Secrets & Lies (21 page)

Anyway, Leo travels on business a lot. He frequently goes to Las Vegas, and I've asked him to take me there someday. He says he will. In the meantime, in the past month we've been together only twelve times. Despite the sporadic contact, those dates are always wonderful. Leo really is a charmer and he's so good looking. He's a terrific lover, too, if I may be so bold to state!

Some of the waitresses at Flickers are not so fond of him, though. Helena, a pretty brunette who is my age, told me that Leo is a “love 'em and leave 'em type,” and to be careful. Well, he has as much admitted the same thing to me, saying he doesn't want to be seriously committed to anyone. I don't know what to think about that. Does it mean he sees other girls when he's not with me? I think I'd be able to tell. I have that ability, you know, of discerning lies and deceit. Frankly, I do sense that he doesn't tell me everything and that his life is made up of “compartments.” I happen to be in just one of those compartments. What are in the others? Therefore, I
am
being careful. I think. I do like him, though. And I wish he wasn't gone so much. And I miss him when he's not there.

Darn, it sounds like I'm not being totally honest about my feelings here, huh.

Another thing that's going on in
my
life is that I'm taking driving lessons! L.A. is so different from New York when it comes to getting around. You really need a car. Depending on the buses and taxis for transportation is slow on the one hand and expensive on the other. So, on April 24th I started lessons at the Hollywood Driving School, and I've just completed three weeks' worth. Next week I'll graduate and can take my driver's test. If I pass, I'll have my first driver's license! And I already have a car picked out. Leo helped me with that, since I don't know anything about cars. It's a slightly used 1961 Ford Galaxie Sunliner convertible! And it's
black
, of course, ha ha. It's beautiful, and I can't wait to get behind the wheel. I paid half the price, cash down, so the dealer would hold it until I got my license. It's so exciting!

In a little while, I'm going to walk down to Hollywood Boulevard, get something to eat, and buy the new Elvis record at the shop near Coffee Dan's. The song is called “I Feel so Bad.” Freddie came through and shipped my record player and records to me. I got them just a few days ago, so now I'll be able to play it. I couldn't live without my music.

I like going out on the nearby streets. I've done a lot of
sightseeing—alone—and shopping. The weather is beautiful and I love it here. Sometimes I feel like a starlet. When I walk down Hollywood Boulevard, men turn their heads to look at me. I've been asked more than once if I'm an actress. Many men flirt with me, especially at Flickers. I feel more attractive here than in New York. There's something about the sunshine and air that makes me feel pretty. Some days I feel like I'm flying above the earth in the Mercury
Freedom 7
, just like astronaut Alan Shepard, the first American in space. I watched that happen on TV last week. It was unbelievable.

I do miss New York; but mostly it's Freddie and Lucy and Peter that I miss.

Do I miss the Black Stiletto? I haven't thought much about her. My outfit and equipment are safely hidden in my apartment.

Freddie wrote in a letter that the police have left him alone, so he thinks my secret is safe. He said he's going to rent my old room to a man who will be his new assistant manager. Freddie wants to retire and sell the gym sooner rather than later. Maybe move out of the city, to Brooklyn or Long Island. He believes he hasn't been the same since his heart attack, and I suppose he's right. I'd hate to see him “give up,” although rest and relaxation is probably what he needs to take care of himself. I worry about him.

I haven't heard from Lucy. I think she's mad at me for not saying good-bye in person. I hope someday she'll understand and forgive me.

I'm supposed to see Leo tomorrow night. I may have to ask him about
us
, but I'm pretty sure he won't want to talk about it. He says when a man and woman try to define their relationship, it goes wrong.

He may be right.

M
AY
14, 1961

Leo and I had our first fight last night. We went out to dinner at a fairly new club called P.J.'s on Santa Monica Boulevard. It's a very “hip” place. They have live jazz music, and they provide a wood-burning tool to carve your name on the white oak tabletops! I
inscribed “Judy Cooper” on the table for posterity. Leo refused to do it. We sat in what they called the “Junior Room,” as opposed to the “Main Room.” The Junior Room was smaller and more intimate. A band called the Barney Kessel Trio played in our room, and they were wonderful. A young Mexican singer named Trini Lopez was on vocals, and he was marvelous. I predict big things for him.

Everything was going fine until we left the club. Leo asked me if I wanted to come over to his house—and spend the night, presumably—and I said, “I want to talk about us, first.” He said, “Uh-oh,” and clammed up. I told him I didn't know what was going on between us. At times I thought we were in love and were serious about being a couple, and other times I felt as if he was just using me as a plaything. He told me again that he's not the “marrying type,” and if I was thinking in that direction, then I should forget it.

“Well, I'm beginning to feel like I
am
your kept woman,” I said. He had joked about it, but now I think he really meant it.

“Aren't you happy?” he asked. “You have a great job, a terrific apartment, and we have a lot of fun together. Why would you wreck it by wanting more?”

“I'm twenty-three years old, Leo, and I'm smart enough to know what you're doing. I'm an open-minded girl, but I do have morals. There has to come a time when it's not just fun and games anymore.”

He took me home. I pulled out a bottle of bourbon that I had in the kitchen cabinet, and I poured myself a long, stiff drink. I don't really remember going to bed, but I woke up this morning in my jammies, under the sheets.

I think I'll go to Santa Monica and sit on the beach all day.

L
ATER

It's bedtime and I'm nicely sunburned and I feel hot and tired.

Leo called me and apologized for last night. He asked if he could come over and kiss me. I shouldn't have said yes, but I did.

He'll be here any minute. I'd better get ready.

J
UNE
3, 1961

I don't know why I haven't been writing in the diary. Usually, in the past, if I went through spells of not making entries, it was because I was depressed about something. That's not the case here. I'm actually pretty happy in L.A. I'm having a good time. Am I changing? I mean, as a person? Maybe. One thing's for sure—I haven't thought about the Black Stiletto or had a desire to put on the outfit. This city has a completely different dynamic. Getting around on foot as the Stiletto would not be the same as it was in New York. It wouldn't be as easy to hide, slither up fire escapes to roofs, or run across town.

Maybe the key to being the Stiletto in L.A. is my new car. Yes, I'm driving now. I have my license and I spend a lot of time in my Ford Galaxie. When I'm not working, I drive all over L.A., getting to know where everything is. I've explored all of Hollywood, I've been up to the San Fernando Valley, I like to go to Santa Monica and Venice and spend time on the beaches, and I checked out downtown. I even drove down to San Pedro to see the Port of Los Angeles. I've been tempted to drive to Las Vegas myself, since Leo still hasn't taken me there. I haven't done it yet.

I enjoy working at Flickers. Last week Rod Serling and his wife were there. I told him I was a big
Twilight Zone
fan and watch it every week when I can—I recently got myself a television. He was very nice. We're not supposed to ask celebrities for autographs when we're working, but I sure wanted to that time.

One thing I've noticed is that every now and then some shady men congregate at the club. They look like mobsters. They're Italian, and I'm pretty good at recognizing the type. There's a man named Sal Casazza who gets a lot of attention from Charlie and the rest of the staff. He's really fat and acts like he's some kind of big shot. A couple of scary-looking guys are always with him—obviously bodyguards. Leo is chummy with them, too. One night Leo was at the club while I was working. He comes in sometimes to see his uncle and gets a free drink or two. It's weird—when Leo's there and I'm
working, he treats me like I'm just one of the staff. I'm the girl working as hostess, not the girl he's sleeping with! It makes me a little angry, but he told me later that Charlie wouldn't appreciate it if I was perceived as dating a customer, or worse, his nephew. I suppose I understand, but it's still awkward.

I asked Leo how he knows Sal Casazza, and he replied, “They're just some guys I know in business.” I said they looked like gangsters, and he winked at me and answered, “Maybe they are.” So my instincts were right. It makes me uncomfortable that Leo is so friendly with crooks. He tried to explain it to me one night. Apparently, the Wholesale District is a haven for the criminal underworld. Leo swears to me that he's not a part of it, but that he has to deal with them because he has to. I said it was a shame that his business had to work that way, and I suggested that he get out and do something else. He looked at me like I was crazy. “This was my father's business and I took it over,” he said. “I could never do that.”

I still don't know what to think about Leo. In my last diary entry, two and half weeks ago, I left off that he was coming over to kiss me and apologize for our fight. He ended up staying all night, and I guess things worked out between us. Nothing was
settled
, mind you, but at least we put the argument behind us. He was very sweet and kind, and he's continued to be so the three times I've seen him since. And that's the thing—Leo is very mercurial. One day I think he really likes me—maybe even loves me—and other days he's just
not there
. When we're together and it's good, then it's
really
good. That's when I could say that I'm in love with him. I forget all about the doubts and frustrations the
other
times bring me. My intuition constantly warns me to be careful with Leo, but for once my heart stands in opposition to what is probably the more sensible course of action. So I've spent the last few weeks alternating between being hopelessly addicted to the man and getting so mad at him I could scratch his face! I wish Lucy was here, I could talk to her about the situation. I'm sure she would recommend that I leave him and just stay friends, if that was possible. But she was also the one who dated Sam for so
long, and he abused her and beat her and sent her to the hospital. Why are so many women drawn to men with a dark side? I'm certainly guilty.

But I guess that's what makes life exciting.

J
UNE
24, 1961

It's Saturday night and Leo has stood me up. He was supposed to be here two hours ago and we were going to have dinner and see a movie. When he was an hour late, I called his house and no one answered. I tried his office number, but of course it was closed. Needless to say,
I'm angry
.

Even Elvis can't console me. I got his new album,
Something for Everybody
, the other day when it came out. I was surprised to see a song called “Judy” on side two! I don't think it will be a hit, but naturally it's my favorite song on the record.

Okay, I just tried calling Leo again. Still no answer. That's it. He's in the doghouse. I'm seriously considering putting on the Stiletto outfit and going outside. It'll be her first appearance in Hollywood. Should I do it?

Why not!

1961

J
UNE
25, 1961

It's really just later Saturday night, about 1:00 in the morning.

I went out as the Stiletto in Hollywood! It started out strangely, but then I
liked
it!

It was around 10:00, so there were still a few people out on that part of Hollywood Boulevard. Wearing my outfit under the trench coat, I walked from my apartment down the hill to the boulevard and hid in the shadows of a closed storefront. I removed the coat, stuffed it in my backpack, slipped on the mask, and I was ready to go. I stepped out on the pavement and cautiously walked along the street. At first I thought I'd be some kind of freak, but the fact that actors were dressed up as Snow White and Superman and James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, posing with tourists for pictures, emboldened me.

Pedestrians pointed and laughed at me. “Look, there's the Black Stiletto, ha ha.” One woman wanted her picture with me, so I let her husband take it. She gave me fifty cents for the privilege. I told her she didn't have to pay me, but she insisted. So none of these people thought I was the
real
Black Stiletto. They figured I was some hungry actress trying to make a few bucks on the street. I didn't attempt to convince them otherwise. It was a safe way for me to gauge reactions.