The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes (27 page)

I can't believe I'm back in New York City again, not even two months since the last time I was here. And, by golly, I'm here again with Carol and we're trying to act like parents to our reckless and very troubled daughter. At least, that's the way I see it. And no matter what I say, Carol disagrees with me, and then Gina disagrees with both of us. It's been nothing but a fun-filled fight-fest since Carol and I got here.

It started off badly and went downhill from there. I admit I was angry with Gina even before I found out what she'd done. All we knew was that she'd been arrested for harassing a man. No details. So I didn't start off in the right frame of mind. Carol and I had visions of Gina sitting in a cell with the general population of gang-bangers, drunks, and drug addicts, so the flight to New York was tense and unpleasant. Our cab ride to the hotel was completely silent. And then I made the mistake of saying, “I wish she would have listened to me when I told her she should take the semester off and come home.”

Carol blew up at me. She accused me of assuming Gina was guilty without knowing any of the facts. Then out of left field she let me have it because—and this was a surprise to me—I allegedly “make her feel guilty” when she sees me because she thinks I'm upset she's marrying Ross.

The rest of our stay in Manhattan was a lovely nightmare.

My old friend Detective Ken Jordan met us at the 20th Precinct station on W. 82nd Street. I think Jordan was surprised to see us again so soon, too. It turned out Gina was seen following a man on the Upper West Side near Juilliard on several occasions. Finally, the man, an artist living in the area, confronted her. Apparently Gina acted like she was going to physically attack him and they had harsh words. The artist complained. Since there are pretty strict stalking laws these days, the cops picked Gina up. It didn't help that the man she was “harassing” was one of the cleared suspects in her assault case.

Gina was fine, they'd put her in a single cell and made sure she was comfortable for the night. They fed her well and, according to my daughter, were very nice to her. So she was none the worse for wear, other than she got to sleep overnight in a sparsely decorated hotel room. However, we had to pay $5,000 in bail and hire an expensive lawyer. It pissed me off that
Ross
was the one who put up the money, although I could have done some maneuvering and come up with most of the sum. It would have hurt the pocketbook, though. The bail-bond route would have been the way to go, but Ross had the money, so he paid cash and Carol brought it with her on the plane. Then, after we'd gone through all that hassle, the artist— whose name is Gilbert Trejano—dropped the charges as long as a restraining order was put in place against Gina. She's not allowed to go near Trejano's residence. Another piece of fallout was the possibility Juilliard could suspend her.

A consolation to all this was that Jordan was privately taking Gina's accusation against Trejano seriously. “We'll be looking a lot more closely at Mr. Trejano,” Jordan told us. “Just keep her away from him. Her class is in his neighborhood, but that's the only place on the block she's allowed to go.”

“Wait a minute, what class?” I asked. “Her classes are at Juilliard.”

“Her martial arts class.” When Jordan saw the blank expressions on our faces, he said, “I take it you didn't know Gina was taking self-defense lessons?”

Uh, no.

When we got her home to her dorm room in Meredith Willson Residence Hall, Gina's roommates greeted her supportively and then split, wisely leaving us alone for a while.

“He's the one who did it,” Gina said. “I'm sure of it.”

“But honey, you didn't pick him in the lineup,” I answered.

“That's because I never saw his face that night!”

“Has he spoken to you?”

“Only when we had the fight.”

“Then why do you think it's him?”

“I don't know! It's the way he moves or something. I can't explain it.”

Carol spoke up. “Let's try and forget about it now, all right? It's over. He's not going to press charges. Ross got his money back.”

“And that makes it all better?” I asked. “I'm seriously concerned here. Gina, this is unacceptable behavior, you know that, don't you?”

“Dad, please.”

“Dad, please? That's all you have to say?”

Carol interrupted, “Martin, leave her alone, she just got out of
jail
!”

“I'm just trying to understand what happened here, Carol. Our daughter committed a
crime
and, yeah, that's right,
she just got out of jail
! Did you
ever
think our daughter would
ever
spend a night in jail? That's not the Gina we
know
, is it?”

“No, of course not! But—”

“
Stop it!”
Gina screamed. “
Just stop it!”
And then she ran into her bedroom and shut the door. We could hear her bawling. Carol glared at me. “Way to go, Martin.”
What?
What did
I
do? Carol knocked on the door and asked to be let in, but Gina wouldn't see her. Fine. So it's my fault.

Well, I'm
sorry
, but it doesn't take a numbskull to see that Gina
needs some help. The assault damaged her psychologically and it's altered her conduct. That's why she should come back to Illinois and make a fresh start at school next year. But no one will listen to me. Gina won't have it, and Carol backs her up. Carol seems to think Gina has the strength to carry on and is somehow justified in her actions. “Her anger is to be expected,” Carol says, “given what happened to her.” I agree with her, I'm angry about the assault, too, and I am fully aware that it's far more personal for Gina. But a different Gina looks out at me through those beautiful eyes of hers. The anger is changing her; I can see it and I can feel it, but I don't recognize it. I also understand human emotion plays a big role in what's going on; with the anger comes the desire for revenge. And that's where Gina has to draw the line, because it's
wrong
.

And what the fuck is she doing taking martial arts classes?

I told Carol I was going across the street to one of the restaurants to have a drink. She didn't stop me. She probably wanted one, too, but was damned if she was going to accompany me. I didn't want her to anyway. I wanted to drown my sorrows in peace.

By the bottom of the second martini, I knew the reason I was freaking out was because my daughter reminded me of what my mother used to do when she was Gina's age.

Hello panic attack.

Carol and I flew home the next day. What else could we do? Neither of us wanted to sit around Gina's dorm room or our respective hotel rooms and argue with each other. Gina promised us she'd stay away from Trejano and that she'd learned her lesson. We didn't discuss the martial arts class. The possibility of Gina coming home for a semester wasn't brought up again either. She would continue to see her therapist. Hopefully the unfortunate incident would go away.

My anger had abated and now all I felt was love and concern for my daughter.

My ex-wife and I barely said a word during the flight. I could tell she was just as concerned about Gina as I was. The difference
between us is Carol was always an optimist, whereas I'll forever be a pessimist.

I did find the courage to say to Carol, “I don't know what's given you the impression that I'm upset about you getting married again, but I wish you happiness. I hope we can be friends. And I'll make an effort with Ross, too.”

She appreciated that, took my hand, and squeezed it.

O
CTOBER 19, 1960

Actually, it's a couple hours before dawn on October 20. I'm shell-shocked by what happened last night at the Waldorf-Astoria. I'd better start at the beginning and write it all down before I try to get a few hours' sleep.

I was a Kennedy Girl again in the senator's motorcade that went down lower Broadway yesterday. Now
that
was exciting! All of the Girls were present, and Jackie Kennedy was there with her husband as well. She's
very
pregnant, but she looked radiant. She wore an oyster-white coat, a matching beret, and white gloves. She told me and some of the other Girls this was her last public appearance in the campaign. From here on out she was going to rest and take care of that bundle in the oven. Kennedy greeted us warmly. He looked at me and said, “Miss Cooper, right?” I can't believe he remembered my name. He must meet hundreds of people every day.

The weather was threatening rain. The sky was dark and cloudy, but luckily it held off until later. We started at the Biltmore Hotel on E. 43rd Street and went down in our van to the Battery, where the motorcade was lined up.
Thousands
of people had already gathered along Broadway, where a ticker-tape parade was planned. It was going to be a busy day. Kennedy had several events scheduled,
culminating in the Alfred E. Smith dinner that night at the Waldorf. The one I was worried about.

The parade started close to noon and it took nearly a half hour for us to move from Bowling Green to City Hall on Broadway, a trip that normally would take ten minutes. There was a marching band, the Girls walked beside the Kennedys' convertible, and we all waved at the multitudes as we were showered by confetti, torn paper, and ticker tape.
That
was the rain! We sang “High Hopes” and “Marching Down to Washington” as the band played along. We stopped briefly at Trinity Church, where Kennedy made a short speech. It was amazing that people shut up long enough to listen. Mr. Dudley said a million people had turned out for the parade. Mayor Wagner was waiting for us on the steps of City Hall. Once we arrived and assumed our places on the steps, the mayor spoke first. He announced that this was the greatest reception anyone had ever received in lower Manhattan. Kennedy thanked the mayor for inviting him and his wife to receive the city's official greeting.

He gave a wonderful speech. I can't remember it all, of course, but a few things stuck out. I'm paraphrasing, but he said, “From Wall Street to the remotest part of the land, the American people will choose progress. They're tired of standing still. In 1960, the people will say ‘yes' to progress. I'm running against Mr. Nixon, who is campaigning in these most dangerous times in the country's history on the slogan that ‘you never had it so good.' I don't believe it is good enough!”

The crowd roared with appreciation.

From there we were rushed to Rockefeller Plaza and Café Française, where we had lunch. The food was delicious, but the Girls were relegated to a table by ourselves and we couldn't talk to the senator or his wife. Our duties were over for the day after that, because Kennedy was going to Yonkers after he ate, then back to Manhattan to speak at the Employees Union Hall, and then to HQ itself in the late afternoon. The dinner at the Waldorf was set for 8:00 that night. Betty told me she was working the ballroom as a waitress, so she'd
get to see not only Jack and Jackie Kennedy again, but Richard Nixon and his wife, too. Some other bigwigs from the campaign HQ had tickets: Mr. Dudley and Mr. Patton, of course, and a few volunteers who got to work the event. I knew Alice and Mitch would be there, but because of my stint as a Kennedy Girl, I didn't get picked.

The rain finally broke through after lunch. I heard that poor Senator Kennedy had to stand bare-headed in the downpour in Yonkers while he addressed the people there. As for me, I went back to HQ to retrieve my backpack (my Stiletto outfit was stored inside). I considered going home, but I was simply too worried about the dinner. Michael and his Russian roommate would be there, I knew they would, and they had guns. There was no question in my mind that something bad was going to happen. What were they planning? I had to find out and, more importantly, I had to stop them.

It was around 4:00 when I got to the Waldorf. The front doors were naturally under heavy security, so I went to the employee entrance on 50th. Surprisingly, I walked right in. I told the security man I was looking for Betty O'Connor, and that we were both Kennedy Girls for the campaign. He believed me and figured I was part of the dinner festivities. I took the elevator up to the fifth floor and the employee locker rooms, and sure enough, I found Betty getting dressed in her uniform.

“What are you doing here, Judy?”

“Betty, don't ask me how I know, but I think the senator is in danger. Maybe everyone is, I don't really know.”

“What are you talking about?”

I tried to explain that some Russian spies had infiltrated the dinner and planned to cause some trouble. She laughed a little and said that was the craziest thing she'd heard in a long time. “It's a little early for cocktails, Judy!” she teased. I told her I was serious, but she said, “Judy, the senator has Secret Service people and bodyguards. So does Nixon. The Grand Ballroom is probably the safest place in the world right now. Look, come with me.”

She led me downstairs to the third floor and the entrance to the
ballroom. It was beautifully decorated. Gorgeous white cloths covered the dozens of tables that spread across the floor. The dinner and glassware sparkled from the light of the chandeliers. Betty explained how both Kennedy and Nixon would be at the head table and they'd be surrounded by security. I was starting to feel a little better about the situation, when none other than Billy entered the place! He carried programs to be distributed at every table.

“Judy! Betty!”

“Hi, Billy,” I said. “Are you working the dinner?”

He nodded. “Mr. Patton asked me specifically.”

“Where's Lily?”

“She couldn't do it. It's just me and some of the others.” He named some folks I knew.