What caught my eye next was a peculiarity that has always lingered in my mind. Over in a corner, on the floor, was a rather dusty, unfinished portrait of a young man. The canvas was complete, except for the actual face.
Printer-Friendly
Email this Story
Post a Comment (0)
Part Two/ 'And Still My Heart Has Wings
Catherine Jane Mahoney grew up in a most privileged household along the Hudson’s Palisades.
I’ll never forget the very first time that I met Cathy. By then, she had become Cathy Mahoney Terzak. I was in my second year of teaching in North Bergen, New Jersey, and Cathy turned up for our annual children’s Christmas cantata, which I had written along with a colleague, Mal Turner.
As a local photographer, Cathy perfectly caught the seasonal energy of our costumed students on stage, as well as the proud parents and faculty sitting and prompting them on. Her black and white photos of our over-the-top little munchkins ended up not only in our local paper, but within a well-known Manhattan weekly magazine that ended up hiring Cathy on a full time basis. Mal and I begged to take Cathy out to lunch as to reciprocate the favor, and she happily accepted.
From that time on, Cathy and I were inseparable. We were astounded to find that we both lived in the very same high rise apartment on Kennedy Boulevard off of Hudson Park! Neither Cathy nor I particularly enjoyed cooking, so we would shop endlessly along Bergenline Avenue amongst mouth-watering Jewish delis and thigh-empowering Italian bakeries. Lugging our goodies home, we would often come to my apartment to open boxes on weeknight evenings, and gorge ourselves. My husband travelled extensively at that time and Kenny was working on Madison Avenue. We rarely saw them for dinner.
Every once in a while the four of us would go out to eat, but my husband didn’t much care for Kenny… and to be honest, neither did I. Kenny belittled Cathy every chance he could. I wanted to just slap him hard across the face the time the four of us were over at Mama Leones and Cathy ordered a fish entrée. Kenny had leaned over her and bellowed out that “she needed some real woman food, because he was sick and tired of living with a stick!” My husband had grimaced and told Cathy she was one of the prettiest women he had ever met…then cast Kenny a dirty look. Kenny hadn’t had much to drink…it was typical Kenny, even when sober; but then it never did take much for Kenny Terzak to ruin the evening for the rest of us.
In time, I was the only one who spent much time with Cathy. I, like my husband, suspected that Kenny was a womanizer. Cathy never uttered a word. If Kenny had been my husband, he would have been talking to his lawyer! Cathy, as charming and as sweet as she was, was a fighter in her own way, and it was just ‘understood’ that there was no way she would give up on her marriage.
I remember the very first time that I met her parents, Grace and John Mahoney. They had asked me over for dinner one spring evening. Cath and I had parked along the side of their impeccable gray and white clapboard colonial, and Grace motioned for us to come up to her studio.
Cathy was the picture of her mother, except that I noticed right away a large, rather unsightly scar running along the left side of Grace’s attractive face, as well as scarring on both of her hands. She also walked with a slight limp. With eyes as vivid green as Cathy’s, and slender build, they could have been twins. The only real difference was Grace’s accent, which sounded very English. She, like her daughter, made me feel as though I was an important guest and embraced me with the very same warmth.
John Mahoney was a graying, grizzled stocky Irishman, very much the image of a go-getting coach. His daughter had inherited his wicked laugh and crooked grin. After a bear hug, he shook his burly head and winked at me, “Ya see what I gotta to put up with? Nothin' but women in my life!”
We climbed up the stairs to the studio above the garage where Grace was preparing for an upcoming art show in town. The studio was a cozy mix of blue and white chintz, caked easels, smeared colorful oil paints and matching rags, innumerable canvases, and the familiar odor of turpentine. Grace explained that she was showing three oils…each was a picture of Cathy at various times of her life. I stood there mesmerized by her talent. Painting has always been something for which I wished I’d had the talent. What caught my eye next was a peculiarity...
Over in a corner, on the floor, was a rather dusty, unfinished portrait of a young man of sorts. The canvas was completed except for the actual face. I thought that extremely odd at the time. Cathy caught me staring. “Mother’s still working on that one."
I quickly noticed a flicker of embarrassment in Grace’s eyes. She turned away, motioning for us to go down to the house for dinner. Those many years before, I so wanted to inquire more about that picture, but something inside of me warned me not to.
John had his large arms lovingly draped around Grace while he kept prying Cathy about Kenny throughout dinner. Cathy firmly explained that Kenny was very busy with work and left it at that. I grew to love Cathy’s folks; however, that first time, I sensed emptiness…even frustration. Something didn’t seem right to me. I just could not put my finger on it. Years later, I came to realize it was Grace’s fragility that John was protecting, while stubbornly refusing to deal with the past…both his and hers.
Within a year, my husband and I were transferred out of state. Cathy and I kept in touch the first few years through phone calls and then long letters. She broke down on the phone one evening and admitted that Kenny was having numerous affairs, while also keeping his colleague, Bev Jacobson, close at hand. I had warned Cathy again and again to leave the jerk for good. Even my former teaching associate, Mal Turner, had sent me a letter at one point commenting on the black and blue marks he noticed around Cathy’s face at the grocer’s one day. My heart ached for Cath, as I knew right there and then exactly what was going on…and I had absolutely no power to help whatsoever.
Cathy’s Christmas card, stamped 1972,was filled with wonderful news as far as she was concerned. Kenny had been offered a position in Europe (London to be exact) with the ad firm, and Cathy was going to carry on her photography as a rep for the magazine, as well as searching for interesting freelance opportunities. She had mentioned that Grace was thrilled for them both, but that John was miffed, as he could not figure out why on earth Kenny and Cathy would want to move so far away from home.
But it was the ending of Cath's greeting card that truly unsettled me...Kenny and Cathy were now trying for a baby.
I certainly was happy for Cathy’s chance for travel and connections through overseas work;however,the notion of Kenny Terzak as a father made my blood run ice-cold.
TO BE CONTINUED
'And Still My Heart Has Wings, copyrighted 2008, Pam Munson Steadman
Until next time,
Pam
You must be logged in to post a comment.