The Black Stiletto (27 page)

“You know Lucy?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m an old friend of hers. I haven’t seen her in ages. I heard she comes in here.”

“She used to work here, a long time ago, or so she says. Still comes in a lot. She loves that old jukebox over there.” The waitress nodded at the machine in the corner, near the windows. It looked really old.

“Does it work?” I asked.

“Not very well. But it’s an antique, so the owner refuses to sell it.”

“Where can I find Lucy? Does she live around here?”

“Yeah, she lives in Georgetown Plaza.”

“Where’s that?”

“Broadway and 8th Street. Big high-rise.”

I wondered if she lived alone, but I didn’t want to sound too nosy. So I asked, “And how’s her husband—?” I snapped my
fingers, as if I was tryin’ to remember. “—er, what was his name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you know Pete, too? He passed away, I don’t know, about five or six years ago. Lucy still lives in their apartment, though. She’s a tough old broad.” Then the waitress leaned in close to me and whispered, “She’s a bit ditzy now. Forgets a lot. I think she’d be better off in assisted living, if you know what I mean.”

I grunted. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Fuck assisted living.

I paid the bill and went up to 8th Street, and then walked west to Broadway. Sure enough, there was the high-rise called Georgetown Plaza. Musta been over thirty stories tall. Busy street corner, lotsa shops and young people. Right between Cooper Union, two blocks east, and Washington Square Park, two blocks west.

While I was in the diner, I kept tryin’ to remember how I knew Lucy’s name. She musta been someone Fiorello knew when he was livin’ with Judy Cooper. I bet she was a friend of Judy’s. Had to be. That would be my ticket inside.

I went inside the lobby and talked to the doorman. Told him I wanted to see Lucy Gaskin. He picked up a phone and dialed, then asked, “Who should I say is calling?”

“Tell her it’s an old friend of Judy Cooper’s. My name is Dino.”

The doorman nodded, waited, and then spoke into the phone. “Mrs. Gaskin? I have a man named Dino down here who’d like to see you. He says he’s an old friend of Judy Cooper’s. What? Yes. Okay.” He hung up. “She says to come on up.” The guy gave me the floor and apartment number, and then buzzed me in.

When I knocked on her door, she took a long time comin’ to open it. Finally, though, she did. Lucy was an old broad, all right, maybe in her eighties, but how should I know? She mighta been good lookin’ when she was young, but I couldn’t tell. She just looked like an old lady now, kinda fat and dumpy.

“Why hello there, it’s been so long!” she said as if she’d known me all her life. “Come on in. The place is a mess, please excuse it.” I stepped inside and was almost overcome by that old-lady smell. Lots of perfume and soapy scents. Yuck.

“It’s good to see you, too, Lucy,” I said. “How long has it been?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Years and years.” She laughed. “What did you say your name was?”

“Dino. I’m Dino. You remember me, don’t ya?”

“Oh, yeah. Dino. How’ve you been? Come on in and sit down. I’ll get us a cocktail. What’ll you have?”

“Whatever you’re havin’.”

The place wasn’t as much of a mess as she thought it was, but everything was dusty and the furniture and stuff looked really old. She and her husband musta lived in the apartment since the building opened. Actually, it wasn’t bad. There was a terrace that overlooked the city.

“Nice place you got here,” I said. “Lots of room. Nice view.”

She replied from the kitchen, “Yeah, Pete and I bought the place in nineteen sixty-four. It was brand new then. I’m sorry, Pete’s not here.”

Yeah, I knew that
.

I went over to a shelf that had a bunch of framed photos on it. Pictures of Lucy and her husband when they were younger. A wedding photo. Kids. There was also a picture of Lucy and Judy Cooper. It was a shot of them in front of the East Side Diner. Black-and-white. Old, but probably taken around the time in question. Damn. I felt that heart murmur of mine when I saw the photo. In fact, I got a little dizzy. I had to sit down, so I stumbled over to the sofa and collapsed into it.

Lucy came in with two glasses of white wine. Yuck. Didn’t she have somethin’ stronger? She handed me one and said, “Here you go. I like a little wine in the afternoon, don’t you? Cheers!”

She sat in a big chair, not noticin’ I wasn’t feelin’ well. But the cold wine actually tasted good. I felt better after a few sips. Lucy started talkin’ and talkin’ about nothin’, tellin’ me about her kids and where they were now, how she loves New York and will never leave the apartment, and other crap I didn’t care about. The dame really was ditzy—she didn’t realize I was a total stranger to her. Thought I was some long-lost friend she hadn’t seen in years.

Finally, I interrupted her and asked, “So what do you hear from Judy Cooper?”

“Oh, Judy.” She shook her head. At first I thought she was gonna tell me the bitch was dead, but she said, “I haven’t heard from Judy in a long time. We used to write pretty regular, y’know? After she moved to California and all. Then she moved somewhere else—” She was havin’ trouble rememberin’.

“Where did she move?” I prodded.

“You know her name isn’t Judy Cooper anymore?”

“No, I didn’t know. What, she got married?”

“I guess she did. Talbot. She’s Judy Talbot now. Uh, just a minute. I think I have her last few letters somewhere.” She got up and went to a desk. Rummaged through it, and then came back with a stack of envelopes.

Bingo
.

She looked at one and said, “Oh yeah, she moved to Chicago in the sixties. Never came back. Here’s the last letter I have. What’s the date, can you read it? I don’t have my glasses.”

I took the stack and looked at the postmark. Nineteen eighty-seven. Maybe a long time ago, but not too bad in the grand scheme of things. J. Talbot. That explained why I couldn’t find her as Judy Cooper. A return address of Arlington Heights, Illinois. I didn’t know where the fuck that was.

Before Lucy sat down, I downed my glass of wine and handed it to her. “I couldn’t trouble you for a little more, could I?”

“Why, of course. My pleasure. I’ll have more, too.”

As soon as she was out of sight, I stuck the envelope in my pocket. It may or may not be Judy Cooper’s last known address, but there was a good chance it was.

I guess I was relieved I didn’t have to kill Lucy Gaskin for it.

31
Judy’s Diary
1958

D
ECEMBER
11, 1958

Today I took my first airplane ride. Actually it was two airplanes. First I flew from Idlewild to Dallas, where I had to wait five hours before I could board another plane to Midland Air Terminal. It was so much fun! A little scary, I have to admit, but it was kinda like going on a ride at an amusement park. It reminded me of when I was little and my mother took us three kids to a carnival in Odessa when the rodeo was in town. I think we went twice, two years in a row, but after that it got to be we couldn’t afford to go. Anyway, getting on the airplane and feeling it take off was something I can’t describe. I looked out the window and everything on the ground looked so tiny. The stewardesses were nice, too. They gave us food and drinks. The only thing I didn’t like was the passengers smoking cigarettes. There was a section set aside for the smokers, but the smoke still filled the entire cabin. I still haven’t gotten used to tobacco, I don’t know why. Everyone I know smokes. I must be some kind of freak, ha ha.

I’d almost forgotten how flat and desolate West Texas is. It was nearly sundown when we landed, and the horizon was as straight as all get-out. Just a line, dividing the sky and the earth. The sunset was mighty pretty, though. I do remember that about Texas. The colors in the sky could be breathtaking. The rest of
the place—all the sand and mesquite and tumbleweed—you can keep, thank you very much.

It was a good thing I saved up a bunch of money to take with me. Since I didn’t know how to drive a car—I never learned!—I was going to have to take taxis everywhere. No public transportation like buses and subways in Odessa. Well, there were buses, but not like what I needed. I also couldn’t remember too many things about the town’s geography, so I bought a map at the airport before going outside and finding a cab. Even the taxis were hard to come by—I had to get someone to call one to take me to town. The airport was situated in the middle of nowhere, between Odessa and Midland.

A nice Mexican man named Luis picked me up. I gave him my false name—Eloise—and told him I’d like to hire him for a couple of days to be my personal driver. He’d never heard of an arrangement like that. His English wasn’t great, but we understood each other all right. He said he’d have to check with his boss at the taxi company he worked for to find out what it would cost.

In the meantime, I paid him for a ride to the west side of Odessa, which is where I used to live with my mom and brothers. Whitaker and 5th Street. Once we got into the city, it all came back to me, even in the dark. I’d forgotten, though, how close we were to the railroad tracks that separated white Odessa from “colored town.” When I was growing up, there was a creepy mystique about the south side of Odessa, an area of nothing but shanties where all the Negroes lived. Whenever my brothers and I were upset about how poor we were, John or Frankie would say at least we weren’t as bad off as them. After living in New York and working in a gym where Negroes and whites trained in the same room together, I realized how prejudiced the rest of the country is. Odessa was no different. I guess I grew up with the concept of prejudice instilled in me, too, but now I see it’s all so wrong. Not much I can do about it, though.

I had Luis drive by the old house. Imagine my shock when I saw it wasn’t there anymore. Several homes on the street had been torn down and new ones were being built. It’s not surprising. My old house wasn’t much better than the shanties across the tracks. Well, obviously, my mom didn’t live there. I guess I had some detective work to do to find her.

Luis dropped me at a motel on 2nd Street and waited while I checked in, again using a false name. I asked him to call for me tomorrow morning at nine, regardless of what his boss told him about me hiring him for a couple of days. Luis said not to worry, he’d be there.

Now I’m settled in, about to go to bed. It’s nearly midnight and I have very mixed emotions about being back in Odessa. Seeing that street disturbed me. I know I haven’t thought much about my mother and brothers since I ran away from home. I guess I’m feeling guilty about it, and I had a good cry a few minutes ago. I considered going down the street to a bar and get a drink, but I’m afraid people would think I’m just some floozy. So instead I’m staying in.

Perhaps tomorrow will bring some answers.

D
ECEMBER
12, 1958

Dear diary, I’ve had a very emotional day. Luis picked me up this morning, as promised, and told me he could be my driver for ten dollars on a daily basis. I thought that was all right, so I hired him. Did I mention he was a chain-smoker? He lit one after another the entire time I was with him. I had to keep my windows down a bit to air out the car. I didn’t mind too much. Like I said before, everyone in New York smoked, too. I was getting used to the smell.

First I had him take me to Odessa Junior High School. He waited in the parking lot while I went inside. It hadn’t changed much. The halls were still full of kids from lower-class families.
They didn’t look any happier than I’d been. I tried to imagine myself back there, walking with my books in hand, going to gymnastics, and reading books in the library. For some reason, the image wouldn’t form properly in my head. It figures, I guess. I’ve moved on. I’m just not the person who once roamed those corridors and classrooms. Even though it was only seven years ago, it was really a lifetime.

In the office, I asked about Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Bates. I didn’t tell them I was the prodigal daughter. They looked at me like I was crazy. Why would they have any information on a couple if their child didn’t currently go to the school? I realized they were right, so I left the building. That was dumb on my part.

So I went to our old church. It was the First Christian Church, on Lee. We didn’t go very often. Mom dragged us kids there for Easter every year and occasionally on some Sundays. We hated it. I never took to Sunday school and I especially fidgeted during actual services. But we were members, so I thought maybe they’d have some records.

A nice lady in the church office remembered my mother, but hadn’t seen her in a long time. She didn’t ask who I was; I just said I was a relative and wanted to find out where Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Bates might be. She couldn’t find a listing in their directory, so she went into another room to ask someone. When she came back, the lady had a look of concern on her face. I immediately felt a surge of extreme sadness. My intuition foretold what she was about to say.

“I just heard from our church secretary that Mrs. Bates—her name was Betty, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”