The Summer I Met Jack

by Michelle Gable

  He nodded, and so Alicia scooted to the edge of her bed, stood, and crept across the slice of carpet between them, the very floor she once cleaned. She delicately lowered herself beside Jack, careful not to jostle the mattress, though it felt like cement compared to hers.

  “Are you feeling all right?” she asked, nestling in.

  Jack dipped his chin.

  “Fine, fine,” he said. “Back’s a little off again. I hardly remember what it’s like not to be in pain.”

  “I’d tell you to slow down, but you’d never listen.”

  He’d been busy these past few months, giving speeches, passing bills, visiting constituents throughout the state. That week he’d introduced a three-million-dollar fishing subsidy to the House and was the featured guest at an Evacuation Day banquet.

  The reporters were starting to pick up on him, to notice that he seemed to be everywhere these days. Jack enjoyed the spotlight, though he was still hot about the journalist who called him a “very gaunt young representative.”

  “I’d like to see the fat asses at the paper!” he’d groused. “I’m sure those motherfuckahs are the picture of health.”

  Alicia laughed while thinking that “gaunt” was a generous way to describe a body that could’ve belonged to someone liberated from a camp at the end of the war.

  “Jesus,” Jack said, shifting in the bed, the groans of the springs matching those from his body. “I need to get to New York to see my doc, but I don’t have the time.”

  “Yet you’re about to start another campaign,” Alicia said. “Sounds like a brilliant idea.”

  Jack’s hair crunched against his pillow as he turned toward her again.

  “Who mentioned a campaign?” he asked.

  “I read the papers, Jack. The governorship or the senate? No use taking it easy, I suppose. What’s the fun in that?”

  “No taste for a man with some ambition, is that the problem?”

  “I’m merely flummoxed,” she said. “You finished one campaign and now it’s on to the next? On top of your health issues?”

  “Who said anything about health issues?” He scowled.

  “You did. Or was ‘I need to see my doc’ code for something else?”

  Alicia exhaled in frustration. She understood that Jack wasn’t lying, necessarily. He was soldiering on, living two steps ahead, in the place he wanted to be instead of where he was. Alicia couldn’t judge the man, as this sort of thinking was how she got through the war. Alas, their shared trait did not make him any less aggravating when he was “soldiering on.”

  “Are you really going to do it?” she asked. “Run for a new office?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Which one will it be?”

  “As soon as I find out, I’ll let ya know.”

  He paused for a moment and shook his head.

  “I still can’t stomach that Smathers made it to the Senate before I did. Who does the bastard think he is?”

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but no matter which office you pick, you won’t be the first. Unless you become king of the United States.”

  “Now there’s an idea. I like it.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “This will sound very Polish of me, but there is such a thing as too much ambition. God love ya Jack, but any proper Pole would tell you to be satisfied with what you have.”

  “I’m very happy with what I have,” Jack said. “Extraordinarily so.”

  He reached out and pinched her side. Alicia yelped and rubbed the skin, now red.

  “But, my dear,” he said, “a man can be happy with what he has while also wanting more of it.”

  “I wish you luck,” Alicia said, moving onto her back. “I shudder to think what might happen if you ever lost at something.”

  “Eh. The funny thing is, on some level, losing doesn’t sound that bad.”

  “Politicians really are lying snakes, aren’t they?” she said.

  “Seriously, I think about it all the time.”

  Jack inhaled, his rib cage looking ever more like a chicken carcass.

  “I dream of hopping off the carousel and flying far away,” he said. “We could go to California, you and me. Get a hut on the beach. I’d sun myself eight hours a day, with you at my side.”

  “You’d never be able to sit that long,” Alicia said.

  “Then I’d take up surfing.”

  “And what would I do? Sunbathe? My skin is very fair.”

  “Have sex with me five times a day.”

  “Oh, is that all? So, I’d be cutting back, too.”

  “Hilarious.”

  “And how would I occupy myself the rest of the time?” she asked, thinking that sex five times a day would take an hour, at most.

  But she liked the idea of it. The sun. The sand. The two of them. It’d never happen, but she liked it a lot.

  “When you weren’t exhausted by my deft lovemaking,” he said, “you’d paint on the veranda, of course.”

  “Paint?” Alicia said, and swallowed, as if stuffing the word down. “What would I paint?”

  “How should I know? You’re the artist.”

  Alicia swallowed again. They hadn’t spoken of it. They hadn’t mentioned, danced around, or at all touched on her artistic aspirations since September. Though she’d almost revisited the incident a dozen times, it’d come to feel like something they’d agreed not to discuss. Did he even remember there was supposed to be a show?

  “Geez, kid, what’s that face?” Jack asked. “If you don’t want to paint, then do something else. We’ll be in Hollywood. You could become a film star. You have that air about you. I’ll be the pool boy. The landscaper. A kept man, thanks to you.”

  Alicia sighed and looked his way.

  “You sound pretty enthusiastic about this beach bum reverie,” she said. “Which seems at odds with your dreams of ‘higher office.’ It makes me wonder, who wants it more—you or your father?”

  “Does it matter, him or me? We both do, and there’s not really a difference, I shouldn’t think.”

  “Not really a difference? How’s that?”

  Jack took a second to consider this.

  “We’re Kennedys,” he said. “All for one, and one for all.”

  “So, it is your father’s dream?”

  “Yes, and mine. What’s with all the questioning?”

  “I just want you to be living the life you want. And if that’s in Washington, or in California, or—”

  “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “No.” Alicia glowered. “I wouldn’t.”

  Jack heaved himself to his feet. Alicia remained in bed, wrapped in the sheets as palm trees listed in her mind. Jack had been talking nonsense, but it was quite delicious to imagine George feeding a reel into his projector, and seeing Alicia on the screen.

  “I’m going to grab a shower,” Jack said.

  Just like that, the sand was blown from her thoughts. If only Alicia believed he could lose in November, then California would stand a chance.

  “Okay,” Alicia said, still dazed. “I’ll make some eggs.”

  She swung her legs over the bedside and placed both feet on the nubby rug.

  “Sounds fab,” Jack said, marching across the room in his labored but proud waddle. “Coffee, too.”

  The door opened, then closed.

  When Alicia heard water rush through the pipes, she lurched from bed, slipped on a robe, and made her way to the kitchen, feet sticking against the wood floors. As she reached for the coffee mugs, Alicia peered out through the white ruffled curtains, toward the family swimming pool, and the Nantucket Sound in the distance. Her heart let out a few extra beats.

  Silly girl. What had she been thinking? Here she was, in a sprawling mansion on Cape Cod, beside the handsomest, most charming man she’d ever known. Yet she was picturing California, and the acclaim she’d find on another coast. Maybe Alicia was more American than she’d given herself c
redit for. Any good Polish broad would tell her to bring those thoughts back to earth, and be happy with what she had.

  * * *

  Alicia walked along, a bundle of clothes tucked beneath her arm. If she missed the next bus, she’d be late for work, and there was no good end to that. Either she’d be fired, like George always warned, or she’d have to listen to this same warning a hundred times more.

  Someone was in the kitchen, Torby or Lem most likely, as Jack was off to Boston for a meeting with the Massachusetts Taxpayers’ Foundation. His pals had come for the weekend and overstayed their welcome, as far as Alicia was concerned, which was why she was exiting through the seldom-used front door.

  After gently clicking the door behind her, Alicia whirled around to find Torb balanced on the porch railing, like he’d been waiting for her to show.

  “Oh. Good morning,” Alicia said, her disappointment palpable, embarrassing to them both.

  “Good morning,” Torb answered, and took a drag of his cigarette. He flicked it into a nearby bush. “How is the Viennese artist this morning?”

  “Hmm,” Alicia answered. “Well, it was nice to see you. I’m off to catch the ten o’clock bus.”

  She jogged down the wooden stairs, toward the driveway.

  “What happened to the art?” he called out.

  “Excuse me?” Alicia said, and looped back to face him.

  “I was at the Center the other day,” he said. “To see Mr. Universe. You weren’t there. And neither were your paintings. You still work there, right?”

  “Yes, I do,” Alicia said. “For now.”

  “Didn’t you used to show your artwork in the lobby?”

  Alicia nodded, her eyes flitting toward the road.

  “And weren’t you going to have a gallery show?”

  Alicia regarded him warily, unsure if Torby was taking genuine interest, or about to demean her with one of his schoolboy digs.

  “Jack told you about that?” she said.

  “Of course,” Torb said. “He mentioned that you’re quite good.”

  Alicia gave a cough of surprise as she took in his droopy, wry gaze. Inexplicably, she started to laugh.

  “Something funny?” Torb lifted his forehead.

  “Yes. Well. I never had the show. Jack arranged it, but then forgot.”

  “Shit, Alicia, are you kidding? That’s low-class, even for Ken.…”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” She threw on a hard-fought shrug. “He was busy with his campaign, and then his grandfather died. My artistic aspirations understandably took a backseat.”

  “I should punch the bastard in the jaw the next time I see him.”

  “It’s fine,” Alicia said again. “It was an innocent mistake. The date slipped by.”

  “And you never brought it up?”

  “No, I didn’t. We don’t see each other often and usually I’m enjoying our time together, not worrying about the past.”

  Alicia laughed again, embarrassed that she’d revealed so much. It was a miracle that Torb hadn’t yet made any off-color remarks.

  “Good,” he said with a bark. “Good girl.”

  “Uh, what now?”

  In the distance, a bus’s engine roared.

  “It’s good that you haven’t mentioned anything,” he said. “You really understand him, clever girl. The quickest way for a broad to rid herself of Jack Kennedy is to come across as needy. You’re smart to have a job and your own stuff going on.”

  Alicia smiled tightly. She didn’t know about “smart,” as her job was rooted entirely in her desire to eat and buy new clothes. And she couldn’t be all that savvy to have missed the bus that would’ve gotten her there on time.

  “Jack likes you,” Torb said. “He likes you a lot. And I would know.”

  She smirked. Of course he would consider himself an expert on Jack. Torb was an avid astrologist, and because they were both Geminis, he believed their friendship was literally “written in the stars.”

  “Ken missed you while we were in Europe,” he went on, “and that bastard isn’t the missing type. He thinks you’re swell.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s nice. He’s, er, swell too.”

  “I’m sorry he flubbed your big day,” Torb said. “But keep on painting. Keep doing what you love. And hell, next time you have a show, I’ll make sure he’s there. But don’t ever mention what happened—”

  “Or didn’t happen,” Alicia said, and cleared her throat.

  “Quite right. It’s best to let it slide.”

  “Thank you, Torby,” she said, smiling with great exertion. “It’s always nice to receive advice.”

  “Anytime, anytime.” He laughed toward the ground. “All I can say is, thank God there’s only one John Fitzgerald Kennedy in this world. Mankind could not survive more.”

  * * *

  The bell jangled as Alicia walked inside. She sauntered up to the counter and squinted at the menu, debating what to buy. She’d just spent more dollars than she should’ve on art supplies, thanks to her conversation with Torb.

  “Can I help you, Miss Darr?” asked the counter boy.

  “Yes, I’ll have an egg salad sandwich and a water, please,” she said, and lunged onto the seat.

  “Coming right up.”

  Alicia shifted to adjust her skirt, the stool squeaking beneath her. That’s when she noticed the familiar coiffure of Janet des Rosiers.

  “Hello, Janet!” Alicia called out, with a quick wave.

  The woman jolted in surprise, the heels of her shoes lifting a centimeter before clacking to the floor again.

  “Oh, hello there,” she said.

  The counter boy handed Janet a Coke.

  “How funny to run into you,” Alicia said. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy in town?”

  “Only Mr. Kennedy,” she answered in her pleasant way.

  “You must’ve just arrived,” Alicia said. “I was at the house not too long ago and I would’ve noticed if the Ambassador were there!”

  “Is that right?”

  As she watched Janet, she found her a bit … off. There was a tremble about her, like a drink bumped and about to spill. Janet’s hair was flat on the top, her left eyebrow more filled in than the right. And her underpinnings didn’t fit so well. Maybe the woman’s grace wasn’t as effortless as it appeared.

  “And how is Jack?” Janet asked, stirring her Coke with a straw, bracelets clanging on her wrist. “He’s been a bit under the weather, I know.”

  “Yes,” Alicia said with a grim nod. “I’m worried about him, to be honest. He’s so thin. I know he has a new campaign planned, but I hope he gets a break.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Janet said. “The Kennedys don’t like breaks. The faster, the better, in all things.”

  “But it’s difficult to go fast on crutches,” Alicia said with a half smile. “The poor man is so run-down, he was talking about chucking it all for California. It was a joke, but as Jack always says, ‘Why not?’ It’s a decent idea, if you ask me.”

  “California?”

  Janet’s eyes expanded.

  “Wouldn’t it be a kick?” Alicia said. “I’ve always wanted to see Hollywood and doesn’t every girl long for the big screen?”

  “That’s a cute little daydream.” Janet plonked her glass on the counter. “Well, I’d better get back to the house, before I’m missed.”

  “Yes, probably best to hurry along. Tell the Ambassador I said hello. And please send my love to Mrs. Kennedy, too.”

  BOSTON CHILDREN WILL BE TRAINED FOR CIVIL DEFENSE

  The Boston Daily Globe, March 21, 1951

  HYANNIS PORT

  Rain ticked on the windows. The streets were slick. Inside the Center, Magnificent Yankee played onscreen, and in the lobby Alicia leaned against the counter, sighing over an opened newspaper. Atomic attacks, civilian defense plans, and Red spies: doom and more gloom than the weather outside. Now they were training Boston children for civil defense and converting schools into relief cente
rs. How would this end?

  “Stop fretting,” George said earlier that day, when she’d agonized that thirteen-year-olds were being taught to carry stretchers. “There’s nothing else to talk about right now, especially on the Cape. When summer arrives, that stuff will disappear. Soon the Patriot will return to fishing competitions, playhouse appointments, and strawberry crops.”

  “I should move to California,” Alicia said. “It’s never winter there.”

  Alicia glanced at the clock. The 2:15 show would end in a few minutes, and they’d enjoy an hour break before the next. The day already felt like forever.

  Then, the doors flew open. Alicia lifted her head to witness a flock of women totter inside. They were in some type of uniform, a tan-colored minidress paired with tall boots. Behind them was a man with a wispy mustache and a very red face.

  Alicia greeted the group, then ran a tongue over her teeth to check for lipstick. Why did she feel so unsteady? Not to mention, greasy and somewhat small? Alicia was used to being the most attractive woman in the room, but with these girls on the premises, her status was up for question. Her ghastly uniform did nothing to recommend her.

  “Hello,” she said, addressing the mustachioed man.

  “Hi there, pretty lady.”

  He flashed a smile, then his ticket stubs.

  “Don Class is the name,” he said. “And behind me are the finalists for Coast Guard Queen. We’re touring the Cape as part of our campaign, and figured we’d take in a show.”

  “That’s magnificent.”

  Alicia tried to catch eyes with one or all of the girls, but they were busy rooting through handbags and fiddling with their hair.

  “The entrance to the theater is right there,” Alicia said, and pointed. “The current show is about to let out, and it’s a bit of a wait until the next. I can hold on to your tickets if you wish to browse Main Street in the meantime?”

  “We don’t mind waiting,” Don Class said. “Right, girls?”

  He swiveled toward the six women: two blondes, two brunettes, and one each of red and raven-haired. A few of them gave listless nods. The black-haired girl pulled out a gold cigarette case.

  “Let me get you popcorn and some Cokes,” Alicia said.

  “Sure. I’ll take a jumbo Coke.”

  Alicia went to fetch his cup. He didn’t intend to feed the Coast Guard Queens, it seemed.