They played tennis in Palm Springs and sunned themselves at the Beach Club. They hung around his sister Pat, and Peter Lawford, too. Sometimes Jack brought a friend to California, like Dave, or Kenny, or Torb, or Red Fay. Her roommates kept the men entertained as Alicia remained perplexed about who was married, who was free, and who enjoyed an “understanding” with his wife.
Alicia and Jack had their rhythm in California, but now they’d need to find footing in New York. Because of this, Alicia was drunk with nerves from the minute she stepped off the plane.
“Maybe I won’t let you go back to California,” Jack had said. “Maybe I’ll kidnap you, and take you to Washington.”
Alicia brushed it off, but the truth was, she was thinking about it. She was considering a move to D.C.
Inside St. Patrick’s, Alicia watched, insides brimming, as Eunice glided down the aisle in an off-the-shoulder dress and twenty-foot train.
“Christian Dior,” Jean would later say, to everyone, to make sure they knew.
The gown was magnificent, but the veil was longer and more dramatic, as was her seven-carat sapphire ring.
Pat was the maid of honor, and all ten bridesmaids wore strapless white organza sheaths topped off with boleros. The ushers totaled twenty, Jack the handsomest of the bunch.
After the ceremony, Alicia hurried through the church’s heavy bronze doors. She didn’t wait for the wedding party and instead followed a cluster of guests along Fiftieth toward the Waldorf Astoria, where a luncheon awaited on the Starlight Roof.
When Alicia walked into the reception, she was instantly taken with the art deco ceiling and the lantern stars dangling overhead. White flowers had been brought in by the truckload, and an eight-tiered cake sat in the corner.
Alicia recognized many of the guests who trickled in: Truman, Hearst, Harriman, and several men she’d seen on television delivering the news. She also saw the full complement of Jack’s cronies and friends.
“Ken said he was bringing you, but I didn’t believe him.”
Alicia whirled around to find Lem Billings. She smiled. He’d grown on her, the toothy, asthmatic lug. Compared to Jack’s other pals, he had a gentler side, and wasn’t nearly such a wolf.
“Lem,” she said, and kissed each cheek. “Terrific to see you.”
“For you,” he said, and passed her a flute of champagne. “Cheers.”
They clinked glasses. Alicia would never tire of the taste of champagne, and the joyful, dry hum it created in her throat. To think, she once preferred beer.
“Eunice looks beautiful,” Alicia said. “Not even Rose could complain.”
“Oh, I’m sure Mrs. K could come up with something.”
The two chuckled, though there was nothing untrue about what Lem said.
“So, where have you been these days?” Alicia asked. “I haven’t seen you in Los Angeles in ages.”
Lem was dopey, awkward, and prone to overindulge in booze. But he was also sweet, and loyal to Jack, and Alicia got the sense he didn’t approve of the randiness of his other friends. If Lem were married, he’d never sit naked in a hot tub with Fannie, or Yolanda, and definitely not both.
“Work’s been busy,” he said. “I got a promotion, actually.”
“Congratulations!” Alicia said as they touched glasses a second time.
“Plus, California isn’t really me. I don’t have much interest in hunting expeditions.”
Alicia nodded, not sure what he meant.
“I’m glad you and Jack are seeing each other again,” Lem said. “He’s happier now. The Gary Cooper move was smart. Jack’s a jealous bastard.”
“I wondered if Coop got his attention,” Alicia said with a laugh. “But it wasn’t calculated at all.”
Lem regarded Alicia, wincing.
“I heard about what happened,” he said, “before you left Hyannis Port, with Mr. Kennedy.”
“I’m surprised Jack told you. He’s always anxious to get past unpleasantness. We’ve had squabbles in the morning that he can’t remember by sundown.”
“That’s Jack all right,” Lem said. “It was Pat who told me, actually. If it’s any consolation, she was mortified.”
Alicia bobbed her head. Was it any consolation? A little, but it’d never erase the sting, or the heartbreak of that night.
“I’m sorry it went down like that,” Lem said. “It’s just … Jack’s their golden boy, so the whole thing was a shock. They thought you were Catholic.”
“The Church itself thinks I’m Catholic, so…” Alicia rolled her eyes. “For people so intent on moving forward, they sure care a lot about a person’s past.”
“Mr. Kennedy had all kinds of problems with Jews in his Hollywood days. So, there’s a history there.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. I’ve heard all about it. He also thought Hitler was an impressive man.”
Alicia tersely sipped her champagne.
“You have to understand,” Lem said, “they were stunned. You don’t look Jewish. I mean, your nose is slightly prominent, but other than that…”
Alicia frowned. Her nose was prominent? Lem’s profile wasn’t exactly one for the ages and she could say much worse things about the man.
I don’t look Jewish? That’s funny because you don’t look like a faggot, yet people swear that you are.
“I hope you don’t take offense,” he said. “Mr. Kennedy has very big ideas about where Jack is going, and who with.”
Alicia examined him for a minute, wondering if Lem liked her because he knew that she and Jack would never last, and she’d therefore never supplant him in Jack’s heart.
Don’t worry, Alicia, Red or Dave Powers had once said. When you’re not there, Jack has Lem suck him off, so he doesn’t get one of his “headaches.”
“I’ve always known Joe’s ambition spelled bad news for me,” Alicia said now, and smiled tightly.
“The thing is,” Lem said, “Jack swears he’s his own man. And every once in a great while, when it comes to you, I actually believe that it’s true.”
* * *
“Kid!” said that wonderful voice.
Alicia had been chatting with a Supreme Court justice when a person whooshed up and took her by the waist.
“At last!” he said. “You’re gorgeous!”
Jack pulled her away from Justice So-and-So and kissed her briefly, on the lips. Alicia blushed to her toes. A modest gesture, but the most publicly affectionate Jack had ever been, and he’d done it right there on the Starlight Roof, amid the orchids and in full view of his family and friends.
“Oh, Jack,” Alicia said, happy tears gathering. “What took you so long?”
She meant this about so many things.
“The receiving line lasted almost two hours. It was pure misery.”
He ran both hands through his bushy, auburn hair.
“I’m beat,” Jack said, and snatched her champagne.
He polished it off in one gulp and set the glass on a nearby table.
“Why are you so damned gorgeous?” he asked, scanning her up and down. “I know a few bridesmaids who are going to be chapped. Maybe even the bride.”
Alicia smiled, blushing still. She hadn’t been sure about the dress: a pale blue, silk shantung sheath. The style and color were perfect, but she worried that the rhinestones at the neckline were too avant-garde. Sparkle in the daytime was the latest fashion, but these folks might not have heard.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t mind bugging a bridesmaid or two. Now, if someone ever asks me to be one, I’ll weep, knowing I’ve lost my looks.”
As Jack chuckled, Alicia took a chance to study him. He was handsome as ever, the tanned golden boy, but the man was skinny, too reedy and frail. If Joe Kennedy weighed the same, they’d probably send him straight to Polyclinic.
“Do you need to sit?” Alicia asked. “Your back must be a mess after standing for so long.”
“Nope!” he said with a clap and what could be described as a small leap.
Sometimes she marveled at Jack’s energy, his get-up-and-go. If Alicia hadn’t met his similarly charged siblings, she might think Jack was on Dexamyl. She’d seen the pills in action, with actresses and friends. While it kept a person perky and thin, it likewise kept them up for days. Alicia was grateful she didn’t have to resort to such tricks.
“Come on!” Jack said, and took Alicia’s hand.
He took her hand! Right there in public! Under the art deco sky!
“It’s time to reintroduce you to my parents.”
“Are you sure?” Alicia said, heart rattling like a parakeet trying to escape its cage. “Aren’t they too busy with guests?”
“Now or never, kid. It’s been a year.”
“Almost two,” she said.
Jack tugged her arm and Alicia’s eyes found Joe and Rose Kennedy, holding court on the other side of the room. It was odd to see them here, far from wicker chairs, sailboats, and the Nantucket Sound.
“Hey, Pops!” Jack called out.
As Joe and Rose began to close in, Alicia’s heart flapped beyond control.
She saw that the Ambassador was still the tall, confident patriarch, albeit with marginally less hair. Rose, as always, was pinched and grumpy. When they stepped forward to greet their son and his date, Joe Kennedy did not glower or sulk. If anything, he brightened by noticeable degrees.
“Miss Darr! How lovely to see you!”
Joe clasped both hands around hers. His were clammy and warm. Alicia swallowed, hard.
“You look ravishing!” he said.
Alicia nodded her thanks. She never understood this term: “ravishing.” As if he intended to devour her whole.
“Mother, do you remember Jack’s friend, Alicia Darr?” Joe asked, and glanced at his wife.
“Yeeees,” Rose said in her squeaky hiss.
The women shook hands as Alicia pushed her face into the biggest smile she could find. These two almost seemed happy to see her. Alicia checked Jack, and he winked.
“My dear,” Joe said, “I hear you’ve had great success in Hollywood.”
“I don’t know about ‘great’ but I’ve found a few roles.”
“Don’t discount the bit parts. We all have to start somewhere. Right, Jack?”
Joe walloped his son, and the men cackled lightly. Alicia’s belly loosened. The Kennedys didn’t seem bothered by her at all. She thought of Joe’s words from two summers ago.
How do you expect to oust an old blue blood without the proper wife?
Jack did oust the blue blood, all on his own, no wife necessary. Why would he need one, being so thoroughly magnetic and smart? Maybe Joe Kennedy finally understood this, and trusted Senator John F. Kennedy more than the congressman of the same name.
“Well, Dad, Mother,” Jack said, “I hate to break up the reunion, but I’d like to take this beautiful creature onto the dance floor.”
“Fine idea,” Joe said. “I might follow your lead.”
“I don’t care to dance,” Rose snipped.
“Of course not, Mother. I’ll just cut in with Jack and Alicia.”
Alicia smiled meekly, her stomach tumbling once again. After bidding his parents adieu, she followed Jack onto the parquet floor, sighing as he took her into his arms.
* * *
“What do you think about the French Riviera?” Jack asked as the band played.
Don’t let the stars get in your eyes
“The French Riviera?” Alicia said with a laugh. “I’m sure it’s lovely this time of year.”
“No, I mean, what do you think about going?”
Alicia laughed again.
“I’m still trying to decide about Washington.”
“Do both!” Jack said, limping along.
Jack was doing a hero’s job at the reception, dancing and shaking hands and treating each person like an old friend. But the night was long and he’d become increasingly rigid and tight with pain.
“France is worked out,” he said. “The plan is to leave in July. Two weeks on a yacht. Gourmet meals, sunbathing, skinny-dipping, whatever we please. The boys are all signed up. What about you?”
“Sounds very romantic, what with all ‘the boys,’” Alicia said. “But, Jack, I can’t go to the French Riviera.”
She wondered if he remembered. She wondered if he recalled the tickets they’d bought, an outside cabin on the Ile de France, for the honeymoon they never had.
“And why not?” he asked.
“Because,” she said, “I’m still noodling on Washington, and that’s a big enough decision for now.”
Plus, Alicia didn’t know if she could. She wasn’t a citizen, and leaving the country was tempting fate, especially given how desperate she was to get in the first time. It would’ve been different on a honeymoon, traveling as husband and wife.
“I should be glad that you’re still contemplating D.C.,” Jack said. “I thought you might string this out for years.”
“I am considering it, but only because you’re such a convincing man.”
By the time Eunice cut the cake—the last event before the newlyweds took off for Spain—Alicia resolved that yes, she would join Jack in Washington. Some might say she was giving up her Hollywood dreams, but Hollywood was never Alicia’s dream, not really. America was her dream, art was her dream, and Jack was, too. Acting was a hobby she picked up along the way. Sort of like Coop.
“Wow,” Alicia said as someone wheeled Eunice’s cake onto the dance floor. “I’ve never seen a dessert that requires a ladder.”
“Especially since Eunice has often been mistaken for one.”
The bride ascended slowly, but assuredly and with her customary athleticism. At the top, Eunice radiated over her adoring, tipsy guests. She cocked a hip, hoisted her lily-of-the-valley bouquet, and then chucked it straight at Pat. Everyone roared with applause as Pat did a victory dance. Meanwhile, Peter was slumped against the wall, bearing the demeanor of a man who’d traveled a very stormy sea.
“Looks like Pat will be the next Kennedy to wed,” Alicia said.
Jack gave one of his sly, sideways grins.
“Maybe,” he said, and hooked an arm over her shoulders.
Alicia felt his breath in her hair, on her neck.
“But you never know, kid,” he said. “It could just as easily be someone else.”
JUNE 2016
LOS ANGELES
Serena is in seat 32E, hurtling over the Atlantic toward California, where she’ll stay with a boy she’s known for ten days. Technically, she’s trying to claim an inheritance, but really, it’s about the boy.
“You need to pursue this,” Lee Perenchio said, when they read the letter together for a tenth time, a twentieth. “The universe wants you in L.A.”
“L’universo,” she’d muttered, with a snort.
“You received a letter inviting you to Los Angeles, when you were with a person from Los Angeles. It couldn’t be more perfect. We can go together!”
“Together?” she’d demurred, despite the tickling thrill. “You and me? Che palle!”
What balls!
They’d met a mere week before the letter arrived. Lee’s family booked a tour of the Colosseum, and Serena was their guide. When she first saw them, Serena thought: what an interesting amalgam of persons.
There was a well-heeled, older man with slick silver hair and a massive gold Rolex. Lee’s dad. Beside him, two middle-aged women. Lee’s half sisters, all of them from different moms. Behind these people stood Lee himself.
This stranger wasn’t a boy, though neither was he a man, exactly. He was tall (two meters, at least), wavy-haired, and attractive in an indisputable but artless way—like a Labrador or a loquacious woodland animal from an animated film. Though he seemed so boyish, Lee Perenchio was a recent Stanford graduate and twenty-three years old.
Serena earned her money that morning, thanks to one sister in Lucite heels, and the other put off by graffiti, hobos, and what she called “the general sme
ll of Rome.” When Lee showed up the next day, Serena assumed it was to lodge a complaint. Alas, he was there for another tour. He’d go on to book a tour every day, for the next seven days.
“I want to see this city without my sisters,” he’d said.
“There are other guides,” Serena replied.
“You’re the best one. I like the way you talk with your hands.”
Serena could not help but be charmed.
By the end of the week, she’d run out of sights, and so she took Lee to the famous Via Margutta, a street that told a thousand stories. It is home to the Roman art scene, she explained, and was the setting of Roman Holiday.
Everything about Margutta is quintessential Rome, with its cobblestones and planter boxes and ivy-festooned buildings of orange and yellow and pink. The avenue is open to foot traffic only, a good thing as Lee had demonstrated himself susceptible to oncoming automobiles. Margutta is also Serena’s home, which is how they ended up in her flat. In her flat, they read the attorney’s letter, and now she is on a plane.
“We’ve known each other a week!” Serena reminded Lee as he tried to coax her into California.
“I know that,” he answered. “But it seems like a lot longer. You’re one of the people I’m closest to.”
“Santo Cielo!”
Serena threw up her hands.
“Nun te stai a regolà!” she said. “Don’t get mushy and romantic on me!”
“I’m starting to think Italian men are unfairly singled out as lotharios,” he groused. “No one ever mentions the women.”
As he reddened, Serena reached over and squeezed his hand. Oh, but this puppy dog of a boy made her happy, after a scant seven days.
“If you want to know the truth,” she said, “I returned to Rome two months ago, and you’re the best thing about it so far.”
It’s possible the letter is a fraud, Serena thinks as she sails across the sky. But, real or fake, does it matter? Either she travels to Los Angeles and inherits many millions of dollars, or she travels to Los Angeles and spends the summer with Lee.
The Summer I Met Jack Page 28