“What would we miss?” Pat asked with a shrug. “The guest list is twenty-seven pages long. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned exclusivity? This place is giving me a headache.”
“Aww, poor girl,” Eunice clucked. “You’d better jet back to Hollywood before you collapse from fatigue. Shall I get the fainting couch?”
Jean tittered and brushed the crumbs from her mouth. Pat rolled her eyes with a harrumph. It was this kind of talk—gripes about regular Kennedy things like melees and mayhem—that earned Pat her reputation as moody and particular. To Alicia, it seemed like proper decorum and good taste.
“I’m flabbergasted you don’t get invited to big, wild parties every night,” Jean said, licking her fingers.
“Why?” Pat said. “Because I live in Hollywood? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a starlet, I’m no Elizabeth Taylor or Marilyn Monroe.”
“You’re pretty,” Jean said, “and a Kennedy. Not to mention rich as hell.”
“No one cares about that,” Pat said, then rolled her eyes again. “And thank God.”
She pushed herself to standing. In the distance came a laugh from Bobby, followed by a signature Ethel bray. As to where Jack might be, Alicia couldn’t guess. He wasn’t in the house, but was due at any time. No one had said this, but the air had a certain brace to it, an expectation, like the lead-up to a sneeze.
“I’m going to change,” Pat said.
“Yes, it’s about that time,” Eunice agreed, and followed her sister’s lead.
Jean ogled an untouched sweet cake before sliding her gaze toward her sisters.
“Are you coming?” Pat asked.
“Sure,” Jean answered with a defeated sigh.
As the three tramped away, Jean asked Eunice when Jack might arrive. A charge ran along Alicia’s spine.
“Soon,” Eunice said, her voice growing fainter. “He had some appearances this morning. Parades and such.”
“Don’t worry,” Pat added, “we’ll know the second Jack and his band of merry idiots drive up. They’re impossible to miss.”
* * *
Sure enough, Jack arrived with the men from the hula-hooping show and a gaggle of others besides. The family ushered him in like a distinguished guest, the king of their ruffian tribe.
Alicia resolved that while she would not seek out Jack—obviously—neither would she cower in shame. This was her last day as a maid, and life was on the rise. She’d sold a painting. Twenty dollars! There was no reason to hide.
From the moment he walked in, Jack took command of the party, always a pack of cronies at his side, a trickle of girls listing in his wake. Despite his personal retinue, Jack was easy to find. Whether at the bar, on the back lawn, or walking up from the cove, he shone brighter than the sun.
At dusk, Alicia was in the kitchen, plucking shards of glass from her stockings. She’d swept up three dozen mishandled drinks so far and her arms and legs were nicked and cut. Where was Mrs. Kennedy with one of her penny-pinching rebukes? Jeannette was right, they were all heathens.
Alicia paused, hands on the cool, sticky counter. It was nice to be alone in this room, the noise muffled and far away. She let her gaze drift out to where Jack held court, dazzling a flock of what she assumed were debutantes, based on what she’d read in Mademoiselle. The girls were pretty in their upscale, American way, albeit more attractive as a group than any one of them would’ve been on her own.
“Excuse me,” said a voice, high-pitched but male.
“Oh! Hello!” She tore her eyes from the window. “Can I help you?”
When Alicia turned, she saw it was Jack’s friend Lem, the tall one with the overbite.
“Heyyyyy…” he said. “Whaddya know? It’s the gal from the theater, am I right? The dame with the street performer pal?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Alicia said, and tugged at her lumpy gray uniform. “I only work—”
She stopped herself, for Lem deserved no explanation.
“Did you need something?” she asked.
“Yes, actually. The bartenders are out of daiquiri mix.”
“I think the caterers are aware,” Alicia said. “But I’ll check, just in case. It’s possible they’re walking out with it right now.”
Her eyes darted to the window but she saw no daiquiris and instead Jack, encircled by an increasing throng of girls.
“Ah,” Lem said, his gaze following hers. “Watching the master at work, are you? Per usual, he’s charming the pants off them. Literally.”
Alicia pretended not to register the joke.
“They are all very pretty,” she said simply.
“Eh. Pretty but dull.”
Alicia tossed her head back in his direction.
“Dull?” she said. “How can that be? They must have the best educations.”
“School doesn’t make someone interesting. Trust me, Jack is my closest friend. Those social register girls.” He made a face. “It’s not that he likes them. He likes to mock them.”
“I hardly think that’s—”
“They’re wasting their breath,” Lem said. “And their lip gloss and perfume. Jack needs someone who’s interesting, unique, not the same as everybody else.”
Alicia nodded, thinking, yes, they were all made from the same palette, weren’t they? She herself could never pick out one from the others.
“He needs someone who can challenge him intellectually,” Lem went on, “as well as in … other areas. Someone experienced, if you catch my drift.”
Alicia’s cheeks burned.
“I’m sure there are many who would fit the bill.…” she mumbled.
“Did you know he dated a Nazi spy? Jack never officially confirmed or denied the rumor, so it was probably true.” Lem stepped up beside Alicia. “There’s not a dame alive who isn’t attracted to the bastard. Kind of sad to contemplate all the girls who pine after him, when he doesn’t remember their names. If only they understood that he’ll never settle down.”
“Really?” Alicia looked at him. “You don’t think he’ll get married, eventually?”
“One day, I suppose. It’s what’s expected. He is a politician.” Lem sighed, eyes lingering on his old pal. “Watch him standing there, jiggling his arm, tapping his foot. The man can’t stand still. Nothing is ever enough for that guy. He’s insatiable, in a thousand ways. There’s not a woman alive who could ever be enough.”
* * *
Alicia and Irenka were in the kitchen, alone for the first time that day. They’d worked dutifully beside each other for the past week, but their relationship was gone. What would happen when they left the Kennedys’ that night? Would they ever have a proper good-bye?
“I go home now,” Irenka said, and shimmied into her coat. “You stay and clean.”
Alicia looked at the dishes lined up on the counter, the untold piles the caterers left behind. It would’ve been a tall task for the two of them, but Alicia was not up for the fight.
“Do widzenia,” Irenka said, and opened the door.
She set one foot outside.
“Wait,” Alicia said.
Irenka hesitated, and in that split second, Alicia took her last chance.
“After tonight, I won’t be working here,” she said. “And—lucky you—you won’t be forced to interact with me multiple times per week.”
Irenka grunted in response.
“So, is this it?” Alicia asked. “Do you plan to speak to me again, or is the friendship over?”
“We are not friends.”
“Ren.” Alicia took a few cautious steps forward. “What’d I do? We had such fun in Oklahoma. You were the single decent thing about that place. Then you’ve invited me here, to the Cape, only to shut me out.”
“I never invite you. My letters were to Alfreda and Zula. You stole dem.”
“I didn’t steal them.”
Irenka’s letters were mostly addressed to Alicia’s roommates, but Alfreda and Zula passed them around. That was the point of braggin
g, wasn’t it? To make it clear to all the girls how far from the YWCA she’d flown? Plus, Irenka swore the Kennedys needed more help, and there’d be room for any of them, if they came. She had to expect that the former Barbara Kopczynska would be the one with enough mettle to move to Cape Cod.
“You tief,” Irenka insisted.
“I’m not a thief. Maybe you didn’t invite me explicitly, but you were so enthusiastic about life in Hyannis. You said how much we’d love it here!”
“I do not like you here.”
“What did I do? If you’re worried that I’m going to take your job, then erase that thought right now. You have your life and I have mine—”
“I am much better maid.”
“Of course that’s true,” Alicia said, thrilled to concede the title. “So, what’s the problem? You liked me plenty in Oklahoma. What changed?”
Irenka sighed heavily. Then, ever so slowly, she rotated to face her former friend.
“I like Barbara Kopczynska. But it is Alic-ja here now.”
“You’re upset that I changed my name?” Alicia rolled her eyes. “That’s silly. I had to, don’t you understand?”
“You change de name, but you change much more. You are not same girl.”
“I certainly hope not,” Alicia said with a snort.
“You see? I am right.”
“We’ve both changed,” Alicia said. “And for the better. Isn’t that why we came to America? To become … American?”
“But you change everytink. Your hair blond. Was brown before. You wear lipstick.”
“Yes, okay, that’s true,” Alicia said with a small laugh. “My lips are redder and my hair is lighter. But that’s all window dressing. Can’t we agree that I’m the same person at heart? Take my housekeeping skills, for one. Terrible as always!”
Alicia gestured toward the cluttered counter, although the mess wasn’t hers.
“Good thing it’s my last day!” she added.
Irenka considered Alicia’s argument.
“Maybe you right,” she conceded.
Alicia exhaled. Perhaps they’d be okay.
“Yes, you de same,” Irenka said. “Because you ugly person already.”
Her face darkened, becoming shadowed beneath her fleshy brow.
“Ugly? Is this about the—” Alicia lowered her voice. “The Ambassador? Nothing happened.”
“Hmph. So you say. You lucky I do not tell Mizz Kennedy he drivink you!”
“He drove me home once, in spite of my protests, and because you abandoned me.”
“Poor Mizz Kennedy,” Irenka said with a whimper. “All de tinks she doesn’t know.”
“Honestly, Irenka, you don’t give the woman enough credit. She knows a whole lot more than she lets on.”
To wit: One hour before, a handful of guests lingered in the sunroom, trading gossip on the Reds. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy sat side by side on the pilled orange couch until Mr. Kennedy abruptly stood, summoned Miss Dee, and scampered upstairs.
“Look at that terribly faded pillow,” Mrs. Kennedy said, staring at the space her husband left behind. “How embarrassing! I must replace it right away!”
Upstairs, furniture—and people—creaked and whined. The friends departed with as much grace as they could rally while Mrs. Kennedy rambled about the cushions, and then retired to her own bedroom.
Alicia’s first impression was that Mrs. Kennedy was a tad slow, blind to the situation in her own home. But then Alicia soon learned that Rose Kennedy merely played dumb, which was a wholly different matter. It wasn’t ignorance, but a choice, a subtle form of art.
“I give her lots of credit,” Irenka said, as she fingered the cross she now wore at all times. “She is pious and godly. Unlike yourself. You forget, Alic-ja, I know vat happen before you come to America. I know about Germany and before.”
“I could say the same of you.”
“Not de same.”
Irenka’s eyes narrowed. They went a little red. On the counter, a dish clinked after slipping of its own accord.
“You sinful girl,” Irenka said. “You pretty, but you wrong, on de inside.”
Alicia flinched and Irenka released a fast, smug smile. Then she whirled around on her sturdy white shoes and plodded off, a farewell without so much as a good-bye.
A sinful girl? Alicia didn’t think that of herself in that way, but neither was she free of sin. None of them were, really. When it came to survival in those wretched times, there was no black and white but instead a long continuum of gray. They’d all made trade-offs. The luxury of choosing between right and wrong was for other people, in other places, in other times.
Alicia would miss her friend, for Irenka taught her a great deal, like how to operate a dishwasher, and make a sandwich, and that one must first wet a sponge before putting it to use. Irenka even taught her something tonight, in their very last conversation, in a kitchen stacked with dirty plates. Hopefully, Alicia would never again have use for rags or mops, but she was grateful for the lesson that it was best to keep one’s secrets locked in the past.
* * *
The most persistent guests had departed, the lingering scent of cigar smoke had at last dissolved into the misty sky. Even Teddy had slogged off to bed thirty minutes before, and he usually raised hell until dawn.
After ringing George to come pick her up (this wouldn’t show on the Kennedys’ phone bill, she didn’t think), Alicia shut off the lights and made her way toward the front door. She’d miss this home and its rambling grandiosity, the shabby and well-loved furniture, the creak of the hardwood floors as the Kennedys clobbered about. But it was time to go.
Near the staircase, a figure materialized. Alicia lurched to a stop, her heart clonking around inside. Her first thought was of the rumored night prowler, but his glasses were said to be like the Ambassador’s, and this person wore no specs.
“There you are,” Jack Kennedy said.
Alicia checked behind her but no one else was there.
“I’ve been trying to hunt you down for hours.”
“You have?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Yep. Saw you as soon as I arrived, but whenever I approached, you disappeared.”
Alicia blinked in befuddlement. She’d tracked him that day, albeit peripherally and at a distance as she had a job to do, but never had they gotten closer than a car’s length apart.
“I think you’re confused,” Alicia said.
“You’re Alicia Darr, from the theater. The clothes are different, but I’d recognize you anywhere.”
Alicia nodded, all speech having left. How was it that Jack Kennedy remembered her name? Maybe Lem wasn’t right about every last thing.
“Long day, huh?” he said, and Alicia again nodded. “That’s why I’m having one of these.”
He showed her the daiquiri in his left hand.
“Want to share?” he asked.
“Beg pardon?”
“I’m asking, would you like to have a drink?”
“Yes,” Alicia croaked. “Okay, sure.”
“Come on,” he said. “Follow me.”
Alicia pattered after Jack, heart thrumming. She did not ask why they were going to his bedroom. It wasn’t something to question, really, as she did not take this as a choice. She was a character in Jack’s story, her plot written and directed by somebody else.
Once in his room, they sat on a bed, atop the green coverlet Alicia had laundered the day before. She remembered noticing that it’d pilled, and several threads had shaken loose. It did not seem like something for your favorite son’s room. Because of this, the entire scene felt suddenly old-fashioned and domestic, the specter of Rose Kennedy all around. Alicia looked toward Jack as he set down his daiquiri, well out of her reach.
Without speaking, Jack leaned toward her, and she met him halfway. His lips, his tongue, they stunned her, for they felt like how she imagined they might. Alicia anticipated magic, she realized, something more than a kiss. Then again, that she expected
anything was the biggest surprise of all.
In one move, Jack wrapped his arms around her and lifted her body on top of his. He did this with such deftness, Alicia barely had a moment to take stock of what happened. How was it that he was already on his back, with his pants off, Alicia’s uniform hiked up to her waist?
He snatched the dress over her head, then tugged down her stockings. As he massaged Alicia through her underwear, Jack’s eyes met hers for a quarter second, a full second perhaps. It was a pause, a question whether to go further, although no words were exchanged. Alicia nodded, bewildered, but wanting this still. So, Irenka had been right. She was a sinful girl.
Soon her pink silk drawers were stripped off. Jack eased himself inside and pulled down on her, anchoring her hips against his. He began to rock and pump. A drop of sweat rolled off her forehead and dropped onto his nose. He bucked more furiously and soon Alicia pulsed and tightened around him, to an unthinkable degree. Jack called out and lifted his hips, and she pressed harder to take in more of him.
A cascade of fits sent Alicia moaning and cursing, louder than him. She tried to temper these strange convulsions, but in the end could not and so she let herself go.
When it ended, they collapsed into a pile, lying there for a minute, maybe two. His heart beat against hers.
Then, as if startled, Jack pushed Alicia off of him and leapt to his feet. He began to dress, leaving her addled, not to mention naked and chilled. It was all so quick, a blur.
“You are something else,” he said, latching his belt buckle.
How was he completely dressed? With an almost undetectable twinge of regret, Alicia rotated onto her side and pulled the green coverlet atop her body. Before putting on his shoes, Jack walked over and kissed Alicia gently on the head.
“Let me ask you something,” he said. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” she answered, and pawed at the floor for her clothes.
When Alicia looked up, she saw the daiquiri sitting full and untouched on the bedside table, drops of water sliding along the outside of the glass.
“That was some show for someone so young,” he said. “I loved it.”
The Summer I Met Jack Page 7