American Tabloid - James Ellroy [88]
“Do you mean the files that Hoover has on all of you?”
Jack nodded. “I was thinking specifically of a romance I had during the war. I’ve heard that Hoover’s convinced himself that the woman was a Nazi spy.”
“Do you mean Inga Arvad?”
“That’s right.”
Kemper snatched one of Bobby’s canapes. “Mr. Hoover has that documented, yes. He bragged about it to me years ago. May I make a suggestion and clear the air about something?”
Joe nodded. Jack and Bobby pushed up to the edge of their chairs.
Kemper leaned toward them. “I’m sure Mr. Hoover knows that I went to work for the Committee. I’m sure he’s disappointed that I haven’t been in touch with him. Let me re-establish contact and tell him that I’m working for you. Let me assure him that Jack won’t replace him as FBI director if he’s elected.”
Joe nodded. Jack and Bobby nodded.
“I think it’s a smart, cautious move. And while I’ve got the floor, I’d like to bring up the Cuban issue. Eisenhower and Nixon have declared themselves anti-Castro, and I’ve been thinking that Jack should establish some anti-Fidel credentials.”
Joe fiddled with his tie pin. “Everybody’s starting to hate Castro. I don’t see Cuba as a partisan issue.”
Jack said, “Dad’s right. But I’ve been thinking that I might send some Marines down if I’m elected.”
Joe said, “When you’re elected.”
“Right. I’ll send some Marines down to liberate the whorehouses. Kemper can lead the troops. I’ll have him establish a spearhead in Havana.”
Joe winked. “Don’t forget your spear, Kemper.”
“I won’t. And seriously, I’ll keep you posted on the Cuban front. I know some ex-FBI men with good anti-Castro intelligence.”
Bobby brushed hair off his forehead. “Speaking of FBI men, how’s the Phantom?”
“In a word, he’s persistent. He’s chasing those Pension Fund books, but he’s not making much headway.”
“He’s starting to impress me as pathetic.”
“Believe me, he’s not.”
“Can I meet him?”
“Not until he retires. He’s afraid of Mr. Hoover.”
Joe said, “We all are.”
Everybody laughed.
The St. Regis was a slightly downscale Carlyle. Kemper’s suite was a third the size of the Kennedys’. He kept a room at a modest hotel in the West 40s—Jack and Bobby contacted him there.
It was stifling hot outside. The suite was a perfect 68 degrees.
Kemper wrote a note to Mr. Hoover. He said, It’s confirmed—if elected, Jack Kennedy won’t fire you. He played a game of Devil’s Advocate next—his standard post-Kennedy-conference ritual.
Doubters questioned his travels. Doubters questioned his complex allegiances.
He sprang logical traps on himself and evaded them brilliantly.
He was seeing Laura tonight—for dinner and a recital at Carnegie Hall. She’d ridicule the pianist’s style and practice his showstopper piece endlessly. It was the Kennedy quintessence: Compete, but don’t go public unless you can win. Laura was half-Kennedy and a woman—she possessed competitive spirit but no family sanction. Her half-sisters married skirt chasers and stayed faithful; Laura had affairs. Laura said Joe loved his girls but deep down considered them niggers.
He’d been with Laura for seven months now. The Kennedys had no inkling of the liaison. When an engagement was formalized, he’d tell them.
They would be shocked, then relieved. They considered him trustworthy and knew that he kept things compartmentalized.
Laura loved ballsy men and the arts. She was a solitary woman—with no real friends except Lenny Sands. She exemplified the pervasive Kennedy orbit: A mobbed-up lounge lizard gave Jack speech lessons and forged a bond with his half-sister.
That bond was borderline scary. Lenny might tell Laura things. Lenny might tell her grisly stories.
Laura never mentioned Lenny—despite the fact that he facilitated their meeting.
She probably talked to Lenny long-distance.
Lenny was volatile. An angry or frightened Lenny might say:
Mr. Boyd made Mr. Littell hit me. Mr. Boyd and Mr. Littell are nasty extortionists. Mr. Boyd got me my