Secrets & Lies (10 page)

T
HE
P
RESENT

“Martin, come here, quick!”

I was in the bathroom at Maggie's house. She was in the living room and the television was on.

“I'm a little busy!” I called.

“Well, hurry up, or you'll miss it! It's about the Black Stiletto!”

Looking at my watch, I noted it was that time of the evening when
World Entertainment Television
was on. They occasionally had stories about the Stiletto. I had something of a crush on the anchor, Sandy Lee. So I finished my business, washed my hands, and joined Maggie in front of the set.

Sandy was with an elderly woman who was displaying pieces of a costume that appeared to resemble the Stiletto's. The caption read: BETTY DINKINS—THE BLACK STILETTO?

“She says she's the Black Stiletto,” Maggie said.

“
What?
”

“Listen!”

Sure enough, that's what the story was about. A woman in New York City named Betty Dinkins claimed to be the legendary Black Stiletto. I watched in shock as Sandy interviewed her.

“Oh, yes,” the old lady said. “I'd put on this costume and go out in the streets. It was cold sometimes, but I managed.”

“How did you learn how to fight and climb buildings?” Sandy asked her. “Did you have natural athletic ability?”

“I suppose I did. I didn't train or anything like that. I just did it. I was fearless in those days. Most of the time those criminals were cowards and couldn't defend themselves. It was surprisingly easy to subdue them.”

Yeah, right
. “What is this shit?” I asked aloud. “I don't believe this is happening.”

Betty Dinkins was allegedly seventy years old, and said that she'd decided to “come clean” about her secret when she reached that milestone age. Of course, anyone doing the math would know that in 1958, she would have been about fifteen. As I watched her speak, I could see that she was a tough old broad. She hadn't kept her figure, was heavy now, and she spoke with a thick New York accent. You couldn't imagine her wearing that costume at one time.

Sandy asked her, “Ms. Dinkins, you have to admit, this is a spectacular claim you're making. Aside from the costume, what proof can you offer our audience that you're telling the truth?”

The woman got visibly angry. “Are you calling me a liar? I don't have any proof except what you see. You'll have to take my word for it.”

“Other women over the years have stepped forward and claimed to be the Black Stiletto. It was quickly proven that they were not.”

“That's because they
weren't
the Black Stiletto. I was!”

She went on to recount a few exploits that were widely covered in the newspapers. Anything she said could have been extracted from them. The woman also produced several black-and-white photos, supposedly of her wearing the costume. I recognized them. There were very few existing pictures of the real Stiletto on the streets of Manhattan or L.A., and these were some of those. Of course, the woman in those photos was my mother, not freaking Betty Dinkins!

“Why did you relocate to Los Angeles in 1961?” Lee asked.

“I thought I would be discovered by a Hollywood producer, and we'd make Black Stiletto movies. It was a crazy idea. I was there
about a year, that's all. Then I retired the costume and came back to New York. I decided to become a normal person and put all the pretense behind me.”

Dinkins appeared very sure of herself. Was she deranged? Crazy? I didn't think so. She spoke in complete sentences and acted like she knew what she was talking about. She was just a big fat liar. And then the crux of the matter was revealed.

“I understand you're entertaining some book deal offers.” Sandy said.

Dinkins grinned broadly. “That's right. There are already two offers on the table. My agent says there will be more. We're talking six or seven figures. I should have told the truth about myself a long time ago!”

“You're going to write the book?”

“My son will. He's an author. He's written several books.”

“Who's his publisher?”

“Oh, he hasn't been published yet. But when he writes
this
book, it will sell a million copies.”

Sandy Lee addressed the audience. “We'll be talking more with Betty Dinkins in the coming days. She promises to tell us some hair-raising stories of her adventures as the Black Stiletto. Stay tuned. This is
World Entertainment Television
.”

As the program went to a commercial, I turned to Maggie. “Who does this woman think she is, telling the world that crap?”

“Um, the Black Stiletto?”

“Maggie, it's not funny.”

“I know it isn't. But what can you do about it?”

“I'll sue her, by God. I'll expose her to be the liar she is. I can't believe it!”

“Martin, think about what you're saying.”

“What?”

“How are you going to expose her? You'd have to tell the truth about your mom, wouldn't you?”

That gave me pause. Of course, Maggie was right, as always. In
the heat of the outrage, I wasn't thinking it through. “But there must be something I can do. Maybe I can contact her anonymously and tell her I know she's lying. Tell her to cease and desist or the
real
Black Stiletto will sue her.”

“I doubt it would scare her. I imagine she's got herself a lawyer. She says she has an agent. And, frankly, she looks like she could knock someone's block off.”

“What's she going to say in a book? Make up stuff and claim it's true? It'd be complete fiction. I wonder if someone put her up to this. Probably that son of hers. They thought it was an easy way to make a buck. Maybe they're going to split the profits.”

“Don't get yourself all worked up. I bet once a publisher checks out her story, she'll be revealed as a fraud.”

“I need a drink.”

“Well, grab a bottle of wine. I'll have some, too. Dinner's almost ready.”

Three glasses later, I was feeling much better, but I was still peeved. We had a lovely dinner of shrimp scampi—I don't know how Maggie does it. But Betty Dinkins was still wreaking havoc with my sense of justice, so I decided to call Uncle Thomas and get his take on it. I figured he was home from the office by now, so I called him there.

“Uncle Thomas, it's Martin.”

“Hello, Martin. How are you doing?”

“Did you see
World Entertainment Television
just now?”

“No, I don't watch that stuff.”

I gave him a capsule summary of what I'd seen.

“Martin, it's not the first time someone has said—”

“I know, but it's the first time anyone's done it since I found out the truth about my mother. Is there anything we can do? Can we send her a cease-and-desist letter or something?”

“And how do we explain what we know?”

“What if we don't explain anything? Just send her the letter.
You're Mom's lawyer. Just say you represent the interests of the Black Stiletto.”

“Martin, that won't work. If the woman shows the letter to the TV people or her publishers, they're going to come knocking on my door. I can protect Judy up to a point, but a reporter with half a brain might be able to find her.”

I grunted. “I guess you're right. Sorry. I got kind of excited there for a minute. It just made me mad.”

“I understand.”

“Sorry to have bothered you.”

“It's all right, Martin.”

“I'll talk to you later.”

“Wait. Martin. I just thought of something else.”

“What?”

“Remember I mentioned that there were bad people in the world who could harm your mother if they knew she was alive?”

“Yeah, but you also said that was a long time ago. They're probably old or dead, right?”

“But what if they're not? This woman could be in danger.”

“Fine, it'll serve her right for telling stories.”

“I'm serious, Martin. What's her name again?”

“Betty Dinkins.”

“I think it's only right that we warn her somehow. Just in case.”

“And how do we do that without revealing our hand?”

“Let me see if I can find out her contact information. I'll try to get in touch with the TV program people. The fact I'm a lawyer can cut through red tape. If I'm successful, then we can decide what to do.”

“Fine.”

We hung up and I sat and stewed for a while. I wasn't interested in watching television, and as much as I loved Maggie, I didn't feel like having company at the moment. She was settling into her comfy chair, ready to spend the rest of the evening in a vegetative state.

“Honey, I'm going back to my house,” I announced. “I need to check the mail and do a couple of things.”

“Are you coming back?”

“I'll call you. I need to let off some steam.”

“Okay. Are you all right to drive?”

“Of course. I only had three glasses of wine.”

“You're an easy drunk, Martin.”

“I am not!”

I grabbed my jacket—it was still nippy outside—and got in the Beemer. It was a short twenty-minute trip to Buffalo Grove.

My house stood vacant and dark. There was two days' worth of mail in the box since I last checked it. I was spending less time there, so maybe I really should consider moving in with Maggie. Was I ready for that level of commitment?

There were the usual bills and junk-mail items, but also an envelope from Juilliard. I opened it and was surprised to find a check for the full amount of Gina's tuition for the semester.

It was a refund.

What the hell?

I immediately called Gina on her cell. Got voice mail. “Gina, I just received a refund from Juilliard for the spring semester. What's this mean? Call me back as soon as you get this.”

The next call was to Carol. She was just as perplexed.

So what was our rebellious and reckless daughter up to now?

1961

M
ARCH
12, 1961

Hello, dear diary, and yes, I know I haven't written in a while. Coming back from California depressed me. Every day I did my job at the gym and then stayed in my room the rest of the evening, not socializing with anyone. I'd play my records and listen to the radio. “Surrender” is climbing the charts, as is “Blue Moon” by the Marcels. “Blue Moon” is cute, but I'm just not in the mood. I prefer Elvis's version, of course, and
that's
the mood I've been in!

I think I'm also disheartened that I haven't heard from Leo. He did say “March or April,” didn't he? I can't remember. Maybe I should get used to the notion that I'll never hear from Leo Kelly again.

A fight broke out in the gym today between Clark and Kraig. Perhaps that's what prompted me to make a diary entry. I think I should keep track of altercations between those two. There's going to be a lesson learned at some point. I just hope no one gets hurt.

It was Kraig who started it. From what I understand, he “accidentally” slammed his shoulder into Clark as he passed his nemesis on the way to the locker room. Clark didn't ignore it. He turned around and punched Kraig in the face and knocked the much larger kid down. Kraig recovered quickly and attacked Clark. It went on
for at least a minute before Freddie and I were able to stop it. We separated them; Freddie took Kraig into his office, and I tended to Clark. His lip was cut and he was going to have a swollen eye. I don't know how bad Kraig's injuries were, probably not as much as Clark's.

Both boys got stern warnings not to fight in the gym anymore. I pointed out to Clark that Kraig always visits the gym in the late afternoon.

“Why don't you come at a different time of day and avoid him altogether?” I suggested.

“But right after school is best for me,” Clark replied.

“Could you come before school?”

“And get up
early
? No!”

“Well, it's either that or the evening hours. We now close at 7:00, you know. We open at 6:00 in the morning.”

“That's awful early.”

I kind of snapped at him. “If I can do it, Clark, you can do it.” He looked surprised and then left. I suppose I was disappointed in him a little, too. He knew better than to fight back.

I'll be interested to see what he chooses to do.

Dear diary, I've been wondering a lot lately if this is the end of the Black Stiletto. Should I try going out tonight? I don't know. Maybe I should go join that new organization Kennedy spoke about. The Peace Corps. I'm good at keeping the peace, ha ha. And it'd get me the heck away from here.

L
ATER

Just after midnight.

I'm very shaken and scared to death.

I went out as the Stiletto. I thought maybe if I got out and had at least a good run I would perk up. Now everything is worse than ever.