The Summer I Met Jack Page 3

  They’d both come to America on the USNS General S. D. Sturgis and found themselves in Oklahoma City, one of the cities willing to take their sort. Then Irenka learned of the job with the Kennedys, and off to Massachusetts she went. Alicia followed when she realized her brand of American dream could not be found in the dust bowl, in the one state not benefiting from a postwar boom.

  “You vant dis job or no?” Irenka asked, and moved Eunice’s hat from the table to the counter.

  “I do,” Alicia said. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m pleased to have the work.”

  “Is only part-time. Until Labor Day.”

  “I know, I know…” Alicia said, nodding, for Irenka had reminded her of this a dozen times. “Part-time is better than no time. So, shall we get to it? Do you want to show me around?”

  “Ya. Tour is good. Follow Irenka.”

  They started in the sunroom, which, aside from its Atlantic view, was a modest space dominated by a nubby orange couch and a pair of ratty, floral wingback chairs. Really, all of the Kennedys’ furniture was on the shabby side of worn. Not to mention, the floors needed a good polish, the walls fresh paint, and Alicia didn’t spy a single piece of art. She wondered how they’d outfitted their Boston home, or the New York apartment, or the spread in Palm Beach. She couldn’t ask, for she’d never hear the end of it.

  “Bah!” Irenka might say. “Not even Kennedy house is nice enough for you!”

  Adjacent to the sunroom was a television room. After that, Irenka showed her the living room, and then the various pantries and utility closets scattered throughout.

  “How do you keep it all straight?” Alicia asked.

  “Everytink organized all de time,” Irenka said. “You vill catch on! Probably.”

  “What’s this?” Alicia asked, and stopped beside a bulletin board crammed with magazine and newspaper clippings, a dozen at least.

  DULLES BARS RACE FOR SENATE IN FALL.

  KOREAN REDS SLAY 26 G.I. PRISONERS.

  “Dat is for learnink.” Irenka tapped her head. “For de Children. Always de kids-who-are-adults must know de vents.”

  “The vents?” Alicia said with a squint. “I don’t follow.”

  “De vents. Curranty.”

  Alicia noodled on this for a second.

  “Oh,” she said, and stifled a laugh. “Current events?”

  “Dis is vat I said. I can always tell who not study. Usually it is Teddy. Eunice is best. If you cannot contribute, it’s almost like…”

  She thought about this, trying to drum up the words.

  “If you don’t have contribution,” Irenka said, “it is like, you are nuttink. Come, I show you where dey eat.”

  Alicia nodded, skimming the board one last time.

  VERBATIM RECORD OF YESTERDAY’S SESSION OF THE UN SECURITY COUNCIL ON KOREA.

  That one sounded like a real humdinger, though Alicia appreciated Mrs. Kennedy’s efforts. Father never made her read the “verbatim record” of any governmental proceeding—unless as a punishment—but Alicia was similarly expected to be up on the latest news.

  On their way to the dining room, the women passed a door they’d breezed by the first time. Because it was open, Alicia took the opportunity to peek inside.

  “Guest room?” Alicia asked, peering at the twin beds, which were outfitted in green and white coverlets.

  “No, no,” Irenka said, and clicked the door closed. “Is bedroom of oldest Kennedy boy. He is congress representation named Jack.”

  “Congressman?” Alicia said, heart racing. “Jack is a congressman?”

  She didn’t know what that entailed, but Alicia understood it as a political office demanding some degree of respect. Jack hadn’t seemed notably stern or serious when she met him, but of course he’d been on holiday.

  “Jack oldest son,” Irenka grunted. “Nie. Oldest now. De Kennedys have loss in war too.”

  “It happened to most of us, I suppose,” Alicia said.

  After a cursory inspection of the cupboards, they proceeded through an arched doorway and into the dining room. Meanwhile, Alicia continued to picture the white and green room near the stairs, a bachelor’s bedroom heavy with a mother’s touch.

  “Dis is where dey eat,” Irenka said.

  Alicia scanned the room. Whereas checks and flowers prevailed in the rest of the home, this was decorated in ivory and gold, replete with a polished rosewood table and exquisite china cabinets built into the walls. It was an elegant space, and reminded Alicia of Europe, before the war.

  “Dey eat supper at seven fifteen. Butler serves de meals, but sometimes we help. De Ambassador, he sits at head of table. Mizz Kennedy at foot.”

  Irenka lowered both hands onto a chair.

  “On right of Ambassador is Jack,” she said. “Bobby on de left. Everyone else…” She wiggled her fingers. “Dey fill in.”

  “Everyone else is, who, exactly? Eunice?”

  “Ya. Eunice. Pat and Jean. And de youngest, Teddy. De baby. But he is eighteen and going to university. Yet, still baby!” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I expect dey start carrying him! But he is very chubby.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Ya. Once family sit, a woman says grace. Eunice, ush-ly. After grace, dey eat.”

  “And get quizzed on current events?” Alicia guessed.

  “Also, sports. Winnink trophies. Losink trophies. Den Mizz Kennedy powders face and meal is done. Dis job very easy to predict.”

  “Easy to predict sounds perfect to me,” Alicia said as they exited the dining room.

  They walked along and Irenka explained the schedule for the rest of the day, and then reviewed the Kennedys’ morning routines for tomorrow. Though it was not their duty to deliver Mrs. Kennedy’s breakfast to her room, or prepare the Ambassador’s customary poached eggs on toast, Alicia should familiarize herself with such particulars. In that house, ignorance was an excuse for nothing, not even if you came to this country on a ship. After all, the family’s ancestors did, too, and they managed all of this.

  “I tink dat is all,” Irenka said. “You get hang of it sometime.”

  Alicia turned to her friend and smiled.

  “With your help, I’m sure I will. You really have this place figured out. And, I must compliment you, your English has improved dramatically. I scarcely recognize your voice.”

  It was true; Irenka sounded nothing like the girl who left Oklahoma those five, six months ago. The “ink” on her “dinink” was less overt; her “thought” not as easily mistaken for “taut.” When they met, Irenka had a very klutzy grasp of the language, and so Alicia insisted they speak English. Irenka worked on comprehension, while Alicia wrestled with her own accent, the “ink”s and “taut”s, not to mention “dis” and “dat.”

  “Th,” she’d practice. “Thhhhh.”

  So peculiar, to put one’s tongue against the teeth to talk.

  They also worked on inflection. Americans had a spry and animated way of communicating, and if the girls spoke too deeply, they’d brand themselves as Poles straight off. Or, worse, people might think they were Russian.

  “I try to improve de English,” Irenka said. “Goink to church, it help.”

  “Church?” Alicia said, and wrinkled her nose.

  It was the second mention of Irenka’s newfound religion, which didn’t square with what Alicia remembered. In Oklahoma City, she could barely drag Irenka to the basement mixers put on by the good ladies of the Catholic Church.

  “Have you started attending—”

  Alicia stopped as she felt the presence of something, someone else.

  “What do we have here?” said a voice. “Some chitchat to pass the afternoon?”

  A figure drifted into the full light of the hallway: a man. He was tall and thin, but with a midsection that told of his age. It was the Ambassador. Alicia found herself scooting behind Irenka.

  “New employee, Mizzer Kennedy,” Irenka said. “I show her vat’s vat.”

&n
bsp; “My, my, a new employee,” he said. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Dis is Barb … I mean, Alicja. Alicja Darr.”

  “Hello, Mr. Kennedy,” Alicia said, her voice soft, especially against the backdrop of Irenka’s brutishness. “I’m very pleased to be here.”

  “Dear, there’s no need to hide,” the Ambassador said, his small, round glasses glinting in the light. “Come say hello.”

  He extended a hand. When Alicia went to shake it, he pulled her toward him.

  “Why you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he said.

  Alicia gave a bow of the head, which was not the correct response, but she was bewildered that anyone might notice her in such drab attire.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, the sting of Irenka’s eyes on her.

  The Ambassador released her hand and gave Alicia another quick appraisal. Irenka moved between them, and crossed both arms over her heavy bosom.

  “Ve fold linens,” she said. “Before supper to be served.”

  “Of course,” the Ambassador said with a grin. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your work. Please, proceed.”

  He stepped aside. Irenka snatched Alicia’s hand and dragged her forward.

  “Nice to meet you,” Alicia called out.

  As they scuffled past the Ambassador, something brushed against Alicia’s rear. She glanced behind her, expecting to see a hallway table, or a stand packed with umbrellas tilting her way. But all she found was the Ambassador. Alicia shook her head. She must’ve imagined it.

  “He’s interesting,” Alicia whispered, once they were safely out of earshot. “I’m surprised someone of his stature would bother with the help at all!”

  Irenka answered with a deepening scowl. She didn’t say a word, but at once Alicia understood that the Ambassador had never bothered with her.

  Alicia wondered, had her currency gone up? A lowly refugee had caught the attention of an ambassador, and a congressman, too. With this knowledge came a flash of hope. No, it was more than hope. It was a plan.

  The truth was, before she came to America, Alicia Darr had accumulated an enormous debt, one she’d never be able to repay using only cash. But maybe through the Kennedys, and the people who knew them, Alicia might elevate herself beyond her background, and her status of displaced Pole. Alicia needed to matter, and this family could show her the way.

  A-ATTACK HANDBOOK SAID AS IMPORTANT AS ANY COOKBOOK

  The Berkshire Eagle, August 25, 1950

  HYANNIS PORT

  Her new gig was part-time, but Alicia examined the Kennedys from dawn to dusk, diligently recording their physical characteristics, speech patterns, and myriad quirks. She’d already bought a second notebook.

  The Kennedy personality was large in its variant forms, and after a few days, Alicia was well-schooled in each, which said less about her intuition (and mild spying) and more about the family’s relentless need to show the world who they were.

  Mr. Kennedy was the leader of the tribe, his wife a supporting player. The Children heeded the Ambassador more than they did their mom, and they were forever yapping at his heels like untrained pups. Just as she’d been warned, Mr. Kennedy was the only one with manners and savoir faire.

  Unlike his offspring, he never swiped food from another’s plate, or left clothes or trash for someone else to pick up. He didn’t use blue language or brag about his wealth, as his daughters often did. Mr. Kennedy was polite to everyone, even Miss Dee, whom he treated not like a secretary, but like a beloved guest.

  Then there was Mrs. Kennedy, the odd duck with her pinned notes, endless critiques, and religious adherence to rules and routine, including the routine of religion. She attended mass every day. Her closest friends were nuns.

  The woman was shrill and slight, her diminutive stature not a fact but an earned prize. Weekly Kennedy weigh-ins had tapered now that the Children were grown, but Mrs. Kennedy continued to monitor everyone’s physique with her unsparing gaze. She found countless areas ripe for comment and kept a notebook not only of the Children’s weights, but their illnesses and dispositions, too.

  The thing was, Mrs. Kennedy worked pretty hard at being Mrs. Kennedy, but the family didn’t always notice. The Kennedys had formed a tight cocoon around their bawdy crew, yet she was somehow outside of it. “Don’t tell Mother” was a frequent refrain, and despite her counsel, cushions didn’t always get reupholstered, Eunice never bought a new wardrobe, and Teddy kept crashing boats.

  Rose Kennedy was supervisor more than mother, and considered the whole deal an “enterprise” rather than a family. In that house, Mr. Kennedy nurtured. He doled out hugs. Mrs. Kennedy kept track.

  It was no secret that Eunice was her mother’s favorite, slovenliness and poor fashion notwithstanding. A “disheveled gypsy woman,” as Mrs. Kennedy said. Eunice had an eccentric personality, and was energetic to the point of being high-strung. But she was the smartest and most pious of the bunch, the one Kennedy who’d ever saved an allowance, which was likely how she earned her mother’s favor in the first place.

  “Eunice would be the best politician in this family,” Mr. Kennedy said, “if she were born with balls.”

  Then there was Bobby, who was quiet and a bit of a twerp. There was not enough of him—in any sense—to prevent him being overshadowed by his bigger and better siblings. Alicia never worried if she missed some Kennedy tidbit or bon mot, because Bobby was sure to repeat it soon after. Also, his choice of wife baffled. Ethel was loud, cutting, forever chomping gum and calling everyone “kid.”

  The only one who might still be counted as a “kid” was Teddy, bound for Harvard in the fall. Everyone loved Teddy. The women coddled him, the men treated him like a mascot, and Mr. Kennedy’s face brightened the moment Teddy came into view.

  Alicia saw quite plainly that Teddy could rob a bank or get kicked off an athletic team and be forgiven. He even managed to skirt the edges of his mother’s eagle eye. Whereas Mrs. Kennedy demanded a family of thoroughbreds, sleek and lean and fast, she looked the other way when it came to Ted.

  Teddy’s closest sister, Jean, was pudgy, too, at least by Kennedy standards, a problem discussed at length both at the table and behind her back. Jean wasn’t around often, and the family deemed her somewhat undignified. Maybe it was the way she appeared bored all the time, with her sleepy blue eyes.

  Like Jean, Pat didn’t visit much, living on the West Coast as she did. As the Kennedys so favored awards, Alicia would’ve given her top prize. Not only was Pat the prettiest, with her auburn hair and violet eyes, she was also the most sophisticated. She possessed a regal comportment, while remaining long on wit and charm.

  Family, family, family was what they espoused, yet Pat lived in Hollywood and there was another sister, the oldest, missing like the oldest brother though presumably not due to war. Her whereabouts remained hush-hush, and the most Alicia could deduce was that this Rose Marie was either a nun or a schoolteacher in Wisconsin. Admirable professions both, but neither explained why she never came to Hyannis Port. Jeannette, the head maid, said she’d not been there in years.

  And then there was Jack. Oh, yes, Alicia had compiled a thorough dossier on him, though her observations were made mostly from afar.

  Jack had spent minimal time in Hyannis Port since she’d started the job. When he did saunter onto the premises, Alicia made immediate work of restocking the pantry, or cleaning the oven, anything to keep out of sight. Jack had taken her number that day, and Alicia didn’t want “housemaid” to be the reason he’d not called. Nonetheless, Alicia managed to cull a few details about the man.

  First, there was his reputation: a charismatic, going-places politician, the family’s crown jewel. And there was what she had seen for herself: goofiness, a wry wit, the inability to arrive on time. Jack Kennedy was engaging, and even among his own family he commanded a room. But there remained something wooden about him, all the way to his walk.

  “Boat accident,” Irenka explained when Al
icia found the guts to ask. “From de var. He saved de crew.”

  “He’s a war hero?”

  “Ya. Dat’s vat dey say.”

  This, Alicia decided, was why Jack Kennedy fascinated her when no other American male had so far. In Oklahoma, she’d gone on a dozen dates. Fifteen? Twenty? There was no use counting. The boys were handsome and gracious, their jobs solid and their jawbones strong, but Alicia never experienced more than a vague appreciation for any of them. She’d begun to think that dating in America was a fluency she’d never master.

  Then she met Jack. Alicia didn’t feel romantically toward him, not exactly, as they’d met just once. But he evoked something that she couldn’t entirely reason out, though she was starting to put it together. Jack Kennedy was older than the previous boys, thirty-three according to what she’d gleaned, and now there was the bit about the sunken boat. This had to be the answer. Alicia needed someone experienced, someone who’d seen the war.

  Alicia sought many things when crossing the Atlantic, not the least of which was love. America was enormous, its reach almost incalculable. There must be a million Jack Kennedys out there, she guessed. Two million, perhaps. All she needed was someone like him, a man who was attractive and ambitious and wise to the world. In this ample, prosperous country, how hard could it be?

  * * *

  Alicia stood in the dining room, a pile of unfolded napkins on her right, articles from the Kennedy bulletin board on the left. Because of these clippings, she knew that Jack was currently in Washington, immersed in his congressional pursuits. Something about air mail subsidies and printing costs. She didn’t entirely follow.

  From what she’d read—not one, not two, but three articles on the subject—Jack was trying to compel the government to print instruction manuals for a possible atomic attack. The problem was the price tag, a steep $53,052.69. Alas, they’d spent three times that to print a Department of Agriculture cookbook last year.

  “It’s at least as important to know what to do in case of an atomic attack as to know how to cook,” Representative Kennedy (D-Mass.) reasons.