The Black Stiletto: Black & White

by Raymond Benson

  Judy asked me to never contact her again. I’ll respect those wishes. But maybe someday I’ll be able to do something for her, and she’ll forgive me.

  That’s all.

  49

  Martin

  THE PRESENT

  Gina returned to her dorm room after her first session of counseling. I met her there since her roommates were at classes. We sat in the living room as she sipped on a protein shake through a straw. I hated to see her jaw wired like that, but she was handling it well. The bruises were fading rapidly and she was beginning to look like her young beautiful self. You just couldn’t see those straight, white teeth.

  “I’m gonna go to class on Monday,” she managed to say. Her speech had also improved. She’d gotten the hang of talking with her jaw closed.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for that?” I asked.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “What did your therapist say?”

  “She said the sooner I try to make my life normal again, the better off I’ll be. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

  It made sense. I just couldn’t believe she could go through such a traumatic experience and bounce back like she’s doing. I had the feeling she was covering up a lot of pain.

  “Honey, you don’t have to, you know,” I said. “You can take all the time you need. The school said you could take the semester off.”

  “I’m not gonna do that! It’s just a month into the term. I love my classes! I won’t be able to take dance until next semester, but I’m not dropping out, Dad.”

  Before I could say my next sentence she interrupted with, “And don’t even think about trying to get me to come back to Chicago. No way. I’m staying here.”

  “Okay, okay, I got that.”

  We were quiet a moment. She slurped her shake loudly and we both laughed. Then she asked, “When are you leaving?”

  “My plane’s at three. I have to go to LaGuardia in an hour.”

  She nodded, set her empty glass on the coffee table, sat back on the sofa, and folded her legs underneath her.

  “Sorry I’ll miss your birthday,” she said. “Happy Birthday.”

  “Thanks, darling.” To tell the truth, I’d forgotten it was coming up. On October thirteenth, I’ll be forty-nine.

  Another pause.

  “I talked to Detective Jordan again this morning,” I said. “They’re still waiting for the DNA test results on your fingernail scrapings.”

  “They’re not gonna catch him, Dad.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged. “If it’s true he’s the same guy who attacked those other women, then he’s pretty good at getting away.”

  “But he’s bound to make a mistake. That’s how they catch those creeps.”

  She seemed to become pensive. Gina turned her head toward the window that faced Broadway and offered a nice view of the city. She and her roommates were lucky to get the suite.

  “I’m starting to remember more,” she said quietly. “The therapist said that would happen.”

  “That’s why I wonder if it’s still too soon for you to go back to classes.”

  She shook her head. “That won’t make any difference. The memories and nightmares will be there no matter what.”

  “You’re having nightmares?”

  She hesitated and then nodded.

  “Honey—”

  “I was just walking home, Dad. Minding my own business. And then he appeared out of nowhere. All I really saw was the glint of steel reflecting the streetlamp. It was a big knife.”

  “Gina, you don’t have to—”

  But she continued anyway. “He said, ‘Don’t make a sound or you’re dead.’ I remember a sudden rush of adrenaline and for a second I thought I could just run away from him. But he had a tight hand clasped around my arm and the knife pressed against my stomach. So I didn’t do anything. Then he said, ‘Come with me.’”

  I really didn’t want to hear this, but I let her talk anyway.

  “He forced me off the lit sidewalk and into a dark spot surrounded by trees. And then. . . and then he hit me!”

  “Honey—”

  “I swear I saw stars, my head exploded in pain, and then I fought back with some kind of animal instinct. I must have scratched his face. But the next thing I knew, I was lying on the wet grass. That’s all I remember until I woke up at the hospital.”

  “It’s probably good you don’t remember the rest,” I said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I do remember one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I remember dreaming. In the hospital. They said I was out for a while.”

  “Nearly seven hours, Gina. You were unconscious for seven hours.”

  “Yeah. I had dreams. Vivid dreams. At least I think I did.”

  “What about?”

  She looked at me with a curious expression on her face and she tried to smile. “Grandma,” she answered. “I dreamed about Grandma Judy.”

  It was difficult leaving Gina, but I know she’s a lot tougher than me. She would get through her ordeal. She admitted she was naïve about streetsmarts. What happened was an eye-opener. She promised me she’d be more careful in the big bad city. I know she will.

  After arriving at O’Hare, I took a cab home, picked up my car, and drove to Woodlands to see Mom. I saw Dr. McDaniel standing at the nurses’ station in the Alzheimer’s Unit as I walked in.

  “Mr. Talbot, how are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  She asked about my daughter and I gave her the scoop. Then I asked how Mom was doing.

  “Pretty good,” the doctor said. “She’s been in good spirits. Nothing’s really different, I suppose.”

  “Did she miss me?”

  The doctor gave me a wry smile. “That’s something we’ll never know.”

  I started to walk away and then I got a crazy idea. I have no idea where it came from, but I acted on it.

  “Say, Dr. McDaniel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you like to have coffee with me sometime?”

  There was no doubt I found her extremely attractive, even though she often rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps that’s why I was interested.

  She blinked twice, obviously just as surprised by the question as I was. Then she stunned me by answering, “That’d be nice, Martin. Thank you. I’m here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you one of those days.”

  And for the first time, she smiled at me.

  “I’m gonna go see my mom now.”

  “You do that.”

  So I left her and walked through the common room, where I was suddenly struck by the ethnic mix of residents. I’d never really thought about it before, but reading Mom’s 1959 diary has made me more aware of the whole racial thing. Had we as a population moved forward in our attitudes toward racism since then? In many ways, we had, of course, but a lot of work still needs to be done. Shoot, I’m guilty of unintentional racism. I jumped to conclusions about Gina’s attacker, immediately believing he was some black guy. I said the wrong thing to the black detective. And I admit I’m not comfortable on the New York streets with so many African Americans around me. Why is that? What am I afraid of? I have no idea. My mother raised me correctly; there wasn’t an ounce of prejudice in our home. Is bigotry inherent in our culture, even though we’ve taken huge steps to stamp it out? Will it ever be eradicated from human existence? I doubt it. These questions can’t be answered with a simple “yes” or “no.” Nothing is black and white, no pun intended. I’m beginning to see that this is something my mother learned in 1959.

  She was happy to see me, that’s for sure. Her eyes brightened and she gave me a big grin. I told her I’d been in New York to see Gina, and that her granddaughter sends her love.

  “That’s nice,” she answered, as she always did.

  Well, I think Mom missed me.

  At that moment I was also struck
by how much Gina is like my mother—stubborn, determined, and very independent.

  So I sat with Mom for an hour or so. I read to her, told her how I still need to look for a job, and helped her with her dinner. I thought about mentioning I’d seen the East Side Diner and had met John Richardson, but figured it would either upset her or she’d have no idea what I was talking about. So I didn’t.

  At the end of the visit, I kissed her cheek, told her I loved her, and left Judy Talbot, née Cooper, alone in her room.

  I’d see her again tomorrow.

  50

  Judy’s Diary

  1959

  DECEMBER 31, 1959—NEW YEAR’S EVE!

  Our annual party’s going strong downstairs, dear diary. I popped up to my room to change clothes. The new pedal pushers I was wearing just aren’t fancy enough. I decided to put on one of the evening dresses I used to wear when I was out on the town with Fiorello. It’s much more glamorous. I thought maybe it’d make me feel more spirited. Then I saw you sitting there on the table and figured I should go ahead and write a quick entry before I get too drunk, ha ha! After all, it’s time for what I’ve decided will be my regular end-of-the-year look back. Gosh, I can’t believe we’re starting a new decade. I don’t remember when 1950 rolled in. I was 12 then, but I don’t recall anyone noting the event with any special attention.

  You’re wondering why I haven’t written in over a month. Well, I was in the dumps for a while after that night in Harlem. I still am. You know why. Then with all the Christmas madness, and throwing myself into work, I just didn’t get around to it. Besides, nothing of note has happened.

  Freddie closed the gym for the four days surrounding Christmas weekend and the four days surrounding New Year’s. Good idea! Today he was my date to finally go see Ben-Hur, the movie everyone in the world is raving about. I thought it was fabulous! The chariot race was so exciting I nearly peed. I’ve been going to a lot of movies lately. Last week Lucy and I went to an Elvis double bill at the Waverly—Jailhouse Rock and King Creole. Heaven! I heard he’s coming back from the army in the spring, and I can’t wait for some new music. Oh, and golly, Lucy and I watched The Wizard of Oz on television a couple of weeks ago. I’ve never seen it before! I think it’s been on TV only one other time, but I didn’t see it then. What a great, great, great movie! I loved it so much. I wish I could see it in a theater on a big screen.

  The party started an hour ago. Everyone is here—Jimmy and Louis and Wayne and Paul and Corky and Freddie and Lucy and Peter. Even Isuzu is here. I tracked her down and invited her, even though she’s too young to drink. I’ll keep a watch on her, though, won’t I? Ha ha. She’s doing very well, all things considered. She misses her father, of course, but she’s happy his killer is behind bars. I miss Soichiro, too. It’s like a hole in my heart.

  Clark is here, too. I gave him a big hug when I saw him, which I think surprised him a little. What a nice, intelligent young man. For his sake, I hope the Negroes get what they want in all this civil rights fuss. I have a feeling, though, it won’t happen overnight. It’s gonna be years. Clark thinks calling his race “Negroes” will go out of style in this country. One day, he said, he’ll be called an “African American.” I like that. It has a nice ring to it. I often think about Ruby and Sonny and Angela and Sheila—and even Mike Washington. They were innocent souls caught up in something dreadful. One thing I learned this year is that anyone can be a good person or a bad person; it doesn’t matter what the color of his or her skin is. I believe most of the African Americans up in Harlem are good people. They’ve just been handed a raw deal and they have to somehow find a way to make it better. Maybe that Dr. King will help. Times are changing.

  I do still think about John. It didn’t help that he came to see me a few days before Christmas. He’d been injured pretty badly. Shot twice. I told him I was glad he’s all right. John apologized and tried to explain his actions. I told him once again: it was over between us. I said I enjoyed our time together—when we were together—but that it’s best we not see each other again. I believe that, dear diary. I don’t think the Black Stiletto and law enforcement boyfriends mix very well. So I shook his hand and asked him not to contact me anymore. I watched him limp away, and then he hailed a taxi. When I finally went inside the gym, he was long gone.

  I better get downstairs. There’s champagne to be had! Yep, I think I’ll really tie one on tonight. I deserve it. I’ve been so unhappy lately. Even if I end up bawling like a baby and feeling sorry for myself, it’ll be a nice catharsis. I could use a good cry.

  As the 1960s begin, what will become of me? All this melancholy is a result of the Black Stiletto. On one hand, she’s been a life-altering release for me; on the other, she’s a millstone, a huge weight on my shoulders.

  I wonder if it’s time to give her up.

  Well, as they say, tomorrow is another day. Another year, actually.

  I’ll think about it then.

  Happy New Year!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Between 1996 and 2002, Raymond Benson was commissioned by the James Bond literary copyright holders to take over writing the 007 novels. In total he penned and published worldwide six original 007 novels, three film novelizations, and three short stories. An anthology of his 007 work, The Union Trilogy, was published in the fall of 2008, and a second anthology, Choice of Weapons, appeared in the summer of 2010. His book The James Bond Bedside Companion, an encyclopedic work on the 007 phenomenon, was first published in 1984, and was nominated for an Edgar Allan Poe Award by Mystery Writers of America for Best Biographical/Critical Work. Using the pseudonym “David Michaels,” Raymond authored the New York Times best-selling books Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell and its sequel Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell: Operation Barracuda. Raymond’s original suspense novels include Evil Hours, Face Blind, Sweetie’s Diamonds (which won the Readers’ Choice Award for Best Thriller of 2006 at the Love is Murder Conference for Authors, Readers and Publishers), Torment, and Artifact Of Evil. A Hard Day’s Death, the first in a series of “rock ’n’ roll thrillers,” was published in 2008, and its sequel, the Shamus Award-nominated Dark Side of the Morgue was published in 2009. Other recent works include the 2008 and 2009 novelizations of the popular videogame, Metal Gear Solid and its sequel, Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty, and Homefront: The Voice of Freedom, cowritten with John Milius.

  The first book in the Black Stiletto series was published in 2011.

  Raymond has taught courses in film genres and history at New York’s New School for Social Research; Harper College in Palatine, Illinois; College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn, Illinois; and currently presents Film Studies lectures with Daily Herald movie critic Dann Gire. Raymond has been honored in Naoshima, Japan, with the erection of a permanent museum dedicated to one of his novels, and he is also an Ambassador for Japan’s Kagawa Prefecture. Raymond is an active member of International Thriller Writers Inc., Mystery Writers of America, the International Association of Media Tie-In Writers, is a full member of ASCAP, and served on the Board of Directors of The Ian Fleming Foundation for sixteen years. He is based in the Chicago area.

  www.raymondbenson.com