“Hello,” Alicia said, and moved wholly into the kitchen. “How is everyone this morning?”
“Fabulous,” Jack said. “But you’re not dressed for sailing.”
Alicia looked down at her outfit, a yellow sheath and matching “glamour cardigan,” purchased at Abercrombie & Fitch’s season-end sale. She had a small package under her right arm and a pair of heels dangling from her fingertips.
“But I do like the getup.” Jack scrutinized the dress thoroughly. “You’re making this room a helluva lot brighter.”
“Yellow?” George said with a squint. “Do you think that’s wise?”
Alicia shot him a glare.
“So, Alicier,” Jack said, “Willie, George, and I were having a rousing debate. Have you seen the news?”
Willie? Mrs. Neill’s name was Willie?
“What news?” Alicia asked.
Jack tapped the Boston Daily Globe that sat on the table before him.
“Hyannis Port is causing quite the stir in Washington,” he said. “Turns out they don’t know how to spell the name of our fine town.”
“The question is whether ‘Hyannisport’ is one word or two,” Mrs. Neill said. “According to Jack, they’re creating new maps of Barnstable County and can’t reach a consensus. Congress is deadlocked on the issue. Now they’re calling around the Cape for the answer.”
“It’s one word, right?” Alicia said.
“Good girl.” Mrs. Neill nodded. “Only the fancy sort, the summer folk, would think it’s two. No offense, Jack.”
“No offense taken. Hyannisport. One word.” Jack wiped his mouth. “I’ll let Washington know.”
He snapped to his feet.
“So, are we going sailing?” he asked.
“Uh…” Alicia glanced at her package, and her shoes. “That sounds fun.…”
“Then you should probably change. Personally, I suggest a bikini.”
George snorted. Alicia could feel him rolling his eyes.
“Okay,” she said. “But could we stop by the post office on the way?”
“Golly, kid, I don’t know if we have time,” Jack said. “We should get on the water before it’s too choppy, and I’m back to Washington later today. It’s now or never, sweetheart.”
“Then you must scoot!” Mrs. Neill—Willie—said. “I can post the package for you, if it’s urgent.”
“No, no, that’s okay,” Alicia said quickly. “I can do it later.”
What was one more day? Then again, she’d been told there wasn’t much time left.
“What are you mailing, anyhow?” George asked, brows knitted together. “What people do you know?”
“George!” his mother yelped. “What a question!”
“Hurry up, Alicia,” Jack said, and snapped his fingers. “Chop, chop.”
Alicia nodded, then pivoted on her stocking feet and scampered upstairs. She threw her shoes onto the bed, and opened a drawer.
She’d never been sailing, unless an immigrant ship counted, but Alicia spent enough time at the Kennedys’ to know what American girls wore on boats. Thank goodness for west end sales, for Alicia had the perfect answer: a white and black polka-dotted halter top and black piqué shorts, with a red ribbon tied around the waist.
After tossing on the outfit, Alicia slid her would-be mail beneath a wad of stockings, then slammed the drawer closed. She grabbed a pair of deck-appropriate shoes, then rushed downstairs to meet Jack.
* * *
They walked the wood-chipped pathway, through the tall grass covering the dunes. When they reached the cove, Alicia took in the sea air, the sunshine, the blue skies. She watched as orange-legged piping plovers scurried across the sand, little bird bandits with their telltale black masks.
Soon, Jack was leading her past the break wall, and to the family’s private dock. The last time she’d stepped on the pier’s weathered planks Alicia was carrying picnic baskets that were so heavy she had indentations on her arms for hours and sore muscles for days. Now, she felt weightless.
“There she is,” Jack said. “The Victura.”
Alicia smiled knowingly, as she’d seen the vessel before. “Victura” was Latin for “about to conquer.” A perfect boat for Jack.
As he helped her on board, Alicia wondered, was it strange that this was the first they’d touched all morning? Didn’t couples usually hold hands while strolling the shore? Then again, this was Jack, and that was not his style.
“This is a Wianno Senior,” Jack explained, as he unstrapped the sail. “It was my fifteenth-birthday present and I’ve been in love ever since. Here. Take this, and help me rig the mainsail.”
“Rig the mainsail?” Alicia balked. “I’m from Poland!”
He laughed.
“Well, Alicia Dahr-ling, you’d better figure out it, because a man needs a crew.”
“But the boat … I’ll damage it for sure!”
“Nah. This old girl is invincible. She was struck by lightning in 1936. In 1944, I rescued her from a hurricane. Hell, in the storm last week, Bobby and Ethel took her out and almost crashed three times.”
He clicked something onto the top of the sail, then guided Alicia to help loosen the slack. Soon, they were wrapping rope around a crank. Jack told her to duck as he swung the boom across the boat.
“And away we go,” he said as they cast off into the sun-dappled sound, the water lapping against the hull.
They picked up speed and Alicia’s belly filled with a nervous flush. Jack was sitting beside her, on the back of the boat, guiding it with a large, brown stick. Alicia had envisioned something more substantial, a steering wheel, perhaps.
The boat sped up. Alicia gripped the seat’s edge and squeezed her eyes closed. Oh, this sailing business was nothing like a battleship. It was disorienting almost, as if the wind was lifting them right off the water.
“Alicia!” Jack called, his voice weaker out here. “Look up! You’re missing all the good stuff!”
She opened her eyes, amazed to be looking not at the other side of the boat, but the sky. Alicia released a scream.
“We’re practically touching the water!” she said into the wind. “It’s right there!”
If she wanted to, Alicia could reach out and brush her fingers across the foamy sea.
“I know!” Jack said, eyes dancing. “That’s what’s so great about this boat. Don’t fret, sweetheart, we can’t tip over. Lean back, Alicia! Let go!”
She took in a gulp of air, and tilted one degree, and then a few degrees more. She fixed her eyes on the sail and finally gave in to the whooshing grace of the boat as it skimmed along the water. Within seconds, Alicia was grinning as her hair flapped and the ocean spattered her face.
This was why she came to the States, for days like these. What had she been so afraid of? She was with Jack and the sea was an old friend. After all, it was this very Atlantic that delivered her safely into America’s arms.
* * *
They’d planned a picnic on Egg Island, so Alicia was surprised when Jack anchored the Victura far from visible land.
“Are we eating on the boat?” she asked, peering into the water.
Five long, silver fish winnowed past.
“Maybe,” Jack said. “But I’m not hungry. First, a swim.”
She glanced up.
“I didn’t bring my suit,” she said, thinking of her new bathing costume: orange, with a wide wale and pearl buttons.
Then again, it was probably the sort of getup best left to sunbathing, and not an actual swim.
“Who needs a suit?” Jack said.
In one motion, he stripped to his skivvies. Then the skivvies came off, and he was in nothing at all.
Alicia gasped.
“Oh, come on.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“But I didn’t expect to see it out here! What if you get a sunburn?”
“That,” he said, laughing, “would be the pits.”
Jack stepped
onto the bow, lifted both arms overhead, and dove into the deep blue. Alicia craned to look, waiting for him to resurface. When he popped up, he beamed, drops of seawater clinging to his lashes, his eyes greener than they were gray.
“Stop ogling and join in,” he said, and slapped the water.
“Oh, Jack, I don’t know.”
It’d been ten years since she last swam. Would her body remember how?
“What don’t you know?” he said. “Come on! Jump!”
Well, if nothing else, it was comforting to know he’d made water rescues before, of entire platoons. He even had a medal for this skill.
“Okay,” she said, stomach fluttering as she stood. “Here goes.”
She peeled off her clothes with more care than Jack had demonstrated, because, while the outfit had been on sale, it was still quite dear.
After stacking her things into a tight, neat pile, Alicia moved to the tip of the boat. She paused, the wind spraying goose bumps across her naked skin.
“Damn,” Jack said. “Mermaids do exist. Are you going to save me if I have a heart attack on account of your unparalleled beauty?”
“No, Jack, I was kind of expecting you to rescue me.”
Before she could chicken out, Alicia pinched her nose, closed her eyes, and leapt feetfirst from the bow. The water was warmer than she’d expected, saltier, too. She was thrilled to find that her churning legs could keep her afloat.
“This is incredible,” she said, breathless with it all.
“I’ll show you incredible. Get over here!”
Jack motioned, his arm rippling the water. Alicia dog-paddled toward him. Once she was close enough, he reached out and grabbed her with unexpected strength. Wrapping both legs around him, Alicia shivered, though she wasn’t cold.
“You okay, kid?” he asked.
Alicia sighed, and rested her chin on his right shoulder.
“Never better,” she replied.
They remained like that, locked onto each other, for some time. As Alicia’s eyes followed the Atlantic toward the horizon, she wondered how there was anything important in this world besides the ocean, Jack, and a shiny wooden sailboat bobbing nearby.
HYANNIS, Mass.—A woman patron at a summer theatre laughed so hard that her upper plate flew out, sailed past the head of a man in front of her, and landed somewhere under the seats. A search party of employees recovered the plate.
The News-Herald, September 18, 1950
HYANNIS PORT
At the postal counter, Alicia held money in one hand, an envelope in the other.
How much to send? Alicia could never settle on the answer, because there was no right number. Her debt was immeasurable, not something to be reduced to dollars and cents. Maybe it was good that her sailing adventure with Jack forced her to wait a few days. It gave her time to think. On the other hand, their day together made the debt loom larger still.
Alicia had the crisp twenty-dollar bill from the sale of her painting, plus a collection of dollars and coins from the Center and the Kennedys, too. The boundaries of her budget were beginning to form, though Alicia was known to splurge on a new dress or paint supplies, but did not view the latter as a luxury. All this to say Alicia had money left over each week, but how much actually belonged to her was a formula she’d yet to solve.
“Something I can help you with, Miss Darr?” called the postman, as he leaned out the window.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I’m dandy.”
“All right, but we close soon.”
Alicia eyeballed the clock. It was later than she thought. There’d been an incident at the Center. During a showing of Three Little Words, a woman lost the upper portion of her teeth. Alicia and George spent twenty minutes checking beneath seats before finally locating it in the second row.
“I’ll be out of your hair in a jiff,” she told the postman.
She slipped the twenty into the envelope, then added a few dollars more, but took them out on second thought. What if she couldn’t provide as much next time?
“Another overseas parcel?” the postman asked.
“Only a letter,” she replied, annoyed he remembered this detail.
Alicia settled on the twenty. After scratching out a note, she sealed the envelope, then marched up to the counter.
“All set,” she said, and handed over the letter. “Sorry for the delay.”
The postman scanned the address, as he always did.
“Have you been busy?” she asked. “Or have things quieted now that we’re at the tail end—”
“This will probably take some time,” he said. “Nearly as much mail is being sent overseas right now as within the United States. Everything’s all jammed up.”
“There’s no rush,” she said, though this was not strictly true.
“Just don’t blame me for any delay.”
“Of course not.”
After paying for postage and wishing the man a good afternoon, Alicia walked away with a bounce to her step.
Her slate was far from clean, but whenever Alicia sent something off, she felt one nudge closer to leveling the scales. Never mind its purchasing power, the money represented progress. It represented success. It said that Alicia Darr’s journey to America, and thus her very life, was worth something yet. Twenty dollars per painting, at least. And whatever the value of Jack Kennedy’s smile was.
Oh sure, she had some guilt for not sending more, but a person needed money to survive. Mrs. Neill refused to take rent, but Alicia had to compensate in other ways (buying groceries, sneaking pennies into the change jar) lest she inadvertently acquire another debt. It was probably time to open a bank account, she thought. Would her DP and resident alien cards be enough?
Mind weighing the particulars of the American banking system, Alicia found herself on South Street and most of the way home without having to think. Hyannis was now so ingrained, it was like she’d been there for years.
A block from the Neills’, a familiar figure zipped out from a building and directly into her path. Alicia froze, unsure how to address this person, or whether she should.
“Miss Dee?” Alicia blurted. “Miss Dee, is that you?”
“Oh! Hello!” the woman said brightly, looking lovely as ever in a green suit. “Miss Darr! What a surprise! I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.”
“Don’t apologize. I crept up behind you.”
Crept up? What a choice of words.
“I adore your suit, Miss Dee,” she said, the one rational comment her brain could hatch.
“Thank you. And, please, none of this ‘Miss Dee’ nonsense. That’s a Rose Kennedy construct. She thinks the help can’t pronounce my name and I play along. Sometimes, that’s the best course with Rose.”
As Miss Dee rolled her eyes, Mrs. Kennedy’s tight, prim mug and tight, prim body appeared in Alicia’s head.
No man is above falling in love with his secretary.…
“Please, call me Janet,” Miss Dee said.
I guess the jig is up.
“Well, Janet, it’s wonderful to see you,” Alicia said. “Do you live here? In Hyannis Port? I always thought…”
She let her voice wane as she snuck a glimpse of the apartment building beside them. For Alicia, Janet was inexorably linked with the Ambassador, and thus the Kennedy home. To picture her in an ordinary apartment scattered the pieces of a puzzle Alicia thought she’d nearly completed.
“You don’t live at the house?” she said.
“Gosh, no, I live here.” Janet smiled prettily. “When we’re on the Cape.”
“How nice,” Alicia said, blinking like a muddled child. “I didn’t realize the family was still in town.”
“Not everyone. Only the Ambassador.”
“Oh,” Alicia said dimly.
God, what if Mr. Kennedy had seen her on the family pier, wearing nothing but Jack’s wrinkled, sandy shirt? Luckily, they never went inside the actual house. Then again, why hadn’t they? Was it because of Jack’s da
d?
“Miss Darr?” Janet said. “Are you okay? You look pink.…”
“I read in the paper about Mr. Kennedy’s gift!” Alicia blabbed, glad for the two million he’d given to a Catholic home for dependent children.
Never mind the children, it was about to save Alicia from collapsing beneath a torrent of doubt.
“Those neglected children are so fortunate,” she went on. “I mean, not fortunate in general, just, er, in this instance.”
“I understood what you meant,” Janet said, and broke out another triumphant smile. “Joe is the most selfless person I’ve ever known. Everything he does is for his family, or for charity. We are so proud of him.”
Alicia nodded, marveling. Janet was an employee, yet when she spoke of the Kennedys, it was in terms of “we.” During the day, she had full command of the house, upstairs and downstairs both. But at night, she was holed up in an ordinary apartment, on the humble side of town.
“I’d better go,” Janet said, slipping on her gloves. “Joe is expecting me in a few minutes.”
“Yes, of course. Have a lovely day. Perhaps we’ll run into each other again.”
“Possibly! Though we’ll be in Florida, soon.”
With one last smile, Janet slipped into her Buick and started the engine. Alicia remained on the sidewalk until long after Janet puttered out of sight, her head muddy with thoughts and questions she could not put into words.
MAY 2016
LOS ANGELES
The letter comes back, like a gopher you can’t shoo from your yard. Even in death, his client is a pain in the ass.
Try Rome, someone wrote on the envelope.
He calls his secretary, who’s in New York. She’ll need to rummage through his files. He recalls an address in Rome. It was a friend’s art studio, if memory serves.
When he rings, he learns that his secretary is on vacation. Wasn’t she just on vacation? Maybe they pay her too much. He leaves a message, which she returns three days later, from Mexico. She’s there with her boyfriend. What fifty-five-year-old woman has a “boyfriend,” I ask you? A ridiculous term. He thought she was a lesbian on account of her hair.
“You can’t help me from Mexico,” he says.
“Oh, okay.”
The Summer I Met Jack Page 10