“Oh. Um. Okay.”
She did not expect it to go this easily. Jack had a reputation to uphold, and he was easily set off. Once he yelled at her for sending his favorite shirt to the wrong cleaner.
“You’re not upset?” Alicia said.
“Fuck no.”
Jack cranked his neck to peer up at her.
“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” he said. “That pissant is why you flew to New York?”
“Yes, well,” Alicia said, reddening, feeling foolish.
What had she been worried about? Edmund was a pissant, wasn’t he? How could a twerp like him do anything to someone like Jack?
“I didn’t want him to ruin your candidacy,” Alicia said. “And you didn’t return my calls…”
“Aw, kid, that’s swell of you to worry about me.” He turned around and sank deeper into the bathwater. “Edmund Purdom can say whatever he wants. The only person he’ll hurt is himself.”
So. Alicia had done what she needed to and Jack was more reasonable than she might’ve predicted. Still, she felt empty somehow, deflated, a leftover balloon from a party that didn’t need decorations to start. She wondered if he was on some sort of pill, to make him this calm.
“I’m glad it’s not a problem,” Alicia said. “I wanted to be sensitive. People get quite hot about the concept of adultery, if you haven’t noticed.”
“That’s true. Alas, you’re married too.”
“Yes … I am…” Alicia said, head swimming.
She was married, wasn’t she? Alicia never thought about it that way. Now that one bad decision, that one night, trailed her like a foul smell.
“I’ll tell you this,” he said. “If I don’t win, we’ll also have divorce in common.”
“Oh, Jack, that’s ridiculous. First of all, you’ve predicted divorce half a dozen times. Second, of course you’re going to win.”
“Who knows,” he said. “Sometimes I ask myself whether this is what I want. You and me, we’re so much alike. I knew it the first time we talked, outside the Hyannis.”
“The Center,” she said. “We met at the Center.”
“Oh. That’s right. How can I keep track? You’re always moving. You’re compelled to move, same as me.”
“That’s how I grew up,” she said softly, though Jack did not seem to hear.
“When I see you, I think of the line from ‘Ulysses.’ ‘For always roaming with a hungry heart…’”
“‘Much have I seen and known,’” she answered, pleased she could still recall the lines; “‘cities of men…’”
Jack exhaled loudly. He reached around and looped his arms through her legs. He sighed again.
“We’re the same, Alicia.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“It doesn’t matter what city we’re in. When I see you, it’s like coming home.”
* * *
Alicia stayed until the next morning.
Jack had an early flight but, before he left, he ran out to Bergdorf’s to pick up something for Alicia to wear to her hotel. The getup was frowsy, a shapeless slacks-and-sweater combination, but it was a kind gesture, and Alicia was grateful for it.
He walked her to the lobby. Alicia offered to accompany him to the airport, but Jack didn’t want to put her out.
“I’ll see you soon, kid,” he said.
Alicia went in for a hug but he pulled away, which was not a surprise but still stung. There was always a barrier between them. Jack Kennedy wasn’t made for one person, he was made for the world, and Alicia would never reach him all the way.
“Good-bye, Jack,” she said, and smiled sadly, an acknowledgment that this was the end of them.
It was possible, she supposed, that Jack would leave his wife if the election didn’t go his way. But losing was a more fantastical concept than the notion of a Kennedy divorce. Jack would become president because Kennedys always won. The “furious fifties” were nearly over, and Alicia had to accept that Jack was, too.
ADULTERY DENIED BY ACTRESS
The Long Beach Independent, April 15, 1960
ROME
The sun was loud that day, the city quiet. Novella was out of the studio, entertaining a visiting actress by the name of Tina Louise.
A hush had fallen over the city. It began with the death of Errol Flynn, which came like a warning shot. From that point on, parties were sporadic and rarely lasted until dawn. Everyone gathered for the Roman premiere of La Dolce Vita, but then disbanded as soon as the lights came on, like cockroaches scrambling back into the walls.
Even the Orsini cousins, “the world’s most famous playboys,” had tempered their antics. Prince Filippo and Belinda Lee canceled their suicide pact and Filippo returned to his wife. Raimondo stopped buying so many drugs. By the time La Dolce Vita premiered, the buzz surrounding the film was far more scandalous than anything actually occurring in Rome.
For Alicia, there’d been no better time for the dawn of a more tempered city. It was a new decade. If only Alicia could rid herself of the last vestige of the fifties, Edmund Purdom.
To his credit, he’d not yet come out with anything about Jack, whose candidacy was now real instead of assumed. Alas, Edmund was a snake, and Alicia had been trailing him around the globe pleading for a divorce. So far, she’d followed him from New York to Munich, back to Rome. In Switzerland, he gave her the slip. Alicia stayed to ski in St. Moritz and had to write a bad check to cover her stay.
The Purdoms were due in court next Thursday. Alicia was practicing her testimony when someone knocked on the studio’s door. She’d expected another artist, or maybe Tina Louise looking for Novella, who was often lost due to her shortness and propensity to scrabble about.
But when Alicia opened the door, she saw not a redheaded star but a doughy, plain American. She’d met this man before.
“Alicia Darr,” he said, and helped himself inside.
It was Jay McInerney, or Mac as he was called in the Kennedy camp. He was an “attorney” by trade, but mostly they used him to grease wheels and ease roads.
“Get Mac to handle it,” Jack said when some “slut” accused Joe of coming on to her too aggressively. “She’ll shut up for a couple thousand bucks.”
“Get Mac to push the paperwork through,” she’d overheard another time. “Using a heavy sack of cash.”
Mac was the family’s payoff guy, which did not explain why he was in Rome.
“Excuse me, Mr. McInerney,” Alicia said, showing that she knew his name. “You cannot just walk into a woman’s home uninvited.”
Alicia adjusted her painting smock and crossed both arms over her stomach.
“This is a matter of national security,” he said.
“National security?” Alicia’s voice caught. “Is Jack okay?”
“He is splendid. No thanks to you.”
“To me?”
Mac slid a hand into the breast pocket of his coat and extracted a paper. He snapped it straight.
“You’ve been a busy girl, Barbara Kopczynska. Alicia Purdom. Whoever you are.”
“I’ve not been busy at all.” She nodded toward her easel. “Painting, as you can see. Alone in my studio.”
“Ah, yes, I’m sure you’re quite busy with your artistic endeavors,” he said. “When you’re not trying to extort money from the Johnson camp.”
Alicia wrinkled her nose.
“Who are the Johnsons?” she asked. “Oil people?”
“Lyndon Johnson?” he said with a toss of the eyes. “He’s running for the Democratic ticket against John F. Kennedy?”
Alicia snorted. Long ago, Jack confessed that he used the “F” for one reason: it’d be shortened to JFK, thereby linking him to FDR in voters’ heads. Never mind the middle initial, even the “John” sounded off to Alicia.
“You can call him Jack,” she said. “I already think he’s greater than FDR.”
“Come again?”
“Why are you here, Mac?”
His
brows popped up at the casual use of his name.
“I don’t have anything on the Johnsons,” she said. “I don’t know the first thing about them, other than Jack told me Lyndon is a real prick.”
“Don’t play dumb with me.” Mac batted the paper still in his hand. “You don’t have dirt on him, you have dirt on Senator Kennedy. Alleged dirt, I should say, about a supposed affair.”
“It wasn’t supposed,” Alicia sniffed. “But I’d never sell information on Jack. I wouldn’t trade that part of my life for anything.”
“Then how do you explain this?”
Mac passed the paper to Alicia. Before she’d read a single word, her eyes fell to Jack’s harried scrawl at the bottom of the page.
I talked today with Bobby Baker. He informed me that three weeks ago an attorney he knew named Mickey Wiener from Newark (?) Hudson Co. called him. Wiener states that if Sen. Johnson would give him 150,000 to the wife of ‘a well known movie actor’ (Baker did not know her name or who the actor was), she would file an affidavit that she had had an affair with me. Baker said he thought it was blackmail, and did not inform Johnson of the matter. He did tell Joe Alsop that he was concerned about an attempt at blackmail of me but did not go into the details.
John Kennedy/April 8
Sealed by
Pierre Salinger
April 11, 1960
Witnessed by Lenore Ostrow 4-11-60
“That’s an affidavit signed by Senator Kennedy,” Mac said, as Alicia read it a third and a fourth time. “And he’s talking about you.”
“I don’t see my name here,” she said.
Her voice went thin and scratchy.
“Your name’s all over this, Miss Darr,” Mac said. “Even if it’s not on the page. I was there when he signed it. You came up then, and several more times after, with Jack, Bobby, and the FBI.”
“The FBI?” Alicia yipped. “What?”
“I tend to agree with Bobby,” Mac went on, “in that you’re nothing more than a ‘half-assed hooker,’ but you need to be dealt with all the same.”
Alicia looked at the paper, stomach sloshing.
“This is why you believe I’m a matter of ‘national security’?” she asked. “Because I once slept with Jack?”
“That’s the gist, yes.”
“I don’t know anyone named Mickey Wiener.” She returned the paper. “My attorney in the States is called Simon. Also, I’d think the ‘wife of a well-known movie actor’ would eliminate Mrs. Edmund Purdom from consideration.”
Alicia pondered this. It could’ve been Edmund himself who called. He’d certainly speak of himself in such lauded terms, but she would’ve expected him to indiscriminately vomit information all over the media. To blackmail took foresight and ingenuity. She was momentarily impressed.
“Mrs. Purdom,” Mac said, and slipped the affidavit into his jacket. “I’d be very careful if I were you.”
“I have nothing but fondness and respect for Jack,” Alicia said. “And I’d never do anything to jeopardize his candidacy. I flew to New York in December to tell him that Edmund might talk. Jack told me not to worry.”
“It’s time to worry.”
“It’s probably him.” Alicia tilted her head toward the spot Mac had put the letter. “Edmund is a horrible man, but ultimately harmless and easily done in by his own stupidity.”
“You’re pinning this on your estranged husband?”
“It’s the only reasonable explanation. Why would I want to ruin Jack’s life?”
“Why does anyone do anything?” he said. “Money. You are in a precarious financial state, are you not?”
Alicia stiffened as Mac smirked.
“According to whom?” she said.
“Divorce lawyers. Various shopkeepers throughout Europe. Your bank balance.”
“My bank balance? I have plenty of money, and multiple sources of income. In fact, Edmund is seeking spousal support from me.”
Alicia said this with her chin held high. It wasn’t trembling, she didn’t think.
“I’d be very careful,” Mac said, unswayed. “You’re a problem. The family has very powerful friends and while the Kennedys are straight as arrows, their friends don’t always play by the rules.”
With that, Mac pivoted to leave. Alicia slammed the door before he was wholly out of the way and then pressed herself against the wall, winded. Had she just been threatened? Fear tingled along her spine.
“The affair,” she reminded herself. “He only mentioned the affair.”
Maybe the Kennedys weren’t so powerful and all-knowing, if their biggest fear was that she might tell Lyndon Johnson a few stories about sex. Alicia would have to be careful not to give them anything else. She had information far more ruinous to their presidential hopes.
To that end, Alicia had a few things in her favor, like Novella’s tucked-away studio and the timing of Mac’s visit. Most fortunate of all was the smock she wore, and how easily it hid a pregnant swell.
PEPPER FLIES IN CAFE DISPUTE
Orlando Sentinel, November 16, 1960
NEW YORK
Alicia glanced at the hospital band, which hung loosely on her thin wrist.
For the second time that year, she found herself alone, in an antiseptic room, staring at a plastic strip with Purdom, B scribbled in blue ink. She’d wanted the divorce for three years, and Alicia was still a damned Purdom.
It was a few minutes after two, the official start to visiting hours. A nurse knocked and asked if she was ready for a guest. Alicia grinned, for she wasn’t merely “ready” for a guest, but desperate for one.
“Well, this is a fuckin’ mess,” said a booming voice.
“Oh, Fred.”
She collapsed into tears as he lumbered toward her.
“You really had no one else to call?” he said. “In the whole world? I’m honored, in a way.”
“You were the best choice.”
Kate was in Hawaii, and Alicia wasn’t in the mood for a lecture anyhow. Nova couldn’t come for one very important reason. That left Fred. Sure, he was every bit as unctuous and crude as people said. But Alicia had a soft spot for the brute. He was always there when she needed him and now she needed him in a very specific way.
“So, what happened?” Fred asked.
He lowered himself onto the bed. Alicia envisioned herself being flung across the room.
“By the way, you look terrible,” he told her.
“You should’ve seen me yesterday,” she said. “I couldn’t open my eyes. My entire face was swollen.”
She explained the situation.
Two nights before, as Alicia walked through La Fontanella, she spotted a handsome, dark-haired man dining alone. She gave him a smile. In a flash, the man was up on his feet, hurling a fistful of something directly into her face. Alicia crumpled in agony and was rushed to the hospital.
The papers said the substance was pepper, and that Edmund had thrown it, but neither were true. The man was a stranger and, according to doctors, he’d thrown Mace.
Thanks to Edmund, Alicia was accustomed to light harassment, but this was a different case. In the past few months, she and Novella had suffered five break-ins, when there’d been none in the five previous years. Phone lines clicked, doorbells rang, and suspicious cars idled outside. One van advertised television repairs, but when Alicia tried to call, the number was out of service.
“Mobsters!” Nova said, a smidge gleefully for Alicia’s taste. “You have mobsters!”
Nova was dramatic and Alicia didn’t necessarily agree, but something was amiss.
“It’s possible that I’m paranoid,” she told Fred. “But at this point, I’m relieved to stay here for observation. Someone’s following me. I’m absolutely sure of it.”
“Following you?” Fred said, and narrowed his eyes.
“It might be the Kennedys,” she whispered. “I’m sure you think I’m a loon, but I had this visit a while ago…”
“Alicia…”
<
br /> “I know, I know, it’s probably in my imagination. Not enough going on in Rome these days. Jack is the president-elect. Why would the Kennedys ever bother with me? Thank you, Fred, I feel loads better.”
“You’re exactly right,” Fred said, nodding vigorously. “It’s them.”
“What!?” She choked. “Are you sure, or are you just guessing?”
Her eyes began to sting, or maybe it was the Mace.
“I’m sure,” Fred confirmed. “I’ve overheard some stuff. Lawford’s been paying me to surveil his wife. He’s convinced Pat is having an affair.”
“Peter Lawford is worried about his wife running around?” Alicia said. “Good grief, he’s lucky she’s not surveilling him.”
“Oh, she is.”
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “Why are they wasting time with me? Shouldn’t Jack be preparing his cabinet? Figuring out what to do when he finally takes office? This is all so petty.”
“The Kennedys are petty as hell. They’re also assholes.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“Why do you think I flew halfway across the globe to talk to you?” he asked.
“Because I asked you to, and you enjoy my company?”
Also, Novella was convinced that Fred had the hots for her.
“I enjoy your company sometimes,” he said. “But I’m here because you called, and we can’t talk on the phone. You’re being bugged. I suggest you negotiate an agreement.”
“An agreement? What do you mean?”
She scooted up in the bed.
“Say you’ll keep your mouth closed, if they pay up.”
“Fred!” she yelped. “I couldn’t do that to Jack. Never in a million years.”
“Don’t you want them off your ass?”
“Wouldn’t blackmailing them put me in more danger?”
“I don’t think they’d have you killed, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“They wouldn’t resort to that,” she said. “The family is obnoxiously ambitious, sure, but they’re not frightening. Well, Rose Kennedy is scary. I’ve never met anyone that cold, not even in Germany. But they’d never do anything to risk a lawsuit, or jail.”
“You know Joe Kennedy started as a bootlegger, right?”
“Say what you will, but the man has a good nose for business.”
The Summer I Met Jack Page 40