Secrets & Lies (38 page)

It's been a dreary month since Thanksgiving. I went out as the Stiletto once for Barry to check out an abandoned building in San Pedro that was suspected of being the counterfeit operation headquarters, but it was a bust. There was nothing inside but cobwebs. Otherwise, I've worked at Flickers and continued my exercising at the Gym. Frankie Avalon was in Flickers the other night. I also met Eli Wallach and his wife, Anne Jackson. You never know who you'll see there.

Christmas was nothing special. I worked on Christmas Eve, and the club was closed on Christmas Day. I spent a lot of the day on the phone with Freddie and Lucy. There were no presents under the tree. I went to see two movies—
Judgment at Nuremberg
, and wasn't
that
a fun time at the picture show, sheesh—and I finally saw
West Side Story
and it's marvelous! I don't think I've seen a musical quite
like that one. Everyone is saying how it breaks new ground, and I think I know what they mean. It's made me want to
dance
down the street, snapping my fingers and singing that bit, “Da dee da da daaaa!” What if I dressed as the Stiletto and did it?

People really
would
think I'm crazy, ha ha.

D
ECEMBER
29, 1961

I feel like going to Santa Monica beach and walking into the ocean to drown. It's not my style to think of suicide, but it's how I feel. I've spent most of last night and today in tears. I have to go to work in a couple of hours and my eyes are puffy and red. I won't be the “hostess with the mostess”—as Charlie calls me—tonight.

Leo broke up with me. We had
sex
and then he broke up with me, the bastard. And I took a big risk, too, because I was caught up in the heat of the moment and didn't even think about putting my diaphragm in until later, after he'd gone. I'm probably okay, I just had my period last week—ish. Ten days? Can't remember.

Dear diary, it's painful to write this down, but I need to document it.

Leo came over to help with the tree, as promised. I wore my locket, and he was happy to see it around my neck. Why couldn't I have stayed angry at him? How does he have the uncanny ability to break down all my defenses when I see him? Well, I figured out the answers to those questions. I love him. As badly as he's been treating me, as missing in action as he is, and as secretive as he is—I'm addicted to the man.

Now, I have to go through withdrawal.

He brought a bottle of expensive champagne. It was already cold, but we put it in the fridge while we spent a little time taking the decorations off my Christmas tree. He told jokes and made me laugh, he was as sweet as can be, and he apologized for the millionth time for not being around.

I'd made some spaghetti with meat sauce, and we had a candle-light
dinner here in my studio apartment. Not the most romantic place in the world, but it felt good at the time. We broke out the champagne after that. I left the dirty dishes in the sink and we tried putting away the tree decorations, but we were feeling tipsy and silly. We laughed and messed around and suddenly we were kissing. That led to the other thing. And it lasted into the night and I thought all was right with the world again.

This morning, he was still in bed with me. We were both naked. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back, he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“What's wrong?” I asked. “Hangover?”

He revealed his face and I saw that he had tears in his eyes.

“What is it, darling?” I asked, sitting next to him. I put my arm around him. “Tell me.”

Finally, he got up the courage to speak. “Judy, something has happened in my life that's changing things.”

I didn't like the sound of that. “What do you mean, Leo?”

“Judy, remember when I said that someday I wanted to sell my business and spend the rest of my life with you?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, that's still true. I want you to believe that. I want you to know that I will be back for you.”

“Back for me? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“There's going to be a period of time when I can't see you.”

“What?”

“I can't see you anymore, Judy. For a few months.”

“Are you leaving town?”

“You might say that. Yeah, I'm leaving town. Think of it that way.”

I was totally confused. “Leo, what are you saying? Don't be so cryptic. Just tell me the truth, okay? What's going on?”

He stood and started to dress. “I can't, Judy. You'll just have to trust me. But in the meantime, please don't try to contact me. I really can't be with you for a while.”

Dear diary, I felt my heart splitting in two. A ton of bricks fell on my chest. I'm usually a tough girl, but I started to cry. I don't think I've ever cried in front of a man, but I did. I'm ashamed, but I couldn't help it. The tears just flowed. All the frustration and uncertainty about Leo over the past few months just reached a critical apex. The dam broke.

“Judy, please don't cry.”

Then I let him have it. I stood and I started beating on his chest. “You bastard! You son of a bitch!” I cried. “Tell me your secrets! Tell me your secrets!”

He grabbed hold of my wrists to stop me, and then he held me close while I sobbed into his chest. “I'm sorry, Judy,” he said. “I truly am.”

After a moment, I got hold of myself and pulled away from him. I threw on a bathrobe and told him to get out.

“Judy.”

“Get the
hell
out of here, Leo!” I spat. “How
dare
you come over and pretend that everything is fine between us. How
dare
you take me to bed. That was your plan all along, right? One more
screw
and then break up with me? Well, go to
hell
, Leo! And take all your dirty secrets with you!”

He silently finished getting dressed. Then he walked to the door, turned to me, and said, “You've got secrets, too, Judy.”

And then he was gone.

I bawled like a baby. I threw things. I broke the empty bottle of champagne and ended up having to sweep up the shards.

What did he mean by that last accusation? Did he know about the Stiletto? How could he?

I wish I was back in New York.

L
ATER

I got through work all right. No one said anything about my puffy eyes. I probably seemed a little less energetic than usual because
Charlie asked if I was feeling all right. I told him I thought I was coming down with something, so he sent me home. He didn't want me getting anyone sick. That was fine with me.

I felt like trouble, so I dressed as the Stiletto and went out. It was around 11:00. I walked up and down Hollywood Boulevard. People gawked and pointed, but I ignored them. I wasn't in a friendly mood.

Up near Vine, I found a couple of familiar winos who always sat against the buildings, drinking themselves into a stupor. Three white men were harassing them, telling them to “get jobs” and calling them names. One man kicked a wino in the stomach.

“Hey!” I shouted, approaching them.

When the three men saw me, they grinned. “Lookie here, it's the Black Stiletto!” the kicker proclaimed. “You come to clean up our street?”

“Yeah.” I punched the guy in the face. And then the stomach. He fell to the pavement.

“What did you do that for?” one of the other men growled.

“'Cause he's a bastard and shouldn't be picking on the helpless.”

“They're f—ing
winos
!”

The man on the ground was struggling to catch his breath. “Get … her!” His two pals took a step toward me, but I performed a perfect
Mikazuki-geri
crescent-moon kick and slammed my boot into one guy's chest. I didn't kick him too hard, just enough to scare them. Then I drew the stiletto and held it up.

“Don't mess with me, and I mean it!” I snarled.

One guy held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, fine, we'll leave. C'mon, Gus, let's go.” They helped their pal to his feet, scooted up Vine, and disappeared.

I went to the wino they'd kicked and asked, “Are you all right?”

The old man, who looked like he was as ancient as Moses, and hadn't taken a bath in years, just nodded and shot me a toothless grin. Then he held up a half-empty pint of Jack Daniels.

“Are you offering me a drink?”

He nodded.

So I sat between the two smelly drunks, took the fellow's bottle, and had a swig. What pedestrians who were out that late either didn't notice us or ignored us. Maybe it didn't register that the Black Stiletto was sitting with a couple of bums on Hollywood Boulevard, drowning her sorrows in booze.

But that's what I did.

T
HE
P
RESENT

The past two weeks were filled with me taking care of Dad, going to the studio, and trying to sleep when I could. I haven't had much time for Josh, except when we're working. On a professional level he says I've changed since the hotel assault, that I'm now exceptionally driven during exercises and spars, almost as if I'm taking the instruction much more seriously than I used to. I've always been serious about Krav Maga, but I think I might know what he means. The drive comes from anger. I'm angry at what happened to Dad. I'm angry that it's the second time I've been involved in a violent assault. I'm angry that the law often can't do anything about it. It makes me want to go after the people who did this to Dad. There's a connection between those men and Dad, and it's my intent to find out what it is.

He was in the hospital for a week, and then he stayed with us at our apartment. Our sofa bed is pretty comfortable, so Dad camped out in the living room for a while longer until the doctor said he could fly. We got the green light today, so I'm taking him back to Chicago tomorrow, staying for a few days to make sure he's going to be okay, and then flying home. Josh said it's all right that I miss work, but I should continue to do exercises at least an hour a day if possible.

The patient has improved considerably. The first week was iffy,
mainly because Dad found it very difficult to swallow and talk. It eventually got better. The swallowing pain isn't as severe as it was, but the doctor says it's possible he'll be sore for a long time, maybe a year or two or more, before it goes away—
if
it does. Dad's voice is coming back, but he speaks in a hoarse whisper right now and can't do it for very long before it becomes uncomfortable. That, too, will take a lengthy period of time to heal, and his voice may never be the same.

His sense of humor is coming back, so that's a good sign. I told him he sounds like a cartoon character, and that made him laugh.

We spent the day packing and getting things ready for the trip, and we had a date to call Maggie at the nursing home and maybe talk to Grandma Judy. We've kept Maggie up to speed on my dad on a daily basis. He's been able to speak to her himself since last Sunday. They don't talk too long because of his voice, so I end up relaying most of the news between them.

My grandma is stable, no changes in anything since Dad was last there. Maggie explained to her that Dad is in New York with me, but no one's ever sure how much she comprehends. It's so sad to see Grandma Judy that way. She used to be so vibrant and energetic. I love her so much. There's a lot I don't know about her, and I think there's a lot Dad doesn't know about her. And we also don't have a clue about my grandfather. I once asked Grandma about him, and she just said he died early in the Vietnam War, shortly after Kennedy first sent “advisors” over there. She won't talk about him. All my life, she'd change the subject if I ever brought him up. I don't know why she keeps no mementos from their marriage. I once asked Dad what Grandma did for a living. He said his father left them money. Well, if he did that, then why didn't Grandma acknowledge it? Heck, maybe she
wasn't
married to my grandfather! Maybe he went to Vietnam and then she realized she was pregnant, and then he never came home. Was Grandma Judy so mortified by that experience that she would bury it? I suppose back in 1962 that would've been scandalous, but I can't imagine it's the only time something like
that ever happened. Still, it's a mystery. The whole thing is very weird, but I've learned to live with it. Now it's normal for our family that there's a hidden secret or two.

I know
I
have a couple.

We phoned Maggie on time while she was on a break at Woodlands. She was in Grandma's room, on her cell.

“Hi, Gina, how are things?”

“Fine, Maggie. We're just getting all of Dad's stuff together, it's spread all over the place. I have to figure out what I'm going to take since I don't know how long I'll be there.”

“Don't you worry, Gina. It probably won't have to be too long. I'll be there to take care of him, you know.”