Strangers in the Night

Dinner with the Devil

Jacqueline Bouvier slipped into her disguise with practiced ease. The platinum blonde wig transformed her signature dark hair into something strikingly different, a sharp contrast to the elegant, poised woman the world knew her as. Tonight, she wasn't Jacqueline—the sophisticated socialite with her soft, lilting voice. Tonight, she was Monica, the sharp-edged femme fatale who moved through the shadows of Washington's underworld.

And she had a date with Alan Cummings, the man planning to assassinate President John F. Kennedy—who also happened to be her lover.

She checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. Red lips, smoky eyes, and a dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Monica was seductive, bold, and dangerous—everything Jacqueline wasn't in public. But behind those piercing eyes, she remained the same calculating woman, always thinking two steps ahead.

Alan didn't know that the woman he adored—Monica—was the same woman being courted by the President of the United States. If he ever found out, he'd kill her without hesitation. But Jacqueline had learned to balance the duality of her life, walking the tightrope between Alan's world of conspirators and JFK's dazzling political orbit. She played both sides with deadly precision, knowing one wrong move could bring it all crashing down and be the end as she knew it.

She arrived at the private club in Georgetown, a dimly lit den of power and privilege where Washington's elite met to drink, scheme, and whisper secrets. Alan was waiting for her in a secluded booth at the back, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He was always on edge these days, driven by his obsession with revenge. The Bay of Pigs disaster had turned him into a man consumed by hatred for Kennedy—a hatred Jacqueline expertly fed as Monica.

"Monica," Alan greeted her, his voice low. He stood to kiss her, his lips brushing her cheek with possessive warmth. His hand lingered on the small of her back as she slid into the booth. "You're late."

Jacqueline—Monica—smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know I like to keep you waiting."

Alan smirked, though his eyes remained cold. He poured her a glass of wine, his hands surprisingly steady for a man planning murder. They both knew why they were here, but as always, there was a pretense of civility before the darker topics arose.

Alan watched her as she took a sip, his gaze appreciative but calculating. She could see the wheels turning in his head. He saw Monica as his prize, his trusted confidante, a woman with connections who could move through Washington's circles unseen. But he didn't realize just how deeply she was embedded.

"You've been quiet lately," Alan said after a beat. "I haven't heard from you since our last meeting."

Monica tilted her head, her voice playful. "You make it sound like I'm avoiding you."

"Aren't you?"

She laughed, a soft, throaty sound that drew his attention back to her lips. "I've just been careful. You know the stakes are high, Alan."

Alan leaned in, lowering his voice. "The others are getting impatient. Kennedy's getting bolder, and they want action."

Her eyes flickered for a moment, taking note of the urgency in his voice. The others, the shadowy group Alan belonged to, were growing restless. They had trusted Monica with key pieces of their plot, believing her to be aligned with their desire for vengeance. They didn't know she was passing everything to her friends in the FBI.

Jacqueline's relationship with Kennedy was more than a passing dalliance—it was a complicated dance of passion and politics. She cared for him deeply, but she also understood the fragility of power. He needed her in ways he didn't even realize, and she was determined to keep him safe, even from the dangers he was blind to. The irony of playing both sides wasn't lost on her.

She leaned back in her seat, her fingers lazily tracing the rim of her wine glass. "I understand the impatience. But something this big takes time. We can't afford mistakes."

Alan's eyes narrowed. "You've said that before. We need someone on the inside, Monica. We need you."

She let the moment hang between them, knowing exactly what he was asking for. Alan and his group wanted her closer to Kennedy—much closer. They saw Monica as their golden ticket, a woman who could slip into places they couldn't reach. Jacqueline had already placed herself in Kennedy's orbit through charm, wit, and, yes, seduction. But what Alan didn't know was that she was already inside, far deeper than he could imagine.

"I can get closer," she said softly, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "But it won't be easy. He's surrounded by security now, and he's careful after the Cuban debacle."

Alan leaned forward, the intensity in his eyes unmistakable. "You're the only one who can do it. We're running out of time. Every day he's in office, he's a threat to everything we've worked for. We can't let him get comfortable."

Jacqueline knew this was the moment to feed Alan just enough hope to keep him in line. She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Trust me. When the time comes, I'll be ready."

His hand gripped her wrist, his fingers tight enough to hurt, though she didn't flinch. He searched her eyes, trying to gauge her sincerity, but Monica never gave anything away. Jackie's parents had gone through a nasty divorce when she was little. She had learned long ago how to mask her true feelings, to play the role perfectly.

"You'd better be," he said, releasing her. His gaze softened, turning back to something resembling affection. "I need you, Monica. We all do."

She smiled, letting the moment linger. "I know."

For the rest of the night, they talked in circles, Alan venting his anger about Kennedy's latest political moves, while Jacqueline reassured him that everything was falling into place. Inside, she was mentally cataloging every piece of information, ready to relay it to her boys in suits.

As the evening came to an end, Alan walked her to her car, his arm possessively around her waist. "You'll call me when you have something?"

She smiled up at him, her dark piercing eyes glinting beneath the streetlights. "Of course."

He kissed her, a hard, hungry kiss that reminded Jacqueline just how dangerous this game had become. When she finally pulled away, she flashed him a seductive smile and slipped into the driver's seat of her car.

As she drove off into the night, Jacqueline's mind was already working. Alan's group was getting closer, and the clock was ticking. She needed to buy more time—time to unravel their plot from the inside while keeping her relationship with Kennedy hidden.

But Jackie Bouvier was nothing if not resourceful. And as long as she could keep playing both sides, she would.

For now, she was still Monica. But the moment would come when Jackie would have to reveal her hand—and when that happened, the real game would begin.