The Blonde by Anna Godbersen

we think this man is going to be the next president of theUnited States.”
    “Uh-huh …” She curled in around her drink, closing her eyes. So that was it—they wanted to bring down a politician with a little sex scandal. And what did she care? After the lies Wilder had spread about her, who knew whether she’d work again. This was Alexei’s game, and he knew how to play—that Jack Kennedy was a womanizer, and she was perfect bait. Perhaps he had only underestimated Jack’s appetites, didn’t realize they would have met already. “How’ll I ever know which one he is?” she asked, in false ingénue.
    “He’s handsome, and a good talker, and I don’t think you’ll have trouble spotting him. But my guess is he’ll find you.”
    “Yeah, well.” She shifted in the chair, eyed the decanter. “I’ve already met him. In the elevator. Saw me in the lobby, I guess, and followed me.”
    On the other end of the line, Alexei chuckled. “You see, my dear? That’s precisely why we picked you.”
    “You didn’t think I knew who John Kennedy was? His little brother was with McCarthy, you know. They invited Arthur over for their little committee—Arthur hates those boys. You must think I’m pretty slow.”
    “My dear, don’t talk that way. Of course I don’t think you’re slow. I only wanted you to meet naturally, as I knew you would if you were staying in the same hotel at the same time….”
    “Anyway,” she went on, standing up and moving across the floor with the telephone in one hand, scotch in the other, the receiver tucked between ear and shoulder. “This bit you did get right—he is going to be at the Pump Room. He told me he hoped to see me there.”
    “Good. Good. Go there tonight, get to know him a little. Don’t fall in love with him, though—he’s said to be quite charming.”
    “Don’t worry about that. I can’t fall in love.” Was it true? She’d never said anything like that before, but it sounded right, and suddenly all the romantic disturbances with which she’d filled her years seemed like irrefutable proof.“Anyway, what do you want me to do to him?”
    “That, my dear, is entirely up to you. The important thing is I want you to get something out of him. A secret.”
    “Like what? You want to know whether or not your Senator Kennedy has a big dick?”
    This time the amusement was fainter, just an exhalation. “That I know already. No, whatever it is, you’re going to have to tell me.”
    The mirror opposite the bed was framed in gilt flourishes, and she regarded herself, listening to the faraway sound of Alexei breathing. Her full, uptilting breasts, the swelling of the abdomen like something from a Rembrandt painting, the whiteness of the flesh. In the flesh , Jack had said. Her mind was bright—she hadn’t imagined they’d meet again, but now she was excited to see him, to put Alexei’s scheme in motion, to see what she could learn. She only wished she wasn’t quite so heavy at the moment, but that never mattered once she was playing a part; and anyway, there was lots of time to make herself up. She was practically a genius at that by now.
    “N.J.?”
    “I’m here.”
    “I’ll find you again soon. Don’t drink too much; I want you to remember as much as you can.” He paused, and for a moment she thought the line had disengaged. But then he went on, softly: “And do take care of yourself, all right?”

FIVE
    Chicago, March 1959
    EVEN in the early days, when she was so intimidated by pretty much everybody including the catering people that she was mostly mute around them, her eyes had been her friends. They had always known how to return a gaze; words sometimes failed her, but she didn’t shrink in that way. One prolonged look, and she could tell the story of all the carnal possibilities. She could make love with her eyes. Jack, it seemed, had the same talent. Besides her, he was the shiniest object in the room—he wore clothes the way she wore clothes; they