I’m not sure if I ever slept in those years. I met Eddie when I was 16. I started working in his Uncle’s Italian restaurant as a bus girl. It was located in the Hampton’s and I found myself in awe over the beautiful clothing and gorgeous people. No one ever looked at me, which I liked, and I quickly found a groove scurrying around cleaning up after everyone as they carelessly threw cigarette ashes, food and empty cocaine vials to the ground.

He was northern Italian with pale skin and the lightest blue eyes. Eddie was the manager and always surrounded by the prettiest cocktail waitresses. They flirted with him and drank with him after work. I was envious of their carefree life and laughter. I had a fantastic boyfriend who loved me unconditionally, yet he didn’t seem to exist in this world. This was a fantasy world and I wanted in.

In my latter years I would endlessly wish for parents that would force me to go to college and to NOT marry Eddie. How could I be so foolish? How could I marry someone that would hurt me emotionally and physically from the first day he kissed me? Yet when he finally looked at me and saw me I was amazed that someone like Eddie could see and want me. I was not as beautiful as the cocktail waitresses, I had nothing to offer.

I struggled for 3 years just trying to be good enough. I was playing a part in a film and knew if I didn’t try hard enough it would all fall apart. I worked harder than everyone else. I became a part of his Italian family and took classes to speak Italian so that I could participate with them at dinner. I married him as a good girl would and worked hard to create the home everyone in his family expected to see when they visited, and every night my film turned into a horror flick as my breath became shallow and my heart raced…he was home!

There were few repeat scenes in my horror show. I never knew what to expect. I became prone to hiding and I think he liked that even more as when he finally took all the bolts or hinges off the door and got to me, his veins were bulging from his neck and I knew this time would be worse. It was the anticipation of what was to come that hurt so much. I barely remember much after the first swing, but I remember the fear, the fear of what was inevitable.

In business in my latter years, I became known as a fearless woman who could speak to any crowd or stand up to the most powerful men. I have been humbled and have no point to prove, but I am not fearful of their words. They do not hurt me. My favorite saying (said only to myself) latter on in business was always “After the first punch, it just doesn’t hurt anymore, so give me your best shot”.

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