Secrets & Lies (4 page)

The patrol car rounded the corner, blazing a bright red and blue and white. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. I was practically in the middle of the street and was held there by a fur burglar. That sounds funny, but it wasn't at the time.

I kicked and struggled, but that man held onto my leg for dear life. Wasting too many seconds trying to pull away from him, I
finally did a little leap with the one leg that was on solid ground—and while I was a foot or two off the ground, I kicked the guy in the head.

He let go of my leg.

I darted across the street and ran east on the sidewalk. I sensed the police car slow and finally stop in front of the storefront, its headlights illuminating my leg-grabbing friend. Was I safe? No, for even more sirens blared, this time ahead of me. But 4th Street is one way going in my direction; I was pretty sure I could make the intersection before the new cars arrived.

To my surprise, a patrol car turned onto 4th from Broadway, heading the wrong way straight toward me. I was trapped between Broadway and Mercer, with policemen at both ends. So I ducked into the nearest dark doorway and pressed myself small into the alcove. The patrol car
stopped
before it went by. My heart nearly stopped, dear diary. I thought they'd seen me. As much as I hated it, I knew I'd have to fight my way out of the situation.

I expected cops to appear on the street in front of me at any moment. But it didn't happen.
Nothing
happened. I stood there in the shadows for several minutes. Finally, I dared to inch forward and find out what was going on. The police car to my east was just sitting there, its colorful lights going round and round. To my west were more cops pouring over the crime scene. Unless the guys to my east got out of their car and joined their team at the shop, I'd have to stay where I was.

And it was really, really cold.

That's what happened, dear diary. The cops never got out of the car or moved it until the other policemen finished their job at the store. I guess they were told to watch the street.

It took
hours
. I suffered. I really did! It was so darned cold. I sat there in that wet, frigid doorway until 2:38 a.m.

The two burglars I'd pounded were eventually taken away. I kept my fingers crossed that the cops would call it a night and not
bother with searching the rest of the street. Thank goodness, they just left. Maybe the two under arrest told them that the gang's other half made off in the van. I wonder if they got caught.

I was frozen stiff. It hurt to make my way home. I was afraid I'd gotten frostbite on my lower face, the part that's not covered by the leather mask. All my energy was depleted, and it was a huge effort to climb the telephone pole and trek across the roofs to the gym. Once I was in my room, I looked in the mirror and saw that my lips were
blue
. That scared me, so I took a hot bath and soaked for a half hour. I laid a warm, wet washrag over my mouth and nose, and after a while, my face looked normal again. Then I made some hot tea, and here I am.

Now I can barely keep my eyes open.

1961

J
ANUARY
10, 1961

I've got a bad cold and a fever.

It's no wonder, after what I went through the other night. I got so cold and wet, and for such a long period of time, too. And what did it accomplish? Well, no big fat thanks to the Black Stiletto. A lot of good it did me, stopping that robbery. Besides, I was only half successful, and it got me sick as a dog in the process. There was nothing in the papers about me. The
Daily News
said the two burglars arrested in front of and inside the fur store had been left behind by their own gang members, who had gotten away. Surely, the two guys told the police the Black Stiletto was there. I bet the cops withheld that information on purpose just to spite me.

I feel so crummy. I went to see Dr. Goldstein today. He said I had an ear infection, something I don't think I've had since I was a kid in Odessa. He gave me some medicine, and then I thought about something Lucy and I had discussed recently.

It was a little embarrassing, but I didn't know of any other way to bring it up but to just ask. “I've heard there's going to be some kind of birth control pill?”

Dr. Goldstein shot me a look a parent might give. He must have thought—
What? A nice girl like Judy Cooper?
He went back to his
note writing and said that it was approved, but only for married women. I felt like he was disappointed in me somehow. Well, I'm not his daughter. As for this new pill they're talking about, I don't know if I'd take it. Gosh, the way my love life is going these days, there's no
need
, ha ha.

I suppose some people would think I'm a slut for even thinking about it. Why would any unmarried girl want to take the pill unless she's easy? That's the mainstream viewpoint, but it seems to me there's a kind of underground position, especially among women, that it's really okay for us to like sex as much as men do. We should have more choices in what we, as women, do with our bodies, such as whether to have kids or not. There's a growing sentiment that it should be legal for women to safely have abortions. I don't know what I think about that, but I do admire there is something happening in this country with regard to equal rights, whether they're for women or Negroes or whomever.

After the doctor appointment, I went home, took my medicine, and went to bed. Got up a little while ago to have some chicken soup Freddie brought in from the East Side Diner. He's a great nurse.

Now I'm going back to bed.

J
ANUARY
15, 1961

I'm feeling better. I stayed in the last two days and did nothing but watch TV. On Friday nights it's always a toss-up between
Route 66
and
77 Sunset Strip
, followed, of course, by
The Twilight Zone
. Seems like Saturday nights are filled with westerns—
Bonanza
,
Have Gun-Will Travel
, and
Gunsmoke
. That's okay, I like westerns all right. I went to work yesterday and today. I still have a congested nose and my hearing is a little muffled, but my strength is coming back. I'm taking it easy, though. I do training for my individual clients, but then sit with Freddie the rest of the time.

Yesterday, Clark, the Negro teenager I train, got into a rumble with a white boy who's new to the gym. His name is Kraig, and he's
a little older and a little bigger than Clark. Maybe he's eighteen or nineteen. Anyway, I saw Kraig shove Clark as they were coming out of the locker room. Clark turned to Kraig and pushed him back. Kraig suddenly walloped Clark with a right hook that knocked the teenager down.

“Hey!” I shouted, and then I went over there. All the other guys stopped what they were doing and stared for a second; then they went about their business as I confronted Kraig.

“What's the idea?”

“Nothing,” Kraig said. “It was an accident.”

“No it wasn't, I saw the whole thing.” Clark got to his feet as he rubbed his jaw. “You all right?”

Clark nodded. “Yeah.”

Kraig tried to move away. “Hey, I'm talking to you.” He stopped, but I could tell by his expression that he didn't put much stock into taking orders from a girl.

“Yeah?”

“The only fighting allowed in here is the kind in the ring, with gloves.”

“Okay.”

I wanted to say more, but then he
did
walk away. I turned to Clark. “What was that all about?”

“He lives near me. He's one of the guys I've had trouble with all this time. He's one of the reasons I started coming here.”

“Well, he's nothing but a big bully,” I said. “Ignore him.”

“I can't. Him and his friends hang out on the street corner I have to pass every time I want to go somewhere. I live on Avenue C. I'm forced to go around the block the long way to avoid them.”

“That's what you've been doing?”

“Yeah.”

“Then they've already won, Clark. You shouldn't have to do that in your own neighborhood.”

“I don't think they like Negroes much in my neighborhood, Judy. We're thinking of moving up to Harlem.”

Clark was a trooper, he went out on the floor, avoided Kraig, and did his training anyway. I know his jaw hurt, but he wasn't about to show it. As for Kraig, he just glared at me a lot, every now and then grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

Guys like him make me grind my teeth.

J
ANUARY
16, 1961

I got together with Lucy and Peter tonight. We went to see
Exodus
starring Paul Newman. It was long and kind of dull, but both Lucy and I think Paul Newman is quite the man. I
love
his blue eyes. “Quite the man.” Lucy and I have started saying that lately as a running joke. “Well, he's
quite the man
, isn't he?” “I'd say
he's
quite the man!” We sound like a couple of schoolgirls. Speaking of men, I asked Lucy about what she does to keep from getting pregnant. I think I'm frighteningly naïve about such things. She told me about the diaphragm, and that most women use one of those. Lucy said I should get one before next month and I asked why.

“Silly, maybe you'll meet Paul Newman,” Lucy said. I looked at her like she was nuts, and then she reminded me about the trip to Los Angeles they had planned for February. I'd forgotten about it! She wants me to come along so she'll have someone to play with while Peter works. He's got some kind of business conference there. They've offered to buy my plane ticket and hotel room. I told her I'd have to make sure with Freddie. I'll talk to him in the morning.

Disneyland! Hollywood! Oh, that's going to be exciting!

J
ANUARY
17, 1961

This morning Freddie said I could go in February. Yahoo! I called Lucy and told her the news, so Peter's going to make the reservations. I told her I'd pay my way, but they won't hear of it. That's so sweet of them.

“Will I meet Paul Newman?” I asked Lucy.

“Well, I wouldn't get your hopes up,” she said, laughing. “Besides, he's married to Joanne Woodward.”

“So maybe I'll meet someone else.”

“I hope you do, Judy,” she said.

Who knows, dear diary, I might meet
quite the man
. I hear they have
some
men in Southern California. Some muscular and tan beach guy who surfs, perhaps?

Gosh, I'm going to need a swimsuit!

T
HE
P
AST

I ordered my third vodka martini just as Bobby Darin took the stage. Phyllis, the long-legged redhead I picked up at the bar an hour ago, was already on her fourth. I'd seen her around the club. The word was that she was an open-minded girl if you got her drunk. That wasn't too difficult. The problem was I didn't know what I was going to do with her when Mookie arrived. I glanced at my watch and saw that he was a half hour late. Too bad, he was missing a great show. That Bobby Darin has some pipes. He started right in with “Splish Splash,” and the crowd in Flickers went nuts. I guessed he'd save “Mack the Knife” for last. That's what I wanted to hear. I hoped Phyllis didn't pass out on me before then.

My uncle appeared to be enjoying the show, too. He was lucky to get Darin and book him at the last minute. Darin's so popular now that a club like Flickers might not be on his radar, but Charlie had done pretty well for himself. I'm proud of him. I always looked up to Charlie. When he opened Flickers right off of Sunset Boulevard, I knew he'd be a success. Now he hobnobbed with Hollywood royalty and singers like Darin and Jerry Vale and Ricky Nelson. Dean Martin sang at Flickers once. If only Charlie could get Sinatra, he'd establish Flickers as
the
Hollywood hot spot. Maybe it already was. Seemed like it.

It's helped me, too, I had to admit.

Whenever I came to Flickers, everyone treated me like one of those celebrities. Not only did the entire staff know me by name, I could go anywhere in the joint. I was part of the family. To tell the truth, though, I didn't make it a regular thing to come to Flickers because Charlie never let me pay for my own drinks. I tried and he wouldn't let me. When I did show up, I liked to dress nice, in a suit. Sometimes I get filthy at some of the warehouses, so I like to clean up when I go out. The chicks like me better that way, too. Charlie always said I was the handsome one of the family, but I didn't think that was true. Christina held that position, and by that I meant
she
's the one who got the looks.