The Secret Letters of Marilyn Monroe and Jacqueline Kennedy (19 page)

882 North Doheny Drive

Beverly Hills, California

Josephine Kendall

The White House

March 20, 1961

Dear Josephine,

I am so flattered that you have asked for my advice, and will do my best to give it to you. First of all, be prepared that when the press conference is over, your ears will be ringing
—
because being with all those female journalists, with their high-pitched voices all chattering at once, is like being stuck in a cage with a thousand squealing starlings. As for the flashbulbs, all popping at you from every
direction, sometimes you feel like you are going blind.

The important thing is to talk to yourself beforehand and say this: “Even though most of them are vile and ugly and, no matter what I say, are going to write mean and unkind things about me, in the end, so long as they spell my name right, I’ll get the best of them. “ Sometimes, before I see them, I picture myself as a queen in a parade, and them as little dogs, all yapping at my ankles. Because, in the end, no matter what they write about me,
they
are writing about
me
. I’m not writing about
them
. They aren’t important enough and the more they write about me, the more famous and important I’ll become.

You have to prepare yourself, though, Jackie, that when one of those unfair articles about you hits the press, everyone you know will call up, saying how sorry they are, but no one will ever call you if and when fair and
kind articles are published about you.
for
years, I kept saying to myself, “How strange. Everyone always gets to see the bad stones, but they never get to see the good ones.” I felt that way for ages, until a good friend (Mr. G, actually) said to me, “Sometimes you really are a dumb blonde, Marilyn. Don’t you realize that everyone
sees
every single article about you but only ever bothers to call about the bad ones? Human nature.” I always wonder why the expression “human nature” is applied only to the dreadful side of people, don’t you?

In the end, you just have to assume that everyone has read the good articles as well as the bad, but mention only the bad ones because they are jealous. When I get mad or upset about their jealousy, I give myself a good shaking
—
not really, of course, but in my mind
—
and say. “If you don’t want them to be jealous, Marilyn, give up being a star and move to Podunk and be a housewife instead.” Then I end up feeling OK.

Of course, you are in a different position, Jackie, because you didn’t choose the spotlight. But there must be some good things about being married to the President and you must be proud
—
specially when he does the right thing like he did this week, in creating the Peace Corps
.
If I had a child, I would want him or her to join it. I think it is wonderful and you can tell Jack I said so, if you want.

Another thing to remember, before I forget, when you talk to the press, is that no matter what you say, their minds are already made up and they will probably write what they want about you anyway. If I can, and if the studio lets me, I try not to talk to them at all. Or I request male journalists, who are always much nicer than female ones. In fact, I have a little group of male journalists whom I trust and who are generally nice to me. You might want to pick a group of your own who are nice and trustworthy as well. I think that would help. And if you do have to see the hags, just be polite and say as little as possible.

To
answer your question about Elizabeth. I think she is really lucky to
have Richard Burton, because he really is supposed to be the ultimate stud who really knows how to make a woman happy in bed.
*
Only the first time, he didn’t make love to Elizabeth in bed at all. Francesca Le Frenais, one of the makeup artists at Fox who is working on Cleopatra with Elizabeth and Richard, called Patty, my beautician, and told her that Burton first made love to Liz on the backseat of George Cukor’s Cadillac on the back lot. Apparently Elizabeth screamed so loud that Burton had to honk the horn to stop everyone from hearing. I feel sorry for Sybil, though, because Elizabeth and Richard are so unkind to her that they even French kiss right in front of her. I would never do that to Mrs. G. First of all, because I don’t know her. Second, because I wouldn’t. Thank you again for asking for my advice. I hope it helps.

Love,

Martha

—Richard Burton to Wendy Leigh in
What Makes a Man G.I.B.
(New York: NAL, 1979)

__________________________

*
”In bed you must love a woman as if you were blind and your hands were reading Braille. You must learn her body as you think a great musician would orchestrate a Divine theme. You must use everything you possess—your hands, your fingers, your speech—seductively, poetically, sometimes brutally, but always with a demoniacal passion.”

THE WHITE HOUSE

Martha Marshall

882 North Doheny Drive

Beverly Hills, California

April 11, 1961

Dear Martha,

Thank you for your stellar advice. Thanks to you, the press lunch wasn’t such agony after all. You were right, of course, about the ringing in my ears afterwards. Fortunately, no one can ever accuse either of us of creating such a cacophony … as we both have soft and gentle voices.

On the subject of soft and gentle, I also feel sorry for Sybil. Not really for Eddie, though, because I think he took advantage of Elizabeth’s loneliness after she lost Mike Todd. On the other hand, I can understand her turning to Eddie after she lost Mike. It seems natural to me that after you lose the love of your life, you turn to the man closest to him for love and support.

In any event, I am watching events unfold on the
Cleopatra
set with extreme interest, and am thankful that they are deflecting attention somewhat from me and Jack and our closely chronicled lives here in the White House.

Forgive me for making this a short letter, but duty calls. …

Warmest wishes,

J

The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel

Josephine Kendall

The White House

July 26, 1961

Dear Josephine,

I am thinking of you so much as I know it is your birthday on the 28th. I wanted to write to you before, when you came back from Paris. The photographs of you were beautiful and I’ll bet that JC (does he still see her?) was pea green with envy when she saw them. She could never compete with you
—
and nor can anyone else either.

Am feeling a bit blue today, what with the news of Hemingway’s death. Although I didn’t like his books and hate the way he hunted and loved bullfighting so much
—
I
always feel so sorry for the poor bull, after all, he hasn’t done anything to deserve being taunted that way
—
I think it is still sad when someone kills himself.

I once read somewhere that the world is divided between people who
—
were they given a choice
—
would either commit murder or suicide. I, for one, would never commit suicide
—
at least, not on purpose
—
because I have put everything I am into creating Marilyn and if I killed her, I would be killing her, all my efforts, and Norma Jeane as well. Far too many people, don’t you think? Also, I am an actress and I’d never intentionally mark or harm myself. I’m that vain. …

But I definitely could commit murder. At the moment, Mr. G is acting cold and distant, even though I need him more than ever. I’m writing this
letter at Kenneth’s, by the way, my hairdresser at the Waldorf, but will have to slip out the back way, as there are 200 fans waiting for me outside. At least, everyone says I should. Slip out, I mean. But I probably won’t. After all, they are people, too, and if I can make them happy by smiling at them for a second
or
two, or signing an autograph, at least I will have done something good today.

On a different subject, as you would say, I nearly laughed out loud when I saw your pictures with Sukarno and the ones with Khrushchev as well. It’s strange, really, that although I often get things wrong about what people say and what they mean, I have a real talent for reading pictures and I could see from the pictures that both of them went wild for you. I know all of America is
—
but I could tell from their eyes that they both practically fell in love with you. Which tickled me because both of them were real adoring to me when they met me as well. Funny, isn’t it, how we seem to attract the same men, even though we look
so
different?

Mr. Kenneth has just started taking out my curlers, so I guess I’d better end. Think of me sometimes, Josephine, and give Jack my love as well. Is he still seeing JC? I hope not.

Lots of love to you,

Martha

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, Florida

Martha Marshall

882 North Doheny Drive

Beverly Hills, California

August 31, 1961

Dearest Martha,

I was so delighted to hear from you. The image of you sequestered inside the Waldorf, besieged by 200 fans, is one that is not unfamiliar to me, and I must commend you for the grace and generosity with which you handle your fame. I am not finding it so easy, perhaps because as you once so rightly observed, I didn’t ask for it. Which doesn’t make me a better person, by the way, just more unprepared.

At the moment, both Jack and I are pretty shaken by the developments in Berlin—the wall being erected and all that entails. However, I could also shake Jack as well. You asked about JC and I’m afraid my answer is this—he is seeing more and more of her. I don’t understand the nature of her hold over him, just that his lust for her appears to be unbridled. According to my spies, that is. Sometimes I wish I had never engaged them. I wonder if Napoleon ever felt that way about his. …

As for murder or suicide—my answer is exactly the same as yours. If I had a choice, it would be murder, and right now it would be Jack who’d be my victim. Perhaps we could get a package deal. … I shouldn’t joke about such things, though, but when I write to you, I seem able to relax.

Jack has just walked in. I told him I was writing to you and he seemed most tickled, to use one of your phrases. He said to tell you that he hopes you will be able to make it to the fund-raising dinner being held in L.A. in November.

If I know you are going to be there, I’ll try and make it as well. I should so enjoy seeing you again—off screen, I mean.

Love, as ever,

Josephine

882 North Doheny Drive

Beverly Hills, California

Josephine Kendall

The White House

November 20, 1961

Dear Josephine,

I was so sad that you didn’t come to the fund-raising dinner. Jack will have told you that I went. I went because I support the President and believe in everything he is doing politically, but I hate that Jack sees JC and is so disloyal to you. But he is my President and I must he loyal to him because of that. I hope you understand.

Love,

Martha

__________________________

After Marilyn attended the fund-raiser, she slipped away to a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel and, as arranged, waited there for Jack. Afterwards, she confided to Dr. Brandt, “He was tired and, when I looked at him, seemed suddenly older. I could tell he needed to relax, so I gave him a massage. Then, instead of doing what we always do, right away, we had some Dom Pérignon. To make him laugh, I started making toasts to tons of people, Nureyev, Khruschev, Nabokov, like a rhyme. Then I toasted ‘sweet Adeline’ and, before I could stop myself, toasted ‘baby Caroline.’ Jack sat up sharp and I knew I’d made a mistake. I said I was sorry but that I often thought of her and, every time I saw her picture, was glad for him that he had her. He smiled at me then, that smile which sweeps right through me every time he smiles it. The kind of smile which you know comes from his heart, his soul, his mind, his spirit—all directed at you—hot and warm and friendly—like an invitation and a blessing, all at once. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I love her so much.’ Then he patted the bed and I knew he wanted me to sit next to him. I put my arms
around him, and for once, he didn’t shrink away. He looked straight at me—with those blue eyes that see right into you—and said., ‘I love her, I love John, and my marriage is for life, but still … Marilyn …’ I knew what was supposed to come next, but I was still thinking of Caroline. ‘Tell me about her,’ I said. He thought for a second. I knew he didn’t really want to, because it was me he would be telling, but then—because he loves her so much, because he is so proud of her—he did tell me about her. How smart she is, how sweet she is, how adorable. Then he looked guilty. ‘Right now, I should really be back at the White House, with her, like I always try to be every night before she goes to sleep.’ I asked him if he read Caroline bedtime stories—the way I always dreamed my father would read them to me—and he looked shocked. ‘I don’t read to Caroline,’ he said, all proud. ‘I make stories up for her specially.’ ‘Tell me one,’ I said, and he did, all about a bear called Gramble—pink, with blue eyes, who has all sorts of adventures. I loved it when Jack told me all about Gramble. If I could live my life again, Dr. Joseph, I’d want to come back as Caroline Kennedy.”