I hope everything goes well in Washington. When are you getting married? and what of Helena?
Best,
Sarge
Alicia’s hands began to shake. Though she could be miffed about the involvement of Sarge Shriver in what seemed to be another gift, this was not what socked Alicia in the gut.
What of Helena, Sarge asked.
The name rendered Alicia disoriented, punch-drunk. Was this a reference to Helen Doyle, Jack’s smug new secretary? Perhaps, but there was a second option that rattled her more.
She’d been Barbara Kopczynska and Alicia Darr, and Jack knew both of these names. But Alicia hadn’t told him that there was also Helena Nowak. Helena was blond and Catholic and attended convent school. Helena was the one who survived.
The front door opened with a thwack. Alicia dropped the letter, then snatched her valise, and tore downstairs. She’d expected to find Jack, but it was Eunice standing there, with her white-tiled grin and ill-fitting dungarees.
“Hiya,” Eunice said with a wink. “Didn’t know we had guests. Jack never tells me a thing.”
“Me neither,” Alicia huffed. “But not to worry. I’m on my way out of town.”
“You okay?” Eunice asked, and cocked a brow. “You seem a little hot.”
Alicia paused, one hand on the door. Oh, what the hell, she thought, sounding oddly like a Kennedy in her own head.
She flipped around.
“Eunice, I have a question,” Alicia said, walking back into the room.
“Yowza. This sounds important.”
“It’s nothing important. Simply a matter of … curiosity.”
“Sure.” Eunice shrugged and threw her lanky, clambering body onto the couch. “Shoot.”
“Janet des Rosiers. Your father’s secretary. What does your mother think of the situation?”
“What situation could you possibly mean?” Eunice asked, and began flicking through a magazine. “Janet takes care of everything.”
“Don’t play dumb, Eunice. It doesn’t suit you.”
Eunice startled, as if slapped.
“I’ve seen it play out right in front of your mother,” Alicia said. “I’ve seen it in front of you, and your siblings, and party guests whose names I don’t know. Explain it to me. Educate this outsider.”
Eunice sighed and shook her bushy mop of hair.
“My mother is happy,” she said.
“Is she?” Alicia asked. “Do you know that for sure?”
“What on earth would she have to complain about?”
“Okay, so answer this. Your mother is a religious woman. How does she justify what’s going on? She didn’t ignore one thing, one time. She has to do it over and over again, every day.”
Eunice contemplated this, for what Alicia realized was the first time.
“That’s a pretty nosy line of questioning, pal,” Eunice said. “My mother is dang square with the Church, so it’s not anyone else’s show to judge.”
“What about the Bible?” Alicia pressed. “What about the Ten Commandments? Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not covet—”
“Aw, kid,” Eunice said with a throaty cackle. “You don’t have to recite the commandments. I’m well acquainted with all of them, numbers one through ten. I assume no one’s apprised you of the lesser-known eleventh?”
“The eleventh commandment?” Alicia said. “And what exactly is that?”
Leave it to the Kennedys to have one more than everybody else.
“Oh, Alicia,” Eunice said with another laugh. “The eleventh is my mother’s favorite. She recites it all the time. Sweet girl, the eleventh commandment is ‘Thou shall not get caught.’”
NEW 25-CENT PIECE, FEATURING PINE TREE, MAY COME ON IN ’52
The North Adams Transcript, June 21, 1951
HYANNIS PORT
Alicia dropped her bags at the Neills’ and went straight to the Center.
They were between shows, the next run of Along the Great Divide due to start in an hour. That’d be plenty of time to make herself useful, and fish some advice out of George on the side. He had no romantic history to speak of, but Alicia wanted his view. Eleven commandments, of all the Kennedy things.
With great drama, Alicia yanked open the Center door and swept inside, as if the whole of the theater had been biting nails, waiting for her to arrive.
“Hello, everyone!” she trilled.
Alicia’s eyes latched on to George, who stood in the corner looking very much like someone who’d just walked off an unseen step.
“I’ve returned from Washington!” Alicia thumped her handbag onto the counter. “Didn’t have time to grab my uniform, but that’s never stopped me from pouring a few Cokes!”
Alicia prattled on, ignoring George’s quizzical bearing, anxious to busy herself so that she might suffocate the questions that’d plagued her since she left D.C. Mainly: did she want to wed the Kennedys? Because that’s how it’d be with them. She wouldn’t marry Jack, she’d marry every last one of them, this family that was somehow singularly attractive yet often repellent at the same time.
Then again, Alicia loved Jack, she truly did. And the newspaper clipping would be worth more than all the money she’d sent to her mother so far.
European artist Alicia Darr marries Congressman Jack Kennedy, son of the former Ambassador to Britain’s Court of Saint James’s.
“Oh, George,” she said. “I had such the time. I could use your insight.”
The man had a straightforward wisdom, if nothing else.
“I’m telling you,” she went on, George oddly quiet, “some woman is going to be very lucky to scoop you up. She won’t have to worry about marrying you and a cast of others besides. She’ll just get your mother, who is a delight.”
Alicia twirled around for a cup and found herself fronting a slight, plain-mugged girl. The two women locked into a flustered immobility as they stood a hand’s width apart.
“I’m Doris,” the girl said, as if this explained anything.
“Are you?” Alicia said, and looked at George. “And what does being Doris entail?”
She felt a pending sense of doom.
“Doris is Paul’s niece,” George said, breaking his silence. “She works here now.”
“Lovely!”
Alicia smacked her hands together with such force they prickled and stung.
“It’s fabulous to meet you!”
For her part, Doris remained pale and quiet as a corpse. Fat chance this girl could upgrade someone to a jumbo. Maybe it was a charity case, as her attributes were slim.
“Welcome to the Center,” Alicia said. “I’m so glad you’re here! With the season in full swing, it’ll be fantastic to have the extra hands. I’m shocked your uncle Paul sprang for the help. He can be rather tight.”
“Alicia,” George said with an exasperated sigh.
He marched to her side.
“Are you not getting it?”
“Getting what?” she asked.
“You’re right. Paul would never hire two concession girls. That’s why we have one, and her name is Doris.”
Alicia’s eyes widened; her heart sped like a train.
She’d been fired? From a concession stand? When she was an artist, a painter, someone who’d been offered a shot at the silver screen? Alicia made a brief appraisal of Doris, who was about as compelling as dishwater.
“That can’t be right,” Alicia said, and tried to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” George answered. “I’m afraid that it is.”
“And why, exactly, couldn’t Paul deliver the news himself? I mean, really! Have some class!”
“Alicia, he tried to fire you. Three times. But it wasn’t easy. He never knew when you’d deign to show up for your shift.”
* * *
They sat on the steps, squinting against the waning sun. Alicia pulled her skirt over her knees.
“Why are you surprised?” George asked, examining his watch for a third time, lest
his projectionist duties go neglected. “You’re never here. You’ve been in New York, Boston, and D.C. in the past week alone.”
“But look who he replaced me with!”
George scrunched his face.
“Someone reliable and able to work multiple times per week?” he asked.
“No! Well, yes. Doris has that quality about her.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “But she’s so drab!”
“Oh, she’s not so bad. You’ve been spending too much time with the Kennedys.”
“I thought Paul hired me to give this joint some oomph!”
George checked his watch again and stood. He brushed off his pants.
“I think he just wants someone who’ll show up,” he said. “Come on.”
He reached out a hand. Alicia crossed both arms over her chest and shook her head like a defiant child.
“Why are you so teed off?” George asked.
“Because I’m unemployed! I’m an unemployed immigrant refugee from Poland! They could deport me for that!”
“Aren’t you getting married next month? To a congressman? I can’t really picture a Kennedy shoveling popcorn.”
“That is the plan,” Alicia said with a snort.
She pushed herself off the ground.
“If I can bring myself to marry Jack,” she said. “And Joe and Bobby and Ethel, and the rest of them. If I can bring myself to succumb to their very Kennedy rules.”
“Oh, please. It’s not the Kennedy rules you have a problem with. It’s their stability. That’s what you can’t succumb to, like I’ve said before.”
“You have no idea what I’d be getting into if I married that family. None at all.”
“Maybe I don’t,” George said. “But it seems pretty basic. Either you love Jack enough, or you don’t.”
“Enough? What’s enough?”
“Do you love him more than your freedom, Alicia? Enough to override your apparent inability to stay in one place? That’s the question you need to answer, not the one at the altar, not ‘Will you take this man?’”
With a final shake of the head, George turned and walked inside. Alicia stood slack-jawed beneath the awning as she listened to the swish of the Center Theatre door one last time.
EX-ENVOY KENNEDY BECOMES GRANDFATHER
The Boston Daily Globe, July 6, 1951
HYANNIS PORT
They planned to wed on Labor Day.
Hundreds would be there. A thousand, perhaps. Family. Friends. People Alicia had never known. The Kennedys weren’t embarrassed to trot her out, and there was something in that.
“Maybe you should’ve gone off with that Don Class character,” Eunice said. “You’re one hell of an actress. I can barely tell you’re foreign these days.”
Even Joe Kennedy seemed warmer, less apt to visually canvass her body with that combination of lasciviousness and disgust. Or maybe it was what Alicia said to Jack. She did not mention the letter she found, or ask about “Helena,” but she aired her reservations all the same.
“I’m not marrying Joe Kennedy,” she said. “And if that’s what I’m in for, we should end it now.”
She didn’t believe in extra commandments, or any other slippery Kennedy rules, and she didn’t want some old man telling her what to do.
“Not marrying Dad? Well, I should hope not,” Jack answered with a teasing glint. “He’s already hitched.”
“Is he now? Sometimes it’s impossible to tell.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Jack promised. “Make sure he understands that we have our own lives. I’m not a kid, or a bachelor anymore. He’ll get used to the idea.”
Alicia hugged him in thanks, despite the nagging thought that she was something to “get used to,” like Jack’s back pain or the wet towels he left on the floor.
Now they were gathered at the big house, to celebrate a new family member added to the ranks. Bobby and Ethel’s daughter was born days before, on the fourth of July. They’d named her Kathleen, after the departed Kick. She weighed in at nine pounds, six ounces.
Kathleen was beautiful, but she was a Kennedy, so, of course. She was also curious and inquisitive, even at a few days old. She seemed to understand the dynamic, and she basked in the light of the family’s adoration as they passed her around the room.
“Here!” Jean said. “Let me hold her!”
“I was next,” said Eunice.
“Uh-oh, don’t let Sarge see that,” Jack said. “Then he’ll really start with the heavy sell.”
Everyone laughed as Alicia’s eyes fell to the ring that now sat on her left hand. Jack swore he picked this out, and he must’ve, as it was every bit as dazzling and original as he was. It was a “halo ring,” with a large center stone, set in platinum, and fourteen round brilliants surrounding it.
“The center is European-cut,” Jack said, “just like you.”
Alicia twisted the ring once around her finger, then looked up, directly into Irenka’s acidic stare. The woman had been slinking about all afternoon, setting her on edge. She spun the ring one more time, and pulled her gaze away.
The family passed Kathleen from one person to the next, bearing grins so broad it almost hurt to watch. Alicia worried for the girl, and about the expectations being splashed onto her like a baptism. For her part, Rose Kennedy sat in the corner, hands clasped as she lobbed scraps of advice into the room.
“Don’t give her too much attention,” she said. “Or she’ll be spoiled. Where’s the nurse? Someone should call the nurse.”
The warnings stopped no one, and Joe Kennedy snuggled the child, his face years younger thanks to his delight. Times like these Alicia thought that maybe he wasn’t so bad.
“You’re not supposed to play with babies,” Rose called out. “Irenka! Get in here and collect the discarded linens. The baby, too.”
“I’m keeping the girl,” Pat said.
As Irenka bustled into the room, Alicia tried to catch her eye, to somehow smooth the air between them. They’d been through so much together, it didn’t have to be this way.
“You can’t play with them,” Rose repeated, because no one had yet listened. “With too much attention, babies are made nervous and irritable. They sleep badly and suffer in numerous other respects.”
Weeks ago, or perhaps it was a month, Alicia asked Jack if his mother ever touched them. She was picturing a hug, a kissed boo-boo, that sort of thing. Jack deliberated this for a split second and replied, “When she spanked us, she did.”
Alicia had taken it for a joke but now she wasn’t sure. Rose Kennedy was a strange, hard little woman and her coldness toward her granddaughter was prime proof. Maybe Joe’s business with Janet wasn’t so outrageous. Maybe it was done in despair and under duress.
Finally, a nurse came to collect the baby. Irenka was on her heels, with a bottle in hand. Joe kissed Kathleen lightly on the head, and the nurse lifted her from his arms. Joe glanced up, face shining.
“Prettiest Kennedy so far,” he said. “Sorry, Jack.”
The room laughed, and Kathleen jumped, surprised.
Joe swiveled toward Bobby.
“Have you thought about godparents for this magnificent child?” he asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we were thinking of asking Jack—”
“And his bride-to-be!” Joe said. “That is a perfect idea!”
From the edge of the room, Irenka squawked. She dropped the bottle and it clattered to the floor.
“Her?” Bobby said, agog.
“Surely one of the aunties would be a better choice,” Alicia said, trying to save them all. “Pat? Eunice?”
“You’d be perfect,” Joe said again, mystifyingly determined. “Alicia, we are thrilled to have you in this family.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” Alicia said, unblinking.
That must’ve been some winning speech Jack had given his father. Maybe he was his own man. She twisted the ring, her latest nervous habit.
“The perfect Catholic wife,” Joe added.
Again, Irenka made a sound, loud enough that it caused every pair of eyes to swing her way.
“Sounds like quite the idea,” Bobby said evenly, not prepared to go up against his father. “I’ll talk to Ethel when she’s up from her nap.”
Everyone tittered their agreement. Irenka gaped, openmouthed, until duties forced her to leave the room.
Without Kathleen as anchor, the party broke up. Jean and Eunice scrambled upstairs. Bobby went, too, no doubt to find his wife and tell her of Joe’s demented plan. Jack left to place a phone call, and Joe was off to a conference with Janet. As for Rose, she disappeared, vaporized, probably to her private house by the sea. Meanwhile, Alicia sat alone in the sunroom, wondering what to do next.
“Hiya,” someone said, and kicked Alicia’s shoe.
She looked up into Pat’s pretty face.
“Wanna grab a smoke with me outside?” she asked.
“Sure,” Alicia answered with a smile.
She stood, wondering why Pat always thought her keen for a cigarette. Alicia considered it a dirty habit, and the latest health news was grim. Smoking interfered with athletic activities, they said, and it also made you dumb. But Alicia was willing to take the risk for a few moments with Pat.
* * *
“Welp, you’re a brave girl to lock in with this crew,” Pat said as they sat in wicker chairs facing the sea.
“Hmm.” Alicia nodded, pressing her lips together. “I’ve had a few hesitations, but I love Jack.”
Alicia was a different person on the porch, beside the sound, with a cigarette in hand. She felt open, relaxed, imbued with the freedom America promised.
“Hesitations because of us?” Pat asked, with a smirk.
Alicia smiled.
“Thankfully, my concerns have been allayed,” she said.
“One thing I like about you is that you’re impressed by Jack, and Jack alone. Not the rest of it. Half the time, I don’t think you’re all that impressed by him.”
“Oh, it’s impressive,” Alicia said, and took a drag.
She lowered the cigarette and watched the smoke curl around her sparkling diamond ring.
“Impressive, but best observed from a distance?” Pat guessed.
The Summer I Met Jack Page 23