“I think you’re right, Dave,” Alicia said, and took a swig of champagne, eyes still on Miss Doyle.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Lem mumbled.
“Helen Doyle is a strange bird,” Alicia said. “But I’m sure she’d relish a little medical attention, courtesy of Dr. David Powers.”
* * *
“That was quite the night,” Jack said when they returned to the Waldorf. “I hope Lem made it to his room, and a maintenance man doesn’t trip over his passed-out body in some corridor.”
“I have the same wish for us all,” Alicia said, grabbing her head.
How much champagne did she drink, exactly?
Jack dropped onto the bed and went to remove his shoes, his face contorted in agony. Alicia would’ve helped, but she’d long since learned not to interfere.
“I saw you talking to Torb and Dave,” Jack said as he tried to extricate himself from his socks. “Anything interesting to report?”
“Not really.”
Alicia removed her elbow-length gloves, wondering if she should bring up Helen Doyle, and the fact she’d gone to Dave’s room. But Alicia had the odd sense that Jack would be irritated, if not outright chapped.
“The highlight was Gloria Swanson, of course,” Alicia said instead. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when she walked up to our table in that jewel-encrusted turban. It was rather comical to watch all of you trip over yourselves to find her a chair.”
Ultimately, Gloria wedged herself between Jack and Alicia, and then asked where Joe was. Through it all, Alicia was dumbstruck and clammed up. It was her first celebrity sighting, and what a way to start.
“Gloria’s a helluva dame,” Jack said as Alicia slid out of her dress. “You barely spoke two words to the woman.”
“I know! I couldn’t find a thing to say. I felt like the biggest yokel around.”
Alicia turned toward the mirror and took a second to analyze her reflection: the blush slip, the smeared makeup, the necklace from Jack that never matched what she wore. Alicia thought diamonds went with everything, but this was not a proven fact.
“I met someone a while ago,” she said. “A talent scout from Hollywood who’s worked with Gloria. He said I have the looks for film.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Jack snorted. “Sounds like a great line. I’ve probably used it myself.”
“I don’t know. He seemed on the up-and-up. He even offered to pay my way to California. I’m kicking myself, now. That’s what I should’ve talked to Gloria about. I could have asked her opinion on Don Class.”
“Don Class?” Jack shot up to sitting. “Are you joking? Man’s a two-bit hustler. He probably just wanted to fuck you.”
“He made no overtures in that vein,” Alicia sniffed, and stretched to release the clasp of her necklace. “And it’s not necessary to be so crass.”
Though she was annoyed, it was nice to know Jack could be unreasonable and jealous like a regular man.
“You’re going to be an actress now?” Jack said. “Is that it?”
“It’s something I’ve been entertaining. People say I have the face for it and the art isn’t going so well.”
“You’ve barely given it any time! What did you expect?”
“You sound like George,” Alicia said, and flung the necklace onto the bureau. “And maybe I’ve given it gobs of time. How would you know?”
“I don’t like this idea.” Jack sulked. “I don’t like it one bit.”
Alicia was about to respond, to say something about how she didn’t like him living permanently on the campaign trail, when she noticed Jack glaring at the dresser.
“Did Don Ass give you that necklace?” he asked.
“What necklace?”
Alicia craned to look behind her, but was stumped, for the only necklace around was from him.
“That hideous thing you wear when you’re trying to be fancy,” he said. “It’s so fucking gaudy.”
Alicia let out a gasp. She picked up the necklace, and then swung it around, like a short and expensive lasso.
“This?” she said. “This is the piece of jewelry you’re talking about?”
“I don’t see any other chintzy pieces of costume ice in this room.”
Alicia cocked her arm and chucked the diamonds at Jack. She caught him square in the forehead, and for a second she was happy as he wiped away a speck of blood.
“You gave it to me, you prick,” she said. “When I tried to refuse, you told me that your sisters lose jewelry all the time.”
“Aw, sure!” he said, eyes brightening. “That’s right! Now I remember!”
Alicia shook her head and leaned against the dresser.
“How many diamond necklaces are you doling out, that you can’t recall this one?” she asked.
“Come on, now,” he said, struggling to his feet. “You’re the most beautiful and interesting woman I’ve ever met. How could there be diamonds for anyone else? If you want to know the truth, Sarge picked it out.”
“Who? Is that a nickname for one of your puckish friends?”
“Sarge Shriver is a friend of mine. He works for Dad in Chicago. I called him because he knows all the best diamond merchants. I wanted to get you the perfect piece.”
Sarge Shriver’s involvement was supposed to make her feel better, then? Alicia continued to scowl.
Jack walked over.
“Come on, gorgeous, don’t freeze me out,” he said, and pushed into her.
Alicia’s tailbone smarted against the dresser’s edge as Jack kissed her neck. He ran his mouth down her collarbone, and to the décolletage revealed by her slip. She should probably leave, but where could a girl go at one o’clock in the morning? If Alicia walked through the lobby at that hour, she’d probably get picked up in a vice raid.
And so, she succumbed to Jack, which was the easier and more pleasurable course. They started on the dresser, and ended on the bed. When all was through, Jack fell into his heavy stone sleep.
The next morning, as dawn spread across the city, Alicia didn’t wait for him to wake up. With the first light through the window, Alicia crept from bed, wiggled into her traveling clothes, and counted her money, to make sure that she had enough.
After coaxing her hair into a less scurrilous state, Alicia laid last night’s dress, and the gloves, across her side of the bed. She almost added the necklace but reconsidered, and slipped it into her handbag. On the way out the door, she grazed Jack’s arm as she hurried past. She made it to the train station just in time to catch the Boston 7:05.
STAY AWAY FROM HOLLYWOOD!!
IF YOU HAVE GENUINE TALENT, A NEW FACE AND UNUSUAL FIGURE, A TALENT SCOUT MAY FIND YOU RIGHT IN YOUR OWN HOMETOWN
The Danville Advocate-Messenger, May 23, 1951
HYANNIS PORT
The Center was overrun, over-the-top, looking like the would-be funeral for every circus clown who’d ever lived. A person couldn’t transport popcorn from counter to seat without smacking into a wreath, bouquet, or cluster of balloons.
“It’s like the winner’s circle of a shitty horse race,” George said.
He’d taken to calling it “the carnation abomination,” and Alicia didn’t object. Jack remained on her bad side and she would not soon be swayed by gifts likely purchased by Sarge Shriver, or whoever had access to a “flower guy.”
“I don’t get it,” George said, shortly after a delivery of chocolate, which Alicia left on the sidewalk for the Hyannis kids. “Are you split, or are you just mad?”
“No on being split, yes I’m mad. George, please stop moving.”
Alicia sat perched on the counter, legs crossed, a sketchbook in her lap. Her friend’s profile was taking shape. It was the first time she’d rendered a person instead of a place, though she’d not yet confessed to George that he was her debut subject.
“Why do you keep ordering me around?” he said. “So, do you plan to forgive Jack? Asking some business associate to pick out jewelry isn’t the worst
offense.”
Alicia nodded, then scratched out a few more eyebrows. George’s were pretty thick, now that she’d taken the time to examine them.
“I’ll never understand women,” he said. “Not if I studied for a hundred years.”
“If you ever need help, let me know. I’ll counsel you, free of charge.”
“Yours is not the help I’d seek.”
Alicia looked up from her pad. She narrowed one eye. George’s face was disconcertingly symmetrical. Humans weren’t made to be so even.
“What’re you staring at?” he groused.
“Only you.”
Alicia returned her eyes to the sketchpad, amused by this open secret. If George paid the least bit of mind, he’d recognize himself from fifty yards away.
“The thing with Jack is…” Alicia started, brushing her pencil upward to create the flecks of hair between George’s brows. “He needs to understand that he can’t always have his way. I honestly don’t think anyone’s ever told him that.”
Alicia erased a few hairs. George’s eyebrows were not that unkempt.
“All that stuff you’ve told him over the phone,” George said, for he’d overheard a conversation or twelve. “About Hollywood and Don Class and the rest of it. Is that a game? Or are you serious?”
“It’s all true. I realize you think I’m acting capriciously, but what girl wouldn’t want the chance at fame?”
Alicia plunked down her sketchpad and slid from the countertop. A headache was approaching, as bad as a champagne hangover thanks to the flowers that were dizzying in sight and smell.
“Come on,” George said. “Hollywood is a whim, a lark. You’re just flattered that an agent noticed you.”
“In case you’re wondering, he’s called me twice.”
“Jesus Christ,” someone said. “What is this unholy show?”
Alicia jumped, for she had not heard the door open. She peered over the flowers to see the tall, boxy noggin of Lem Billings.
“Lem!” Alicia said, and threw on a well-practiced mask of delight. “What are you doing at the Center? Here to check out You’re in the Navy Now? He may be aging, but Gary Cooper is still a dream.”
“No,” Lem said, plowing through Jack’s gifts. “No designs on Gary Cooper. I’m here to see you. This has to end, now.”
End? The word sent a quiver of panic through Alicia. She’d acclimated to the flow of gifts, and watching Jack work so hard.
“Alicia Darr,” Lem said, “what the hell are you doing to my boy? You’re killing the poor bastard.”
“How am I killing him?” she asked, somewhat irritated by this particular brand of American hyperbole.
“You know Jack hates being ignored. Cannot stand it. Some broad wouldn’t screw him in ’38 and he still won’t shut up about it. And while I could take or leave you—”
“Thank you, that is very kind.”
“I don’t like seeing Jack upset.”
“I’m not ignoring him,” Alicia said, almost able to feel George shaking his head behind her. “I’ve been … busy.”
“Working in a movie theater?” he scoffed.
“Yes. And I’d offer a referendum on your occupation, though I still haven’t figured out what it is you do. Jack’s assistants customarily wear skirts.”
“I work at General Shoe. In Nashville.”
“Nashville?” Alicia said. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
How could he have a gig in Tennessee when he spent so much time in Massachusetts and D.C.?
“Listen, lady,” he said. “You’re making Jack crazy. Clinically insane.”
If Alicia was not mistaken, Lem’s eyes were beginning to well. Sometimes he acted like Jack’s older brother, or an overprotective spouse, instead of a pal.
“How am I responsible for Jack’s mental state?” Alicia asked.
“Women are evil sorcerers,” he said. “Listen. There’s a party, Wednesday night at the house. The entire family will be there to celebrate Jack’s thirty-fourth birthday and Bobby’s graduation from law school.”
“Did Bobby finish as high as he was hoping?” Alicia asked.
“Higher. Dead middle of the pack.”
“An improvement over expectations,” she said with a snicker. “Will they be celebrating anything related to Teddy, do you think?”
A few weeks earlier, the youngest Kennedy had been kicked out of Harvard for cheating on a Spanish test, and the family had been figuring out what to do with him ever since. A dash of war heroism might be in order, if the Kennedys weren’t so against Korea. But, they’d never cast him out. Alicia guessed that they reckoned Teddy’s problem was not in the cheating, but in being expelled.
“Why are you telling me this?” Alicia asked with a sigh. “About the party?”
“Because the whole family will be there, and Jack wants you there, too.”
“Yet you’re the one who extended the invitation,” Alicia said warily, despite the thrill rising in her throat.
Could she go? Could she socialize with the Kennedys like a regular guest? While she’d spent some time with Rose, and with Joe, as for the rest of them, they knew her as the girl who swept floors, packed their lunches, and mistook pool cues for something they might use on a beach.
“The invitation is time-sensitive, and Jack wanted your answer right away,” Lem said. “With so much going on in Washington, he couldn’t make it to the Cape.”
“Jack Kennedy can’t stand to wait for anything, can he?” Alicia said with a snort. “Alas, he’ll need to wait for my answer. I’ll think it over, but I have some decisions to make. There’s a possibility I won’t even be on the Cape when his birthday comes around.”
“Jesus H.” Lem rolled his eyes. “Not this Hollywood, Don Class nonsense. It drives Jack nuts, though perhaps that’s the point.”
“Me too,” George piped in. “It drives me nuts, too. It’s like, either go or don’t. Stop talking about it. Stop dragging everyone else on your slow, boring ride.”
“Weighing my options,” Alicia said, and glanced over her shoulder to glower at George, “has nothing to do with Jack.”
She turned toward Lem.
“Tell Jack that I’ll either see him on the thirtieth … or I won’t,” she said. “That’s the only answer I can give.”
KENNEDYS BACK FROM PARIS
The Newport Daily News, May 29, 1951
HYANNIS PORT
Alicia paused at the front door, chin lifted despite the quaking beneath her butterfly-print dress. As her hands perspired through her gloves, Alicia threw her shoulders back and let the ocean breeze sweep across her face.
She rang the bell. Soon came the patter of feet, and the whirring of voices throughout the home. The Kennedys were present and accounted for, sure enough.
“Oh, hello,” said the maid who answered, a girl Alicia didn’t recognize.
She was Latin, which lined up with Mrs. Kennedy’s preference for Dominicans over Eastern Bloc girls.
“Hi there.” Alicia smiled.
Was Irenka on the premises? she wondered. She still worked there, which Alicia knew thanks to the small but active east end grapevine. Irenka was also dating a widowed fisherman who had five children and wanted five more, which was Irenka’s very dream. Alicia wished her the best. It was funny how two Poles could behold America and see such different dreams.
“I’m Alicia Darr,” she told the woman at the door. “A guest of Jack’s.”
“Please,” she said, and waved Alicia through.
Alicia followed, the Kennedy ruckus intensifying with each step. To steady her nerves, Alicia focused on the skirt of her dress, and how the blue iridescent butterflies shimmered through the silk gossamer pleats.
“They’re in the living room,” the maid said. “Can I get you a pre-dinner cocktail? The others are having daiquiris.”
“That’d be lovely,” Alicia said, her voice creaky.
The woman hurried off.
At the threshold,
Alicia stopped and smiled into a corner, the weight of the Kennedy gaze heavy upon her. When she finally let her eyes roam, Alicia took an inventory of the clan. There was Rose Kennedy and the new law school grad. Beside him, the expelled scamp. A very pregnant Ethel sat on the floor, and the sisters lounged on various chairs throughout the room. Everyone was there, except for Jack.
“He had an event at the Elks Lodge in Boston,” Pat said, and strode across the room. “We’re expecting him at any moment. Please, have a seat.”
Pat took Alicia’s hand and led her to a chintz chair.
“Hello, all,” Alicia said, eyes skipping around the room.
She glanced from Rose Kennedy’s decorative plates, to the wall of color-coordinated books, and then to the black baby grand. Atop the piano was a smattering of photographs: Joe, Honey Fitz, Joe Junior, and Kick. All of them dead, except for Joe.
“Oh! A butterfly print!” Rose trilled, chopping the silence with her ear-pinching voice.
Alicia looked at Mrs. Kennedy.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s a new favorite.”
“A copy of Dior’s!”
Alicia shrank in her seat and folded her withering hands in her lap. She wondered how long she’d have to wait for Jack.
“We were discussing Korea,” Joe said, and focused in on her.
Alicia sank further. Of all the bad luck.
“What are your thoughts on the war?” he asked.
A concert of Kennedy blues flew in her direction. Bobby tittered, in anticipation of her guaranteed misstep. His family called him “the shrimp,” yet somehow, he made Alicia feel small.
“Well … it’s clear the current approach isn’t working,” she started. “And I have to wonder, who is America hurting more? The Communists or itself?”
“Why, Daddy, that’s almost exactly what you were saying earlier,” Pat said brightly.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “I quite agree with your assessment, Miss Darr. It seems you’ve been studying up.”
“I also worry about how it’s hurting Europe,” she added, and was about to continue when Rose jumped in.
“The girls and I returned from Paris yesterday,” she said. “I hope it’s not going to end up like the last war, when we couldn’t go at all.”
The Summer I Met Jack Page 19