why. It was elegant—form-fitting in an oriental fashion with a long slit running up the left side. The dress itself I learned later was sleeveless with a long-sleeved bolero jacket that ended at her waist.

She joined me with a squeeze of my hand and a quick kiss. Unlike the Catholic Church where we would have endured an entire Mass, the ceremony was short and to the point, essentially the reading of a few bible passages, the exchange of vows, and a few words of advice before ending with a big kiss. We did exchange rings as we had in the Eastchester Town Hall, but this time I surprised Barbara by placing her engagement ring onto her finger once her wedding ring was in place.

I had asked Lt. Flanagan about it almost a month ago and he told me it could be released. "There are so many charges here that nobody will miss this one." He had delivered the ring to the High School office almost a week before the ceremony where Mrs. Cecil held it for me until Friday afternoon just before we left school. That was the only way I could keep the secret.

Eli had just given me Barbara's ring and I had placed it onto her finger when I pulled the solitaire from my pocket. The expression on Barbara's face was priceless as I slid the second ring up her finger—almost as priceless as the kiss she gave me a second later. Pastor Moody had to interrupt the ceremony to explain to the guests before Barbara returned my ring to my finger and we had the official end of ceremony kiss.

We had color-coded nametags on the tables—blue for lobster, red for beef—as well as an open bar even though most of the guests would be drinking Coke or Seven-Up. Barbara and I did share a private toast in which I swore to love her until the end of time and she promised to love me even longer.

The reception began with a cocktail hour which for our classmates was just an opportunity to pig out on boiled shrimp and hot and cold hors d'oeuvres. I knew that I overate, but next to Eli I had eaten almost nothing. After the cocktail hour we did all the silly traditional things—the best man's toast, the first dance, Barbara's dance with her "father," Mr. Gleason and my dance with my mother. I did dance with Mrs. Gleason and with Mrs. Mazzone and, of course, with my favorite aunt. But every other dance went to my gorgeous wife.

Everyone had a wonderful time, but there was almost a nasty incident thanks to my bigoted asshole uncle. Eli had asked Carole to dance and he had lifted her bodily, holding her with his forearm under her legs. Eli was smiling and Carole was laughing, but Uncle Arthur was red-faced and livid that a Negro would handle his niece in such a fashion. Apparently, he had forgotten that Carole's parents were seated less than ten feet away and were laughing along with Carole.

I excused myself quickly and intercepted my irate relative before he was half-way across the dance floor. "Let it go, Uncle; it's none of your business. Eli is my best friend and Carole knows him well. What you see as taking liberties is nothing more than being friendly."

"But, he's a...." He shut up then because I had my hand over his neck and I was sure he was in a lot of pain.

"Feel free to leave if your racist ideals have been offended. I'm sure you won't be missed. I'm also sure that Eli could crush you with only one hand since his other is occupied with Carole. Oops, too late...the song is over. Incidentally, if you think you're going to ruin the party for Barbara you're delusional. I'll crush you first. Keep that in mind as you return to your table or just leave...your choice." I released him then, shoving him back to his table. He turned once, rubbing his neck with his hands as he trudged away. The party broke up at midnight with most of my relatives returning to my parents' place. Barbara and I got into the limo for a short drive to The Plaza in Manhattan.

We spent our wedding night making the most incredible love all night before ordering room service for a late breakfast. We spent a good part of Saturday at the Bronx Zoo before returning around five for an early dinner and a trip to Broadway to see "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying." We stayed overnight at The Plaza before taking the limo back to Mrs. Mazzone's in the late afternoon. We brought in sandwiches from the deli, eating while studying the rest of the evening.

We had studied for weeks to prepare for final exams and the State Regents' exams. Barbara had Chemistry while I had French Three even though I had never attended even a single class of French. I had learned years ago that state law permitted a student to take any Regents Exam even without taking the course. I had met with the French teacher several times to learn pronunciation and some idioms, but—other than that—I had learned everything on my own, buying the textbooks and some books on French culture at a major bookstore in Manhattan. I had spent at least an hour a day over junior and senior years and it paid off with a grade of 98 on the exam. I laughed; it was my lowest score on the dozen or so state exams I had taken, not that I cared at all.

I had taken the SAT four times—once in each grade, receiving the same score each time—1590 out of 1600. As a freshman I missed one question in the English section. The next year it was in math then I repeated the sequence again just to prove I could do it. I knew that I would receive a lot of notoriety by scoring 1600, but I had received so much already that I felt I didn't need any more. Had that hurt me? Not at all; every college interviewer had asked about it and every one had laughed at my answer. I was also accepted at every school where I had applied.

We had most of the week before graduation off from school which proved fortunate. I had bought a lot near my parents' bungalow—just down the road and on the opposite side of the street—a lot on the bluff with a beautiful panoramic view of Long Island Sound and Connecticut roughly twenty miles away. I considered it a bargain at $18,000. The closing was the Saturday before exams. We also closed on our new house in Somerville, flying into Boston in the morning and flying back at night.

Barbara and I had spent every Friday and Saturday night during those months at Yonkers Raceway, winning more than three million dollars betting obscene sums on what amounted to sure things. I requested and received a security guard virtually every night until I learned that I could have the money wired directly into my account. Of course, our successes raised all kinds of questions, but the racing authorities could find nothing illegal in what we were doing. In fact, they used our winning as part of an advertising campaign for which we were handsomely paid.