Secrets & Lies by Raymond Benson

Author:Raymond Benson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2014-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

26

Judy’s Diary

1961

JUNE 28, 1961

Interesting evening tonight! I didn’t have to work at Flickers, so I went out as the Stiletto again.

My appearance on Hollywood Boulevard on Saturday caused a bit of a stir. Several photos of me were in the newspapers. One headline posed the question, “Is This the Real Black Stiletto?” The eyewitnesses at Grauman’s couldn’t make up their minds. Some of them thought I was the real McCoy, while others were convinced I was just a copycat with Tinseltown stunt experience. The liquor store robbery was reported, too, and the owner told police that the Black Stiletto foiled the crime. The police were befuddled as to how a woman in a disguise had managed to disarm and immobilize the two thieves. So there was a lot of speculation about the “masked vigilante.”

Now I wanted to prove I was the real deal.

I went out around 9:00 in my trench coat—I must look a little weird wearing a coat in the middle of summer in L.A.!—with my outfit underneath. This time I walked down Highland to Hollywood Blvd. but kept going south to Sunset. It’s a nice walk. I passed Hollywood High School on my right. I heard the list of alumni includes such celebrities as Lon Chaney Jr., Johnny Crawford, who I currently watch on The Rifleman, Judy Garland, Lana Turner, Mickey Rooney, Ricky and David Nelson, Alan Ladd, and a bunch more I can’t remember. It was across the street from the school that I found a dark spot where I could make my transformation.

When I hit Sunset Boulevard in full regalia, I nearly stopped traffic. Like the avenues in New York, Sunset is very busy. It’s one of the main drags through Hollywood, and besides hotels and shops, there are a lot of nightclubs. Most of the fancy places are farther west on “the Strip,” but I found myself in the midst of a lot of activity. People on the sidewalk did double takes and pointed at me. So as not to attract a crowd, I began sprinting toward the Strip. I even ran by a policeman. He actually smiled and gave me a wave. He, too, must have figured I was just a Hollywood weirdo. Well, by the time I got to La Brea, I needed to stop and rest. I was out of breath. So far I hadn’t seen any crimes in progress, and I didn’t think I would on such an active street, so I turned around and headed east. Before long, I was back at Highland. I figured the night was a bust, so I started to head home—but then something drew me to make a right turn on Selma. I thought I saw a trio of Negroes who were nervously looking around. Were they up to no good? I decided to follow them.

Nothing happened, though. When they got to Cherokee Avenue, they simply got inside a car that was parked on the curb and drove away. Oh, well, I thought. Maybe in the future I’ll get in my car and drive to a completely different section of L.

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