The Secret Letters of Marilyn Monroe and Jacqueline Kennedy (13 page)

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, Florida

Martha Marshall

Parkside House

Englefield Green

Egham

Surrey

England

August 19, 1956

Dear Martha,

Yes, you are right, life is disillusioning. I am eight months pregnant, yet Jack is off on a Mediterranean cruise with his cronies. I try and console myself with all those clichés about boys being boys and so forth, but sometimes it is difficult.

A couple of days ago, I was by his side at the Democratic Convention, supporting him, shaking countless hands, and smiling a myriad of bright smiles, despite the great heat and my considerable discomfort, both with the climate and the activity. When Stevenson won, naturally, I was on hand to console Jack as well. Yet now he has left for France, and I am here, in the sweltering Palm Beach heat, waiting.

But I don’t want to bore you with my complaints and did want to say that I so admired your photograph on the cover of
Time
and that, as always, you looked lovely. At the same time, it struck me forcibly that it is probably far better for a woman to be a person in her own right, with her own career (despite such vicissitudes as Olivier), rather than merely being the frame to some man’s picture.

So Jack is off on his cruise and his own adventures. Leaving me to wait here until the baby is due. Before I end, I must say how sad I found it to learn from you that Olivier is no longer in love with Vivien Leigh. Has her beauty faded, or do you sense other reasons why he should fall out of love with her after such a grand passion? When you have time, do write and tell me all about her.

Love,

J

__________________________

On August 17, the same day as Jack lost his bid to become vice president, Marilyn chanced upon Arthur’s notebook, in which he had confided his deep disillusionment with her. Devastated, and already yearning for Jack, she sent him a distraught message, suggesting they meet in Paris, if only for one night. Unable to resist Marilyn’s charms, as well as the urgency of her plea, on August 25, Jack slipped away from his cruise and (after Marilyn flew to Paris incognito, under the alias of Zelda Green) spent one night with her at the Ritz. (See
My Summer with Marilyn
[Honolulu: Baynards Press, 1965], the memoirs of Delia Hamilton, Marilyn’s personal assistant during The Prince and the Showgirl.) In the meantime, on August 23, unbeknownst to Jack, who couldn’t be reached for a week, Jackie gave birth to a stillborn child.

Parkside House

Englefield Green

Egham

Surrey

England

Josephine Kendall

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, Florida

August 31, 1956

Dear Josephine,

I am so extremely sorry about your stillborn baby. I ran into Peter at the studio and he told me. I couldn’t stop crying when I thought of it struggling to live, then failing and dying. I feel terrible. I hope Jack does, too. He should have been by your side, instead of in Europe having fun. Whoever was with him—his
friends or whoever
—
must feel terrible. I know God probably will punish them in the end.

But I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you decided to end the marriage. I definately [
sic
] have deep doubts about mine, deeper every day. Arthur treats me as if I were even less than Eliza Doolittle was before she met Higgins. I am pregnant again
—
I wish it was Mr. G’s, but he can relax, because it can’t be
(
in Paris I took care of him
)
… and I don’t think the baby will make things better between Arthur and me. All he really loves is writing. And maybe money.

You asked me about Vivien Leigh. In a way, I wish I had never met her, because she isn’t Lady Hamilton or Scarlett at all. Maybe that sounds silly
coming from me, being an actress and knowing that it is all fake, but I do feel that way. I so wanted her to be wonderful, and she isn’t. She’s beautiful and scared, fragile and frosty. She drinks a lot
—
and why not, being married to Sir Olivier
—is
overshadowed by him, and is almost like a shadow herself.

More than anything else, she makes me terrified of growing old in this business. When we arrived here, the producer, Terrenz [
sic
]
Rattigun [
sic
] gave a party in my honor. Everyone was there, Tyrone Power (very dark and gorgeous, a bit like Gable, and if I didn’t have Arthur, and didn’t love Mr. G
…),
Margot Fonteyn, Sir John Geelgood [
sic
], Peggy Ashcroft, and Sybil Thorndike. The garden was decorated with Chinese lanterns, they served lobster, and it was lovely, except at the last minute, Vivien didn’t show up. Later, I found out that it was because her dress didn’t fit. Then on another day, she refused to pose with me for a picture. Very politely, but firmly, and I guess it was because I’m younger. I feel so sorry for her, but I can’t help wondering how I’ll feel when I’m her age, and I’m not nearly as beautiful as she is.

Arthur is at the door, I have to go. I am so sorry about the baby,

Love,

Martha

P.S.
I don’t know why Sir Olivier has fallen out of love with Vivien. I don’t think he has anyone else. And even if he did, he might still love her a little.

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, Florida

Martha Marshall

Roxbury, Connecticut

November 21, 1956

Dear Martha,

I am extremely sorry that I haven’t communicated with you recently, but life stood still for me when my baby was born dead. This may sound a trifle strange, but although my baby never saw the light of day, to me she—and it was a girl—was already a person.

All during the nine months when I was carrying her, I was constructing a dream future for her. I imagined her to grow up being a combination of Jack, my father, and me. I pictured her first smile, her first word, and all the years to come.

When the doctor told me she was dead, all feeling drained out of me.

Worst of all, Jack was not there to share my anguish.

If I have been too emotional in my sentiments, please understand. In fact, I should appreciate if, in your next letter, to which I am naturally looking forward to, you do not allude to my darkest hour. I know I must go on.

I’ve been thinking of you so much recently, particularly as Lee and I are about to go on a trip to Paris and your Mr. G lives there. Wouldn’t it be strange if we met him, without knowing it? Or Mrs. G, for that matter. Does Mr. G talk about her, or give you any clue as to her appearance or anything else about her?

Forgive me for rambling, though—I was a bit tired yesterday what
with preparing for the trip and Thanksgiving. My main reason for writing (and I have been intending to for ages, but things have been heating up in terms of Jack’s political career) is to say that I hope you and Arthur have managed to work things out and that you are happier.

If we don’t write before the end of the year, please believe me when I say that I will be wishing you a happy 1957 and that I have a strong sense that next year will be wonderful for you.

Warm regards,

J

P.S. I apologize for being somewhat cryptic as regards Jack’s career—but you will read about it soon enough, so … Spurred on by his father and the rest of the family, as well as by his own abiding ambitions, he is definitely going to make a run for the Presidency. Am still mulling over the consequences, but shall, of course, support him all the way.

444 East 57th Street

New York, New York

Josephine Kendall

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

March 17, 1957

Dear Josephine,

I am sorry not to have written before, but I’ve been really doing all I can to make things work with Arthur
—
and I think we are starting to be happy at last.

Men are so difficult to figure, aren’t they? But, of course, you know that, and I remember you saying so, in different words, when we met all that time ago in L.A. Most of everything that went wrong between Arthur and me was really my fault. I really thought that because Arthur is so much older, and so brilliant, I could depend on him for everything, that he would take care of me just like my father would have done, had I had one. But it turned out that he needs taking care of just as much as
—
and maybe more than
—
I do. So that is what I am doing, and I like it.

You asked about Mr. G and Mrs. G
—
which was so kind of you
—
but really, now that I am trying to make things work with Arthur, Mr. G isn’t on my mind much anymore. Still, to answer your questions. Mrs. G is small and doll-like and blonde (Mr. G said), with violet eyes. He once said we have similar voices, but I think he was just kidding around, and I didn’t appreciate it, because I do know that my voice is unique.

By the way, what do you think about Elizabeth Taylor marrying Mike Todd? I liked him a lot when I met him
—
remember, the pink elephant
—
and, had I not fallen for Arthur or loved Mr. G, might have gone for him myself. He certainly knows how to put on a show
—
15,000 flowers at the wedding, oceans of champagne, and mountains of caviar, they said in the papers. Elizabeth is very lucky.

So, by the way, is Brigitte Bardot. I don’t know if you’ve seen
And God Created Woman
, but I heard from Dee Dee Crawford—who did her makeup for the London premiere, where we met when I was over there
—
that Roger Vadim guides her career every step of the way. I wish Arthur was like that. I guess, though, I’ll just have to guide my own career, like I always have. Except when Mr. G gives me advice.

Speaking, I mean, writing, about careers—I’m working real hard at the Actors Studio. The other day, had to sing “I’ll Get By As Long as I Have You” to the class, and suddenly burst into tears. For a moment, I didn’t know why, but then realized it was because of Mr. G and that I don’t have him. But I do love him a lot.

I hope you don’t think I am crazy feeling that way, and that you will never ever show any of my letters to Jack. I am sure you won’t.

Take care of yourself.

Love,

M

__________________________

When Jackie received Marilyn’s letter, she wrote in her diary, “Strange letter from MM, veering between love and disdain for Arthur Miller, and harking back to ‘Mr. G’ far too often to render her avowed love for Arthur the least bit convincing. Then a bizarre plea that I not show the letter to Jack. In any event, he is far too busy and self-absorbed right now (and probably always) to pay attention to anyone or anything except politics. His true mistress … ”

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, Florida

Martha Marshall

444 East 57th Street

New York, New York

March 28, 1957

Dearest Martha,

Just a brief note to assure you that I would never dream of showing any of your letters to Jack or, indeed, discussing the contents with him or anyone else. As far as I am concerned, our correspondence is private and confidential, and you have my word.

In haste, and with great affection.

Yours,

Josephine

MR. AND MRS. ARTHUR MILLER

Stoney Hill Farm

Amagansett, New York

Jacqueline Kennedy

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

August 4,
1957

Dear Jackie,

Arthur and I want to send you our deepest sympathies on the death of your dear father, Jack Bouvier. He sounded like a wonderful man and I am only sorry that we never had the opportunity of meeting him. I am sure he was extremely proud of you and loved you very much.

In sympathy,

Marilyn and Arthur

P.S. If there is anything I can do, please let me know and I will do it.

P.P.S. Have just lost my baby. Am getting accustomed, though, to the idea I shall never be a mother. Perhaps it is for the best
—
the baby could have turned out just like me.