The Secret Letters of Marilyn Monroe and Jacqueline Kennedy (9 page)

8336 DeLongpre Avenue

Hollywood, California

Josephine Kendall

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Bach, florida

November 9, 1954

Dear Josephine,

I am praying that you are out of town and haven’t read my last letter,
or
that it didn’t get to you yet
^*
But when it does, please don’t ever read it. I just wasn’t myself when I wrote it
—
my brain had gone because of the painkillers—so
I
don’t really know what I wrote and didn’t mean any of it anyway.

Last night is
fuzzy, but I remember writing for hours to you, and then begging the orderley [
sic
] to mail it at once. I wish to God he hadn’t. But he was trying to please me and didn’t know.

Anyway, please, please, please don’t read it. Just tear it up and, when I am not so sick, I’ll write a real letter to you instead.

Love,

Martha

__________________________

*
The following morning, when she awoke from her drug-induced sleep and remembered what she had written to Jackie, Marilyn made a hysterical call to Patty Renoir, who recalled “I could hardly understand a single word. She was crying and crying. ‘I’ve ruined everything, everything. Now she’ll know. And he’ll kill me. He’ll never see me again, and she’ll never forgive me. I wish I were dead. I should be dead. Deserve it, want it, need it. Should be punished. Will be. I fuck up everything good I ever have,’ and on and on. I talked to her for about an hour, talked her down so she stopped crying and went calm again. Next time we talked, didn’t say a word to her about what she said before. Nor did she. Might as well have never happened. Then that’s how things always were with her.”

Marilyn by then must have known that her letter had crossed with Jackie and that she had no choice but to brazen out the consequences of her confession.

3321 Dent Place

Washington, D.C

Martha Marshall

8336 DeLongpre Avenue

Hollywood, California

November 12, 1954

Dear Martha,

Your letter so alarmed me that I am writing back instantly. You sound so sad and depressed, so I sincerely hope that this scarf will cheer you up a little and that you will soon be on the road to recovery.

First of all, I am absolutely convinced that you should never give up on becoming a mother. You would love, cherish, and nurture a child so deeply and make a perfect mother, so don’t lose heart.

As for my religion—I was, indeed, raised a Catholic. However, because of my parents’ divorce, I have always felt somewhat of an outsider in the society in which I live and my religion only intensified that feeling. Consequently, perhaps to my detriment, I allowed my Catholicism to lapse. Nonetheless, I believe in the precepts of the religion concerning divorce, particularly after my own experience in the aftermath of my parents’.

Your Mr. G sounds divine and I am flattered that you decided to confide in me. However, I am fearful of the consequence to your career in the eventuality that the affair ever becomes public knowledge. Although I suppose the studio would protect you from the resultant scandal. That concern aside, please don’t think that I am in the least bit shocked about your new romance with a married man.

How could I be, given the way in which my father cheated on my mother during their honeymoon, and later told me all about it, and his subsequent illicit affairs as well? My primary concern, Marilyn, is not about the morality of the situation—the heart, as we both know, beats to its own moral code—but that you may get hurt. Mr. G, I assume, is probably much older than you and, if he is anything like most men, can take good care of himself. Of course, I feel sorry for his wife, but French women are bred to endure their husbands’ infidelities, and who knows whether or not she has driven him to cheat. My mother certainly bore some responsibility for my father’s infidelity, so no doubt Mr. G’s wife does as well.

But please take care of yourself, dear Marilyn, in negotiating this perilous situation. You may be worldly on the surface, but knowing you as I do, I am profoundly aware that you can also be somewhat naïve. So I hope you will shield your heart as best you can. That said, please do not, under any circumstances, jump to the erroneous conclusion that I am judging you in any way whatsoever. Nothing is further from the truth, for I am sure that if I had never met Jack, I, too, might well have fallen prey to the blandishments of an older, experienced, married man. of some charm and sophistication. Consequently, I am certainly not judging you, nor would I ever, as I am much too fond of you. Please take great care, cherish your times with Mr. G, but do guard against giving away your entire heart to him.
^*

Warm regards,

Josephine

__________________________

*
Jackie’s ability to guard her heart and restrain her emotions was masterly. Maria Mencher has made available to the editor her tapes of off-the-record interviews that she used for background on her groundbreaking 1977 biography of Jackie titled
Jackie Unmasked
(Düsseldorf: Muller Books, 1977). “During one of her trips to London to stay with Lee (shortly before Jackie married Ari) Jackie summoned one of her beaux, a lovestruck Philadelphia oil and steel millionaire named Gray Partland. He reserved a suite for them at the Ritz, and Jackie checked in at lunchtime. Partland arrived at the hotel at three, jet-lagged but wild for Jackie and desperate to see her. He strode into the suite, in a high state of passion, ready for Jackie to fling herself into his arms. But when he reached out for her, Jackie took a step back and said, ‘Wait. Not yet.’ Then, cool as a cucumber, she sat down at the dressing table and proceeded, extremely slowly, to apply her makeup. Partland watched, dumbstruck, unable to move, unable to touch her, as his desire mounted. Finally, after she had checked her makeup, Jackie got up and walked away from Partland, toward a closet. Then she took out a large picture hat, walked back to the mirror, where she spent an inordinately long time arranging the hat to her satisfaction. By now, Partland—this six-foot-three Philadelphia oil and steel tycoon with money to burn and overwhelming charisma—had turned to Jell-O. Jackie smiled a slow smile, gave him an extremely direct look, beckoned, and said, ‘Now.’ Partland was hers forever.”

8336 DeLongpre Avenue

Hollywood, California

Josephine Kendall

1095 north Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, florida

November 18, 1954

Dear Josephine,

Thank, you for the beautiful gift and your kind and friendly letter. Reading it, I realize that you must have got my other letter before you knew not to open it. I am so embarrassed and hope you will forget whatever
—
and I still can’t remember what
—
stupid things I wrote in it.

The scarf you sent me
is
beautiful. It makes me feel so glad to know that someone
—
no
—
not someone
—
you
—
so far away still cares about me, even though I don’t deserve it. I never owned a Hermès scarf before. Doesn’t “Brides de Gala” sound romantic? I loved it so much that I called Paris, found out Hermès made one with Napoleon on it
—
why not Josephine? So unfair … So here it is and I hope you like it.

By the way, did you see Eisenhower’s historic first televised cabinet meeting last month? I think it is wonderful that television cameras can now bring us so close to the President. I never dreamed of seeing the President in action like that. I don’t like being on television myself
—
the lighting is difficult to control and the makeup is different
—
but I think it is wonderful that the people can see what the politicians are doing, don’t you? I’ve been a registered Democrat for as far back as I can remember
and I want to know as much about our politicians and their ideals as possible.

I forgot, because of the hospital, to give you the big news that, just before I got sick, we finished shooting
Seven Year Itch
, and Charlie Feldman gave a dinner in my honor at Romanoff’s
^*
I borrowed a bright red chiffon ball gown from wardrobe and I was glad I did, because guess who I danced with? Clark Gable! The orchestra played “Bye-Bye Baby,” Clark held me a little close, and I felt like Cinderella dancing with Prince Charming. During the dance, I was so shy that I just kept on smiling, but when it ended, I told Clark how much I admired him and that I longed one day to do a picture with him, and guess what, he said he had seen
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
. thought I had “magic”
—
I
remember you once said that about me as well
—
and that he wanted to work with me as well! So you will get to meet him after all—I’ll make sure of it!

Thinking back to that wonderful evening makes me so happy, which I need to be now, what with Thanksgiving round the corner and not having anyone I love here with me. Today I heard a song which really made me cry, “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.” It was almost as if I wrote it myself, except for the line “just like the one I used to know”
—
because I have never known that kind of Christmas, but it sounds wonderful, and maybe one day I will.

Your advise [
sic
] about Mr. G was very kind and, I am sure, right. I know I’m wrong seeing him. But I just can’t help myself. If you knew him, I’m sure you’d understand. At least, I hope you would.

Please write me soon and forget about that stupid last letter.

Love,

Martha

P.S.
Sometimes I just don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. Please forgive me.

__________________________

*
The party, thrown in Marilyn’s honor by Charles Feldman, was a dinner for eighty guests. The guests included Darryl F. Zanuck, Samuel Goldwyn and Jack Warner, Humphrey Bogart, Gable, Claudette Colbert, Gary Cooper, Susan Hayward, and Loretta Young and Billy Wilder. On each round table, the centerpiece was a cardboard cut-out of Marilyn in the skirt-blowing scene from
The Seven Year Itch.

1095 North Ocean Boulevard

Palm Beach, Florida

Martha Marshall

8336 DeLongpre Avenue

Hollywood, California

January 8, 1955

Dear Martha,

Your letter was so interesting and descriptive—thank you. I adore my beautiful new Napoleon scarf and think of you every time I wear it. You were extremely kind and generous to have sent it.

You will have realized from my last letter that your second letter, imploring me not to read the first, arrived too late. Consequently, I had, indeed, already read the first letter. But you must not reproach yourself for anything you wrote in it. It was sincere, heartwarming, and your secret is utterly safe with me—as I know all mine are with you—so please don’t feel anxious.

You may think me presumptuous, but despite your reassuring words regarding Mr. G, I am still a trifle concerned that your new romance may, in the long run, have a negative impact on you. It would set my mind at rest, I think, if I knew more about him, his marital situation, and his intentions toward you. What is his profession? Does Mrs. G know of your relationship? Does he have any intention of leaving her and, now that you are free, marrying you? Are you prepared for the fact that, given that she is French, and probably Catholic, her religion will preclude divorce? I hope you will not consider these
questions intrusive, Marilyn, but you know that I have your best interests at heart.

On a lighter note, I was ecstatic to learn about your dance with Clark Gable and I am now uncontrollably impatient for you to begin filming with him forthwith! But even I, stuck here on the East Coast, know that things materialize relatively slowly in Hollywood and will thus endeavor to control my impatience!

As for the benefits of televising our political proceedings—I am not convinced. Ambassador Kennedy’s creed, as he will have told you, is “It doesn’t matter who you are, it only matters who people think you are!” In the same vein, I fear that if the people one day get too close to the politicians who represent them, the entire process will be forever tarnished. I imagine that television will only ultimately benefit those politicians who are able to combine the showmanship of P. T. Barnun with the thespian ability of John Barrymore.

Yesterday I read in the
Palm Beach Daily News
that you are now a corporation (along with Milton Greene). Congratulations! It all sounds wonderful and now that you are moving to the East Coast, I hope you will be happier.

I am afraid I have to close this letter now, because Eunice, Jack’s sister (his favorite, although I can’t imagine why), has just materialized. If she chanced to learn the identity of my secret correspondent, her cackle would echo all the way to L.A. By the way, I am unable to conceive why most people are so enthralled by Jack having so many siblings. Now that I’ve been part of the family for a while, I’ve come to the inescapable conclusion that large families are not so great at all. Jack is forever in his late brother Joe’s shadow, Eunice is in her late sister Kathleen’s, and all the other kids veer between being far too close to one another and being so virulently competitive that every single one of them would rather die than lose a cretinous game of touch football to the other.

I do my utmost to avoid them whenever I can, and so divide my time between reading Proust, walking on the beach, and shopping on Worth Avenue. Yesterday, when I came back from Saks with a new turquoise Balenciaga ball gown, Eunice had the gall to demand the price! Of course, I did not respond, but borrowing a gown from the studio and not having to answer to anyone seems to me to be a much more desirable way of life. In the meantime, I try to brighten Jack’s days by playing checkers, categories, and twenty questions and the new game, Scrabble, with him—all of which he relishes, just as long as he can win …

Please write when you are settled and let me know your new address.

Love,

Josephine

__________________________

Jackie wrote in her diary, “Marilyn obviously has no scruples whatsoever about hurting Mrs. G and any children the couple may have. But perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. I guess part of M’s charm lies in her fundamental amorality. Rather like Jack, I suppose.”