But these days were not to last. Jack was set to return to the campaign trail. He’d shown Alicia his October datebook, which looked less like a schedule and more like a full compendium of all venues in the commonwealth. Copley Plaza and Columbus Day parades and YMCAs throughout the district. The Young Democrats Club and the National Council of Jewish Women and every Kiwanis Club there’d ever been.
Alicia was perusing this schedule one afternoon when Jack lurched out of the tub. As he wrapped a towel around his waist, Alicia glanced up, a frown crossing her lips. It was a shock to see him in such stark and unadorned light. He was all skin and ribs.
“What’s with the look?” Jack asked. “Wait, don’t answer. You’re admiring the legendary Fitzgerald breasts. Nipples that stand at attention like good soldiers.”
“I’m not concerned about your nipples. I’m worried about your back.”
“My back is my back. It’ll always be there.”
He hobbled toward his pants.
“This timeline is aggressive,” Alicia said, sifting through the pages. “Do you really need to travel this much, to lobby for a job you already have?”
“Obviously,” Jack said, a little huffy.
“Okay, okay.” She inspected the list again. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Campaigning is vigorous, but I’m young. Well, not compared to you.” He brandished a big, white grin. “But I’m a damned schoolboy compared to the rest of the bastards running for office.”
Jack put one leg into his pants and then, very slowly, the other.
“Do you like being a congressman?” Alicia said, and set the papers in her lap.
“Do I like being a congressman?” he repeated. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that. I’m helping people. It feels good to stand up for the needs of the folks in my district.”
“But, do you like it?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Jack buttoned his trousers, then leaned against the counter. He gritted his teeth and squinched his eyes.
“Are you okay—”
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said. “Old war junk.”
He opened his eyes again.
“The thing is, Alicia, it’s not about being a congressman.”
In this light, his skin seemed more yellow than tanned. Alicia blinked, several times, to set herself straight.
“That’s not all there is to me,” he said.
“I barely understand what a congressman does, so I already think you’re much more.”
“What I meant was, this isn’t the destination. I have places left to go.”
“Gosh, you’d think United States representative would be enough.”
“Oh, Alicia,” Jack said. “I love your sweet unaffectedness.”
He cocked his head, eyes shifting toward the window. Alicia wondered if he had yet another cramp in his neck.
“You remember that I had an older brother?” he said. “Who died in the war?”
Alicia nodded, and pushed herself off the side of the tub. She moved beside Jack, but did not take his hand.
“Joe Junior was the family’s destiny,” Jack said, “the person to lead us to greatness.”
Her eyes flicked outside, to the sprawling lawn, and the Nantucket Sound in the distance. She turned to regard Jack. Hadn’t greatness been achieved?
“He was going to be the first Catholic president of the United States.”
“President!?” she yawped.
And here Alicia worried that she’d been too greedy with her American dreams.
“Yep,” Jack said. “Alas, Joe Junior died and now the runner-up must assume the mantle.”
“You’re the runner-up?” she said. “I find that hard to swallow.”
“It’s true. Joe was good at sports, and at school, and he had a natural charisma that drew people like bait.”
“Sounds familiar…”
“When I first got to Harvard,” Jack went on, “I let everyone know that I wasn’t as smart as Joe. I had to temper expectations, you see, so that people wouldn’t be blindsided by Joe’s sickly, disheveled little brother. I thought I’d go into teaching, or writing. But then he died, and now it’s up to me.”
Alicia scrutinized him for a minute, though Jack didn’t notice, as his gaze was now cast toward his feet. She knew something about fulfilling a family destiny, even if, compared to his, Alicia’s was small in scope, and not so spelled out.
“This is America,” Alicia said, “the land of the free. Can’t you do what you want?”
“Do what I want?”
Jack gave her the once-over.
“Why do you have to make your father’s dreams come true?” Alicia asked. “What about Bobby? Or Teddy?”
Jack laughed bitterly.
“Nope,” he said. “It’s up to me.”
With another grunt, Jack pushed himself upright.
“I understand,” Alicia said. “Not about politics, and I’ve never had a brother, but I understand about being the one left behind. You see, I—”
“Alicia, there are seven of us,” Jack snapped.
“Yes, of course,” Alicia said, and then set her teeth into a clenched smile.
Suddenly, Jack dropped his towel and Alicia saw that he was for the moment pain-free. Whatever the situation with his back, or in his brain, Jack was ready to go with his lower half. As it were.
“Oh, dear.” Alicia shook her head. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
“You see? Who said anything about a bad back?” He grinned. “Now the question is, what are you doing over there? Come help this ailing man to bed.”
WOMAN’S SIDE OF SEX-AND-WAR
The Washington Post, October 1, 1950
HYANNIS PORT
Whenever Alicia thought she had George pegged, whenever she’d convinced herself that he was the single-minded, artless, antisocial person he seemed, the boy would do something to rattle her entire worldview.
He might, for example, raise a topic unrelated to the cinema. Or he’d tell Alicia to give a man a pop (on him) because the fella was hard up for cash. And, every once in a while, he’d turn his insight on her, like a burst of light.
“Nothing,” Alicia said, when George repeatedly pestered her about her mood. “Why do you keep asking what’s wrong?”
Her voice was high, a mite shrill, especially compared to George’s monotone.
“Because something obviously is,” he said, watching a rag on the counter, as if expecting it to move. “You’re distracted. I can’t make you talk, but you’re not fooling anyone.”
He snatched the rag and began to clean, having determined that Alicia would not.
“It’s Jack,” she admitted. “He’s leaving tomorrow.”
“Isn’t he always coming or going? That’s sort of his ‘thing.’”
“This time it’s different. The midterm elections are next month.” Alicia smiled, pleased with her deft use of the term. “He’ll be campaigning until November, nonstop, and then his family spends December in Palm Beach. I don’t know when I’ll see him again.”
“Can’t you just ask?” George said, and pushed up his black frames.
“That’d be swell, but between the campaigning and his work in Washington, I’m not sure he knows himself.”
They’d made no promises about what they were to each other, or what might happen when Jack revisited his off-season life. Alicia wanted to believe they’d last through the winter, but what did she know of relationships, really? Especially those that started in the sun.
Alicia wandered toward her paintings. She noticed they were all lightly covered in dust.
“There are benefits,” she said, studying her artwork with a frown. “I haven’t painted in ages. Life with Jack is such a distraction.”
“That’s how love goes. It has a way of taking over a person’s life.”
Alicia smirked. That George had an opinion on love was as big a revelation as one might find. Then again, he did wa
tch a lot of Humphrey Bogart films.
She pivoted away from the paintings, shuffled to the candy counter, and held out a hand.
“Here,” she said. “Let me clean.”
“Do you?” George asked.
“Do I what? Want to clean? Not really but…”
“Do you love him?”
“George Neill!” she barked. “You can’t ask a girl that! It’s too personal!”
“Seems like a normal question to me.”
George sniffed, then pushed up his glasses once again. Alicia crossed her arms.
“I don’t know, George,” she said. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. With Jack, it’s different. It’s more or less than love, something beyond the words I currently know.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.”
“You’re right.” Alicia sighed. “I guess it’s like this. When I’m with Jack Kennedy, he seems like the whole world. He makes me feel valuable, and important, and like I have a purpose. He can make me forget, for minutes, hours at a time, that I’ve ever been for a moment displaced.”
* * *
Jack made supper for their last night together.
Because Alicia was well-acquainted with the “Kennedy stomach,” she borrowed salt and pepper from Mrs. Neill, and had a snack before she left. Food: the one area in which the Kennedys did not shine.
They sat in the dining room, in robes, which seemed heavenly and diabolical both. When Jack went to fetch the first course, Alicia scurried over and sat in Mrs. Kennedy’s spot, to test it out. She jumped back to Eunice’s chair when Jack returned, with a silver platter in hand.
“Bon appetit,” he said, and set it down.
He lifted the lid with flourish to reveal one pork chop and a solitary baked potato, sans butter.
“Looks wonderful!” Alicia said, glad for the pre-dinner snack.
She picked up a knife and fork, and began sawing. It took her thirty, forty seconds to gnash through the first bite.
“Delicious!” she said.
“Horseshit,” Jack said, and threw his fork onto the table. “This is terrible.”
“I didn’t come for gourmet. Good or bad, there’s still no place I’d rather be.”
Jack laughed, and shook his head.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, kid,” he said. “You never complain. It’s like you’ve taken a course in stiff upper lips.”
“What’s there to complain about?” Alicia said, and meant it.
“The fact I’m leaving for one.” He winked. “You don’t seem the least bit sad, which makes this fella mighty insecure.”
“But it’s all an act, Congressman,” Alicia said, and pushed her plate aside. “I’m quite distraught, especially since I don’t know when I’ll see you again. In the new year? Next summer? Never again?”
She tried out a smile, but found her mouth trembling, her eyes getting hot.
“Come on, now,” Jack said, and patted her hand. “Don’t be dramatic. It doesn’t suit you. If nothing else, I’ll be here on the seventh.”
He tossed her one of his cute and wicked grins.
“The seventh?” she said. “Of October?”
Alicia tried to remember his schedule. Kiwanis or Rotary something-or-other on that day, she was pretty sure. Or was it the YMCA? They all looked the same, after a while.
“For a speech?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “An art show. The best exhibition the Cape’s ever seen.”
“How can that be? The galleries close on Sunday for the season.”
“Or do they?” Jack wiggled his bushy, unkempt brows. “On the contrary, my dear. My pal Marla owns one of the galleries on the west end. She’s agreed to stay open later, so that you can show your stuff.”
Alicia’s heart began to race.
“But, Jack…”
“You heard it here first,” he said, beaming. “Featuring, in Hyannis, Mass., on October seventh, the artistic stylings of a most talented Alicia Darr.”
“Jack, that’s…” She halted, all the breath having left her body. “I can’t have an art show in a week.”
Professional artists took months to get ready, and Alicia wasn’t professional to start. All she had were a few lousy paintings, all of them already seen by the entirety of the mid-Cape.
“I’m not ready,” she said. “I’ll ruin your friend’s reputation!”
“That’s some thank-you,” Jack said. “Planning this wasn’t easy you know.”
“I appreciate it, but…”
“Think nothing of it.” He put up a hand. “Marla was pleased to support an up-and-coming artist. I told her that your stuff was top-notch, and she took my word for it.”
“I’m sure she did.”
Alicia hadn’t imagined starting her career on Jack’s good looks and charm, but she should probably take her breaks where she could get them.
“I don’t know what to say.…”
“Don’t say anything, except for yes. And we’ll line up more shows, and more after that. Before long, you’ll be known worldwide. No more shilling popcorn and Jujubes for you. You’re blushing. Is that a yes?”
“Do I have a choice?” she asked.
“Not really,” he answered with yet another maddening grin.
Alicia sighed and let the weight of what he’d done settle onto her.
“I’d better get to work,” she said.
“You’d better. But, kid.” Jack reached out and squeezed her hand. “Maybe paint something a little more, whaddya call it, lighthearted.”
“Lighthearted?”
“Ya know, seascapes or something.” He shrugged. “It’s funny how you’re so happy all the time, yet your paintings are so dark.”
“Yes. Fancy that.”
“Even though I’ll see you in a week,” Jack motored on, with that shiny, clarion confidence, all mention of her artwork for now in the past, “I must leave you something to remember me by.”
Alicia rolled her eyes, certain he was seconds from shucking his robe. But instead, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a red velvet box. Before Alicia could look twice, he flipped open the lid to reveal a necklace glittering with aquamarines and diamonds.
Alicia gasped.
“I can’t take it,” she said.
They’d been tromping around his house and hers, having sex in a number of places and in a number of positions to boot. Yet this gift was the most inappropriate exchange between them. You didn’t give someone diamonds for no reason. For a second, Alicia wondered what he’d ask for in return.
“Come on, kid. This isn’t the Hope Diamond. Don’t get me wrong, I’d give you that if I could, but Dad’s always complaining that we spend too much money. This was the biggest piece of ice I could score, without hitting Pop’s auditing threshold.”
Alicia frowned. Talk of accounting was one way to kill a romantic surprise.
“I thought the floral pattern was perfect,” he said, and nudged the box toward her. “Special and lovely, exactly like you.”
“It’s too ornate!”
“I’m going to send you to Mother for help on your thank-yous.”
Jack stood and moved behind Alicia. His sleeve brushed against her cheek as he draped the necklace across her breastbone. A strand of hair caught when he triggered the clasp.
“I can’t accept this,” Alicia said as Jack sat down. “I’d be afraid to lose it!”
She fingered the jewels, which were cool and heavy against her skin.
“I have no experience with precious gems,” she said. “It’d all end in disaster.”
“First off, you’re more precious than the whole deal and several times over.”
Alicia turned away. If only Jack understood that her value had been established as far less, about a dozen years ago, in an alley in Radom. Alicia pictured her father’s kind face, and the watch he gave to secure her fate. Could Father have saved all of them, if he’d had something like this?
“Anyhow,” Jack said, “you�
�ll probably take better care of it than a person with so-called experience. Last week Eunice left an eighteen-thousand-dollar necklace in a hotel suite in Chicago. It was stolen, of course.”
“But at least your sister had a place to wear it. Visualize this necklace in Mrs. Neill’s kitchen, surrounded by all that green linoleum. What a sight.”
“Don’t wear it in the kitchen, then.”
He took a sip of wine and tipped his head.
“Why don’t you stay here?” he said.
“Here?”
Alicia looked up.
“You bet. Why not?”
He asked this often. Why not? How wonderful to see life in that way. “Why not” to necklaces, to mansions, to national office. “Why not” to it all.
“I can’t stay here without you,” Alicia said. “It’d be…”
Odd? Lonely? Unseemly? Embarrassing when someone called the police?
“It’s be strange,” she said. “Not right.”
“I would’ve thought by now, my house might feel like home. You’ve been in every corner of it.”
“That’s not true. I’ve never even been upstairs!”
“So?” Jack shrugged. “I’ve hardly been up there myself. Really, there’s not much to it. Just a bunch of bedrooms. The movie theater and wine cellar are much more entertaining. As is my bedroom.”
Alicia groaned.
“So that’s your big hang-up?” he said. “You’ve never been upstairs?”
“It’s not a hang-up, merely a fact.”
“Come on, then.” He snapped to his feet. “I’ll give you a tour, because I want you to think of this as your home, too.”
“My home? I’m only the…”
Alicia clamped together her lips. Only the what? The former help? The new girlfriend? The something else?
“Are you coming?” Jack asked, mostly out the door.
“Fine,” she said, rising to her feet. “Show me the untold secrets of the Kennedy manse.”
“The lone secret is that the furniture is even more outdated upstairs than it is down here.”
Jack took her hand while they walked, but dropped it when they reached the stairs. She fought a pout as he gripped the banister and lurched up the first few steps.
The Summer I Met Jack Page 12