Harlot's Ghost
Page 90
“Howard Hunt is not perfect.”
“Ha, ha. I’ll see you a little sooner than you think,” he said, and hung up.
16
SERIAL: J/38,767,859
ROUTING: LINE/GHOUL—SPECIAL SHUNT
TO: GHOUL-A
FROM: FIELD
10:54 A.M. JULY 13, 1960
SUBJECT: HEEDLESS
On April 12, a bonanza. In a protracted conversation, BLUEBEARD tells AURAL about a meeting in Washington with IOTA on April 8, an ensuing visit to RAPUNZEL in Chicago on April 9 and 10, her return to Miami on April 11 in company with RAPUNZEL, and another rendezvous between BLUEBEARD and IOTA at the Fontainebleau on the same day. While BLUEBEARD does not speak of a direct encounter between IOTA and RAPUNZEL, it could certainly have taken place without her knowledge: RAPUNZEL, indeed, checked in at the Fontainebleau on April 11.
Here, at the risk of provoking your patience, I have included much of what you may consider extraneous detail, but I confess to being fascinated by it. Transcript of April 12:
MODENE: Jack had just won the primary in Wisconsin, so I expected him to be in a good mood, but he was in a very serious frame of mind when I came to his house.
WILLIE: He invited you to his home? Oh, my God, the chances that man takes. Where was his wife?
MODENE: Well, she’s up in Cape Cod, so he was alone in Washington. I did get the feeling that I am not the first woman to be invited over for a small dinner.
WILLIE: What is the house like?
MODENE: It’s in Georgetown, on N Street—3307 N Street.
WILLIE: I know Georgetown, but I can’t visualize that block.
MODENE: Tall and narrow houses that run a long way back. But, I was surprised at how small the rooms were.
WILLIE: Wasn’t it lavishly furnished?
MODENE: Well, the couches and chairs are plumped-up and extra-soft. For my taste, over-furnished. It’s not his style, I would say, but hers. There were certainly enough photographs around to give me the impression that she is a tense lady. She looks very tense to me. I think she needs all this super-comfort before she can begin to relax.
WILLIE: What kind of antiques does she have?
MODENE: Period pieces. French. Small and elegant. Must have cost a fortune. I guess she likes spending her father-in-law’s money.
WILLIE: Wouldn’t you?
MODENE: I haven’t thought about it.
WILLIE: And what did you eat?
MODENE: Let me tell you, that was a large disappointment. Jackie Kennedy may know all there is to know about high French cuisine, but when she’s not there, her husband goes Irish. Meat and potatoes.
WILLIE: Too bad.
MODENE: I didn’t care. I wasn’t in a mood to eat. We were three to dinner. There was a big gloomy fellow named Bill, a political troubleshooter, I suppose, and he and Jack spent the meal analyzing the prospects in West Virginia. The population is 95 percent Protestant, and Bill kept repeating, “Humphrey has succeeded in convincing those people that you are rich and he is poor like them.” “All right,” said Jack, “what’s your prescription?” “Old-fashioned trench warfare. Go at ’em, Jack. Call in your favors.” Jack started to laugh. I could see that he didn’t think too much of this fellow. “Bill,” he said, “I know that much already,” and in the way he said it, Willie, I could tell. He is one tough fellow.
WILLIE: You’re lucky to know a man like that.
MODENE: After Bill left, Jack and I had a nice slow drink, and he told me how much he had missed me. Let no one say that man does not know how to talk to a woman. He had an interesting story about a black tribe in Africa who believe that everything has a spirit, even a dress, for instance. He said to me that when a beautiful woman puts on a beautiful dress, it isn’t that she looks more beautiful because of the gown, but because the kuntu, the spirit, of the gown happens to be in harmony with the kuntu of the woman. So the effect is magnified because the spirits cooperate with each other. Few women have that kind of rapport with their clothing, he said, but I did.
WILLIE: You’re right. Jack Kennedy knows how to talk to a girl.
MODENE: Then he took me on a tour of the house. At dinner, I had only seen two servants, but however many there are, they were all off in their quarters, and just the two of us wandered through a lot of rooms and ended up in the master bedroom, and there we sat on one of the twin beds, and continued to talk.
WILLIE: The master bedroom! I don’t believe this fellow. I’d kill my husband if he ever did that to me.
MODENE: Well, I certainly felt two ways about it. I told myself he must be very unhappy with his wife. And I have to tell the truth—this night was just what I needed for my morale. So I may have felt a little guilty, but I was certainly ready. It all happened quietly as if he had been pouring some wonderful intangible potion into me and now I was a full vessel. I won’t apologize for it. That is how I felt. And it was wonderful making love to him. It took away a lot of doubts. He’s just there, and so appreciative. I wanted to do a lot for him. He’s not as active as Frank, but it didn’t matter. If I was afraid of anything, it was of how much I could fall in love.
WILLIE: Beware.
MODENE: Yes, beware. He said to me when we were done, “You don’t know how much you bring to me. Making love to you, I know that I can walk away from a defeat.” “Stop talking like that,” I told him, “it’s alien to your way of thinking.” “No,” he said, “if I don’t get the nomination, I’m going to abduct you to some private island in a great blue sea. Just you and me and the sun and the moon. We’ll live as if we were born naked, and I promise you, we will remain that way.” “Hold your horses,” I said. “You are trying to deprive me of my kuntu. I will sacrifice everything to you but my wardrobe.” Willie, we laughed until I thought we wouldn’t stop.
WILLIE: Did you sleep over?
MODENE: Oh, no. I couldn’t have faced the morning. He’s married, after all. I knew I had to fight the very idea of falling in love.
WILLIE: I’ve never heard you get this carried away about a man before.
MODENE: Well, after all, Willie, why not?
WILLIE: When did you see him again?
MODENE: April 11th. At the Fontainebleau. He went all over the country in the two days between. West Virginia, Arizona, I don’t even remember where.
WILLIE: Did Jack know about your trip to Chicago?
MODENE: I told him.
WILLIE: You told him about Sam Flood?
MODENE: Jack can think what he wishes. If he can’t believe that I am trustworthy, well, then let him suffer.
WILLIE: I don’t believe you. (April 12, 1960)
I interrupt the transcript at this point. The question, indeed, is whether to believe BLUEBEARD. The objective situation does run cross-grain to the tale she tells. We know that her meeting with RAPUNZEL was arranged in advance, and that the situation in West Virginia calls for strong measures. Is RAPUNZEL being asked to put his shoulder to the wheel?
QUERY: DO YOU HAVE COLLATERAL INFORMATION ON THIS POINT?
FIELD
SERIAL: J/38,770,201
ROUTING: LINE/ZENITH—OPEN
TO: ROBERT CHARLES
FROM: GALLSTONE
10:57 A.M. JULY 14, 1960
SUBJECT: CHICAGO
Illegal gambling very heavy in the fief of the 95 percenters. Local sheriffs are much in liege to lieutenants of Robert Apthorpe Ponsell. Local sheriffs asking, however, for feed bags to move the horses. Large supply of oats reputed to be available. Source: Jebbies.
GALLSTONE
The 95 percenters was an obvious reference to West Virginia, but Jebbies took a while to interpret. I had always thought of Jebbies as Jesuits. Then I tried J.E.B. which brought me to J. Edgar Buddha. I was back with the FBI. Robert Apthorpe Ponsell had to be RAPUNZEL.
SERIAL: J/38,771,405
ROUTING: LINE/GHOUL—SPECIAL SHUNT
TO: GHOUL-A
FROM: FIELD
12:32 A.M. JULY 15, 1960
SUBJECT: HEEDLESS
Continuing transcript of April 12:
WILLIE: Are you trying to tell me that you were in this man Flood’s company for forty-eight hours and he didn’t make one single pass?
MODENE: He took me around everywhere. To meetings with his people, to restaurants. Everywhere. Since he had me on his arm, everyone supposed I was his girl. That was enough for him.
WILLIE: But how did you hold him off?
MODENE: I told him I was in love with Jack Kennedy and that I am a one-man woman. He said that was okay with him. He has a singer, a blonde. She’s famous, he said. “Her name would knock you on your ear.” Then he added that he was faithful to her. I tried to get her name but he wouldn’t give it.
WILLIE: How could he conduct business meetings in front of you?
MODENE: He and his friends talk in Sicilian, I suppose it is, and it must be a special dialect because when I said I was going to study Italian so I could follow what they were saying, I thought he would never stop laughing. “Honey,” he told me, “you could go to school for twenty years and you wouldn’t learn word one of my language. You’ve got to be born into it.” That got me mad. Sam can get me madder from a standing start than anyone I ever met. I said to him, “Don’t be so cocksure. I can learn anything.”
WILLIE: You’re naïve. This man is a gangster.
MODENE: Well, don’t you suppose I’ve figured that out for myself?
WILLIE: Do you have any idea of what you’re getting into?
MODENE: You’d have to be blind not to. Some of the people around him have shoulders as wide as a trailer truck, and broken noses that spread all over their face. And names! Scroonj, Two-toes, Wheels, Gears, Mustard, Maroons, Tony Tits, Brunzo. They seem so surprised when you remember their name. How can you forget them?
WILLIE: All you did in Chicago was go around with him?
MODENE: All over. So many nightclubs. He is so powerful. We went into a restaurant and it was completely crowded. So a couple of waiters just lifted up a table with all the half-eaten food and plates on it for six people and carried that table into some vestibule. Those six people had to get up and move out there. Then they brought in a new table with only two place settings for Sam and me. He didn’t even nod. He could lift one finger and the restaurant would be closed down. You know it. I felt terrible for the people who were told to move.
WILLIE: Did you really?
MODENE: I didn’t really. I love being the center of attention and Sam will give a woman that. The truth is, I felt like Frank Sinatra. Everyone in the restaurant was watching the way I brought my fork to my mouth, and I do like that. I’m happy to twirl a fork when people are watching.
WILLIE: You should have been a model.
MODENE: I could have been a model.
WILLIE: You still claim that you’re in no danger of having an affair with Sam?
MODENE: Put it this way. If I ever drank way beyond my limit, I might make that kind of mistake with him, but I did count my drinks. And Sam was a gentleman. We did a lot of talking, however, about the Kennedys. He hates Jack’s father. He says, “Joe made more money in the liquor business than I did. You could take lessons from him on how to screw a friend. In fact, he screwed me,” and Sam started laughing in his crazy way again. After which he wiped his lips carefully and said, “Jack might be the good guy in that family. He’s not afraid to talk to the real people. But Nixon! Too hard to trust. Tricky Dick is in nose-deep with the starched fronts. The richees. Tycoons like Howard Hughes and the oil people. Those richees like to pretend guys like me don’t exist. So, I might do business with Jack before doing business with Nixon. Only I might not. That brother of his, Bobby, wanted to make a fool of me in public. Maybe Bobby don’t know the old Italian saying, ‘Revenge is a dish.’ When I know you better, I’ll tell you the last part of that one.” And he laughed again. I said, “It looks like you might have a problem.” “Me?” he asked. “I don’t have any problem that I don’t have an interesting solution to,” and he began to laugh all over again.
QUERY: HOW DID BOBBY KENNEDY TRY TO MAKE A FOOL OF SAM FLOOD? SECOND QUERY: WHAT IS THE LAST PART OF REVENGE IS A DISH?
MODENE: Sam and I flew back to Miami early Monday morning, and Sam insisted on taking me around and shopping until evening when Jack would be coming by the Fontainebleau. Let me tell you. Sam knows how to shop. He can tell diamonds from paste at fifty feet.
WILLIE: Well, so can I. Even if I have no diamonds. (April 12, 1960—to be continued)
Will terminate for tonight and finish by tomorrow night. If possible, please respond a.s.a.p. to the queries.
FIELD
17
SERIAL: J/38,776,214
ROUTING: LINE/ZENITH—OPEN
TO: ROBERT CHARLES
FROM: GARRULOUS
11:37 P.M. JULY 15, 1960
SUBJECT: DISHES
Answer to first query: From Select Committee on Improper Activities in the Field of Labor Management, Sen. McClellan, Chairman, 86th Congress, 1st Session, June 9, 1959, lines 18,672–18,681:
MR. KENNEDY: Would you tell us? If you have opposition from anybody, do you dispose of them by having them stuffed in a trunk? Is that what you do, Mr. Giancana?
MR. GIANCANA: I decline to answer because I honestly believe any answer might tend to incriminate me.
MR. KENNEDY: Would you tell us anything about any of your operations, or will you just giggle every time I ask you a question?
MR. GIANCANA: I decline to answer because I honestly believe my answer might tend to incriminate me.
MR. KENNEDY: I thought only little girls giggled, Mr. Giancana.
Answer to second query: OSS working undercover in Italy, 1943, did encounter the following piece of Sicilian wisdom: “Revenge is a dish that people of taste eat cold.”
GARRULOUS
SERIAL: J/38,780,459
ROUTING: LINE/GHOUL—SPECIAL SHUNT
TO: GHOUL-A
FROM: FIELD
11:44 P.M. JULY 15, 1960
SUBJECT: HEEDLESS
Thank you for prompt response on queries. Continuation of transcript AURAL–BLUEBEARD, April 12:
MODENE: Actually, I could have kept shopping with Sam instead of rushing back to the Fontainebleau, because it was the longest wait for Jack. When he finally did arrive, I thought he might be on medication. His face was puffed and swollen. He smiled and said, “It’s happened. My feet are starting to hurt.” “It’s all right,” I told him, “you still look good to me.” But when we kissed, I realized he was in no mood to make love.
WILLIE: That must have set you back.
MODENE: I felt close to him. What a compliment! To keep our date even when he’s entirely wrung out. We just had sandwiches and wine. And he started talking again about the desert island.
WILLIE: I wonder if he and his wife will stay together if he doesn’t become President.
MODENE: Well, as you can imagine, I’ve given a little thought to the subject.
WILLIE: Are you building up any expectations?
MODENE: I can only say I never felt closer to Jack. It was evening and we sat in silence. Then he had to go. He told me that it might be our last meeting for a while, since all his effort would be going into West Virginia now, and even if he wins that, there’ll be nonstop days and nights of preparation for the convention in July. He seemed to get sad at the thought of how long we’d be apart, and we sat in the room and held hands, and he said, “I don’t suppose there has been any time in my life that could have been less propitious for you and me than these madhouse months, but if it’s really there for us, we will bear up. We will bear up, won’t we?” he said, and I had to do all I could not to cry.
WILLIE: I feel like crying.
MODENE: The trouble is that I don’t know what kind of life to go back to. After you’ve been around people like Frank and Jack, who are you going to date for an encore?
WILLIE: I predict that Sam will take up a large role in the near future.
There are occasional calls to AURAL in the next two months, and references to long-distance conversations with IOTA and RAPUNZEL. It is evident, however, that such communications are becoming infrequent. After the West Virginia primary, however, IOTA did phone her. BLUEBEARD’s subsequent conversation with AURAL (May 11) may be worth inserting.
MODENE: Well, he called me the same night. I could hear his political people celebrating in the background. He told me that he didn’t think he could be stopped now, and was going to hold a vision—he used exactly that word, vision—of our reunion in Los Angeles after he won the convention. And he invited me to come out for the week of the convention.
AURAL: Are you appropriately thrilled?
BLUEBEARD: I was very happy he said that. And I feel at peace now. I know I can wait these next two months. I’m feeling awfully sure of myself again. (May 11, 1960)
18
IN THE SECOND WEEK OF JULY 1960, I DISCOVERED THAT I WAS NOT INHABiting the summer so much as I was living in the previous spring, for in my mind, I was following Modene through her travels between Miami, Chicago, and Washington; indeed, I only became fully aware of how removed I was from my own life when I walked into the officers’ lounge at Zenith one July evening and there on the television set was John Fitzgerald Kennedy speaking to a press conference at the Democratic Convention. I watched with all the shock of passing through an occult experience. It was as if I had been reading a book and one of the characters had just stepped into my life.
It was then I recognized that the fact that Modene was now at the convention in Los Angeles had not held as much reality for me as the account of her earlier activities I had been sending out each night to Hugh Montague.
Hearing Jack Kennedy’s reedy voice on TV, however, put me through transformations. Time, I discovered, was no unimpeded river, but a medium of valves and locks that had to be negotiated before one could reenter the third week of July. It took a day before I began to call the Fontainebleau every few hours to see if Modene had returned. When she finally came back to her room on the evening of the ninth day, her phone was ringing as she came through the door. I am certain she took it as an omen and must have concluded that I was gifted with remarkable powers, for she immediately burst into tears.