“Understood,” Alicia said. “Think nothing of it.”
The woman appeared genuine, and so Alicia took Mrs. McGovern at her word, even though the story did not add up, mostly because four was a small number by any account. But it was easier to blame a faceless bureaucrat than someone closer to home.
No matter. Alicia would press on. She had money now and it might be fun to get her own place. On her way to the Center that day, Alicia checked with a few people in town.
“A vacant room?” the baker Marty Martin said when Alicia stopped by the store. “A foreigner wants to let a room? This time of year? Good luck!”
“You’ll probably have to relocate,” said the Woolworth’s manager.
As it turned out, Alicia’s housing options were all too large, too dear, or too risky. She’d not soon let a bed in a boardinghouse otherwise filled with day laborers and unestablished fishermen. Dejected, Alicia straggled toward the Center. Maybe they’d let her stay there. She’d happily sleep beside the popcorn machine.
“I finally understand the expression,” Alicia said when she walked inside.
George was at the counter, combing through the latest film-industry magazine. No doubt he’d soon regale her with details about movie financings gone awry, or stars that were difficult to insure.
“Which expression is that?” he asked, barely glancing up.
Alicia whomped her purse on the counter.
“On the Cape, never count on two sunny days in a row,” she said.
“I think it was sunny yesterday and today,” he said, brow wrinkled.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asked. “I mean, your other work. The real job.”
“Not until later. I have some … personal business to tend to this morning.”
She shoved a piece of hair from her eyes.
“Oh! Hey!” George slapped his magazine closed. “I sold one of your paintings.”
“You did?!” Alicia perked up. “Really?”
“Yep. Last night. The big one. You know…” He twirled a finger. “The church.”
“That’s not a church.” She shook her head. “You know what? Who cares! It can be whatever a person wants it to be! How much did you get?”
George reached into his pocket, then pulled a twenty from his wallet.
“Here you go.”
He smacked it on the glass.
“Twenty dollars!” Alicia squealed.
She jumped over the counter to embrace the wonderful man.
“Oh, George! Thank you! Thank you so much!” she cried as he stiffened.
“Don’t thank me,” he said, worming out of her hold. “It’s impressive, really. Twenty bucks is no petty thing.”
“No. It’s not.” She exhaled. “Well, the sun shines on the Cape again. This money is needed—desperately.” Alicia waved the bill. “I was kicked out of my room this very morning, by the fire marshal. So, I’m on the hunt for a new home.”
“We have a fire marshal?”
“So they say. Alas, while twenty dollars is swell, apparently there’s not a spare room to be found in this whole damned town.”
Alicia looked around the lobby. Five paintings remained. She should start thinking about creating others, especially if this sale was the start of something more.
“Oh, George.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You can move in with me,” he said.
Alicia gaped. She felt mildly concussed, as if she’d just run into a tree.
“I can’t live with you!” she sputtered. “Do you understand what you just said?”
George was so unskilled with general conversation, Alicia guessed that he was flustered, or trying out a joke. Also, he lived with his mother, who was unlikely to approve the bringing home of stray girls.
“Of course I know what I said. And you shouldn’t be so quick to refuse, when your options are nil and something worse than that. We don’t have a YWCA here. You could always go back to Oklahoma, I guess.”
“You’re a real pick-me-up, you know that? George. We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks.”
“Long enough that I’ve determined you’re on the up-and-up.”
“Have you now?” Alicia said, face twisting into an amused smirk.
“Yes. I’ve been tracking your movements. You haven’t stolen candy or money once. And they said to be on the lookout for that sort of thing with DPs.”
“I’m pleased to have exceeded your bargain-basement expectations of me.”
“Our place is huge,” he babbled on. “Your room would be on an entirely different floor from mine, and from Mother’s. You’d have your own bathroom, and a hot plate. My sister got married five years ago and no one’s touched her room since. Gosh, aren’t you going to say anything? I’ve listed all these amenities. It’d be foolish of you to decline.”
What choice did she have? George was right. It’d be unwise to refuse.
In the end, Mrs. Neill seemed glad of the arrangement, happy for the company of someone other than her undeniably odd son. That George Neill still lived with his mother was not the world’s biggest riddle.
“I can’t remember the last time I was this excited!” she’d cried, upon hearing the news.
That evening, with Irenka darning socks on the bed, Alicia crammed the entirety of her existence into a single suitcase, now a well-practiced art. As she latched it closed, Alicia felt heavy, exhausted by the weight of her own nostalgia. Irenka was her first friend in America and Alicia would never forget their days in Oklahoma: trying on clothes at Brown’s, enjoying beers at Bishop’s, talking about the men they wanted to meet. Alicia arrived in America one year ago. She didn’t yet know if she was better or worse off than before.
Alas, Alicia’s entire life had been one of moving on, and she’d not get hung up on this latest loss. She’d welcome Irenka back if asked, but people changed. Opinions changed. Circumstances changed. The two girls never had much in common, other than being female, Polish, and so similarly, pathetically displaced.
* * *
She wasn’t needed at the Kennedys that day, so Alicia spent the afternoon with George, watching the rereleased, unedited version of All Quiet on the Western Front, followed by My Blue Heaven. Halfway through the second flick, she’d had enough velveteen and darkness for one day. Alicia collected her things, gave George a kiss on the cheek, and stepped out into the rosy dusk.
Alicia loved these hours on the Cape, after the temperature cooled and the sun began its descent. Up and down Main Street, restaurants hummed and people dashed, everyone brighter and more attractive in the generous light of eventide. Who needed Hollywood magic, with places like Hyannis in the world?
A block down, Alicia spotted a cluster of folks stopped to watch a street act. Ernie was the performer’s name and today he made a show of spinning hula hoops from his neck, arms, and legs. The observers were boisterous, whooping and clapping. Good thing Ernie hadn’t brought his monkey-on-a-string. Javier was easily spooked and prone to clawing at eyeballs when scared.
Alicia approached the group and offered Ernie a brisk smile. They were coworkers of sorts, at least in Alicia’s mind. She tended to guests in the theater, while he entertained them outside. Ernie had any number of tricks: acrobatics, hoops, the occasionally performed and always injurious fire breathing. It astonished Alicia that, in America, one might fashion a career out of an assortment of bad ideas.
Ernie winked when he noticed her, but did not break his pace. After deftly removing five hula hoops from his person, he bent over and took to hooping on his rear.
A great holler went up from the crowd, which was mostly male save one little girl and her mother, who sensed the performance’s imminent decline and promptly took leave. Just in time, too, as one of the onlookers soon shouted:
“Now do it on your prick!”
Alicia gasped. The comment came from a gang of man-boys cloistered off to the sid
e. Based on the guffawing and backslapping, the offender was a squat man with saucer ears. Beside him stood a much taller fellow, oafish almost. Alicia took in a quick breath. She’d seen these two before, at the Kennedys’.
Don’t be naive, Lem.
Shut up, Dave.
Behind them stood Jack Kennedy, live and in the flesh.
Alicia bit her lip. She scuttled backward a few steps as Jack looked up and caught her eye. He grinned, wide as forever, and gave a small wave. He recognized her! Jack Kennedy recognized her! She found herself both excited and relieved.
Alicia responded with a bob of her head. Then Jack waved her over. Alicia froze, at once sweaty and quite lubberly beneath her clothes. She followed fashion best she could, and boasted a kicky wardrobe for a Polish refugee, but Jack was probably used to the endless closets of his sisters, and whichever debutantes he wooed. At least she dressed better than Eunice.
“Hey there!” Jack called out, his voice booming as Ernie contorted himself into a backbend.
Around them, the crowd applauded.
“Hello,” Alicia said, or mouthed, for she did not want to interrupt Ernie’s show.
“Come here!” Jack said, and motioned her over again.
Despite the commotion, Jack Kennedy was impossible to ignore, and so everyone turned, even Ernie, who’d have a weeklong crick in his neck as a result. What could she do? With all eyes locked on her, Alicia plodded toward Jack.
“Hiya, candy girl,” Jack said with his signature smile. “Getting off work?”
“Sort of,” Alicia said. “I was at the Center, but not working. A colleague and I wanted to see All Quiet before it went back.”
“Ah. A classic film. Personally, I think you should be on the screen, not watching it.”
Alicia blushed. Either she really had that certain look, or the Kennedy men knew one way to flatter. Meanwhile, Ernie finished his performance and the audience broke up. Or maybe he’d stopped of his own volition, unable to compete with Jack Kennedy’s inherent pizzazz.
“These are my pals Dave and Lem,” Jack said, gesturing toward the men beside him.
Dave was the short, round one. Lem was tall, squinty, and suffered from a mean overbite.
“Remember these ugly mugs,” Jack said, “for when they show up on wanted posters.”
“Har, har,” Dave said.
“Hello.” Alicia extended a hand to each. “Alicia Darr.”
“Dar?” Lem said. “Like D … A … R? Daughters of the American Revolution? My mother is a member. Her side of the family came over on the Mayflower. Did yours?”
“I did indeed come on a ship,” Alicia said. “But it wasn’t the Mayflower.”
“Alicia!” shouted Ernie. “I’m off! Have a good one!”
“You too,” Alicia said. “Well done. Another inventive performance. Next time bring Javier.”
“We’ll see. He’s had a touch of the nerves. Right now, he’s taking a resting cure.”
“Give him my best.”
“Friend of yours?” Dave asked with a barely detectable but undeniably present sneer.
“Yes,” Alicia said, and lifted her chin. “He is.”
“How does one become friends with a street performer, exactly?”
“The usual way. Ernie is a great fella and you never know when it might be useful to know a person with a monkey.”
Jack chuckled as Ernie called out his final good-bye.
“Hold on, buddy!” Jack said, and raced over to the hat on the ground. “You deserve a few beans for your efforts. But bring the monkey next time.”
Jack reached into his pockets but came up clean. He looked toward Dave and Lem.
“Flat broke, per usual,” Lem muttered.
“Can one of you fellas help me out?”
“Sorry pal, I’ve got nothing,” Dave said.
Jack looked pleadingly at Lem, who shook his head.
“No sir. No can do. You already owe me fifty-two bucks.”
Jack swiveled toward Ernie.
“Can you wait here two minutes?” he asked. And to Alicia: “Promise you won’t go anywhere? You’ll stay in this very spot?”
Like Ernie, Alicia could only agree. With that, Jack hightailed it into Woolworth’s, leaving Alicia alone with Dave and Lem.
“The bastard never has any cash,” Lem said, saving her from having to start the conversation.
“The Kennedys are the richest SOBs in America,” Dave said, “yet they never foot the bill. I’ve seen them borrow money from the collection plates at church.”
“I don’t understand,” Alicia said, forehead wrinkled. “He’s getting money from Woolworth’s?”
Were they handing out loans now?
“He’ll put it on account,” Dave said. “Only Jack.”
“All that damned money and somehow the Kennedy accounts never come due,” Lem added.
Alicia smiled, unsure what to make of the ribbing among these men. So she stood there—dimly, she reckoned—waiting for Jack to return. When he did, he dropped three dollars into Ernie’s pot.
“Thank you kindly,” Ernie said, and collected his hat, the money, the last of his things.
He trotted off, whistling as he went.
“I’m famished,” Dave said, and hiked up his pants.
Alicia blinked, wondering if she was supposed to stay, or leave, or what.
“I’m gonna grab a bacon and tomato,” Dave said. “My stomach’s growling and I can’t hold out until dinner. The last time I tried to help myself to the food cabinet, Mrs. Kennedy shoved me onto a scale and made me fill out some sort of card.”
“Aw, she’s just trying to help,” Lem said. “You’ve gotten a bit tubby.”
“Better than being the Scarecrow’s ugly cousin.”
“You’re an ass. But I’ll join you. How about it, Ken? Can the delicate Kennedy stomach handle a bite between meals?”
“This hardy constitution? Are you kidding? I’m in. But you guys go ahead,” Jack said. “I need a minute with this beauty.”
The men snickered … in acknowledgment, or wonder, or some other reaction a refugee could never discern about an American boy.
“So,” Jack said when his friends left.
He moved to face her, and Alicia was struck by the warmth of his attention, his Jack Kennedy sunshine. Somehow, he was tanner, impossibly more handsome in the low light. His cheeks were ruddy, his dense hair windswept and curled. Representative Kennedy looked like he’d just stepped off a boat, which was probably the very case.
“Is the Center opened on Labor Day?” he said.
“It is, although I’m not working then.”
“Excellent.” He grinned wider. “Listen. My parents host a big party every year. Lots of people. Great food. Unlimited booze. It’s a gas.”
Alicia gave a stingy smile. Yes, she was well aware of such a party and he’d be astounded to know in what detail. If asked, she could write out a full menu on the spot.
“You should come,” he said.
Alicia barked out a laugh.
“Something amusing, Miss Darr?”
“Not at all,” she said, giving her own toothy grin.
“You sure about that?” Jack said, and cocked a brow.
“You bet. I’m simply feeling merry on this glorious day.”
“Uplifted by war movies, are ya?”
“Oh, it’s not about the movie.”
Alicia glanced at the ground.
“Wonderful to see you again, Jack,” she said, trying to muster the courage to leave this magnet of a man.
“Hey! Where ya going?”
Alicia walked away, each step made as if in wet cement. Before rounding the corner, she stopped.
“By the by,” she called out. “I read an article about you. A-bombs and cookbooks and whatnot.”
“You did? Well, I’ll be!”
“I quite agree with your position. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it’s best to be prepared. Well, have a del
ightful holiday. I’m sure your parents’ party will be executed flawlessly and with every attention to detail.”
Alicia turned to go, for good.
“Hey!” Jack shouted. “Hey! Alicia!”
She stopped, wanting to go back, but worried what might happen if she did. The next time Alicia saw Jack, she’d be in a maid’s uniform, tending to the bounteous needs of his family, his friends, and all those pretty girls with gemstones clipped to their sweaters. This would probably be the last she’d ever receive of his admiration, and so Alicia looked at him one more time. She wanted to remember the expression of someone like him, a man who saw something in her.
“Yes, Jack?” she said over her shoulder.
“Aren’t you going to accept my invitation?” he asked. “To the Labor Day party?”
Alicia laughed, then shook her head.
“Oh, Jack,” she said, head still moving. “I’d already planned to go.”
“You knew about it?”
“As a matter of fact, the party at your parents’ is the reason I’m in Hyannis at all.”
THIS WEEK AT THE CENTER HYANNIS:
SO YOUNG SO BAD
HYANNIS PORT
Labor Day broke gray and dreary, a typical morning on the Cape.
But the gloom didn’t dampen party preparations, or the commotion. A pinging, buzzy energy reverberated in the house. Jokes were told. Laughter rang. Mrs. Kennedy broke up countless squabbles in her rickety warble.
Late in the day, Alicia found herself in the kitchen pantry, hands clapped over both ears, her version of a break. When she stepped out, Alicia saw that the Kennedy sisters were hiding in the kitchen, too, thanks to their mother stalking about on high alert.
Alicia gave a curt greeting, and continued to work, invisible yet available at the same time; the perfect housemaid dance. It was Alicia’s last day at the Kennedys’. She was almost sad to leave.
“I’m exhausted,” Pat complained, coiling a piece of auburn hair around her finger. “And the party hasn’t even started. Anyone want to play golf instead?”
“And miss the biggest shindig of the year?” Jean said as she nibbled on a slice of cake. “Mother would have a fit!”
She would likewise have a fit, Alicia thought, at the sight of Jean’s careless snacking. Rose Kennedy viewed her average-sized daughter as well past plump.
The Summer I Met Jack Page 6