The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes (24 page)

Before I knew it, the senator was done and Choo Choo started playing the song's intro. We all started to sing and the crowd joined
in. I forgot about Michael and just enjoyed myself as we did our number. When we hit the end, the crowd went wild. We felt like the Rockettes! As everyone applauded and cheered, I focused on the crowd where Michael had been, but he was gone. I scanned the room and thought I'd lost him, but then I spotted him near the exits on the side. He wasn't applauding or cheering. He just stood there with that expressionless face of his, staring intently at Kennedy. Of course, I was in no position to get off the stage and go talk to him, not that I wanted to. But what was he doing there? How did he get an invitation?

My puzzlement was interrupted when Kennedy turned to us and blew kisses again, so I averted my eyes from Michael as the Girls smiled, waved, and blew kisses back at the senator. When I got the chance to look again, Michael was gone.

Well, I
think
it was him. Now I'm not so sure, but at the time I really thought so. It shook me up a little. Betty asked me if I was all right, and I told her I saw someone I knew. She could tell I wasn't happy about it, so she asked, “An old boyfriend who didn't appreciate how terrific you are?”

“Something like that,” I answered.

“I've had a few of those, too.”

At 6:00 p.m. the Girls moved to the beautiful Jade Room for a private fund-raising dinner given by Adlai Stevenson. About 150 to 175 people attended, all supposedly with very deep pockets. We were very lucky to be invited, ‘cause none of the other campaign workers got to go. Our job was to greet people as they came in. I thought it was very nice of Stevenson to host a dinner for Kennedy, since they were rivals earlier in the year. Actually, Kennedy and the Girls didn't eat, because there was
another
dinner planned at 8:00 p.m. that we were going to.

Then we got a big surprise. After former Senator Herbert Lehman and the governor of Connecticut, Abraham Ribicoff, entered the room, none other than Eleanor Roosevelt came in. She looked lovely. Gosh, I think she's at least 75 years old. I shook her
hand and she said, “How do you do?” After
her
came
Harry Truman
! Oh, my gosh! I didn't know he was going to be there. I got to shake his hand and say hello, too. He was much smaller than I expected, but he wore those unmistakable Truman eyeglasses. He must be in his 70s, too.

And then and then and then—
I met Kennedy!
He came through the line and spoke to each and every Girl and asked our names. When he got to me he held out his hand and said in that adorable Boston accent, “Hello there, and what's
your
name?” I took his hand and shook it, but I was in shock and couldn't speak! Betty discreetly nudged me, and then I managed to answer, “Judy Cooper, sir. I'm so pleased to meet you.”

“And I'm very pleased to meet you, too.” And
then
he asked, “Where are you from, Judy?”

That threw me again and for a moment I just stared into his gorgeous blue eyes. He blinked and that brought me back down to earth. “Texas,” I said.

He nodded and said, “I thought I recognized the accent! I've been there several times. I enjoy visiting Dallas.” Then he moved on to the next girl. Lord, my heart was beating like crazy. I felt as if I'd touched royalty. I never wanted to wash my hand again.

I was smitten, right then and there.

The rest of the dinner was a blur. Before I knew it, we were ushered outside to the van again to go back to the Commodore Hotel for the 8:00 dinner. It was sponsored by the Liberal Party, and the purpose was for Kennedy to accept their nomination for president. George Meany, the president of the American Federation of Labor and the Congress of Industrial Organizations, was the bigwig there. By the time we sat at the table, I was starving. I think I'd gone through my supply of adrenaline during the day and felt a little weak. Or perhaps it was just Kennedy's touch that did it, ha ha.

The senator delivered a wonderful speech. It was all about being a liberal. I don't remember his exact words, but he put it very succinctly. He said a liberal is someone who looks ahead and welcomes
new ideas, and, most importantly, cares about the welfare of the people. Kennedy got a rousing ovation when he said, “If that is what they mean by a liberal, then I'm proud to say I'm a liberal.”

After all the speeches and hoopla, the Girls lined up again to say goodbye to the senator. Kennedy was off to New Jersey in the morning, so we wouldn't see him again for a while. When he got to me, I swear he gave me a more appreciative look than the other girls got. And he remembered my name!

“I hope I'll see you again, Miss Cooper.”

I don't know what I said, but it was something that made no sense, like, “Thank you me too I do too.” Geez! I felt like a dunce. But after he'd gone, Betty said to me, “Better watch out, Judy, I hear he likes the ladies.”

I waved her off and said, “Go on, he's married.”

But, hey, if he likes
me
, then I guess he's got good taste!

Martin and his ex-wife, Carol, flew to New York on the Friday after Thanksgiving, two days ago, to deal with their daughter's situation. I spoke to Martin last night and found out Gina was arrested for stalking, or harassing, a man and he had filed a complaint against her. I'm not clear on the details, but Martin and Carol had to hire a lawyer. I know Gina had some problems recently with an assault and attempted rape. Martin said she's obsessed with finding the man who did it. Apparently, the man she was harassing was one of the suspects. Poor Martin. He has a lot on his plate right now with his mother in the hospital. I haven't met Gina yet, but it sounds like she could use some better psychological counseling than she's getting. Martin tells me she's a good kid and never got in trouble before. Considering she was a fine student in high school and is attending Juilliard, that must be true. Nevertheless, it sounds like she has some issues.

Bill Ryan called me yesterday with news that continues to puzzle me. Apparently, Judy and Martin moved to Illinois from Odessa, Texas. There are records of a Judy Talbot in that town for several months in late 1962. Bill's trying to work in reverse from that, tracing their movements all the way back to Los Angeles. We have to assume Martin's telling the truth that he was born in L.A., and that they must have traveled from California to Texas in 1962. I wonder why she would pick up and move with an infant in arms?

Bill says a lot of Judy or Judith Talbots lived in the Los Angeles area during that time. It would be extremely difficult for him to find out if any of them was her. Again he reiterated how he would have to spend time there and that would get expensive.

More interesting was Bill's discovery that no soldier named Richard Talbot died in the Vietnam War prior to 1962. Granted, the records are not 100 percent reliable, and we don't know if Richard Talbot was in the army, navy, air force, or was a Marine. American involvement in that war in the early part of the decade was minimal. Officially, our troops were only “military advisors” then, but by 1963 we had around sixteen thousand men stationed in South Vietnam. Less than a hundred had been killed. Were the odds such that Richard was one of them?

I decided to snoop around in Martin's apartment. That's a terrible thing to do, I know, but I need answers. I justified my actions by telling myself I indeed want the relationship with Martin to work out. Yes, I'm falling in love with him, and I know he feels the same way about me. He'd given me a key to his place. “I trust you,” he'd said with a wink. I'm sure he was joking that I would never steal anything. I don't think he meant that I was free to go through his closets and chests of drawers, so I felt guilty doing it.

Well, tough. My peace of mind was more important.

His house in Buffalo Grove is in a quiet neighborhood. It's actually one-half of a duplex, which is perfect for a single man living alone. I started with the front closet—nothing but coats and cloth-ing—and then went through drawers in the kitchen. Nothing of interest there. The Kennedy/Johnson 1960 campaign button was still on the coffee table. I wonder if it's worth something as an antique?

The house has two bedrooms, one where he sleeps (and me, too, when I'm there), and another that serves as his office of sorts. I chose the latter to investigate next. The desk drawers revealed nothing but personal records dealing with Martin's house, car, health insurance, and Gina's school. Two file cabinets contained his work-related stuff—tax returns and other material from his job as an accountant.

But as I went through the bottom drawer of one cabinet, I noticed some give behind the hanging manila folders. At first I thought the entire drawer was full, but it wasn't. Some object took up the back half of the space. I pulled out the folders so I could get to it and found a metal strongbox.

I removed it and held it in both hands. There were things in it, for they rattled when I shook the box, and it was heavy enough to indicate weighty items were inside. Unfortunately, it was locked. I thought breaking the lock would be crossing the line, not that I hadn't already. Even so, I replaced the strongbox and closed the drawer.

That foolish and selfish venture was a disappointing waste of time. I felt even guiltier once I had finished snooping. To ease my conscience a little, I found a notepad on Martin's desk and wrote, “I miss your kisses,” and signed it. I tore off the page, went into the bedroom, and placed the note on the bed, where he'd find it when he got home.

At least that was a sincere sentiment.

S
EPTEMBER 15, 1960

It's Thursday and I worked at the gym today. After the whirlwind with Kennedy yesterday, I'm exhausted. I was so worked up from all the excitement that I didn't sleep well last night. John F. Kennedy spoke to me! And I met Harry Truman and Eleanor Roosevelt! Unbelievable. I wonder what my brothers back in Odessa would think of that. John is probably still in the army, making a career of it. I suppose Frank still works at that hardware store.

Michael's appearance at the rally still bothers me. Now I'm not so sure if it was really him, but I'm going on the assumption that it was. This evening after dinner I took a walk to Chinatown and Bayard Street.

The black Packard was gone.

The whole thing is more of a mystery than ever.

S
EPTEMBER 26, 1960

Tonight was the first television debate between Kennedy and Nixon. We all think the debates will have a big influence on the election. I watched it with Alice and Mitch at their apartment. They'd turned their fire escape platform into a terrace by placing plants and stuff there. Some of us stood outside on the “terrace” to smoke cigarettes
(not me!) and talk politics. Other folks from HQ were there, including Betty and Chip.

The candidates were in a studio in Chicago and the debate was broadcast live. It was pretty exciting. Before it started, Mitch had the TV on the NBC channel so we could see a new campaign advertisement that Kennedy's national headquarters created. We knew exactly when it would air. It was real cute. It had lots of pictures of the senator accompanied by a catchy song that went, “Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Ken-ne-dy for me—a man who's old enough to know and young enough to do—”

At debate time, Mitch changed the channel to CBS. I thought Kennedy looked great. Nixon, on the other hand, looked sick. None of us in the room thought he came off well at all. After the debate, Chip said, “Well, I think there's no question who won
that
round.” We all agreed.

O
CTOBER 1, 1960

Tonight the Black Stiletto caught a liquor store robber red-handed.

Since I hadn't seen any action in a while, I decided to put on the outfit and go out. I avoided Chinatown altogether and headed just a few blocks uptown. It was a little after 9:30 and there were still plenty of people outside. Within a half hour of hitting the street, I came upon a crime in progress at Brown's Liquors at 2nd Avenue and 9th Street. There was a creepy-looking guy pacing the sidewalk in front of the store when I went past. He was mumbling to himself like some homeless New Yorkers tend to do. He didn't notice me, which is strange because
everyone
turns to look at me when I dash by. I figured he was what he appeared to be—homeless and crazy—so I started to move on. But suddenly I heard a woman shriek, “He's got a gun!” I turned around and saw that the guy had entered the shop and two old women had poured out the door. One of them shouted, “Someone call the police!” So I ran back and asked if they were hurt in any way. I'm afraid I may have frightened them more than the
man with the gun. They gasped at me and moved down 2nd Avenue as fast as their little legs could take them.

“I'm one of the good guys!” I yelled at them, but then I turned my attention to the liquor store. Sure enough, through the window I saw the creepy guy pointing a handgun at the man behind the counter. The shopkeeper's hands were raised. That's when I
knew
the gunman was off his rocker. No one in his right mind, not even a crook, would hold up someone in plain view of the storefront window at that time of night. Anyone could see him.

I burst through the door, charged the robber, and tackled him. We both fell to the floor. The gun went off loudly and I heard a bottle shatter. I grabbed his gun arm and easily knocked the weapon out of his hand. The man started crying, “No, no, not the needle! Not the needle! Please, no!” I had no idea what he was going on about, but I subdued him and tied his hands behind his back with my rope. By then, the proprietor had called the cops.

“Poor Eric,” the shopkeeper said. “I was waiting for the day he'd flip his lid. Thanks.”