In 2011, William took Mrs. Clark to the hospital after finding her incoherent on the floor. Lenox Hill wanted to appoint a guardian, and for a time they discussed it being William or his wife, but somewhere along the way they all forgot. Official guardian or not, William checked on her daily, joking that he was a doorman and a “home health aide” on the side.
A few years ago, Mrs. Clark stopped letting him into her apartment.
“It’s a mess!” she’d say. “I haven’t had a minute to clean!”
They offered to take care of this—well, William and Felix did—but she refused.
“You have enough tasks in this place without having to clean up after an old lady.”
They continued to drop by, but never made it past the threshold.
It was William who found her. She hadn’t been to see him in two days, which might as well have been a year. He used his keys to let himself inside and there she was, sprawled across the floor. On her right was the photograph of JFK she’d kept at her bedside. On the left, a surrealistic painting of a cat.
Her apartment was trashed; William had never witnessed anything like it, and in thirty years he’d seen some stuff. She’d become one of those hoarders from TV. He wept, overcome with sadness, because of her death, and because of the way she lived those last few years: alone, surrounded by memories, and inundated by all that junk.
As promised, Mrs. Clark named them in her will. The problem was, she had more than one, and now the lawyers were involved. Even they struggled to parse out what she really desired.
In her bedroom, Felix found a letter addressed to someone named Andrew. He showed it to William, and William gave it to Mrs. Clark’s attorney. It was written in 1977, but contained possible information about Mrs. Clark’s heirs. Good news for squirrelly estates. Bad news for the doorman, bellman, and lift operator.
“She wanted us to have the million dollars!” Felix insisted when William told him the news. “Not someone she almost wrote a letter to in 1977!”
William agrees. Mrs. Clark did want them to have the money. Still, he couldn’t hide the letter.
Now, the men wait for news from their own lawyer. There is talk of a granddaughter. The trick is finding out if this person is really an heir, or if she’s in the same boat as the three employees of 955 Fifth.
“Hello, gentlemen,” their lawyer says, breezing in at last. “I have some news.”
He plunks himself onto a chair. Felix exhales audibly.
“The lead we had on an heir didn’t pan out,” he says.
“She wasn’t related to Mrs. Clark?” William asks, surprised.
“The results were ‘inconclusive,’ whatever that means. She declined the DNA test. Apparently.”
“Yes!” Felix claps.
“Don’t get too excited,” the lawyer cautions. “There are still hurdles to cross. We haven’t been able to establish whether the will was actually in her handwriting, or if it succeeds the one she filed in the Bahamas. All in due time.”
He cracks open a miniature bottle of water and takes it down in one gulp.
“This is so wild,” he says. “A million here, a million there, the indiscriminate tossing around of cash. No offense, I’m sure you two are the world’s best doormen.”
“Elevator operator,” Felix clarifies.
“Fine, fine.” The lawyer holds up both hands. “But you have to admit that’s a lot of money for people she didn’t know that well.”
“I’d say I knew her pretty well,” William offers.
“Okay, but the third guy … she didn’t even remember his full name.”
William and Felix trade looks, the tension loosening between them. Felix shrugs. He is not one to question. He wants the money, because she promised. His plans are bigger than to work as an elevator operator for the rest of his life. He has what Mrs. Clark used to call “that intense immigrant’s drive.”
“She never explained why she planned to leave us the money,” William says to their lawyer. “But I saw her almost every day. She had no family. We were her family, the people she counted on. Mrs. Clark wanted to take care of us, but I think she also wanted to make sure that, when she was gone, there was someone to remember that she lived.”
“Being remembered is worth millions?” the lawyer says. “If that’s the case, why not donate to a school, or a zoo, or something? She could’ve had her name etched in stone.”
“That’s not the same,” William says. “A plaque isn’t a person. It can’t tell a story. Isn’t that what we all want? To be loved, and then to be remembered?”
“I guess,” their lawyer says. “But, seriously, millions?”
William considers this.
“Honestly?” he says. “I think she would’ve given a whole lot more.”
AUGUST 2016
LOS ANGELES
Serena Palmisano stands in the foyer of the Perenchio manse, beside two men who’ve lugged in an oversized crate. She’s just returned from Rome, to see Lee before he starts his job. She is working on getting her credits transferred, and securing enough funds to finish her degree.
There is a woman beside Serena. She carries a clipboard. Lee has ambled into another room. Under the woman’s direction, the men pull apart the crate to reveal portraits by the unknown artist Alicia Darr. The estate isn’t settled but Alicia had gifted these to her doorman over the years, and he’s gifted them to Serena, perhaps as some sort of thanks.
The patter of Lee’s feet echoes in the hallway. He appears beside Serena and ticks through the pile. He’s chosen a favorite. It’s a surrealistic portrait of a man. He is bigger than life-sized, and his shadow is made of a hundred other figures. These men have hats. The subject does not.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Don’t you want it?”
“I can’t have Alicia’s work in my flat,” Serena says with a laugh. “Nova would be incensed.”
Lee tilts toward the clipboard woman and gestures at the painting. He directs the movers to the art gallery, because an in-home gallery is a normal occurrence for hedge fund impresarios, apparently. There is a Miró, and a Dali. His father even has one Picasso, known to Serena as a friend of Nonna’s, a resident of Margutta.
“Hang it here,” Lee says, pointing to a spot. “I don’t know if this is the most logical artistic sequence…”
“Definitely not.” Serena grins.
“But I think it fits.”
Lee slaps the wall.
“All right,” he says to the curator, and the men. “Up it goes.”
As the woman measures, Serena has a knot in her throat, and tears in her eyes. She stares at the piece, wondering how it could be that Alicia Corning Clark loved one of the most famous men to ever live, but ended up anonymous and alone.
Now, at least, Alicia will have her immortality beside Picasso, next to Miró. Serena sniffles and Lee takes her hand. Maybe falling for charming, rich Americans is in the blood. Serena will never know.
“I see you, Alicia Darr Purdom Corning Clark,” she says, studying the painting that now leans against the wall. “Barbara Kopczysnka. Every person that you were or hoped to be. I know that you were here.”
ABOUT JACK
John F. Kennedy was the second of nine children born to Rose and Joseph P. Kennedy. He was the thirty-fifth president of the United States.
Jack was six feet tall and had bushy, reddish-brown hair and greenish-gray eyes. He hated hats, wore the same gray suit, and changed his shirt up to six times per day. Jack was fanatical about maintaining a suntan, but his Addison’s disease often made him appear yellow. His wife teased him for being vain.
Despite his good looks and reputation for vigor, Jack Kennedy was not especially athletic and was sickly from the moment he was born. He told friends he would never be more than eighty percent healthy, or live past age forty-five. He died at forty-six.
Jack rarely complained. He hated when people sulked. His wife cried easily, which baffled and annoyed him.
Throughout hi
s adulthood, Jack relied on exercise, hot baths, heating pads, massages, back braces, and crutches to combat his physical pain. He also wore corrective shoes, slept with his head elevated, and had sex with the woman on top. Toward the end of his life, he and his wife had had frequent methamphetamine injections.
Jack’s favorite sibling was Kathleen, known as Kick. She met a tragic end, at twenty-eight years old. Jack thought about her often, and believed he could speak to her in his dreams.
Though he was not athletic, Jack was an excellent golfer. He shot in the high seventies, but tried to keep his prowess under wraps, lest voters get the wrong idea. Jack was terrible at poker and foreign languages. His favorite cocktail was a daiquiri, though he wasn’t a big drinker overall.
Because of his health issues, Jack tried to live each day to its fullest. He had an incessant need to be loved, especially by women, perhaps because his mother was so cold.
Jack ate briskly, as if someone were about to take his plate. He was a horrible slob, and always late. He was easily bored and fidgeted constantly, forever tapping his teeth, drumming his fingers.
Jack was a captivating conversationalist. He was always hungry for knowledge and read several papers each morning. He had a quick wit, though was also quick to temper. His favorite swear words were “prick,” “fuck,” “nuts,” “bastard,” and “son of a bitch.”
Though he ascended in the political ranks, it was not necessarily due to his policy making. As Tip O’Neill said, “I’ve never seen a congressman get so much press while doing so little work.” As a senator, he rarely ate in the Senate Dining Room. He took minimal interest in lobbying, or in the work of getting legislation drafted and passed. However, he cared deeply about civil rights and was an early advocate of federal funding for medical research.
Girls loved Jack, and vice versa. He preferred worldly, upper-class women, especially Europeans. But his power over men was just as strong. He was almost always followed by a group of friends, the closest of whom was said to be in love with him.
Jack got married because, if he didn’t, people might’ve thought he was a “queer.” Jackie was the woman for the job, and he proposed via telegram. Though Jack wasn’t the best husband, he genuinely loved being a father.
John F. Kennedy was many things. He had countless admirable qualities, not to mention a long list of personal foibles. Above all, Jack was charming and charismatic and capable of taking over a room. He might’ve been a product of his father’s ambition, but the magnetism, heart, and dazzling smile were pure Jack.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
DID JFK AND ALICIA CORNING CLARK HAVE A SECRET LOVE CHILD?
In July 2016, while I was supposed to be writing an entirely different book, my editor sent me a link with the above headline. She copied my agent on the email and within minutes it was decided: Alicia Darr Purdom Corning Clark would be the protagonist of my next novel.
So, first and foremost, I must thank my fantastic editor, Laurie Chittenden, for sending me down this rabbit hole, and for displaying the utmost patience as I flailed around, trying to tie together a million threads. Her input and guidance surely saved me from the loony bin.
Speaking of crackups, an enormous thank-you (and vodka and wine and whatever else she wants) to my agent, Barbara Poelle, for her advice, talking me off a dozen ledges, and stepping in when “I can’t even…”
I’m so grateful for the brilliant folks at St. Martin’s Press, all of whom work like fiends to turn my messes into legitimate (and gorgeous) books. I’m also lucky to have the best publicist in the business, Katie Bassel, and one hell of a marketing team. Thank you also to the sales force, who do so much to get my books onto shelves. And thank you to Lisa Padilla for the use of her daughters’ names, Markie and Alex.
I must also thank my family—Dennis, Paige, and Georgia Bilski—for suffering through my writing anxieties and always being up for a research trip. You three make everything worthwhile.
I’ve dedicated this book to my father-in-law, Tony Bilski, who was himself a displaced person from Poland. Like Alicia, he spent several years at a camp in Germany before emigrating to the United States. Huge thanks to him for answering so many questions, and to my mother-in-law, Pat Bilski, who is always supportive and never objects to my intrusiveness.
If I listed all the friends (Hi, Karen! Hi, Lauren!), tennis partners (Erin! Anne!), and family members (Lisa! Brian! Amanda! Mom and Dad!) who suffered through my kvetching about this book, the acknowledgments would be thirty pages long. But, I remember every single one of you and am eternally grateful.
Have I mentioned? This book was a challenge to write. It was really, really, really hard. And I complained. A lot. But that’s what happens when you write about a real-life woman who was born abroad, during World War II, and who changed her name, age, and backstory with alarming frequency. It’s also what happens when this woman dated one of the most famous Americans to ever live, and when Katharine Hepburn and Gary Cooper are mere secondary characters.
People always ask: Where does the truth end and fiction begin? This book is absolutely a work a fiction. I’ve included some fairly scurrilous storylines and accusations but, as with my previous novels, my goal was to make the story plausible. The article that sparked the story asked, “Did JFK and Alicia Corning Clark have a secret love child?” I took known facts and filled in the gaps to make a case for what could’ve happened. In short, this book is my hypothesis. Alas, I write fiction and am not a detective or an investigative reporter. Sometimes I had to fudge a name or a date, and the research was often conflicting. Despite the large volume of facts and data, I made many leaps and assumptions.
In the course of writing this book, I read thousands of articles from magazines and newspapers, some of which had to be translated from Italian. All quotes and headlines included in the narrative were taken from actual publications.
I conducted interviews—with some people who did not wish to be thanked—and also relied heavily on the documents available at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum in Boston.
And I read books. Gobs and gobs of books—nearly two hundred at last count. There are untold numbers of biographies about John F. Kennedy and his family, and I’ve probably read 90 percent of them. Below is a list of those I found the most useful and/or the most intriguing. As with any research, I tried to strike a balance between serious biographies, salacious tell-alls, and highly generous reflections written by family or friends.
I truly hope you enjoy this journey with Alicia and that the story has you googling for days.
Alford, Mimi. Once Upon a Secret: My Affair with President John F. Kennedy and Its Aftermath
Berg, A. Scott. Kate Remembered
Bly, Nellie. The Kennedy Men: Three Generations of Sex, Scandal and Secrets
Bogner, Nahum. At the Mercy of Strangers: The Rescue of Jewish Children with Assumed Identities in Poland
Bowers, Scotty. Full Service: My Adventures in Hollywood and the Secret Sex Lives of the Stars
Bukowczyk, John J. A History of the Polish Americans
Collier, Peter. The Kennedys: An American Drama
Considine-Meara, Eileen. At Home with Kate: Growing Up in Katharine Hepburn’s Household
Dallek, Robert. An Unfinished Life: John F. Kennedy, 1917−1963
Damore, Leo. The Cape Cod Years of John Fitzgerald Kennedy
Doerr, Anthony. Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World
Epstein, Alan. As the Romans Do: An American Family’s Italian Odyssey
Farris, Scott. Inga: Kennedy’s Great Love, Hitler’s Perfect Beauty, and J. Edgar Hoover’s Prime Suspect
Fay, Paul B. The Pleasure of His Company
Goodwin, Doris Kearns. The Fitzgeralds and the Kennedys: An American Saga
Graham, James W. Victura: The Kennedys, a Sailboat, and the Sea
Hamilton, Nigel. JFK: Reckless Youth
Hepburn, Katharine. Me: Stories of My Li
fe
Hersh, Seymour M. The Dark Side of Camelot
Jaroszynska-Kirchmann, Anna D. The Exile Mission: The Polish Political Diaspora and Polish Americans, 1939–1956
Kessler, Ronald. The Sins of the Father: Joseph P. Kennedy and the Dynasty He Founded
Leamer, Laurence. The Kennedy Men: 1901–1963
Leamer, Laurence. The Kennedy Women: The Saga of an American Family
Lertzman, Richard A. Dr. Feelgood: The Shocking Story of the Doctor Who May Have Changed History by Treating and Drugging JFK, Marilyn, Elvis, and Other Prominent Figures
Levy, Shawn. Dolce Vita Confidential: Fellini, Loren, Pucci, Paparazzi, and the Swinging High Life of 1950s Rome
Lincoln, Evelyn. My Twelve Years with John F. Kennedy
O’Brien, Michael. John F. Kennedy: A Biography
O’Donnell, Kenneth P., David F. Powers, and Joe McCarthy. Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye: Memories of John Fitzgerald Kennedy
Otash, Fred. Investigation Hollywood
Perret, Geoffrey. Jack: A Life Like No Other
Pitts, David. Jack and Lem: John F. Kennedy and Lem Billings: The Untold Story of an Extraordinary Friendship
Porter, Darwin. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis: A Life Beyond Her Wildest Dreams
Preil, Joseph J. Holocaust Testimonies: European Survivors and American Liberators in New Jersey
Reeves, Thomas. A Question of Character: A Life of John F. Kennedy
Scott, Henry E. Shocking True Story: The Rise and Fall of Confidential, “America’s Most Scandalous Scandal Magazine”
Smith, Jean Kennedy. The Nine of Us: Growing Up Kennedy
Smith, Sally Bedell. Grace and Power: The Private World of the Kennedy White House
Spada, James. Peter Lawford: The Man Who Kept Secrets
Summers, Anthony. Goddess: The Secret Lives of Marilyn Monroe
Summers, Anthony. Official and Confidential: The Secret Life of J. Edgar Hoover
Taraborrelli, J. Randy. Jackie, Ethel, Joan: Women of Camelot
von Post, Gunilla. Love, Jack
The Summer I Met Jack Page 46