Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,4

of those characters who sprang to life from the pages of Damon Runyon’s short stories: there was hustler Nathan Detroit, scrounging to find a new location for his floating crap game, gambler Sky Masterson hoping to win a wager with Nathan by romancing the Salvation Army sergeant, Sarah Brown, and showgirl Miss Adelaide trying in frustration to get Nathan to the altar. Jackie loved the smooth and handsome Robert Alda as Sky, the earthy Sam Levene as Nathan, the comically winsome Vivian Blaine as Miss Adelaide, and the rousing Stubby Kaye as he led a room full of sinners in “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat.” And she thrilled when Sky whisked Sarah off to Havana for a romantic date and plied the straight-laced sergeant with “Cuban milkshakes” until she let her hair down, tipsily sang, “If I Were a Bell,” and kissed him. Unfortunately, during the cast’s curtain calls, her mood was spoiled when she looked several rows ahead and spotted Mr. Seersucker applauding vigorously along with the rest of the theatre audience.

After the musical was over, Jackie saw that she had more time to kill before she was due back at Pennsylvania Station. As she left the theatre, she looked around and was relieved to see that the anonymous-looking man was nowhere in sight on Forty-Sixth Street. She realized that she had skipped lunch and felt famished. Fortunately, there was a Schrafft’s nearby. Jackie entered the restaurant and was surprised to find it so crowded. A hostess informed her that if she wanted to eat dinner, she would have to be seated with another party. Jackie preferred to eat alone, but her stomach insisted on being fed now, so she agreed to share a table.

She was seated with a beautiful young woman whose casual clothing—sweatshirt and black slacks; probably a denizen of Greenwich Village—belied her regal carriage. Despite her bohemian appearance, this young woman was obviously used to having the best of everything, an impression that was confirmed when she opened her mouth to speak and addressed Jackie in a voice that was pure Mainline Philadelphia.

“Hello,” the young woman said.

“Hello,” Jackie responded. She sat and put her Hermès bag on the edge of the table, where she could keep her eye on it. The woman was reading a book while waiting for her meal to arrive. Jackie glanced at the title and saw it was The Philadelphia Story by Philip Barry.

“Let me guess,” Jackie said. “Tracy Lord?”

“How did you ever know?” gushed the blonde, putting down the book. “I so identify with her.”

“So do I,” Jackie concurred. “You look like you could play her.”

“Thank you. I’d love to. If they ever revive the play. Or remake the movie.”

“I’d be afraid to compete with Katharine Hepburn.”

“So would I,” the blonde confessed, after a brief hesitation.

“So you’re an actress?” Jackie asked.

“How’d you guess?”

“That’s a Samuel French edition you’re reading,” Jackie said, pointing to the printed play script with its distinct yellow cover.

“Guilty,” said the actress, laughing. “My secret is out.” Jackie noted that she even had the laugh of a true Barry heroine down pat.

“Jackie Bouvier,” said Jackie, sticking out her hand.

“Grace Kelly,” the actress said, taking it.

The waitress came, and after a brief perusal of the menu, Jackie ordered a toasted cheese sandwich, a salad with green goddess dressing, and an iced tea.

“So how’s your career going?” Jackie asked the actress.

“It’s going,” the actress replied. “I’ve done some live TV… been directed by Delbert Mann. Oh, and I have a small role in a movie called Fourteen Hours.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Jackie.

As she waited for the food to arrive, Jackie looked around and was dismayed to see Mr. Seersucker seated at a table by himself. Her heart sank at the realization that she still had to deal with him. He had lulled her into a false sense of security by not resurfacing until now. Her train of thought was derailed by a question from the actress.

“Is that an Hermès bag?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jackie said, adding with a slight twinge of paranoia, “It was a gift from my favorite uncle.”

“I’d love to have one of my own.”

“Well, maybe one of these days…”

“Yes,” the actress agreed, “when I become a famous actress.”

They both laughed over that. Their dinners came and they started eating. But Jackie could barely taste her food. All she could think about was her tail, looking so calm and collected several tables away, with a pot of steaming-hot coffee just set down in front of him. She had to