The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes (16 page)

Around 9:00 or so, I was on the floor next to the sofa. I was listening to an NYU professor talk about Jack Kerouac when a dark and handsome man settled on the floor beside me. He wasn't quite as beatnik looking as the rest. He did have facial hair though, what he later told me was a “goatee.” His name is Michael Sokowitz. He's from Austria but is now living in America. He speaks with a European
accent. I guess he's in his thirties. He told me he's a writer and that he's working on a lot of things, mainly a novel. I asked if I could find any of his books at the store, but he said he hasn't been published yet. We talked for about twenty minutes and then he said his eyes were watering from all the smoke and asked if I'd like to go somewhere and get coffee. I said sure. The smoke was getting to me, too, so we went to a coffee shop he knew over on Bleecker. There he told me he got his American citizenship two years ago. He came to the United States in 1957. Michael asked me where I was from and all that. He was surprised to hear I work in a gym. He said, “Women shouldn't fight,” but I told him, “Sometimes they have to.”

Michael has very intense brown eyes, did I mention that?

Sitting there with him was bizarre. He had such an exotic accent and looked like a Russian Cossack or something like that. I must say Michael created a lot of mystique about himself during that short little date. He made me want to know more about him and see him again. It sounds corny, but I find him mysteriously attractive.

After one quick cup of coffee and minimal chitchat, he asked me for my phone number. I gave him the one at the gym and said don't be surprised if a man answers. Freddie is used to taking messages for me, especially since I started volunteering. He said he would call me. After that he walked me to the crosstown, shook my hand, and said goodbye.

What an evening!

J
UNE 26, 1960

I went out as the Stiletto last night for the first time in, gosh, over a month. I've kept in shape though. I never stopped my exercises. My personal workout plan is a combination of everything I learned from Freddie and Soichiro, basic information I got from Billy, and my own inventions. It's a good thing I kept up the regime, because last night I needed the Stiletto's abilities in a very unique way.

What made me put on the outfit again? I don't know. I just got the urge to go out. It
had
been a while. Maybe I just needed that little vacation away from her after being beaten
twice
in Chinatown. The truth is that I missed—gosh, I almost wrote “her” again. I've noticed I sometimes refer to the Black Stiletto as someone other than me. Isn't that weird? Pretty soon I'll be like Anthony Perkins in
Psycho
, talking to himself in two different voices! Oh, my gosh, dear diary, that was the
scariest
movie I've
ever
seen! It just came out and
everyone
is talking about it. I love Alfred Hitchcock and I wanted to see it, so Lucy and Peter went with me. Lucy screamed several times and hid her eyes during the shower part. I screamed when the detective was killed and fell down the stairs. I couldn't believe Janet Leigh died so soon in the movie. Ewww! It was
shocking
! We walked out of the theater
stunned
.

I can't wait to see it again!

Part of the reason why I went out as the Stiletto was because I was a little angry. Adam Clayton Powell claimed that Dr. King is being controlled by Communists. What a terrible thing to say! As if the Negroes didn't have enough problems trying to get equal civil rights. Kennedy was in New York a couple of days ago, but I didn't see him. Supposedly, he met with Dr. King while he was here. I would like to someday meet Kennedy. If he gets the nomination and I continue working for his campaign, then maybe I will.

I thought becoming the Stiletto again would be a good way to blow off some steam, so I went out around 10:00 p.m. It was a hot night. I figured I'd stay close to home and do my running, climbing, and jumping just on the Lower East Side. People were out in droves. I received lots of catcalls and hollers from pedestrians as I rushed past them. I waved at a few of the nicer folks. But I didn't find any crimes in progress, and luckily I didn't bump into any cops.

It was nearly midnight when I heard sirens near Washington Square. A fire truck passed me with its lights blazing. Curiosity got the better of me, so what did I do? Followed it, of course. I stealthily flitted from building to building until I was at the southwest corner of the park. Police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck were positioned in front of a red brownstone to my west on 4th Street. It appeared to be a five- or-six-story brick building with cement trim. The police had brought a spotlight and one of the men shined it up toward the top. I had to cross McDougal and join a crowd of gawking onlookers to get a better view.

“What's going on?” I asked.

Everyone turned and dropped their jaws. Then came the onslaught of reactions. “It's the Black Stiletto!” “Holy cow, look!” “Are you really her?” and all the usual exclamations. I held my hands up and calmed them down.

“Hush, I don't want the cops to see me. What are they doing?” And then I saw for myself. The spotlight encircled a figure standing on a narrow concrete ledge in between the top floor windows. The ledge was so small that the toes of his shoes extended beyond it. He
hugged his back to the wall, scared out of his wits.

“He's going to jump. Look,” the fellow next to me said as he pointed.

“Oh, my,” I responded. From the street, the guy on the building looked pretty young. High school or college age. “Who is it? Anyone know?”

A girl spoke up. “He's a student at NYU. It's going around that something happened with his grades, he failed or something, and he wants to kill himself before his father does it for him.”

The firemen extended the truck's ladder, and one man began to climb toward the frightened kid. The boy yelled, “Don't come closer! I'll jump! I'm gonna jump!” I couldn't hear what the fireman said to him. My instincts were to run across the street and get up there to help the poor student. With one inadvertent movement of his shoulder, leg, or arm, he could lose his balance and fall.

Before long, the news trucks arrived. Reporters piled out and took pictures of the sight. I think one journalist had a movie camera. If the jumper wanted publicity, he certainly had it now.

A policeman with a megaphone spoke from the street. “Come on, son, make your way back to the window. You don't want to do this.”

“I'm gonna jump!”

The cop tried a sterner approach. “Get down,
now,
before you cause some serious trouble not only for you but for the city!”

“I'm gonna jump!” The kid was a broken record.

By now, more people had gathered to witness the spectacle. They stood with hands over their mouths and holding their breaths in suspense. I was lost in the crowd. No one except those around me knew I was there. It probably wasn't the smartest place for me to be, but I was just as spellbound as everyone else.

At that point, a fireman appeared in the window to the right of the jumper. It must have been the same window from which the young man climbed out to the ledge. It was six or seven feet away from the boy. The fireman spoke to him, but we couldn't hear anything. I saw the kid shake his head violently.

The jumper and the rescue team were at a stalemate. The police and firemen were getting nowhere. I finally couldn't take the tension any longer and was compelled to do something about it. It may be the boldest thing I've ever done, but I pushed through the crowd and made my way to where the police had cordoned off the street. I addressed a patrolman, “Can I do anything to help?” His eyes bulged when he saw me, but at least he didn't draw his weapon.

“Uh, Lieutenant?” he called out. The man with the megaphone looked up and saw me. That started everyone pointing and murmuring. Now the crowd was looking at
me
instead of the jumper! The reporters' cameras flashed. Finally the lieutenant came over to me.

“You have three seconds to get out of here or I'll have you arrested,” he said.

“Wait, maybe I can help,” I said. “I'll go up there and talk to him. He might listen to me.”

“Why would he listen to you?”

I shrugged. “Isn't it worth a try? Come on.”

“You're wanted by the law. We can handcuff you right here.”

“Not tonight!” I said as I abruptly darted through the barricade and ran toward the building. The lieutenant shouted for me to stop. Some patrolmen tried to grab me, but I wiggled out of their clumsy holds and jumped up to the building's stoop, which was a simple six steps up to the front door. There were two basement-level restaurants on either side of it, above which, at about shoulder level, were the lower platforms of exterior fire escape staircases. I chose the one on the right, leaped on, and started climbing.

The crowd applauded and shouted its approval. “Yea, Black Stiletto!” “Go get him!” “Hurray!”

I'm pretty sure some of the police drew their guns and aimed at me, for I heard the lieutenant shout, “Put away your weapons!” I didn't look down. So as not to scare the jumper, I moved slowly and eventually made it to the top level. The fireman inside the open window
said, “The kid won't listen to me.” I replied, “Let me talk to him.”

The spotlight still outlined the boy. Now that I was closer, he appeared to be nineteen or twenty. The ledge he stood on was at eye level. He stared and shouted, “Don't you come near me!” Tears streamed down the kid's face.

I moved to the platform rail, indicated the ledge, and spoke. “Hey, was that hard to do?”

“Don't come near me!”

“Was it hard climbing out the window and inching along that ledge? Can I try it?”

“No! Go away!”

“Come on, I've never done that before. I'm going to try, okay? You look like you could use some company.” I didn't wait for him to respond. I pulled off my backpack and set it on the platform, raised a leg, put my boot on top of the rail, and hoisted myself up. The entire fire escape creaked. I was afraid the rail wouldn't hold my weight, but it did. Once I was there, I realized how the kid was able to reach the ledge. There were decorative, horizontal cement grooves in the wall. I grabbed one, climbed the wall like a ladder, and then placed my right boot on the ledge. With my back flat against the wall, I slowly scooted toward the young man.

“Take it easy. I'm a friend,” I said. “You know who I am, right?” The expression of terror on his face said it all. “Don't be afraid. I just want to talk to you.”

“Don't come any closer!”

I still didn't look down. My boots barely fit on the ledge. It was an extremely precarious position, and I began to think what a stupid idea I'd had. A strong wind would be fatal, but one false move or shift of balance could be my downfall, no pun intended.

That's when I remembered something Billy taught me. It was part of the relaxation exercises he had me do before moving on t more aggressive practice. He called it
Tai Chi
, and said it helps you
maintain the center of your body where it's supposed to be. It involves breathing and moving gracefully on very light feet. It was all about equilibrium and staying steady.

So I concentrated on that, emptied my mind, and blocked out the external stimuli. I forgot that I was six stories high and stepping on a tightrope of concrete eight inches wide. I smoothly moved along the ledge, and before I knew it, I was right next to the jumper.

“Hi. What's your name?”

The poor kid was trembling. “B-b-barry.”

“Well, Barry, why do you want to do this? I heard it was something about school?”

“I f-f-failed. I have to d-d-drop out. My p-p-parents are gonna die.”

I shook my head. “They won't die, but you will if you fall off this ledge. And I'm sure your parents don't want you to do that, no matter what happened in school. You're their son.”

“My Dad hates me!”

“Barry?”

“What?”

“I didn't even finish high school. Dropping out of college isn't the end of the world.”

He started crying. “I can't face him! He's ashamed of me!”

“I think he might be more ashamed if you kill yourself. Are you sure you really want to do that?”

He nodded furiously.

“Then what's taking you so long?”

That threw him. “Huh?”

I indicated the crowd below. “I mean, you've been up here for some time. I think if you were going to jump, you would have done it by now.”

“I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna do it!”

“And you know what, Barry? If I was going to jump off a building, I'd pick a really big one. This brownstone is
Mickey Mouse stuff
compared to a lot of buildings you could have chosen in this city.

What is it? Five stories? Six? Why didn't you pick the Empire State Building? That would have been more dramatic. Now
that
would have made a statement! That would
really
make the news. At the very least you could've jumped off one of those new high rises they've been building in the Village, not this puny place. Or maybe a bridge! What about the Brooklyn Bridge? Lots of people jump off of that.”

“Shut up!”

“Look, why don't we scoot on back to that window and climb inside. What do you say? I'll buy you a drink or something. Maybe you can go to another school. Maybe if you change the subject you study, you'll do better.”

“My d-d-Dad wants me to be a lawyer.”

“Is he a lawyer?”

“Yeah. A big one.”

“And you don't want to do that?”

“Not really.”

“What is it you want to do?”

His lips quivered. “I write plays. I want to be a playwright.”