Getting It Through My Thick Skull (24 page)
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.
I
was 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 few 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.
“Well, do what you want, Mary Jo, but you’re going to have to answer to God,” she said, sighing.
“You know what, Mom? I certainly hope so, because I’ve got a few questions I’d really like to ask him!” I replied. My sisters broke out laughing; even my father had to chuckle. I wouldn’t have dreamed of speaking like this ever before in my life, but at nearly fifty years old I was becoming my own person. It was high time. Another layer of the onion peeled off. I realized once and for all that I wasn’t going back to Joe. It wasn’t because Tony was the be-all and end-all of my life—we had just started to see each other—but because there were all kinds of possibilities out there, whether I was alone or with someone else.
I couldn’t behave like Joey and hide who I was seeing and what I was doing. Even though we were separated, my conscience bothered me. I decided the right thing to do was to tell Joe about Tony. I got on the phone that night from Maine and said, “Look, Joe, I met a nice man and I’m dating him. I’d like to see what happens, so obviously now’s just not the time to reconcile.”
I can’t even remember what he answered. Whatever it was, I didn’t care and hung up quickly. His opinion no longer concerned me. I was in a real zone, especially after the discussion with my mother. I had spoken up, and the world had continued turning. All my life I had worried about standing up for myself around my mother, but it had turned out fine. I absolutely believed that God sent an angel named Tony to show me my self-worth and plant the idea that there were other men in the world I might be happy with. I felt strong and empowered for the next day or so at the reunion. From Maine, Jessica and I drove down to New York the night before we flew home. We had such a fun girls’ night out. It was absolutely wonderful, the perfect end to a very satisfying trip.