Again, Valerie seemed to be lost in a private fantasy.
It was as if someone had added color to a black-and-white photo, clarifying it. Koesler had lived through the original events of Valerie’s story with the principals. He’d been there when Jane and Ridley met. Later, he had felt constrained to listen to Ridley recount the details of his sexual encounter with Jane. Subsequently, Koesler had witnessed the aftermath of Ridley’s breakdown after learning of Jane’s pregnancy. Finally, Koesler had attempted to aid Jane in her struggle to raise a handicapped child.
But Koesler had been unaware of Ridley’s attempt to revenge himself against Jane through Valerie.
The priest thought of all this for a few moments before nudging Valerie on. “And then . . .?”
“And then I returned to New York, did some more modeling. Even the modeling began to suffer. It may surprise you, Father, but you can’t have a blank mind while you’re modeling. It takes a lot of concentration.”
“I never thought about that.”
“Well, it does,” she said pointedly. “And I was preoccupied with Ridley Groendal. I had a lot of trouble concentrating on my modeling. I also had a lot of trouble sleeping. It was one thing to say I was going to avenge my mother and myself, and another thing to actually do it.
“A guy like Ridley Groendal leads a pretty insulated life. Physically, it’s hard to get near him. The New York Herald is like an armed camp. You can’t get beyond the lobby without an appointment. And even then, there’s no entry until the person you’re going to see comes and gets you.
“It’s very much the same with Groendal’s apartment building. The security is excellent. And anyway what are you going to do even if you do get next to him?
“The whole thing was very frustrating. And then something else happened.”
“Huh?”
“Red Walsh graduated. He was drafted number one by the Detroit Pistons. It wasn’t the team he wanted. He wanted to go to the Knicks because he thought I was going to stay in New York and he wanted to be close to me.”
She did not state this at all self-consciously, which gave Koesler pause. He concluded she must be a most self-assured young woman.
“And that’s where he came, right after the draft. Then he came after me. Boy, did he ever! He gave the full-court press a new definition. We were together almost all the time. He got to like the theater. And I promised I would get interested in basketball.
“Well, we got engaged. By now I was so happy I had darn near forgotten about Groendal. Then it happened.”
Valerie got up and began to pace. She stopped and hunted through her purse until she found some cigarettes. She lit one. “Excuse me, Father. I rarely smoke, but I’m kind of nervous.” She looked around for an ashtray; finding none she wondered if this might be a “no-smoking” section of the rectory.
Koesler calmed her fear by finding an ashtray in one of the drawers and placing it on the desk. From her manner, he assumed she was nearing the heart of her story—the reason she had come to see him in the first place. “What happened?”
He brought her back to the point.
“Okay.” She inhaled deeply, then let the smoke drift from her nostrils. As she continued speaking, she exhaled smoke from her mouth, punctuating her words. “We were walking down Fifth Avenue near St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Red and I. We had just picked out our wedding rings at Cartier’s.
“You know how when you’re in New York and you see somebody who looks like some celebrity, it usually turns out to be not a lookalike but the real celebrity?”
Koesler nodded. He’d had the experience.
“Well, we were walking, very happy together, when who should be coming toward us but Ridley Groendal. That other guy—his home companion—Harison—was with him. But I didn’t even notice him till later. All I could see was that face—that cocky, self-satisfied face.
“I’d never done anything like this before, but something inside me snapped. I just rushed over, blocked his path, and started yelling at him.
“At first, he looked startled. But then, when he recognized me, he got this smirk. It just made me more furious. I was shouting, shrieking, demanding to know how he could rate my performance when he wasn’t even at the theater.
“I called him every name I could think of, most of them words I’d never used before. The street was crowded and people started to gather ’round.
“But it was obvious that I wasn’t getting anywhere. His smirk never wavered. He was really reaching me. So, I started hitting him.”
“You what?” Koesler could not imagine a diminutive person like Valerie causing much damage to one as big as Rid. On the other hand, intense emotion can confer incredible strength.
“Yes, I started hitting him. At first, Harison tried to stop me. So I hit him. He would have come back at me but Groendal pushed him aside.
“That was what was so odd, looking back at it: Groendal just stood there taking it, with a little smile on his face, like he was enjoying it. And I was getting in some pretty good licks.”
Koesler was momentarily distracted. He recalled the beating Charlie Hogan had given Rid in the shower room at the seminary. Then too, Rid had just stood and taken it. Did he never in any way try to defend himself? Was there a masochistic streak in him?
“Anyway, it didn’t last long. It takes longer to tell it than it did to do it. Once I got physical, Red moved in, grabbed me around the waist from behind, lifted me clear off my feet and carried me away. I think he acted just before a cop arrived on the scene to put me away.”
“And then?”
“And then I started swinging at Red. At that point I would have hit anybody or anything. But, of course, he didn’t take it like Groendal did. Thank God he didn’t hit me back. He just pinned my arms and talked to me quietly till I calmed down.” She ground out the cigarette and resumed her chair.
“That was it?”
“Pretty much, Father. But one thing still bothers me.”
Ah, thought Koesler, here it comes. Valerie waited a moment. But when Koesler did not ask, she went on. “About the time Red pulled me away from Groendal, I was shouting that I would kill him. I shouted it over and over.”
“Hmmm.”
“Well, isn’t that a sin? Murder certainly is a sin. And we were taught that a thought about committing something like murder could be a sin too . . . Father?”
“Maybe. It depends. Thoughts are kind of tricky.”
“Tricky?”
“We’re capable of thinking anything. A thought all by itself probably doesn’t have any morality to it at all. Nor do words, if they have no real intent. Remember the story Jesus told about a father who sent his two sons into the fields to work? Son number one says, ‘Sure I’ll go, Pop’—or words to that effect. Son number two says, ‘Not on your life.’
“But son one ends up going fishing while son two rethinks the whole thing and gets down to work.
“The point Jesus was making is that some of our thoughts and words are effective and some are empty and meaningless. Part of the proof, at least sometimes, is what a person will actually do about what she thinks or says.
“Make any sense?”
“Well, I haven’t killed him—yet. But I don’t know if that’s only because of what’s happened since.
“Very shortly after my encounter with Groendal, Red and I got married. Of course we moved back to Detroit. Red’s been with the Pistons ever since he broke into the league and, as a result, his best business connections, endorsements, commercials are here. And there wasn’t any point to my remaining in New York. Groendal had effectively shot down my stage career—and he was still on guard in case I continued to try. Red makes good money . . . real good money.”