The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes (13 page)

She probably doesn't remember writing me the letter that Uncle Thomas gave me last spring, but I think she's aware that I know she's the Black Stiletto and it disturbs her.

M
AY 9, 1960

It's four o'clock in the morning and I just got home. I've had, well, a pretty horrible night. It was a nightmare, and it really started yesterday (Sunday) afternoon at Lucy and Peter's wedding.

The ceremony was at St. Mark's Church on E. 10th Street. That was actually quite lovely. Lucy's parents had spent a lot of money to decorate the sanctuary with tons of flowers and the place was absolutely gorgeous. Lucy looked beautiful. Everyone said I did, too, all gussied up in my dress. Sherrilee, one of the waitresses from the East Side Diner, did my hair, put some curls in it, and gave it more shape than I've ever been able to do. Freddie and the guys from the gym said I was a “knockout,” so that made me feel pretty good. Peter was handsome in his tuxedo. His best man was Doug Something, a guy he'd known since college. I thought Doug was a dreamboat, but it turned out he was married.

The reception was at the East Side Diner! Lucy and Peter had looked for a fancier place, but couldn't afford it. Manny offered to close the diner for a few hours on late Sunday afternoon, so Lucy took him up on it. It turned out great. We played the jukebox and danced. Manny made steaks for around fifty people, paid for by both Lucy's parents and Peter—I don't know where Peter's parents were,
and I didn't ask. Hard booze had to be brought in because the diner served only beer and wine.

Jimmy was there. He looked sharp in a suit that was probably ten years old. I've never seen him dressed up before. When champagne was poured, I was standing next to him, so we clinked glasses. He still acts funny around me. I'm convinced the truth of the matter is that he carries a torch for me, but is afraid to act on it. I'd told him our encounter in the shower was a one-time-only thing. But who said I had to keep that rule? I felt attractive, I was drinking, and I had that itch again. I have to admit I was on the prowl. But I looked elsewhere first. I figured Doug wasn't available, Jimmy wasn't available, and none of the other gym guys interested me, so I started talking to some of Peter's friends, none of whom I knew. That turned out to be a dead end.

Doug introduced me to his wife Patty. She wore a button on her dress that said, “Vote Democrat.” I asked her about it and she said she volunteers at the New York Democratic headquarters. “There's an election this year, you know,” she said. Another guy named George also wore a button. He works in Peter's office.

“Do you think Kennedy will get the nomination?” I asked them. I'd been following the senator's campaign since he announced his candidacy in January.

“I don't know. It might be Humphrey or Stevenson. I like Jack Kennedy, though,” Patty said.

“I do, too,” George echoed.

I told them I thought I was a Democrat, but this would be my first year to vote for a president. I confessed my admiration for Kennedy.

“Why don't you come volunteer, Judy?” George asked. “We could use more people. It's going to get real busy this summer.”

At first I couldn't see me doing something like that. I'm not really a politically minded person, but I was interested in current events and the civil rights movement. It might give me something new to
do. I told Patty and George I'd think about it. She gave me the details of where I should go on Park Avenue South if I decide to go for it.

I suddenly had a vision of the Black Stiletto standing on a street corner and handing out political literature, ha ha. Wouldn't that be a riot?

So I continued to drink and I danced with Peter and with Lucy and with Freddie and with George and with Doug and with Louis and with Corky and with—gosh, I think I was the belle of the ball there for a little while. I kept requesting that someone play Elvis songs on the jukebox. “Stuck on You” is still number 1!

The party started to wind down around 7:00. Lucy and Peter left and reappeared dressed in street clothes for the ritual rice throwing and goodbyes. They're off to the Bahamas for a honeymoon! I can't imagine what that would be like. It sounds so exotic and exciting. I know they're islands in the Caribbean, but I'm not sure exactly where they are. Close to Cuba, I think. I told Lucy not to get too sunburned. She laughed and whispered that she may not be spending a whole lot of time outdoors, if I knew what she meant. Then she winked and we both laughed. I gave her a hug and a kiss and told her to be happy and be careful. I embraced Peter, too, and he gave me a wet smacker right on the lips. Lucy said, “Hey! What was that?” Peter blushed and said that he was entitled to kiss the maid of honor and she was entitled to kiss the groom. I think that was just an excuse—I have a feeling Peter's wanted to kiss me ever since he met me!

After the newlyweds left, there were only a handful of folks still at the diner. We were all a little drunk. I saw Jimmy sitting at a booth and he was staring at me. I thought,
what the heck
, and went over and sat across from him.

“Hey, handsome,” I said, “you're not drunk, are you?”

He smiled a little and said no.

“Well, I am. Want to take me back to the gym?”

The smile vanished and he narrowed his eyes at me. “Miss Judy,
it was wrong what we did. I ain't ever doin' that again. We be friends all right, but tha's all.” He said it in a stern voice, almost like he was angry.

“Jimmy, I—”

He held up a hand. “No. I can't have no white girl gettin' me in trouble. Good night, Miss Judy. I'll see you tomorrow.” With that, he got up and left the diner. I was stunned. I felt—
rebuked!
Dear diary, maybe it was the champagne, but I was angry. I wanted to pick up the sugar jar and throw it at his back as he walked out the door, but I didn't. I sat there and fumed for a bit. Corky sauntered over, sat across from me, and slurred, “How ya doin', Judy?”

I can't explain my actions. I snapped, “Fine!” and abruptly stood. I headed for the front door and heard Corky call, “Was it something I said?”

I wanted to catch up with Jimmy and slap his face. I wanted to tell him that he couldn't reject me like that, and that I refuse to be humiliated. I didn't care if people found out about us. I just wanted to release a lot of pent-up frustration and tension.

But I didn't see him on the street. He had vanished. I ran to the corner of 5th and Second and peered up and down the avenue. I dashed back to 4th and did the same thing. Nothing.

So then I was really mad and felt like spending an hour punching the speed bag in the gym. But I had a better idea, or thought I did.

I went home, put on the Stiletto outfit, and slipped out into the night. At least I waited until after sundown, but I made a mistake by not stuffing my trench coat in my backpack to wear over my outfit if I had to. And there came a point when that was a necessity.

For the first hour or so of my adventure, I ran and climbed and jumped, making my way uptown. It was cathartic to release all that anger. The effects of the champagne disappeared with the sweat.

Before I knew it, I was at 59th Street, the bottom of Central Park. I rarely ventured that far from home base. It was nearly 11:00 by then, and I was tired. I could have used that stupid overcoat to put on so I could ride the subway or a bus back to the gym. So that made
me angry again, this time at myself. How could I be so dumb? I was stuck as the Stiletto and had to make my way on foot.

First a rest was required, so I squatted in between the Plaza Hotel and the building immediately west of it. The weather was springlike and unseasonably warm for early May. I was sweating like a dog. I figured I'd sit there for fifteen minutes to get my wind back and then take off downtown. The second mistake I made was allowing myself to daydream. I started thinking about the wedding and the party, about Jimmy, about Billy in Chinatown, and whether or not I should volunteer for the Democrats.
I wasn't paying attention
.

Misfortune reared its ugly head. Two beat cops walked right in front of me. They were patrolling 59th Street. In hindsight, I can't believe my senses didn't pick up on them. Usually, I know when someone is around a corner. The only explanation is that I wasn't concentrating. I was lost in my thoughts.

So the two cops were less than six feet away from me. I froze, hoping they wouldn't turn their heads, for I'd surely be seen if they did. It was no good. One guy glanced my way and stopped walking. The other one kept going until he realized his partner had halted, so
he
turned and saw me. It was one of those moments when time stood still. I must have resembled an animal looking into headlights.

The first cop drew his weapon. “Freeze!” he shouted.

“Holy crap,” the other one said. He also drew his gun. Then they both stepped back, out of my reach. “Is it really her?”

Cop #1 asked me. “Are you her?”

“I'm not Mayor Wagner,” was the lame pithy answer I gave.

“Stand up. Slow. Raise your hands where we can see them!”

I did. I thought my goose was cooked. The NYPD had finally caught the Black Stiletto. Where was my friend, the cop from Chinatown who let me go? These two were big and beefy and they meant business.

“She's got that knife, Sean,” Cop #2 said.

“I'll get it. Run and call for backup. I'll hold her here.”

“You sure?”

“Go!”

Cop #2 ran toward the Plaza, leaving me with “Sean.”

“If I ask you to pull out that knife and drop it, you'd just throw it at me, wouldn't you?” he asked.

“No.”

“I don't believe you. I'm going to take it myself. And no funny stuff. Keep those hands above your head.” He indicated the handgun. “This is pointed right at you.”

“It's all yours, Sean.” I jutted out my leg, knee bent, providing him better access to the sheath. Actually, it was a
wushu
position that Billy taught me. I didn't know how to do the move that normally accompanied it, but I had developed my own “power strike” with my elbow. My target was just the right height, too. I breathed evenly and deeply, preparing myself for the bout to come, and waited for Sean the Cop to move closer.

When he did, I quickly swung my left arm down on his gun arm. A split second later, my right elbow slammed into the curve between his neck and shoulder. It never would have worked had I not been a tall girl.

The handgun flew out of his grip like butter. The blow to his neck surely sent an electric shock down his spinal cord; he went down like a rag doll. I quickly leaped over him and ran out into 59th Street toward the park. Traffic was heavy, as it always is in that part of town and, Lord, I was nearly hit by a taxi. The driver blasted the horn and screeched to a stop, causing the car behind it to ram the back bumper. A chain reaction occurred down the line for several cars. I kept going as more horns honked and drivers yelled and cursed at me. I managed to dodge between vehicles in the traffic going the other way and reached the sidewalk before Sean the Cop had retrieved his gun and given chase. He wasn't as brave as me, though; he refused to dart blindly into traffic. Instead, he blew a whistle, held up his hands at the oncoming cars, and crossed the street with impunity. By then, though, I was in the darkness of the park.

I've been in Central Park only a handful of times during daylight.
At night it was a pretty creepy place. The pole lamps lining walkways were inadequate for illumination, so everything took on a dim, glowing essence, as if I'd entered a land of ghosts. I've always heard Central Park was once one of the most beautiful landmarks of New York City. I wish I'd seen it then. Now all you hear is how dangerous it is to go there at night, and sometimes broad daylight isn't so safe either.

Needless to say, I didn't know my way around. Once you get inside the park, there are paved pathways that web out from major corners and then twist and turn like a maze for
fifty blocks
all the way to 110th Street. There is little signage. Sections have a lot of trees and are slightly hilly. There are bodies of water all over the park, like the one I skirted around as soon as I was inside. I remembered a skating rink being in the southeast sector because Lucy and I went there once. We also rode a carousel, but I wasn't sure where that was.

Sure enough, I found the Wollman ice skating rink. It was deserted and gray in the dim lighting, although I thought I made out some dark human shapes sitting in spots around it.

By then I heard sirens, so I kept running and following the path that appeared to curve west. I either had to find a place to hide, which was risky, or find my way out on the north-south western border, Central Park West. The Upper West Side was becoming a trendy area of town, so it would be alive with people at that hour. Both options were chancy.

The path suddenly curved more southwest than I wanted to go, so I took a fork heading north, or at least I thought it did. It went through some very foreboding territory, as it was thick with trees and boulders that were part of the landscaping. I saw embers on the ends of cigarettes here and there. The Black Stiletto wasn't the only one stalking the park. I didn't have the time or inclination to stop and find out if the other folks were friendly.

In the distance, men shouted. I distinctly heard, “She went this way!” My senses were wide awake now! If a cop or anyone else came near me, I'd know it. I could hear a twig snap twenty feet away. My
internal danger radar was on full alert. But if I didn't slow down, I'd wear myself out too quickly. My heart was beating a million miles a minute and I was panting for breath.

The path rounded a rock outcropping and the landscape leveled out. The carousel stood in front of me. It was wonderful, too, colorful and old-fashioned. The horses were beautifully painted and there were other characters you could “ride” as well. But that was in the daylight. At night it looked just plain scary. And since I had unwittingly run out of possible hiding places, I moved on, intending to pass the carousel and keep moving north until I found a trail that led west. But as soon as I was within twenty feet of the attraction, two black shapes materialized from the shadows between the wooden horses and stepped in front of me. One had a knife.