Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

Life came into Cheryl's impassive face. Before her confinement to El Retiro, Cheryl had spent many pleasant weekends at the Circle May ranch, where there are over one-hundred and sixty horses which Fred keeps for breeding purposes. Cheryl and Fred had always gotten along well. He knew how to talk to teenagers. He has two teenagers of his own by a previous marriage, who often stay at the ranch. Gazing into the fire brought back a memory — Cheryl thought back to the weekend when she and her mother and several other guests had stayed at the ranch. In the middle of the night, there'd been a knock on her door. It was Fred. "There's something going on in the stables that you'll want to see, Cheryl. Come on down." Cheryl had slipped into jeans and T-shirt and sped down to the stables. Her eyes widened at the sight. A foal was being born. It was the first time she'd ever seen (Continued from page 23) "I'll see you again, though," Jack asked, "won't I?" "Oh . . . sure. Yes," said Jackie. She was glad he turned around right after that, and started to say goodbye to some other people. It was terrible the way he was making her blush. . . . They walked through the soft darkness of the garden, the party — the laughter and the music — behind them. They walked slowly, both of them silent. They walked until they came to an old stone bench and Jack lay down his crutches as they sat. "Why'd you look me up . . . after a year, a whole year?" Jackie asked, suddenly. "Why'd you invite me out tonight, here, to this party?" "Because I liked you," Jack said. "Because I remembered you." "That's very flattering, you know," said Jackie, "coming from a United States Senator." "Let me ask you something," said Jack. "Yes?" Jackie asked, clasping her hands. "Why'd you want to come out here, and leave the party? That was a pretty good party in there." Jackie looked down, at her hands. "I don't know," she said. "I guess it's that I don't like crowds much." She looked up suddenly, concerned. "If you want to go back — " she started to say. "No," said Jack. "We can always sit out here in the moonlight and have a nice quiet talk about . . . about Mr. Eisenhower. Or Mr. Nixon or Mr. Stevenson, and his chances in '56." Jackie scanned his face in order to see whether he was serious or not. He wasn't. "Or," said Jack then, "you can start now by telling me about yourself ... I want to know about you." "Me?" Jackie asked. "What do you want to know about me?" "Evervthing," said Jack. "Well," said Jackie, "I was born in New York. I went to school there. I went to Vassar for a while, too, then to the Sorbonne, then back to Vassar. I couldn't stand it when I got back the second time, from France, the way they treated us like a bunch of children. At Vassar, I mean . . . So I left." "Uh-huh," said Jack. "Now," continued Jackie, "I work on a newspaper; as you already know; I read 54 lots; I devour books — mostly books deal a foaling. The ranch foreman, who was helping the mare, let Cheryl stroke the frightened animal to comfort her. It was dawn when Cheryl looked up, her eyes shining. It had been quite the most wonderful night of her life. TONIGHT WAS A GOOD NIGHT, also. She could see the warm looks exchanged between her mother and Fred. There was love there, and she could feel lots of it directed toward her as well. Cheryl asked Fred, "Fred, when can I come out to your ranch again?" "We'll plan it for a weekend you can come home. There's lots going on at the ranch now. Rowena is waiting for you. So is your room. Everything is waiting for you." Lana watched Cheryl and Fred. Cheryl looked happier, her eyes no longer haunted, her face no longer strained. This was the way she'd dreamed of her daughter look ing with the Eighteenth Century; that's my favorite, the Eighteenth Century. I used to paint, used to love it, but I wasn't much good at it, so now I just look at other people's work — I'm forever going to galleries." She paused. "I'm not a very good cook; mainly because I don't eat much myself, I guess. I like the color blue, and I don't mean baby-blue or navyblue, but real blue, like the color of the sky on an almost-perfect day . . . And what else? I don't like jewelry. I don't like hats. I can do without fur. I speak rather fluently in Spanish, Italian and French . . . And that, I guess, is me." "Pretty good," said Jack, "except you left out a few vital categories." "Like?" Jackie asked. "Like do you enjoy swimming?" asked Jack. "Kind of," Jackie shrugged. "Do you like to play touch football?" "What?" asked Jackie. "Do you know any good jokes?" "I forget them all," she said, "the minute after I've heard them." "Do you like clam chowder?" "Honest answer?" "Honest answer." "I loathe clam chowder," Jackie said. Jack groaned. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Just that you've chucked out all your fun for this weekend," Jack said. "Here I am, about to invite you up to the Cape, to come visit my family, and now I think you're going to end up having a dull time there. Why, you don't answer yes to any of the presently established ground rules." "This weekend?" Jackie asked, worried suddenly. "Ground rules?" "Ground rules-for-a-Kennedy-weekend," Jack said, nodding. "Very famous in Massachusetts." Then he recited them: "First thing you go for a swim. "Then, you sit with the family and tell at least three good jokes. "Then, you say 'Terrific' when you taste the clam chowder at lunch — the pride and joy of all New England. "And 'Terrific' must be your response when asked to participate in an earlyafternoon game of touch football. Now, about this game — " On and on Jack went, laying ground rule after ground rule. And then, when he was finished, he took Jackie's hand suddenly in his, and he ing, young and carefree, anxious to go to the ranch, close to nature and normality. The weekend at home over, Lana drove Cheryl back over the long road that led to El Retiro. Cheryl started to hum softly. Finally she spoke, "Mother, I've had a wonderful time being home with you. And I think Fred is a darling. Some day I want to go to the ranch and go horseback riding and do lots of things around the ranch. It will be such fun. We could have such a wonderful life, couldn't we?" "Some day it will happen. It really will, darling. Just be patient," said Lana. The future did seem brighter. Fred was like some secure haven. She knew now that they wouldn't have to wait any longer to marry. She would tell him that the first thing when she got H home. The very first thing. END n Lana's latest picture will be By Love ! Possessed, United Artists. asked, "Will you come, this Saturday?" "Saturday? . . . This Saturday? . . . Yes, ... I guess," Jackie found herself saying. "You want to know something?" Jack said, then. "You, Miss Bouvier, happen to be the most beautiful girl I've ever met." "Really?" asked Jackie, vaguely, as she sat there, happy on one hand that this man she'd been thinking about for over a year now had asked her to spend a weekend with him, but worried on the other hand about the family she'd soon have to meet, and about what they'd think of her. ... THE KENNEDYS — all twenty-eight of them — fell in love with Jackie Bouvier that weekend in Hyannis Port. And, best of all, and most of all, Jack fell in love with her. Back in Washington, following the weekend, he saw her almost constantly. And, finally, one night, he asked her to marry him. . . . The wedding took place on September 12, 1953, at St. Mary's Church in Newport, Rhode Island. The reception was held at Hammersmith Farm, an oceanside estate owned by Jackie's mother and stepfather. And all of the guests agreed it was a perfect marriage. But, it didn't go well for the Kennedys; not at the beginning. Deep down, Jackie had expected some sort of normality in her marriage. Not as far as her outside activities were concerned; she'd known about the social functions she'd have to attend, the handshaking sessions, the receptions, the teas — the giving up of many, practically all, of the quieter activities she had loved so much. But she had expected another kind of normality. She'd wanted, most of all, to have a home, and to have her husband in it. She got the home — but her husband, Jack, the Senator, was rarely in it. In fact, he was becoming so popular with Democrats all around the country that, aside from those times when Congress was actually in session, he was rarely even in Washington. Jackie tried to joke about this at first "My husband," she said once, "thinks nothing of buying a shirt in California, a toothbrush in Kansas, and a tube of toothpaste in Pennsylvania. I think it's funny, don't you?" For a while, Jackie even tried to do the traveling bit with Jack. She tried getting used to closing up the house at a moment's notice. Getting used to trains, busses, planes, more planes. She tried getting used to packing, un ' packing. The Love Story of Jackie and John