The Secret Letters of Marilyn Monroe and Jacqueline Kennedy (14 page)

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, Florida

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Miller

Stoney Hill Farm

Amagansett, New York

August 10, 1957

Dear Martha,

How like you to think of me amid your own sorrow! I understand only too well what you must have gone through, and you have my sympathy. I was sad, too, to read your emotions regarding your own fitness for motherhood. With your kind heart and loving nature, I think you would make a wonderful mother, and I am sure, when the time is right, you will have the opportunity you so richly deserve.

Since the death of my father, for which I suppose I should have been prepared but which, strange as it may sound, took me entirely by surprise, I have been reflecting on my life and remembering my childhood.

I find that my father’s death has affected me in the same manner as an earthquake. For despite his unconventional behavior vis à vis women, my father was the best person in my life, the strongest influence I have ever known, and I don’t think anyone will ever love me that way again, or I them. He was the wisest, kindest, most intelligent man I ever knew and no one, not even Jack, will ever live up to him. Except, of course, in one particular area, in which we both know Jack outstrips my father, and every other man: his sexual insatiability and virtually unlimited capacity for infidelity.

But enough of that—I despise self-pity and, close as we are, Martha, do not wish to inflict it on you. I must admit, though, that this has been the most difficult time of my life. Ironically, it began the day before my birthday, when my father checked into Lenox Hill for a series of routine tests.

Initially, they revealed nothing. I, of course, had flown up to see him but, thinking that he was in the clear, returned to Hammersmith Farm to celebrate my birthday with my mother, who (even at a time in which my father’s health appeared to be in jeopardy) still found herself unable to jettison her deep and abiding bitterness regarding him. An example to me, if ever I saw one …

In any event, I relaxed into my habitual blithe mode of existence at Hammersmith (reverting, I suppose, to my youth in that serene and peaceful environment which is so familiar and so dear to me) when, on August 3, I received word that my father had lapsed into a coma.

Although Jack and I rushed there, posthaste, we arrived at the hospital too late and I never saw my father alive again. Consequently, I had no opportunity to say good-bye to him. In retrospect, however, I think it was worse for Lee, who only arrived from Italy in time for the funeral.

I never saw her cry, of course, nor she me—as both of us were drilled, from an early age, not to display our emotions. Instead, I cried in private, then resolved to create a funeral worthy of my father’s memory, one that reflected his intense love for life.

It was held at St. Patrick’s, and his coffin, according to my instructions, was garlanded with daisies and cornflowers, all reminiscent of the flora at Lasata, the Long Island home where we shared so many idyllic and happy days together.

Lest I bore you with my somewhat maudlin sentiments, I shall now attempt to amuse you with the following. No fewer than eight of my father’s paramours were present at his funeral, all perfectly coiffed—as he would have wished it—all weeping profusely, all convinced that
they were the alpha and omega of his desires. I must, at this point, confess that one of them—Mimi Formosa—the Texan oil field billionairess who was one of my father’s many last loves—actually made me laugh when she had the effrontery to whisper to me, “Honey, tell your kids that their granddaddy was the very best in bed. I should know. After Black Jack, no other man will do. … “ A fitting epitaph, don’t you think???

I do have some other news, Martha, news which I feel somewhat tentative in imparting to you but, aware as I am of your good heart and the kind impulses which you have always manifested toward me, feel that, in the interests of being honest, I must share. I am, once more, pregnant. Whether or not I carry the child to term is, of course, with my track record, another subject. However, I can only pray that God, having taken from me the person whom I loved most in the world, will now be compassionate and give to me another human being to love.

I apologize for my meanderings, but know that you will understand.

With my love,

Josephine

MR. AND MRS. ARTHUR MILLER

444 East 57th Street

New York, New York

Senator and Wits. John F. Kennedy

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

November 28, 1957

Dear Jackie and Jack,

Arthur and I are thrilled to learn about the birth of Caroline. We
wish you all a great deal of happiness.

Love,

Marilyn and Arthur

S
ENATOR AND
M
RS
. J
OHN
F. K
ENNEDY

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Miller

444 East 57th Street

New York, New York

January 2, 1958

Dear Marilyn and Arthur,

Jack and I just adore the beautiful christening robe which you sent us upon the birth of our daughter, Caroline. The lace and the work is exquisite and we shall always treasure it.

We both enjoyed
Bus Stop
immensely and look forward to your next movie with great anticipation.

Warm regards,

Jackie and Jack

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

Martha Marshall

444 East 57th Street

New York, New York

March 26, 1958

Dear Martha,

The moment I heard about Mike Todd’s tragic death in a plane crash (what fate that Elizabeth was sick and couldn’t travel with him at the last moment) I wanted to express my condolence. I know how much you admired him.

I don’t know how Elizabeth will go on without the love and support of such a man. I feel deeply sorry for her, don’t you?

Thinking of you during this sad time.

Love, as ever,

Josephine

The Beverly Hills Hotel

Josephine Kendall

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

August 3, 1958

Dear Josephine,

I feel really guilty telling you this, but I probably don’t have as much sympathy for Elizabeth as I should have.
*
It’s just that she has always been so lucky, you know, born rich, always loved, praised for her acting, and having such great men in her life.

But I shouldn’t complain
—
and have been feeling a bit brighter, though a little scared, because I am starting a new film tomorrow,
Some Like It Hot
, with Billy Wilder, who did so well for me with
The Seven Year Itch
. So maybe this time I’ll be lucky as well. …

Hope you are having a happy summer.

Lots of love,

Martha

__________________________

*
Throughout her career, Marilyn always felt inferior to Elizabeth Taylor, standing in awe of Taylor’s English background., her voice, her refined manner, and consequently was extremely jealous of her.

In later years, when Marilyn heard that Taylor was getting a million dollars to make
Cleopatra,
she was outraged. What bothered her most was that Taylor’s huge fee was coming from Marilyn’s own studio, Twentieth Century-Fox. Marilyn received only a hundred thousand dollars a picture. According to Lena Pepitone, “It seemed like a fortune to me, but to Marilyn, it now seemed like nothing. She was insulted. Was she only one-tenth as valuable as Elizabeth Taylor?”

Jackie’s letter in response to this one from Marilyn is unaccountably missing from the correspondence.

444 East 57th Street

New York, New York

Josephine Kendall

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

December 16, 1958

Dear Josephine,

I know I haven’t written for the longest time, but I have been dividing my time between the movie
—
Hot
—
and working at being Arthur’s wife
—
the more difficult of the two jobs. … I’ve even been trying to cook
—
although he can’t stomach the pasta dishes I learned from Joe’s mother
—
and encouraging him while he writes a brilliant
—
I think
—
new script for me called
The Misfits
. I hate the title, but Arthur says I am projecting. Only I think he is.

The
Time
spread on you and Jack was lovely, you seem
so
happy together
—
I
mean, you look it and being a father has obviously changed Jack a great deal. I am glad. Congratulations on Caroline. She looks just like Jack and is beautiful like you.

I also saw you and your mother-in-law, Rose Kennedy, on a TV show. She must be really interesting
—
she’d have to be very tough, to survive him
—
Joe Kennedy, I mean. And all those children. What is she really like?

Speaking about what people are like, I’ve always wanted to ask you if you knew anything about the Duchess of Windsor and what tricks she used
to
make the Duke give up all of England just for her. I’d love to know
—
specially as I can’t even get Mr. G
to
answer my messages, never mind give up a country for me
—
only, of course, he doesn’t have a country to give up, just an insurance company. At least Arthur is a writer.

Lots of love,

M

3307 N Street

Washington, D.C.

Martha Marshall

444 East 57th Street

New York, New York

January 18, 1959

Dear Martha,

I was delighted to hear from you. Thank you for asking about Caroline. She is a good baby, but I am determined not to sink into motherhood and stagnate. For no matter how much she touches my heart, I know that the role of mother is one which often diminishes a woman—something which, dear Martha, you must always bear in mind when you have regrets that you do not, at the moment, have a child—in terms of her feminine allure.

In that spirit, rather than enthusing interminably—as so many women are prone to do—about the baby, I shall answer the questions in your last letter as honestly as possible and shall, in the bargain, enjoy doing so—thus reminding myself of the larger, more glittering world beyond my current new role.

First, the Duchess of Windsor. To be perfectly frank, I know more about the lady than one might wish—all of it deliciously titillating. The source is one Bridget Maria Collins—a former maid of my mother’s whose identity I do not find it necessary to conceal from you. First, because we trust one another. Second, because she was found to have stolen a garnet and pearl broach from my mother and summarily dismissed from service.

That said, I believe that her story about the Duchess can be believed implicitly—as others have whispered similar stories to me as well. In any event, Bridget M—who, I almost forgot to mention, before becoming employed by my mother worked for many years for the Duchess—claims that the Duke’s entire demeanor when in private with her speaks of his regret at having relinquished his throne for her.

So that while he does not, in the course of their many and virulent arguments, reproach her with the recrimination “To think what I gave up for you,” he continually exhibits an attitude toward her which speaks volumes.

During the day, that is. In daylight hours, he requires her to curtsey to him, treats her dismissively, and regularly criticizes the (I think) somewhat contrived appearance she strains to create. One epithet BM heard him hurl at her was “Wallis, you can buy a million couture gowns and have a thousand face-lifts, but as far as I am concerned, all you will ever emanate is the allure of a rotting chicken wing.”

Yet at night, things change dramatically. Bridget M heard the Duke repeatedly address the Duchess as “Nanny,” and the villa often echoed with his pitiful wails as she chastised him. All in all, a classic example of the well-known English vice and perhaps an answer to your question regarding the tricks by which the Duchess succeeded in enslaving the Duke. All of which reminds me of one of my father’s time-honored maxims: “Once you have a man’s perversions, you have that man.” In any event, I thought you might find the story diverting. Tragic, yet fascinating, don’t you think??

Which brings me to my mother-in-law, the celestial Rose Kennedy. One day, in the far distant future, I imagine I could well be in her place, and a mother-in-law. That awareness should, I know, cause me to temper my remarks. However, two months here in Palm Beach, in close and constant proximity to her, has not enhanced our relationship remotely.

You may know from my father-in-law that Mrs. Kennedy, while
matriarchal on the surface and fearsomely well organized—each child’s illnesses, problems, and preferences are catalogued on an index card—a feat, given the number of children involved—and though she has borne tragedy (the loss of two of her children to death and one to illness) bravely, in reality, is far from saintly.

Her coldness to Jack, her rejection of him as a child, her constant forays to Paris to view the collections (trips which I, of course, understand and cannot, in truth, afford to condemn) left him feeling lonely and unloved. The result, I firmly believe, was to entrench within him a steely resolve never to put his heart or his trust into the hands of one woman alone. Hence the infidelity. For which, perhaps, I blame my mother-in-law. Easier, of course, than constantly blaming Jack, and, perhaps, a contrivance on my part.

That said, my mother-in-law and I do, even now, engage in a subterranean battle of wills. Jack and I have our own suite of rooms in the compound, and during the time in which we are absent, my mother-in-law is prone to moving the furniture around to her satisfaction. Whereupon I, on arriving, move it back. Only to find it in Mrs. Kennedy’s preferred position on my return. All of which is only the tip of the iceberg.

I have to confess, though, that I am being a trifle unfair. Without wishing to reproach you in any way (for I know he is an attractive and beguiling man), the fact of Joe Sr.’s philandering does try her [Rose Kennedy] sorely
*
So perhaps she should be forgiven for her petty manipulations.

I hear Jack’s voice and must seal this letter and mail it quickly. For no matter how much his mother has hurt him, he would protect her—and her image—to the death and would not look kindly on my words.

With my love,

J

__________________________

*
Dr. Joseph Brandt’s widow, Ida Brandt, has graciously granted the editor access to tapes of Marilyn’s therapy sessions, recorded with her consent by Brandt and hitherto not made public. When Marilyn received Jackie’s letter, she was elated. Two hours later, she kept her appointment with Dr. Brandt, whose transcripts from the taped session include the following dialogue, starting with Marilyn’s comments: “See, Joseph, I’ve really got her now. If he saw this, he’d kill her. Or, better still, leave her.” “So, Marilyn, what are you going to do with the letter?” “What do you think I should do, Joseph?” “You know better than that, Marilyn … don’t throw the question back at me.” (Long silence on the tape.) “Well, I guess I’ll look like a bitch if I show it to him. And then I’ll have to explain.” (Change in voice.) “But I want to do the right thing by her. I’ve hurt her enough so far, even though she doesn’t know it, and she’s been good and kind to me, so I won’t show it to him.” (Further silence.) “And I do owe her because now that I know about Jack and his mother, when I do see him, I’ll give him what he needs. And then we’ll see. …” Then, in a different voice, she went on: “She still thinks Joe Kennedy is having an affair with me. I’d really like to set her straight, but then I think it isn’t a bad idea she thinks I am, because maybe if she does, Jack might as well, which ought to get him hot, because he always wants to beat his father at everything. Also, maybe it stops her guessing about Jack and me and I’m glad. I’d die if she knew. I’d feel bad, real bad, if she did—and Jack would kill me.”

The day after mailing this letter to Marilyn, Jackie wrote in her diary, “I am absolutely appalled at my own indiscretion regarding Rose. But my depression at the alien status accorded to me in this rough-and-tumble household, coupled with my loneliness, cause me to write an extremely graphic letter to MM about my mother-in-law. My frankness was, I know, also partly prompted by my guilt at having a child and MM being barren. I wanted to amuse and divert her, and in the throes of such ‘noble’ emotions, went overboard. I feel mortified, am inclined to ask her to return the letter to me, but know full well that doing so would only alert her to the value of my indiscretions. Then again, perhaps my fears are groundless. Her own letters, all of which I have retained, contain a great deal of information which I am sure she would not wish made public. Nonetheless, when the moment is right, much as I am entertained by our correspondence, and genuinely do care for her, and am intrigued by her adventures and her universe, I shall attempt to draw her out on what I understand, via Jack (although how he knows this, I can’t imagine), to be her lurid past as a call girl. A letter on that subject will, I know, be my safeguard against any revelations she might, in future, consider making regarding my own indiscretions.”