Secrets & Lies (42 page)

Dad and Maggie sat on the bed, and I pulled up one of the chairs to sit near her. “So, Grandma, I'm here for a few days from New York. You remember New York, right?”

“New York.”

“I love it.” I told her about Josh and how great he was. “You'd like him, Grandma. He's very handsome. He's from Israel, but he lives in the United States now.”

“That's nice.”

“Oh, and I'm taking Krav Maga lessons and I'm getting good. Do you know what that is?”

Dad said, “Honey, I don't think she does. Mom, it's like
karate
. You know what
karate
is, don't you?”

She looked at him and nodded. “
Karate
.”

“Well, Krav Maga is another martial art self-defense system.” I stood up and struck a stance and demonstrated a few moves, punching the air. Grandma watched me intently, her eyes growing wide. Then I laughed and said, “See, I could probably be the next Black Stiletto.”

Grandma reacted weirdly to that. The smile remained on her face, but her eyes welled with tears. It was as if she was crying with happiness. I noticed Dad's and Maggie's eyes meet as if something was wrong. “What?” I asked. “It was a joke.” I sat back down and said, “What's wrong, Grandma?” Dad and Maggie stood and he went to her side.

“It's okay, Mom. We're here.”

And then the strangest thing happened. Grandma took my hand and looked at me with a combination of sadness and earnestness, and she said as lucidly as possible, “I quit for Little Man Martin.”

“What?”

“I did it for—he was the baby.” And then she got agitated and looked around the room. “Martin? Martin?”

“I'm right here, Mom,” he said. “I'm perfectly safe. I just have a sore throat.”

She gazed at his face and narrowed her eyes.

“I'd forgotten you used to call me Little Man Martin,” he said. “What made you remember that?”

Before she could answer, I interrupted and asked, “What did you mean, Grandma, you ‘quit' for him? What did you quit?”

Maggie said softly, “Maybe we need to let Judy rest for a little while. She might be getting a little upset.”

“It's okay, Mom,” Dad said to her. “Everybody's here and we all love you.”

“We sure do,” I echoed. “I think about you all the time, Grandma.”

That seemed to shake her out of the little funk she was in. She smiled broadly.

“Why don't we come back a little later today?” Dad said to her. “Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

Dad and Maggie went out of the room for a minute, and I stayed with Grandma and talked to her about what she was wearing and how she had her hair fixed. I liked the fact that it was still long, although it was all white now. I saw her tattered robe and said, “I think you need a new robe, Grandma. I'm going to buy you one for a present. What do you think about that? Wouldn't you like a whole new outfit?”

She replied, “The outfit will fit you.”

I thought she meant what she was wearing, which was a pair of loose slacks and a blouse and sweater. “I don't know, Grandma. I think I'm a size or two bigger than you now. You're still tall, but you're pretty thin. See, I bulked up.” I stood and showed her my arm muscles.

Dad came back in and said, “Okay, honey, let's let Grandma rest.”

“We'll see you later, Grandma. I love you!”

“I saved it for you.”

I was confused. “Saved what?” I looked at Dad.

He said, “I love you, Mom. Get some rest, okay? Let's go, Gina.”

“Bye, Grandma!”

“Good-bye.” Then she smiled and gave us a little wave.

As we walked out of the room, I asked, “What was all that about? What did she mean?”

“I don't know,” Dad answered. “Alzheimer's gibberish, you know. Sometimes she says things that just don't make a lot of sense.”

Hmm.

Once again, I sensed that my father was lying.

When we got to his house, everything that I'd been feeling since the assault sort of bubbled up and exploded. First of all, there was the shock of walking into a hotel room and seeing my father—beaten, gagged, and tied to a chair—with two scary-looking gangster types. Then I found myself putting into practice what I'd learned of Krav Maga in the short time I'd been studying it. I put two men in the hospital, one seriously injured. Was I crazy, or didn't that mean something was going on with my dad that he wasn't talking about it? And it involved
Grandma Judy
. Those men were from her hometown. Third, there was Grandma Judy herself, a mysterious woman I have loved my whole life, but never knew much about. She was always a socially shy woman, but a powerhouse when she was with her family. I had no idea what her love life was like or even if she dated. The enigma surrounding my grandfather was even more bizarre. So there's
that.
Then there were the little things recently, like that book Dad desperately didn't want me to see, and Maggie telling me that he would tell me some things when he's ready.

I wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“Dad?” He had gone straight to his comfy chair in the living room, reclined, and turned on the television with the remote.

“Yes, honey?”

“What the hell is going on?”

He blinked and his eyes betrayed that he knew what I was talking about, but he answered, “What, what do you mean?”

“You know. Why did those men attack you? You
know
, Dad. You're keeping it from me. I'm not a child anymore, you can tell me this stuff.”

“Until you're twenty-one, you're not
really
an adult.”

“
Dad!
” Now he was annoying me. “You
do
know. So tell me. Does it have anything to do with Grandma?” When he didn't say
anything, I knew that was my answer. “It does, doesn't it!” Dad just stared straight ahead, obviously fighting an internal struggle of some kind. I sensed he wanted to tell me, but was afraid to.

“Are you in trouble, Dad?” I asked softly. “Because if you are, I—”

“Gina, no, I'm not in trouble, not now. Please don't worry. Nothing's wrong.”

“Dad, I can tell you're ly—er, you're not telling the truth.”

He blinked and looked at me. “You can?”

I thought that was funny and laughed. “You're not very good at lying, Dad. Mom could see right through you. I can see right through you. Grandma used to be able to do it. I bet Maggie can, too.”

“Great.”

“Dad, I can see that you're carrying some kind of burden. Was Grandma some kind of criminal at one time?”

“No! Gina,
please
.”

He appeared tortured. His eyes watered and it was palpable how conflicted he was. Best to let it go,
again
.

“Well, Maggie said you had something to tell me when you're ready, so when you are, I'm here.” I turned and started to walk out of the room and into the bedroom I used when I was at Dad's. It's funny how that room was always nice and made up, and his own was a complete mess. How did Maggie tolerate it when she came over?

“Gina.”

I looked back. “What.”

He stared at me a long time.

“
What!
”

He sat up in the chair and slowly stood. “Wait here. I'll be right back. Please sit down.” He left me, went to his bedroom, and shut the door. Okay. We were getting somewhere. I turned off the TV and sat on the couch.

In a moment, Dad returned. He carried a bundle of books, the same type I'd seen at the hospital. They had a rubber band around
them. He stood and held the package up for me to see. I reached for them but he pulled back.

“These are your grandmother's diaries. She kept them hidden until Uncle Thomas—you remember Uncle Thom—”

“Yes.”

“He had them and wasn't supposed to give them to me until Mom was either dead or incapacitated. About ten months ago, he presented them to me. If the world learns what's inside them, I have no doubt it would cause a global—” He searched for the right word. “—sensation.”

He really had me going. My heart was pounding and I reached for them again, but he wouldn't let me have them yet.

“Gina, I was hoping that you wouldn't find out about any of this until, well, later, when you're older. But seeing as how with recent events—” He paused and lowered his voice. “—and how you saved my life and all—I've been thinking about it and thought maybe it was time.”

“Gosh, Dad, I can't imagine what this is.”

“Gina, you have to promise me—and I mean a solemn, hand on a stack of Bibles, cross your heart, Scout's honor, sworn oath—that you will not reveal this to
anyone
. Not even Josh. Not yet. If you two stay serious about each other, then maybe we can bring him in on the secret if he becomes part of the family.”

“
What secret?”

He held up his hand. “Patience, honey.” Then he added, as an aside. “I do like Josh, sweetheart. He's a terrific guy.”

“Thanks, Dad. But, sure, of course, I promise.” I held up my hand like I was saying an oath. “You have my word. My lips are sealed.”

Then he handed them to me. “Be careful with 'em. They're very valuable. I've read only the first four—I'm a slow reader, you know. I want to start the fifth one while you read the others.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and after you get a few pages into that first one, you're
going to wonder if my mom was crazy. That this is all bullshit. Well, I'll be in my room. Come and get me. And then we'll go someplace and I'll show you something.”

So he went to his room and shut the door. Completely captivated, I pulled off the rubber band and picked up the diary marked #1 and opened it.

July 4, 1958

Dear diary, I thought maybe I should start writing all this stuff down. When I was a little girl I kept a diary. I wrote in it for about three years, I think. I don't know what happened to it. I guess it's still back in Odessa, sitting in a drawer in my old room. If my old room still exists.

I'm chronicling everything that's happened to me lately, just in case something bad happens. I'm not sure if I really want the truth to come out, but here it is. So much has occurred in the last six months. In a way, I'm more famous than the mayor of New York City! Well, not me, Judy Cooper. The Black Stiletto is. No one knows Judy Cooper is the Black Stiletto, and I hope to keep it that way.

WTF?

I read that second paragraph again. I swore my heart did a somersault and somehow got stuck in my throat. My stomach lurched the way it did when you were on a roller coaster.

No way. No freakin' way. This was fucked up.

I stood and stormed down the hall to Dad's bedroom and knocked. “Dad! Dad, can I come in?”

“Sure.”

I walked in and he was lying on his back in bed. “I wondered how long it would take you,” he said.

I pointed to the diary in my hand. “What is this? Is this true? Is this a joke?”

“No, honey. I thought it was at first, too. But it's not.” He winced as he raised himself off the bed. “Damn, it hurts to lie down and get
up. You'd be surprised how many neck muscles you use doing that. Let's get the car.”

“Where are we going?”

“I'll show you. Come on. Leave the diaries here.”

So we went out to my VW and we drove south to Arlington Heights, toward the old house where Grandma used to live. He directed me to a bank on Euclid.

“You gonna use the ATM or something?” I asked.

“No. Come in with me.”

We went inside and Dad told the teller he wanted to get in his safety deposit box. They performed the ID-showing and signing-in routine, and then the teller led us around the barrier to the vault where the boxes were kept. Dad had one key, the teller had another. They both unlocked #225 together, and Dad pulled out a box that was about three-feet by two-and-a-half feet, and eight-inches deep, one of the larger varieties the bank provided.

“Would you like a private room?” the teller asked.

“Yes, please.”

She led us to a small room with a counter and two chairs. No window on the door. “Just come on out when you're done,” she said.

Dad closed the door and set the box on the counter. “Better have a seat.”

I couldn't imagine what I was about to see.

He opened the box and started pulling out items and laying them on the counter.

Some old “Black Stiletto” comic books.

A pair of knee-high black boots.

Two pairs of black leather pants. One was thicker than the other.

A big belt that looked like something soldiers would wear. There were hooks and pockets on it.

A flashlight. A large pulley hook. A freakin' big coil of old rope.

A pair of black gloves.

A freakin' stiletto knife in a sheath.

Holy fuck, a handgun.

Two black leather jackets, again one thick, one thin.

A backpack.

And, finally, a mask. A very famous one.

When he was finished, Dad leaned against the wall and folded his arms in front of him. He had a ridiculous smile on his face. Despite the angst he'd experienced debating whether or not to reveal his mother's secret, he appeared to be very happy. I think he took great pleasure in showing me this stuff.

As for me, I was speechless. Stunned. Incredulous.

I picked up the mask and held it.

I pulled the knife out of its sheath and lightly ran my finger along the blade.

I fingered the jackets.

My hands trembled.

“Well?” Dad asked.

I couldn't move. I sat there in shock. The seconds went by until I finally, miraculously, found my voice.

“Oh, my freakin' God, my grandma was the Black Stiletto.”