by Gill Paul
“What brings you to New York?” she asked, then bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t say that it was Mrs. Kennedy.
“Business,” he replied.
“Are you staying for long? I’m coming up for some meetings next week.” She held her breath, hoping he would suggest that they see each other.
“I will be gone by then,” he told her. “But I hope your meetings go well. Good luck with your return to the stage.”
“Good luck with your business.”
“Goodbye, Maria,” he said, and scarcely gave her a chance to say her goodbye before he hung up the phone.
She threw herself on the bed and sobbed out loud, gasping for breath. How could he be so cold? He hadn’t sounded angry. Worse than that, he had sounded like a polite acquaintance, someone she used to know long ago. And he had sounded as if he couldn’t wait to get off the phone.
When Mary returned, she took note of the swollen red eyes, the puffy face and hoarse voice and, without asking questions, enfolded Maria in a hug.
“I’m flying to Paris,” Maria told her. “You’re right: I need to start talking to directors. I need to be busy.” She quelled the frisson of panic she felt at the thought.
BACK AT AVENUE Georges Mandel, Maria helped Bruna pack all the possessions Ari had left there—his clothes, his bottle of brilliantine, the spare pairs of sunglasses, his humidor, even his old toothbrush—and dispatch them to Avenue Foch. She packed away all the photographs of him, even her favorite one of them standing hand in hand on the deck of the Christina, which she had always kept on her night table. Next she called her old voice coach and arranged an appointment. She began testing her voice, sitting at the piano to accompany herself to see what felt comfortable. She called her Paris friends to put lunch and dinner dates on the calendar, so that she could stay as busy as possible. It was an effort, and she was weighed down by sadness, but at least she knew since the phone conversation that Ari had truly gone. It didn’t make sense, but she had no choice but to accept it.
On the evening of October 16, the telephone rang and Bruna came into the salon, her tone disapproving as she said, “It’s him—Mr. Onassis.”
Maria leapt to her feet and rushed to take it in her private bathroom, waiting till Bruna had hung up the hall phone before speaking. “Hello, Ari,” she said, trying to keep her tone tranquillo.
“Maria, help me! I’m begging you!” He sounded distraught, not like himself at all.
“What’s happened?”
There was a pause. “I can’t tell you but I need you to come and save me from myself.” He generally held his drink well, but she detected a slowing of his speech and the careful diction he used when trying to disguise inebriation.
“Where are you?”
“I’m on Skorpios, but it’s all a mistake. I don’t want to be here.”
“If you don’t want to be there, then leave.” She frowned. “Get on the Christina and sail away.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “You’re the only one who can stop this happening. Please come.”
She was silent for a moment. Every fiber of her being wanted to rush to the airport and fly to him, but she mustn’t. She summoned what inner strength she could muster. “Ari, you sent me away, remember? I’m not going to come running now. If you want to see me, fly to Paris.”
“You don’t understand,” he said again. “It will be too late. Oh, hell . . .” Then he hung up abruptly and there was a whining tone on the line, followed by nothingness.
Too late for what? Maria wondered. Should she have said she would go? No, of course not. She couldn’t.
All the same, a flicker of hope was lit within her. Ari was in some kind of trouble, and he turned to her. Perhaps he would accept her invitation and travel to Paris. She had made it clear she would see him if he did. That was as far as she could go, under the circumstances.
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Mary Carter called from Dallas. “Maria, dahlin’, I need you to sit down. I have bad news.”
“What is it?” Maria’s heart lurched as she sat in the telephone chair in the hall.
“The Boston Herald announced that Ari is going to marry Mrs. Kennedy within the week. They haven’t said where. I thought you needed to know before you hear it from someone else.”
There was a ringing sound in Maria’s ears and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out. When she could gather her thoughts to speak, she breathed, “Marry? Are you sure?”
“All the TV channels are reporting it. I double-checked before calling you. I’m so sorry, honey.”
There was a stabbing pain in her diaphragm. Maria bent double. Would he marry the Kennedy woman? After all the excuses he had made not to marry her? Yes, she believed he would.
“He is a vile, evil man,” she said. Words did not seem strong enough to express her fury. “I am glad he is out of my life. She’s welcome to him.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t want you to be alone after this news.”
Maria knew Mary was a good friend, and was grateful for her concern, but she felt an urgent need to get off the phone. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything foolish. I have dozens of friends in Paris, and I have work plans I need to prepare for, so I have to go now. But . . . thank you for telling me.”
As soon as she hung up, she collapsed onto the floor and curled into a ball. It felt as if she had been hit hard over the head with a mallet and couldn’t catch her breath.
Chapter 60
Skorpios
October 19, 1968
The guests had hardly any notice, but the day before the wedding they began to arrive on Skorpios. While they got settled into their accommodations, Jackie and Ari went for a walk along the coast. The skies were overcast, and the neighboring islands were blurred in mist and fringed by gray choppy seas. They didn’t talk for a while, focusing on clambering over rocks and down needle-clad slopes, but when they came to a sheltered clearing in the woods, Ari suggested that they rest.
Jackie sat, hugging her jeans-clad knees to her chest. “I hope it won’t rain tomorrow. It seems like a bad omen,” she said, then laughed as if to imply that of course she didn’t believe in such things.
“It was sunny when I married Jack, but my daddy spoiled the day by getting too drunk the night before and not turning up to give me away. Nice, huh?”
Ari turned to her, his face serious. “We don’t have to go through with it tomorrow. We could wait awhile. Choose a sunny day next spring. I’m worried that you are still in shock from Bobby dying and you are rushing into this for the wrong reasons. I don’t want to take advantage.”
Jackie felt hysteria bubbling up. It was always there, ready to engulf her at a moment’s notice. “You don’t want to get married tomorrow?”
“It doesn’t feel right, does it? For me, the romance has been tarnished by all the negotiations with lawyers. It’s as if I am leasing an oil tanker rather than taking a new bride.” He shifted to put his arm around her shoulders. “At a spring wedding we could have orange blossom and sunshine. We would know each other better and feel more relaxed.”
“You don’t feel relaxed?” Jackie couldn’t understand what he was saying. “We can’t cancel now simply because you are not relaxed. My mother and stepfather have flown across the ocean, my children are here—and you said Lee is coming. She is, isn’t she?” Jackie hadn’t spoken to Lee directly, couldn’t face it.
“Yes, Lee and Stas are flying in later. We could still have a celebration tomorrow, but get married next year when the time feels right.”
He’s trying to back out, Jackie thought. What can I do? I can’t cope. Tears welled up and she turned her head away.
“Are you crying? Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He wrapped both arms around her, kissing her cheek, nuzzling her neck.
“I need this,” she whispered.
“But you’ve already got me. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I need to marry
you tomorrow,” she said, her voice trembling.
Ari was silent for a few moments, before saying in a low voice, “Okay. Then that’s what we will do.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Jackie slipped on the ivory lace Valentino minidress she had chosen and sat at her dressing table, winding ivory ribbons through her hair. Lee was supposed to be her matron of honor, but she had avoided being alone with Jackie since her arrival the previous evening.
The children came in, looking grown-up in their wedding outfits: seven-year-old John in a blue suit and bow tie, and ten-year-old Caroline in a white dress with tan piping.
“Where is your auntie Lee?” Jackie asked them. “Could you please ask her to come and help me?”
Her hands shook and her nerves fluttered as she waited. Several minutes passed before Lee floated in without smiling, leaving the door flung wide.
“Shut the door,” Jackie gestured. “I can’t have the groom see me before the ceremony.”
Lee slammed it so hard the noise echoed. “What did you want?”
“To see you, of course. I haven’t seen you in months. And I wondered if you could tie a ribbon right in the center back of my hair. I can’t reach.”
Lee walked over and took the ribbon Jackie was holding without a word.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this myself,” Jackie began. “It’s been . . .” Her voice trailed off as she searched for a word to describe the four months since Bobby’s funeral.
“Is that all you are sorry about? Not the fact that you knew I loved him and you went ahead and stole him. What does that say about you?” Lee tugged hard on a strand of hair and Jackie winced.
“I didn’t . . .” Jackie was flustered. “I thought your affair was over years ago. Ari told me it was just a brief fling.”
“You didn’t think to ask me, your own sister?” Lee finished tying the ribbon and walked to the window before whirling to face her. “It would have been common courtesy.”
“You didn’t ever want to talk about him. You kept changing the subject . . . and he was photographed in the papers with Maria Callas. I assumed your affair was all in the past. Is it not?”
Lee glowered. “Our affair lasted right up till last year when you started fluttering your eyelashes in his direction and he dropped me like a hot potato. Story of my life. Jackie always comes first.”
Jackie bent her head. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
Had she, though? She remembered that row on Long Island, the time she had slapped Lee. She knew then that her sister was smitten but decided it wasn’t going to work out between them and it would be better for her to get over it. And when Ari began courting her, she conveniently forgot. How could she? Lee had a point.
“And now? Would you walk away if I asked you to?” Lee answered her own question: “No, I thought not.”
“I wish you could be happy for me,” Jackie whispered. “I need this so badly.”
“What Jackie wants, Jackie gets,” Lee said, with spite in her voice. “Just be careful what you wish for, big sis.”
She strode out of the room, leaving the door flung wide.
Shortly afterward, while Jackie was still shaken by the confrontation, her mother came in and sat on the end of the bed.
“You don’t have to go through with this,” she began, in a matter-of-fact tone. “We don’t mind if you decide to pull out at this late hour. In fact, Hughdie and I think you should. We don’t trust the man. You’ll be making a big mistake if you marry him.”
Jackie stared at her in consternation. “I can’t possibly pull out, Mother. What else would I do?”
OUTSIDE, THE RAIN was persistent, the clouds dark and low. The sea was dotted with dozens of fishing boats filled with photographers and journalists, and when she stepped out of the villa she heard they were calling her name—“Jackie!” Bulbs flashed as they tried to capture long-range shots. She had hoped for peace and privacy but it seemed that was impossible, even on this remote dot on the map. How had they known the ceremony was today? Had there been a leak?
She was driven by jeep the short distance to the island’s tiny Greek Orthodox chapel and hurried inside to get out of the rain. It looked eerie in flickering candlelight, and the choking scent of incense tickled the back of her throat. Jackie looked around. Of her twenty-one wedding guests, Lee wasn’t talking to her; Ari’s children, Christina and Alexander, hated her; her mother and stepfather were horrified by the whole affair; and Teddy Kennedy had made excuses not to attend, leaving grim-faced Pat and Eunice to represent the Kennedy family. It wasn’t an auspicious start.
The black-bearded priest in long gold brocade robes was solemn as he began to recite the words of the ceremony. He said them in Greek first, then translated them into English, in a singsong chant: “Servant of God, Aristotle Onassis, is wedlocked to the servant of God, Jacqueline, in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.” He draped ribbons over their linked hands, gold rings were exchanged, they walked around the altar three times, then were pronounced man and wife—it seemed to be over in a heartbeat.
Jackie did as she was instructed, but her thoughts kept straying back to her wedding to Jack fifteen years earlier. She had been fluttery with nerves that morning, then distraught at the news that her daddy wouldn’t be able to walk her down the aisle. But when Jack grinned at her as she approached the altar, and laced his fingers through hers, she felt a powerful surge of joy. He was the focal point in any room, the person everyone wanted to impress, and she was filled with pride that he had chosen her.
When they emerged from the chapel, the journalists started calling her name again. Ari drove down to the shore to negotiate with them, and came back saying he had agreed that there would be one photo opportunity, in return for which they would be left in peace for the remainder of the day.
Jackie was horrified, but didn’t say so. She had hoped to keep this ceremony secret, but now it would be splashed across every front page worldwide.
Ari welcomed the photographers ashore as if they were invited guests, then beckoned her forward to the edge of the swimming pool, near the fountain that spilled into it. Someone held an umbrella over her head, and Ari slipped his arm around her waist. She forced her lips into a smile, then suddenly the flashbulbs went off all at once.
“Give him a kiss, Jackie!” “Smile, Jackie!” “Over here, Jackie!”: it was like the feeding frenzy when you threw crumbs for a flock of pigeons. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and run.
“Are you cold?” Ari whispered. “You’re trembling.”
He had no idea how much this kind of attention terrified her. In contrast, he seemed to relish it.
ONCE THE JOURNALISTS had left, the evening entertainment began. There was a wedding feast complete with plate smashing, and a bouzouki band playing classic Greek songs. They all formed a circle, arms on their neighbors’ shoulders, and danced the sirtaki. Ari had taught Caroline and John the steps—starting slowly and speeding up to a breakneck pace before slowing down again—and they shrieked with delight.
Jackie felt removed from it all, as if watching from behind a veil. She smiled and danced and drank from a loving cup and did all that was required of her, but the contrast with her first wedding was never far from her thoughts. She had been wildly, giddily in love with Jack, and she did not love Ari in the same way. He offered her an escape route from a life that had become intolerable, and that’s why she had gone through with it. Besides, there had been no turning back once her family arrived. There had seemed no other option. Lee’s words—Be careful what you wish for—rang in her head, but at least Ari was kind; she knew that much.
When they made love that night in the villa’s master bedroom, she found him tender and considerate. That was a relief.
After he fell asleep, she lay awake, a lump in her throat, listening to the shushing of the waves outside and the wind rattling the shutters.
This was her life now. The decision had been made, the marriage certificate signed. It was
up to her to make the best of it.
Act IV
Chapter 61
Paris
October 21, 1968
Maria examined the wedding photos on the front page of her newspaper. To her, the smiles were fake. Ari was clutching a glass of something, probably whiskey, as if he needed it to get through the day. Mrs. Kennedy looked toothy, as if someone had yelled “Say cheese!” a second earlier. She read the story, then crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor. It would be better if he had died; then she could have mourned. Instead she would have to get used to seeing pictures of them in the press: welcoming guests on the Christina or attending premières or balls. These were not as bad as the images in her imagination: Mrs. Kennedy sleeping in Ari’s bed, having massages alongside him on the Christina, and dining with him on the terrace at Skorpios that she had designed.
She felt like an invalid. Her bones ached, her head hurt, she was feverish and low, but she forced herself to socialize. The previous evening, while the wedding was under way, she had attended the première of Feydeau’s A Flea in Her Ear, starring Rex Harrison and Rachel Roberts. Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor had made a fuss over her, and afterward they’d all gone dancing at Les Ambassadeurs until the small hours. That evening she planned to go to the seventy-fifth anniversary of the opening of Maxim’s with a crowd of Parisian friends, and she would paste on a smile every bit as false as Mrs. Kennedy’s. She wanted Ari to see her picture in the papers and think she was having the time of her life. He mustn’t know that he had destroyed her.
Three days after the wedding, a bouquet of red roses was delivered to Avenue Georges Mandel. When Bruna carried it into the salon, Maria didn’t have a clue who they could be from. Richard and Elizabeth, perhaps? They were being kind.
No. The card read, “I’m sorry. I miss you. Ari.”
With a scream, Maria hurled the flowers into her fireplace. The brown paper that they were wrapped in caught fire, and flames shot out; then the stems began to crackle and steam. She tore the card in half, then tossed it on top of the fire. How dare he? She clenched her fists, trying to contain her rage.