The Black Stiletto by Raymond Benson Page B

were born. I loved him.” She then turned her head back to the blank television set and stopped speaking. The conversation, such as it was, was over.
    I guess I needed to read more of the diary.

8
Judy’s Diary
1958
    Dear diary, I fell in love for the first time shortly after my nineteenth birthday.
    With a gangster.
    Ever since the attack on the street, I’d been hounding Freddie to find me someone who could teach me how to wield a knife. I don’t know why, but I was fascinated by the weapon. Sleek, flat steel with a sharp edge, shiny, silent, beautiful. Maybe it was because I’d been cut by one. I have no idea. All I know is I started looking in shop windows at displays of knives. I’d go inside and ask to see them—combat knives, hunting knives, stilettos, folding knives, sliding blades, Bowie knives, switchblades, and even Swiss Army knives. I loved the feel of the handles in my hand. It just felt right. Mind you, my intention was not to kill anyone. I wanted to learn how to use a knife simply because I found it—sexy. There, I said it. There was something about the concept of a knife, that it could pierce flesh so easily and draw blood. That sounds icky, I know, and it wasn’t really anything I looked forward to actually doing. I honestly hoped I’d never have to use one in self-defense. I just wanted to know how.
    It was around Thanksgiving when Freddie finally relented. We were sitting in the common living room upstairs above the gym. He had recently bought a television and we liked to watch I Love Lucy and The Honeymooners together. They made us laugh.One of the first things we saw on the new set was the Ed Sullivan Show when Elvis Presley was on. I went crazy. I loved Elvis and still do. I can’t get enough of him. Freddie couldn’t stand him, but I bought a little portable record player and, when I could, I bought some of Elvis’s records and played them in my room. I guess I liked that new rock and roll music. I wore out my copy of Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock.”
    Anyway, I’d been bugging Freddie some more about knife fighting, and he said, “Back when I was boxing, I knew some of the mob. There was this young guy, an Italian, naturally, who was real good with a knife. I didn’t know him very well, but he was one of the few fellas in that bunch of weasels who was nice to me. He was friendly. I mean, he was probably a killer. He was in the Mafia and he was an expert with blades. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”
    “When can I meet him?” I asked.
    “I don’t know, Judy. He’s dangerous. That whole group is dangerous. It’s best to stay away from ‘em.”
    “I’m not afraid. When can I meet him?”
    Freddie agonized over this for days. I kept pestering him until he finally set it up. We’d meet his “friend” at a restaurant shortly before Christmas.
    When the evening finally arrived, I did my best to look good. By then, I’d saved some money and started actually buying nice women’s clothing. Lucy and I had gone out a few times to some nightclubs like Jack Dempsey’s and the Copacabana. It was fun to see how men reacted when I dolled myself up. Lucy had given me some makeup tips, which was something I’d never learned prior to that. She told me to buy Maybelline mascara and taught me how to apply it, so I guess I looked pretty good.
    Anyway, Freddie and I splurged and took a cab down to Fulton Street for the appointment. The restaurant was a really old fancy place called Gage & Tollner’s, an establishment that hadbeen around since before 1900. They still had gas lamps. It was dreamy.
    When I first saw Fiorello, I swear my heart skipped a beat. That was his name—Fiorello Bonacini. He was in his twenties—later I’d find out he was twenty-seven. Fiorello had wavy black hair that reminded me of Elvis Presley, amazing blue eyes that penetrated my own—like knives —and the kindest smile. When Freddie introduced me to him, I immediately expected