The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes Read Free

continuing her studies. Her mother and I suggested that she take the semester off to recover, but Gina’s always been a willful girl. She was determined to make an impression as an actress and dancer at school, so she wasn’t about to drop out.
    The psychological damage was something that couldn’t be established yet. Sometimes a trauma’s aftereffects can suddenly erupt weeks or months later. She’s seeing a counselor at school, but that’s all she told her mother and me. It’s heartening, though, that every time we speak on the phone, Gina sounds happy and energetic. I believe she’s going to come out of it all right. We just have to take it a day at a time.
    She’s planning to come home for the Christmas holidays. That’s great.
    I clocked out early and went to see Mom on the way home. When I got there, she was asleep. Afternoon nap time. Apparently she slept a lot now. Was her body doing that involuntarily so she could escape the frustrating blanket of fog that was her waking life? If I was in that situation, I’d want to sleep as much as possible. Or be dead. I couldn’t imagine what was going on inside Judy Talbot’s head. Anything at all? Ever since the disease struck her hard, my mom had become more quiet and subdued. She used to have tremendous energy and was extremely sociable. That’s all gone now.
    Maggie wasn’t at the nursing home, so I didn’t bother staying long. I sat with my mom for a while and watched her breathe. She was still a pretty woman, although she looked frail. I knew, though, that she had strength in those skinny arms and legs. The way she’d kicked Roberto Ranelli in the balls last summer was a sight not to be believed. Every now and then I caught glimpses of the person she once was.
    I even saw the Black Stiletto in her, although I couldn’t mentionthat name in her presence. It triggered something painful for her. She became distressed if I so much as whispered anything about her alter ego.
    There’s so much I still don’t know about her. I’ve read only two of the diaries she left behind. One might think I would have devoured them all in one sitting, but I couldn’t do that. I find the process of going through the books very upsetting. I don’t know why. I went through the whole summer without reading the second one. When I finally caved in and finished it, I wasn’t compelled to learn any more. When I returned from New York, I wanted to forget all about the Black Stiletto. Simply go about my business as if my mother was just Judy Talbot, the woman she had always been to me.
    But then the recurring nightmares started, the panic attacks multiplied in frequency, and I was in a state of upheaval.
    Against my better judgment, I thought perhaps it was time to find out more about Mom’s past. Maybe that would ease my anxiety.
    When I got to my house, I phoned for a pizza to be delivered, and then went into my makeshift home office. I had hidden the diaries and the strongbox in the back of a file cabinet drawer and covered them with manila folders. Everything else—the costume, the knife, the guns, the ephemera—sat in a safety deposit box at the bank. It’s where this stuff should’ve been, too. I kept it nearby in case my curiosity drew me back to my mother’s tale, even though I found it very disturbing.
    I removed the strongbox and unlocked it with the key I kept in the desk drawer. I’d already solved the mystery of one of the trinkets—the roll of 8mm film. There’s still the presidential campaign button, the heart-shaped locket, and the gold key. I removed the button and examined it. It was obviously from 1960, as it had the Democratic presidential candidate’s and his running mate’s faces on it. “Kennedy/Johnson” it proclaimed.
    Reaching under the folders, I grasped the third diary, the one that would have been from that year, and pulled it out.