Blueberry Hill: a Sister's Story(9)

“You told them that and still got the job?”

“Yep,” she answers proudly.

I rest my case. Donna was an enigma. She was that rare person you couldn’t help but like. She was still the kid who had enough grit and determination to win a banana split, only this time it was a job.

~

She stayed at the bank for almost ten years, advanced to become the branch manager, and was written about in the local newspaper for nailing a fraudulent check casher. Without him being any the wiser, she pushed the silent alarm and then stalled and kept him waiting long enough for the police to arrive.

The sad thing is that while Donna built a life for their family, Charlie rebuilt a life of his own. A life based on wide-eyed groupies following him from place to place and serving up free sex.

More than once Donna suspected as much, but there’s a long stretch between suspecting and knowing. It wasn’t until Cyndi Lou happened along that she was forced into knowing. That was six months after Charlie went from playing once or twice a week to every night.

I’m certain the Cyndi Lou thing had been going on for quite a while, but it didn’t surface until the Tuesday night Donna and I took the kids bowling.

~

While I’m still pulling on my shoes, Donna spots three of the fellows in Charlie’s band in the lane next to us.

“Hey, Tony.” She waves. “Aren’t you guys playing tonight?”

This is a deer-in-the-headlights moment. The panic-stricken Tony looks down at his watch and says, “Holy shit, I lost track of the time.” Then he and the other two hightail it out of there without bothering to finish the game.

“Son of a bitch,” my sister says angrily. “He’s at it again.”

Her daughter, Debi, who is now thirteen going on thirty, says, “Don’t be mad, Mom. Maybe there’s a reason.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason,” Donna answers. There’s a hard crust on her words, but she leaves it at that and we go back to bowling. Donna laughs and talks as if nothing is wrong, but I can see inside my sister. I can see the heartbreak pushing against her skin.



Donna says nothing more about the incident until the next morning. Charlie sits at the table nursing a cup of coffee and she asks, “How was the gig last night?”

“Not bad,” Charlie mumbles.

“Where’d you play?”

“A club in Brooklyn; you’ve never been there.”

“You got in really late,” Donna says casually. “Was it a long drive or a late set?”

“Both.”

“Did Tony ride with you?”

“Yeah, him and Buck.”

Donna nods, but she is already thinking of what she will do.

That afternoon she calls me and relates the story.

“Charlie’s screwing around again,” she says. Then she explains how she needs me to come with her. “He’s playing at Club Fresco tonight, but I want to see where he goes after that.”

Sensing trouble, I ask, “Are you sure this is what you want to do? Why don’t you just confront Charlie with what you know and see what he has to say?”

She heaves a sigh that carries years of weariness. “I already know what he’ll say,” she answers and gives no further explanation.



Part of being a sister is sticking together in good times and bad. I don’t have a good feeling about this, but I agree to go along. I almost know what will happen, but I also know that like all the times before Donna will forgive him. She will swallow her own hurt to keep her family together. Little Charlie is now fifteen and Debi is thirteen, but they are still her babies and she is fierce as a mama lion when it comes to protecting them. I guess she feels that having a cheating daddy is better than having none at all.

It’s after ten when we drive to Club Fresco. She doesn’t park in the street, nor does she park in the club parking lot. She parks alongside a delivery van left overnight in the lot beside the hardware store. She’s already spotted Charlie’s car, and from here she can keep an eye on it.

We sit there until shortly after one o’clock. Then handfuls of people start drifting out. It is a good half hour before we see Cyndi Lou come toddling through the door with Charlie. He walks her to her car, and before she climbs in he bends her over the front fender and kisses her with such ferocity that I feel embarrassed watching. I cannot fathom what is going through my sister’s mind, but her face is a mask of stone.

“Maybe he’s drunk,” I suggest.

Donna shakes her head and says nothing.

After several minutes and a considerable amount of groping, Cyndi Lou climbs into her car and drives away.

“It’s probably a just groupie thing,” I say. “You know how these girls throw themselves at the singers.”

“We’ll see,” Donna answers.

Charlie goes back into the club, and we continue to sit and watch his car. Fifteen minutes later he comes out, gets into his car, and drives away. Donna pulls out and follows him several car lengths back. We drive for almost twenty minutes; then he turns down a side street. Donna stops at the corner and watches. It is now two-fifteen, and there is only one house on this entire block with the porch light still lit. Charlie slows his little sports car and pulls into the driveway. Before he can unfold himself from the seat, Cyndi Lou is standing on the front step wearing panties and a lacy camisole. He climbs from the car, walks toward her, and again they embrace. His hands are all over her ass. They step inside and close the door.