The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes

by Raymond Benson

  “How did they catch him?” I asked.

  Gina rolled her eyes. “Well, they didn’t catch him exactly. Someone assaulted him in his apartment and made him give up evidence that was hidden there. It was like a confession. The police got an anonymous tip and found him there, all tied up, with the proof that he’d killed a girl on the Upper West Side.”

  My heart started pounding. Her story was too familiar.

  “Who did this to him?” I asked.

  Gina shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m gonna have a tiny bit more champagne, okay, Dad?”

  “Just a little.”

  She got up and went to the bar. Was she avoiding my question? Was she more like her grandmother than I wanted her to be?

  I realized I was jumping to conclusions and had no reason to suspect that Gina—aw, hell I can’t even say it. It couldn’t be what happened. Was that why she was in such a better mood than she’d been in New York? Was this the reason the anger had dissipated?

  “Martin, what’s wrong?” Maggie asked.

  I did my best to push away the anxiety attack by changing the subject. “Oh, nothing. I just suddenly feel like taking you home and ravaging you.”

  She laughed. “Weddings do that to you, too?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, is that what’s going on here? Are you telling me weddings make you horny?”

  “Martin!” she whispered. “Stop it,” she said, but I knew she enjoyed the flirtation. Nevertheless, I was dying inside and I was determined not to let Maggie see it. I was afraid I’d break out in a sweat, like I’ve done before.

  “No, I’m not stopping it,” I said. “Let’s get out of here and go pretend we’re rabbits.”

  So we made our excuses, said our goodbyes, wished the bride and groom well, and went to Maggie’s place. But on the way there, the back of my mind was full of images of Gina running across New York City roofs in my mother’s costume.

  43

  Judy’s Diary

  1960

  DECEMBER 14, 1960

  Gosh, it’s been a month since I last wrote in the diary.

  The big news is that today Billy and his mom moved into their new apartment in Chinatown, this time out of Flying Dragons and Hip Sing Tong turf. Actually, it’s technically not in Chinatown, just a little north and east of Little Italy on Elizabeth Street near Grand. But I’ll get to that in a moment; let me catch you up, dear diary.

  Thanksgiving was a fun day, well, until something happened. Freddie and I hosted a big dinner at the gym and invited all the regulars. Lucy and Peter also came, and I invited some of my friends from Kennedy HQ, who stayed in the city for the holiday. Louise showed up, but Betty went to see her folks. Not surprisingly, a lot of the guys flirted with Louise, and she ate it up. Then it happened. Jimmy arrived and shocked us all by bringing his wife! No one knew he’d gotten married. She’s a pretty Negro girl, but very shy. Her name is Violet.

  I was shocked.

  When I was at the buffet table helping myself to seconds, Jimmy happened to be piling turkey and green beans on his plate, too. I asked him, “So when did y’all get married?” He sheepishly replied, “Two years ago.”

  I nearly choked. “Two years? You mean you’ve been married all this time?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry, Judy.”

  Gawd, I would never have done what I did with him in the locker room that day if I’d known he was married. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I don’t know . . . I just . . . I didn’t get the chance . . . I . . .” The poor guy stumbled all over his answer.

  “What, you just wanted to do it with a white girl, is that it?” “No! That’s not it. I wouldn’t have done—I didn’t—oh, Judy, I was so confused. That was during a time when Violet and I, we was havin’ problems. I was sleepin’ on the couch. I was all messed up. That’s why havin’ the extra job at the gym was so good for me.”

  That didn’t make me feel any better. No wonder he wouldn’t go near me at Lucy’s wedding. I felt like a fallen woman, a bad girl, an S-L-U-T, and I didn’t like it one bit. I wouldn’t talk to him the rest of the dinner and for several days after that. Needless to say, I had my fill of wine for dinner. I don’t remember going to bed that night, but that’s where I woke up the next morning! Sheesh.

  On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I dressed as the Stiletto and went out. It wasn’t an eventful evening, although I chased away some punk teenagers from Washington Square Park. They were drunk and disorderly and making all kinds of racket. I should’ve let the cops handle them, but I felt like doing something. Aside from that, I didn’t find any crimes in progress. I stayed out of Chinatown.

  The rest of the time I’ve just been working at the gym. Last Sunday night Freddie and I watched The Wizard of Oz on TV. I loved it so much last year that I had to see it again. Freddie had seen it in the movie theaters a long time ago, but he still enjoyed it. “I bet they start showing it on TV every Christmas,” he said. Maybe they will, and I’ll be sitting in front of the set each time they do!

  Now, back to Billy.

  He got out of the hospital just after Thanksgiving. As the Stiletto, I went to see him and his mother at the old apartment. I gave them enough of Mitch Perez’s money to start again—and kept some of it for myself, too! The Lees were able to move to a more upscale apartment, although Billy’s Mom refused to stray too far from Chinatown. Moving day was yesterday, and tonight I went over to see them.

  Mrs. Lee had always treated me like the devil incarnate, but now I was her new best friend. Even though she didn’t speak English, she smiled broadly and chattered on and on in Chinese. She wouldn’t stop serving me tea. She insisted that I eat a late dinner with them— it was 11:00 at night—but I politely declined.

  Billy looked great. There were some scars and bruising, and he still had a cast on his arm. He also has to wear a tight bandage around his chest, underneath his shirt. But hopefully by New Year’s it’ll be gone.

  When we were alone, he asked me why I did what I did. “You needed some help,” I answered. “And you’re a friend. I help my friends.”

  “My mother and I are very grateful. You have—you have changed our lives.”

  “I hope it’s for the better, Billy. I was happy to do it.”

  “I have some other good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Lily and I will be married as soon as we’re out of high school.”

  That took me by surprise but I managed to say, “That’s wonderful!” Frankly, I thought they were too young to get married, but what do I know? That’s when most people get married. At any rate, they still had a few years.

  “And we’re going to open a new restaurant. Lily’s brother is a chef. There’s enough money left over from what you gave us that we can rent a space and start again. My mother will manage it at first until I graduate. Then I’ll take over. It’ll be a family business again.”

  For me it didn’t seem like much of a life, growing up in a small corner of Manhattan, marrying, and staying in the same spot until it’s all over. Would he ever travel? Would he try to go to college?

  “Is that what you want, Billy?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer at first, but teasingly he put his fingers to his chin and looked skyward, as if contemplating the question. “Hmmm,” he said. Then, abruptly, he nodded at me and said, “Yes.” He meant it, too.

  “Then that’s great news, Billy. I’m so happy for you.”

  I didn’t want to stay long. When my teacup was empty, I made my excuses to leave. Mrs. Lee fussed over me, but I simply stepped out the window onto the fire escape to avoid her following me farther. Billy said, “You could use the stairs, you know.”

  I laughed and replied, “Thanks, but I’m used to this. Goodbye, Billy, and good luck.”

  He stood on the fire escape platform and watched me descend to the street and then head east. I don’t think I’ll see him again. I’ve interfered in his life too much already. An
d, to tell the truth, I’m still not very comfortable in Chinatown. It truly is a different world. I have to admit it—the criminal element is too big for the Black Stiletto. The mafia and the Harlem gangsters were walks in the park compared to the Tongs. The Chinese gangs are like bees—they’re a swarm that smothers you and stings you to death. There’s also that language and cultural barrier that makes it particularly difficult for me to comprehend. I don’t think I’d ever make a dent in what happens in Chinatown. I may have kicked Pock Face’s posterior, but he still got away with murder. The only way I can live with that is by not going back there.

  Except to eat.

  44

  Martin

  THE PRESENT

  It’s Christmas Eve.

  Mom moved back to Woodlands today. I followed the ambulance that took her from the hospital to Riverwoods. She’s doing fine. The docs have her on some new medications and want her to try and get a little more exercise—which for her means more walks through the nursing home. She’s talking more. Some days she seems confused about everything, but other times she’s more lucid than ever. The doctors said I’d notice a change for the worse in the Alzheimer’s symptoms, but from what I’ve seen so far that’s not the case. I think the docs are as clueless as anyone. There’s no rhyme or reason to the disease.

  When she got to Woodlands, she didn’t remember that it was her “home.” She must have thought she was going back to our house in Arlington Heights. However, once she was in her old room for about an hour, it was as if she’d never left. The framed photographs were familiar, and she recognized the nurses and staff as people who cared about her.

  Gina had been with Mom at the hospital prior to the discharge. Seeing her granddaughter so much recently put Mom in a very positive mood; the hospital staff gave her surprisingly good marks as a cooperative and pleasant patient! My daughter didn’t accompany us to Riverwoods. She had Christmas Eve plans with some old high school friends. I’ll get together with her tomorrow after she spends the morning with Carol and Ross. I plan to spend the night at Maggie’s, and we’ll have Christmas morning together. I haven’t had a Christmas morning with a woman in, well, a long time. What a concept!

  I stayed with Mom through dinner. Her spirits were good, especially when I gave her a gift. Her eyes brightened like a schoolkid’s and she asked, “For me?” I said, “Sure it’s for you, you’re my mom and it’s Christmas Eve!” And then she surprised me by saying, “I guess I’ve been a good girl, then.” We both laughed, and I think that’s the first time in months, maybe years, that we’ve shared a joke. It also meant she comprehended the gift-giving ritual.

  The present was a black pearl necklace. Mom said, “This is beautiful!” as she held it up to examine it. I explained what it was and she let me fasten it around her neck. She stood and looked in the mirror. I do believe she liked it very much. And then she hugged me and said, “Thank you, Martin.”

  Wow. She called me Martin. I don’t think she’d called me Martin since she started living at the nursing home. I guess today was just one of those good days.

  The staff helped her get ready for bed around 7:30, and I sat with her until she fell asleep at 8:00. She looked so peaceful lying there, so I took her hand and held it. I don’t know why, but my heart became very heavy and I felt like crying. After all I’d gone through since last spring when I learned Mom’s secret, I think I’ve finally come to the conclusion that there’s something I have to do before I can vanquish my demons and start living my life with some sense of normalcy again. I made my decision last night, but—and this is the crazy part—I have to run it by my mother first.

  “Mom,” I said softly. She didn’t open her eyes, so I continued. “You know I love you, right? I do, I really do. I think you’re an incredible woman, and what you did—back then—was extraordinary. But I have to say, Mom, this Black Stiletto stuff is killing me. It’s eating away at my soul. It’s too big a secret for me to keep to myself. I have to share the load. It’s why I’ve been sick lately.”

  I paused, trying to keep myself from breaking up.

  “Mom, I’ve been reading the diaries. I’m nearly finished with the third one. I’ve learned so much about you, but there are so many unanswered questions. I suppose all will be revealed as I continue to read, but I gotta tell you, I’m afraid to keep going. Some of the truths I desperately need to discover are frightening to me. Like, who is my father? Is that something I’m going to learn by the time I’m done?”

  I couldn’t help getting a little choked up. After some deep breaths I managed not to start sobbing like a baby.

  “Anyway, I hope you understand that I promise I’ll do my best to keep your secret safe, but I just can’t do it alone anymore.”

  Then I realized Mom was awake and could hear me. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Mom?”

  She opened her eyes and looked me. There was a deep sadness in them, and that made me start to cry, too.

  “Did you hear what I was saying?”

  Judy Talbot didn’t answer, but she did manage to smile at me. Then she squeezed my hand.

  “You look pale. What’s wrong?”

  I walked in to Maggie’s place and put my arms around her. Sighing, I said, “It’s just Mom. You know. It’s hard.”

  “I know, Martin. Did she get settled back in okay?”

  “Yeah. It took an hour or so, but then she was fine. She loved her gift. And, get this, she called me ‘Martin.’”

  “Wow! That’s wonderful.”

  “Yeah. Made me feel good. And sad, too. You know.” Maggie led me into the living room and I smelled the turkey roasting. “I’m not too late, am I?”

  “Nope. We tend to eat like Europeans anyway, so I timed it perfectly. I hope you’re hungry.”

  I wasn’t. I had no appetite. “You bet,” I answered.

  “Great, you can help me in the kitchen,” she said as she headed that direction, but I don’t think I heard her really. I stood in the living room, staring at the lights on the Christmas tree and suddenly feeling distressed and helpless.

  “Martin?”

  When I didn’t answer, she came back in to face me. I must have had tears in my eyes. Maggie held me at arm’s length and shook her head. “Oh, Martin. It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Martin, I didn’t want to bring this up now, but it looks like I have to.”

  “What?”

  She let go of me and moved away. “You’re doing it again. Just what I’ve been talking about. You’re hiding something again. You’ve . . . you’ve been hiding something all along. I know it, Martin. There’s something in the past that you don’t want me to know. It’s been eating at me for weeks and today, especially, I’ve been feeling pretty anxious about it. Oh, damn it, I don’t want to ruin our Christmas Eve.” She turned her back to me and started to cry. My, there were a lot of tears being shed today.

  I went to her and wrapped my arms around her waist, but she took my hands and held them close to her chest. The feel of her breasts underneath her bright red-and-green sweater went a long way toward arousing me, but I was too nervous and antsy to go there.

  “Maggie, I’m glad you brought that up,” I said. “I know it’s been on your mind, and it’s been on mine, too. There is something I’ve been hiding from you.”

  I felt her tense.

  “Why don’t we sit down?” I pulled her to the couch and we sat next to each other, holding hands. It was like one of those soap opera scenes in which a guilty husband says to his wife, “Darling, I have a confession to make—”

  For a moment I didn’t speak a word, though. I wasn’t sure how to tell her.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Maggie, what I’m about to tell you must never leave this room. I need you to promise me.”

  “Of course, Martin. Sweetheart, you can trust me.”

  “I really mean you can’t tell anyone. This is, well, it’s big. I’m about
to drop a bombshell on you, and I want you to know I love you and I’m telling you this because I love you. I can’t keep it to myself any longer.”

  She squeezed my hands. “Then tell me. I’m listening.”

  “All right, here goes.” And then it struck me as funny. I started to laugh a little.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. You’re the one who’s going to laugh and I’m just anticipating it.”

  “Come on, Martin, stop kidding around. I’m on pins and needles here.”

  “Okay. Listen. You’ve heard of the Black Stiletto, right?”

  Her brow wrinkled and she blinked. “Huh?”

  “The Black Stiletto? The costumed vigilante from the fifties and sixties? There was a movie about her, there’ve been comic books, you see images of her all the time, she’s kind of a legend—”

  “Yes, I know who she is, Martin. What does she have to do with—?” And then she froze. Maggie looked at me with the most incredulous expression I’ve ever seen. “You don’t—wait—”

  “I think you’ve got it,” I said.

  “No, I don’t. Tell me. I have to hear it.”

  I sighed and finally said it aloud. “My Mom was the Black Stiletto.”

  I expected her to hit me and accuse me of making up a crazy story. Instead, she put a hand to her open mouth and stared at me wide-eyed.

  I nodded. “It’s the truth.”

  “Martin, my God, of course. It all makes sense now. Her scars. The gunshot wounds. Oh my God, Martin. Oh my God!”

  “No one else knows. Well, there’s an old FBI guy in New York who knows, but he’s not telling. There could be others who might know, but I’m not aware of them. My mom has certainly kept it a closely guarded secret for fifty years. I mean to keep it that way while she’s alive.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Just a few months.” I explained how I acquired the diaries, her costume, and other stuff. “When the bank opens day after tomorrow, I’ll take you there and show you what’s in the safety deposit box. Hell, I’ll let you read the diaries. They’re fascinating.”