and verse, but he’s gone out of his way to screw me at every turn. And he’s been good at it. As I said, he has a knack for influencing the powers that be. And he’s certainly done it where I’m concerned.” Palmer puffed for a few moments. “I can’t help thinking every once in a while what my life would have been if not for Ridley Groendal. By this time—God!—I would have had my own organization . . . a guest soloist . . .” He was lost in reverie.
Not for the world would Koesler have suggested that Palmer might well have contributed to his own limitations. As his career sank ever more inextricably into the DSO, his temperament and behavior had deteriorated in tempo.
At Symphony parties to which Palmer had invited him, Koesler sometimes overheard other orchestra members complaining about Dave—picayune things, such as when it was Palmer’s responsibility to turn pages, he would flip a page just far enough so he could read the music, forcing his partner to complete the chore. Little things—but sometimes the rabbit punches were life’s most difficult afflictions.
Anna came in with coffee.
“So,” Koesler summed up, “pity, bewilderment, and hate. An odd combination.”
“Oh, good grief!” Anna exclaimed. “You’ve been talking about that Groendal person again.”
Koesler was not surprised that Anna was familiar with Dave’s feelings toward Ridley.
“Yes,” Palmer said, “Groendal once more.”
He set the pipe in an ashtray, where the dottle smoldered. “Funny thing, if I ever stopped feeling pity—for even one brief second . . .”
“You’d what?” Anna prompted.
“I’d . . . I’d kill him. Yes, I really would.”
“Dave!” Anna exclaimed. “That’s a sin! Now you really are going to have to ask for absolution!”
“Instead of that, I think I’ll play something.” Palmer tried to create the impression that his threat had not been serious. But Father Koesler wondered.
Palmer picked up his violin, tuned it, and began the gentle opening theme from Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony.
For Koesler, the beauty of the music more than made up for Anna’s spaghetti and meatballs. As he listened, he could not help but reflect on Dave’s threat. That completed the circle of all three men who had been so crippled by Ridley’s revenge. Three men who, otherwise, were essentially nonviolent. Yet, in Koesler’s hearing, all three had threatened to kill Ridley Groendal.
That left Jane Condon, now Jane Cahill, and her daughter, Valerie Cahill, now Valerie Walsh, as the only victims who had not threatened to kill Groendal—at least not in Koesler’s hearing.
Koesler would have known very little of either woman in recent years had he not heard from third parties, and, finally, from Valerie herself.
20
Koesler doubted that Valerie joined in the sentiments of that prayer. Of all those marked for vengeance by Ridley, Valerie had perhaps the strongest motive for striking back.
Palmer, Mitchell and Hogan each had been personally hurt by Groendal. As for Valerie, not only she but, much more, her mother had been deeply wronged. It is oftimes easier to forgive or at least live with an injury done to oneself than to overlook some evil done to a loved one. Groendal had hurt Val. She might have risen above that. She could never ever forget or forgive what he had done to the one person she loved most next to her husband.
If Valerie had not gotten an aisle seat, Koesler might not have located her in the crowd. Quite obviously, Red Walsh was not in attendance, otherwise Koesler would have easily spotted the human skyscraper. Koesler did not closely follow the comings and goings of the Detroit Pistons, but, he thought, probably Walsh was at practice.
In fact, Valerie was accompanied by her mother. Koesler did not remember ever having seen the two together.
The first time he could recall seeing Jane was at the Stratford movie theater nearly forty years before. He might not have paid much attention to her then if that had not been the start of something big, however brief, between Jane and Ridley. After Groendal had related what had taken place between himself and Jane, Koesler hadn’t known quite what to do. So he had spent that summer praying fervently for Jane.
After he was ordained four years later, he occasionally visited Jane. Again, there was not much he could do. While it was a heartrending situation, for whatever her reasons Jane wanted to handle it alone. So she worked at Hudson’s, hired a babysitter, and brought home what bacon she could. After her boy, Billy, died, Koesler had lost touch with Jane.
He had not met Valerie until she returned from New York with her husband. She felt she needed to talk to a priest. But nearly all the young priests she’d known in high school were now former priests. As far as Valerie—and most other Catholics—was concerned, the magic was over. One might have great confidence in a priest. But once he left the priesthood, though he was the same person, the old confidence in him seemed to evaporate.
Jane recommended Father Koesler to her daughter as a kind and helpful priest and, even more to the point, one who knew Ridley Groendal very well.
Koesler listened to Valerie’s life story, which was not much different from any other Catholic girl’s. Peculiar to Valerie was her enormous theatrical talent along with her extraordinary beauty. Unlike some similarly endowed girls, Valerie had let none of her gifts go to her head. Through the difficult high school years, she had remained in control of herself and her destiny. But, aside from her talent beauty, and self-containment, her life through high school was not markedly different from others with a parochial education.
All that of course changed when she went off to New York after high school graduation. Her parents had no money for college. In addition, Valerie could see no point in college. By consensus and her own conviction, she was ready for the stage. She was aware she had lots to learn. But she knew the next lessons would have to be in the school of hard knocks. She had no idea how hard those knocks were destined to be.
She told Koesler of arriving bright-eyed and eager in Queens, where she would stay with cousins on her father’s side. Of visiting one theatrical agency after another. She was convinced she was unsinkable. She was talented, beautiful and—if inexperienced—at least young, healthy, and willing to knock on endless doors until something inevitably opened.
She did not know until much later that almost every time a door began to open, someone was on the other side slamming it shut. That someone, she would eventually learn, was Ridley Groendal.
Valerie visited Koesler several times, each time pouring out more of her story. In the beginning, he could not tell where this was leading. But, in time, the dark shadow of Groendal was evident.
Though her cousins were gracious and kind, her presence shortly became awkward. The modest rent and board she paid, plus the sheer cost of travel in Manhattan, soon exhausted her small savings. Then it grew embarrassing. The cousins were encouraging and sympathetic, but she knew they were operating on a tight budget. They could not carry her indefinitely.
There was no alternative; she had to get a job.
The job was not long in coming. But then, Groendal was not blocking her job hunt—only because he could not. After a two-week search, Valerie was hired by Sports Gear International. The New York store was headquarters for a chain of sporting goods stores in the U.S. and Canada. The job combined clerking with occasional modeling.
In what spare time she could squeeze from her work, she continued to audition for Broadway and Off- Broadway shows. Among her attempts to break into show biz:
Although she invariably tried for the chorus or an understudy part, she never came close. It was a combination of her youth and comparative inexperience along with the pervasive behind-the-scenes presence of Ridley Groendal.
Meanwhile, her modeling career continued to prosper. Sports Gear International used her increasingly in
