The Secret Memoirs of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis by Ruth Francisco

Author:Ruth Francisco
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2011-02-17T00:00:00+00:00

As Jack slips into depression, my mood begins to lift.

I lie in bed, listening to Jack in the bathroom—a rustling newspaper, running water, the whoosh of shaving cream, a razor tapping against the sink, the sudden thunder of hot, steaming water, the clinking of shower curtain rings pulled back, then pulled forward. The sounds of any husband getting ready to go to work.

He comes out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, smelling of shaving lotion. He winces as a bolt of pain tears up his spine. His eyes widen and glass over. He reaches out and stumbles toward me, catching himself on the edge of the bed and kneeling. He grabs my leg, pulls himself up on the bed, gasping. He buries his head in my crotch, driving his forehead against my pelvic bone until it hurts, as if he’s trying to crawl back into someplace safe.

“Don’t let me ever get like that, Jackie. Seeing him like that … drooling … it’s horrible.”

We’ve just returned from an arduous weekend at Palm Beach. Joe isn’t getting any better from the stroke he had while playing golf at the Palm Beach Country Club. He’s paralyzed on the right side and can grunt only “No” and “Shit.” He’s furious, spitting and making incoherent shrill noises most of the time, unless I’m there to coo and smooth his brow. For some reason, his stroke doesn’t bother me, but it terrifies Jack.

“God, it’s awful.” Jack’s body trembles with revulsion. “I don’t think I can do it without him. He’s the one who wanted the presidency to begin with.”

“You have Bobby.”

“Bobby’s a kid.” Jack groans and rolls onto his back. “I feel like the world is collapsing on top of me. Sometimes I think I can’t drive myself anymore. I don’t want to end up like Dad. You’ve been at the White House only ten days over the past six weeks, Jackie. You don’t know how lonely it is.”

I laugh. “With all your bimbos? How can you be lonely?”

“I can’t make it without you, Jackie. Will you come to Paris with me? Please, Jackie. I need you.”

Here it begins to happen, my despair lifting like a dirigible off the ground. He needs me. Not simply as a wife. No, he means something more. In France I can help take the pressure off his fiasco. “Yes,” I say with a vigor I haven’t felt in months. “I’ll go with you to Paris.”

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