Party Favors

The Kennedy Chronicles:

  “Party Favors”

  By Mercedes King

  Copyright 2013 By Mercedes King

  Circa May 1951

   Jackie knew Martha had an ulterior motive for inviting her to the dinner party. Charlie, too. But she was intrigued. Jackie had known the Bartletts for ages, adored them thoroughly, trusted them completely. For months, both Charlie and Martha had been scheming, hopeful. Jackie didn’t know particular details, but she smiled, knowing the Bartletts were probably down right giddy with anticipation.

   Lost in her thoughts, she had a start when John spoke to her.

  “You sure you’re not angry with me?” he asked.

   Jackie blushed, having forgotten him--and for deriving more gratification from her daydream than his company.

   “No, of course not,” she said. “Why would I be?”

   

  “Well, I hate to simply drop you off at party, almost as if I’m delivering a ham,” he chuckled, “but I must see a client. At least we can enjoy the ride together.”

   

  Perturbed that her beau had referred to her as a ham, Jackie focused on the passing scenery outside the car window. John placed his hand atop hers. Under his tender touch her hand lay flat, unmoving and unresponsive.

   

  “There’s a chance I might make it later on,” he said. “Perhaps for dessert. In any event, I’ll make it up to you, darling.”

   

  He squeezed her hand, but Jackie didn’t return the affection.

   

  Jackie glanced at John and wondered if she was doomed to become Mrs. John Husted. Handsome and well to-do, he spoiled her with bouquets of white peonies and fancy dinners around the city. Like her family, he was included in the Social Register, and his fashion sense pleased her. John made for the perfect party escort to the Astors’ and the Vanderbilts’ events, and he was good to her in bed--attentive to her needs and eager to pleasure her. But such qualities didn’t excite Jackie they way she thought they would.

   

  “I’m certain the evening will be fine,” Jackie said, though she dare not admit that she preferred attending alone.

   

  After all, Charlie and Martha had special plans for her. She had said nothing to John about their tacit arrangements. The slight deception thrilled her, and a sudden realization dawned: life as John’s wife could be dangerously boring.

   

  Although John adored her, complimented her beauty, fawned over her, he also managed to ignore Jackie. Whenever she mentioned her desire to pursue a career in journalism, John smiled, dismissively at times, and assured her that he could provide a comfortable life for her. That same tolerant-but-annoyed expression returned anytime Jackie mentioned foxhunting. Such moments troubled Jackie.

   

  “You’re such a doll.” John kissed the back of her hand. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

   

  He arrived at the Barletts’ residence, and Jackie parted with a polite smile and nothing more.

   But as John drove away, heading for his meeting, and as Jackie neared the doorstep, a nagging sense of dread nearly overcame her. She ran a hand over her wool pencil skirt repeatedly, then she gripped the straps of her Dior handbag as if they were a lifeline.

   

  Why do Charlie and Martha insist on introducing me to John Kennedy?

   

  She knew exactly why. At her age, Jackie was in danger of becoming an old maid. A spinster. Many of her classmates were married or engaged, yet Jackie didn’t consider herself serious about John Husted. Time was against her, and a woman of her standing needed to snatch up a worthy bachelor--before it was too late.

   

  “Jackie, my dear, you made it,” Charlie Bartlett beamed boisterously when he opened the door.

  Jackie suspected such a display was meant to draw the attention of the other guests; her cheeks went rosy under Charlie’s welcoming kiss. With his dark hair, glasses and indistinct features, Charlie could’ve been mistaken for any business man-type in the city, but his keen mind set him apart. A Yale graduate and local journalist, Charlie Bartlett had a fondness for grooming Washington’s up-and-coming liberals. Complimentary to his investigative skills was the fact that he kept a full social calendar, which often included Jackie and her family. “Come, come, Martha’s been so anxious to see you.” He leaned in to Jackie’s ear. “As is that young gentleman I’ve been telling you about.”

   

  Her stomach knotted but eased at the sight of Martha, approaching with open arms.

   

  “Jackie, so lovely to see you, dear.” Martha greeted her with an embrace, then threaded her arm around Jackie’s before leading her into the hallway for privacy. “I must ask, how is that beau of yours?”

   

  “He’s doing quite well,” Jackie said. “He’s working late in fact and sends his apologies.”

   

  “Does he now? Very kind of him.” Martha gave a sly grin, which softened her stern, sharp facial features. Martha always smelled of lilacs, and Jackie couldn’t resist a flare of jealousy each time she noticed Martha’s smooth, perfectly-manicured hands.

   

  If a hierarchy existed among Georgetown’s social elite, the Bartletts would’ve been considered royalty. Though she kept behind-the-scenes in comparison to Charlie, Martha tilled gossip from wives expertly and effortlessly thanks in part to her penetrating brown eyes.

   

  Martha studied Jackie’s face for a moment. “So tell me, what’s new between the two of you? I don’t notice a ring of any sort.”

   

  “Oh, Martha.”

   

  “Be honest, Jackie. This relationship of yours is just a smoke screen, a ruse.”

   

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

   

  “I think you’re using John to keep Janet and Jack off your back about settling down and getting married.”

   

  After a beat of stunned silence, Jackie burst out with laughter.

   

  “I’m flattered, Martha, that you think I’m capable of such clever plotting.”

   

  “Cackle all you want. I know your mother, and I know she won’t rest until you walk down the aisle. Why, do you know what she said to me the other day?”

   

  “I can’t imagine,” Jackie said dryly.

   

  “She’s worried. Worried that your small breasts and nail biting are keeping you from catching a husband.”

   

  “Sounds like Mummy,” Jackie said, more to herself than Martha. “John and I have only been seeing each other for a short time.” She shrugged a shoulder. “It’s too soon to talk about marriage.”

   

  “Don’t be absurd.”

   

  Martha’s firm tone surprised Jackie, even though Martha was right. Marriage was at the forefront of both their minds. John had made his hopes, his intentions clear to Jackie’s father--much to the delight of Black Jack Bouvier. Why, John had even hinted at eloping, but Jackie knew her mother would die if denied the chance to bask in mother-of-the-bride glory.

   

  “John is a good man,” Jackie said. “He’s kind, dependable. Daddy certainly has taken a liking to him.” Of course, Jackie enjoyed the fact that her father’s approval of John needled her mother, since Janet didn’t consider the Husteds prestigious enough and wealthy enough for her liking.

   

  “From that description, Jackie, I would think you were talking about a Poodle, not a man you’re interested in romantically.”

   

 
; Jackie struggled for a rebuttal but Charlie Bartlett intervened.  

   

  “Why am I not surprised to find you two huddled together and gossiping?” Charlie took Jackie’s hand. “Come, my dear, there’s someone you must meet.”

   

  He led her into the living room, where several men in expensive suits sipped thirty-year old Macallan scotch and smoked Ashton cigars. Heads turned and postures straightened when Jackie entered, but one man, who stood with his back toward the approaching duo, remained oblivious. Standing near the fireplace and its fledgling fire, he commanded the conversation. Other men listened as he spoke, and he paid no attention to the fact that his meager audience had become distracted.

   

  “Jack, could I see you a moment?” Charlie asked.

   

  The man turned around, and Jackie caught her breath.

   

  “Jack Kennedy, allow me the privilege of introducing you to this lovely young woman, Jacqueline Bouvier; and Jackie, may it be your pleasure to meet Congressman Kennedy.”

   

  Immediately, Jackie recognized the man she had encountered on a train traveling to New York years earlier. He’d been charming, asked her to dine with him, but she’d graciously turned him down. Now, underneath her reddened cheeks, she desperately hoped he wouldn’t remember her.

   

  “It is indeed a pleasure, Mr. Kennedy.”

   

  She shook his hand with the firm delicacy she’d been taught at Miss Porter’s and met his eyes. His light brown hair, waving to the side, that thick grin, and those heavily-lidded eyes made Jackie tingle with sensation. Good looks in a man seldom stirred her, as such men usually proved uninteresting, but Jackie sensed this man was drastically different; she was unexpectedly mesmerized.

   

  Jack Kennedy looked transfixed, captivated, and didn’t readily let go of her hand.

   

  “Miss Bouvier.” He said her name as if it tasted sweet and agreed with his lips. “Charlie’s been talking about you for quite some time. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance, and please, call me Jack.”

   

  Charlie Bartlett’s eyes darted between the two. Amused expectation apparent on his face.

   

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” Jack said. “Charlie tells me you’re graduating from GW.”

   

  “Thank you.” Jackie smiled and hid the awkwardness she felt. Many gals had only attended George Washington University as a means to finding a man and dropped out once they had an engagement ring and a wedding to plan; they preferred a proposal to an education. Not Jackie. But did it make her seem undesirable?

   

  She squirmed slightly, fearing Charlie and Martha had told Mr. Kennedy too much, boasted too much about her. Was she really such a prize? And did the Bartletts really think she was someone who might interest Jack Kennedy, romantically?

   

  “Jack here is making quite a name for himself in Congress.” Charlie slapped him on the shoulder. “He’s a forward-thinker, gunning for increased social reforms, supporting a hike to minimum wage, and doing all he can to improve conditions in his district in Boston.”

   

  “Sounds very impressive.” Jackie hoped her voice didn’t betray her total lack of interest in politics.

   

  “I can assure you, it isn’t,” Jack said.

   

  Charlie guffawed. “On that note I believe we should take our seats for dinner. Martha?”

   

  Martha kindly instructed everyone on where they were each expected to sit. Naturally, she placed Jack and Jackie beside one another.

   

  As the dinner courses flowed and conversation hummed, Jack and Jackie quickly lost interest in everyone but each other. They briefly discussed their families, their love for travel. Jackie impressed him with her command of languages while she found herself flattered by Jack’s attentiveness. Both were surprised by the other’s in-depth knowledge and grasp of the Russian Revolution, and when they discovered their mutual admiration for Winston Churchill and his book The World Crisis, they shared a long, intimate gaze.

   

  “Now that you’ve finished college, Miss Bouvier, what are your plans?”

   

  “Jackie, please.”

   

  A contented grin stretched across his face.

   

  “My sister is graduating from high school,” Jackie continued, “so to celebrate, we’ll be traveling through Europe.”

   

  “A grand adventure for two young ladies, although I’m disappointed to hear that you’ll be leaving.” Jack looked at her thoughtfully. “I tend to make it to Europe on occasion. Perhaps I should visit this summer and possibly take you out for an evening. Your sister could chaperone.”

   

  Jackie had no idea if he was being serious.

   

  “At this point I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see you again,” he said.

   

  Jackie wouldn’t admit it, but she felt the same, and she hated that the evening was progressing to an end. She’d really only come as a favor to the Bartletts, and although she was sure Jack had done the same, she also felt certain that something had sparked between them. Rarely had she met a man who’s interest in her piqued when he realized her love of books and just how intelligent she was.

   

  “It surprises me, Mr. Kennedy--”

   

  “Jack.”

   

  Her eyes met his. “Jack. It surprises me that you’re not married.” Two cocktails in, Jackie felt a growing brazenness that matched her curiosity about the man. Usually, as her upbringing demanded, she tempered her every word.

   

  “It frustrates my father,” he said. “He’s quick to remind me that a long career in politics demands a suitable wife.”

   

  “And yet. . .”

   

  “I never liked being told what to do.” He winked, then leaned in close to her. “Marriage is like a toothache. At some point I’ll have to take care of it, but in the meantime I’ll put it off for as long as possible.”

   

  “Oh,” was all Jackie could think to say.

   

  His remark stunned Jackie and destroyed her hopefulness. She had imagined that he would playfully, foolishly admit that he had been waiting for someone like her, and she’d been prepared to drink in the compliment. Now, she silently chided herself for falling for his charms. He had no real interest in her, apart from sleeping with her, she suspected. It was trite and typical of most single men, and Jackie suddenly longed for the arms of her devoted beau.

   

  Charlie engaged his company in conversation as dessert was served. Jackie quietly excused herself to the powder room, and noticed from the corner of her eye that the delighted twinkle in Martha’s eyes faded with her departure.

   

  Alone in the bathroom, Jackie had to calm herself. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling exhilaration mixed with profound infatuation--and then jaw-socking disappointment. Embarrassment surged through her. She knew better than to be so flirtatious, but Jack had been irresistible. Magnetic, even.

   

  She smoked a cigarette and told herself she’d linger in the bathroom until the party broke and dismissed from the table. Perhaps her emotions would dull and her senses return. For a bit of spite, maybe she’d engage one of the other men. She knew well how to feign interest in useless, idle conversation, and she guessed that showing even cordial attention to another man would ward off any further advances from that arrogant Jack Kennedy.

   

  She’d fulfilled her commitment for the night, done her favor. Later, she’d laugh at Martha and Charlie and tell them that such a man could hold no interest for her,
that he wasn’t a man to be taken seriously when it came to relationships and--Heaven forbid--marriage. What had those two been thinking? In the meantime, she had no idea how to stop her heart from racing so uncontrollably.

   

  Jackie scolded herself. Why had she let her heart believe that there was a man who could satisfy all her needs? After all, she’d been raised to be practical, to ‘marry well,’ yet Jackie secretly desired more. She wanted a man who could stimulate her mind as well as her libido, one who’s fortune was secure, and perhaps above all, a man who wasn’t intimidated or put off by her intelligence and insatiable hunger for knowledge. For five courses that evening, Jack Kennedy had been that man.

   

  Dishes rattled and clanked, chairs screeched across the floor, all indications that dinner was over. Jackie checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror one last time, then slipped into the kitchen. From there she peeked into the dining room and noticed the men were migrating to the living room with freshly lit pipes and cigars.

   

  “Oh, there you are,” Martha suddenly said from behind her.

   

  A bit startled, Jackie forced herself not to look for Jack.

   

  “Yes, I’m sorry, Martha. I just needed a moment.”

   

  “What happened in there? You and Mr. Kennedy appeared to be getting on fine, and then you jumped up and scurried away.”

   

  “Everything’s fine, really. Mr. Kennedy was excellent company.” Knowing that Martha wouldn’t settle for a generic, lackluster explanation, Jackie quickly embraced her friend. “It’s been a lovely evening, Martha. Thank you for having me. I really must go. Please give Charlie my love. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

   

  While Martha stood flummoxed and confused, Jackie took her handbag and made a casual beeline for the front door. She passed by the living room that was filling with smoke and after-dinner conversation; she didn’t risk a glance into the room.

   

  Outside, she could breathe again and the sense of suffocation lifted, but anguish tugged at her heart. She refused to acknowledge the feeling of self-pity growing inside her and hoped she hadn’t made a fool of herself. Besides, who was Jack Kennedy that she would consider throwing herself at him? A politician, and he wasn’t from a prestigious family. And though Jackie couldn’t swear it, she was certain he’d worn mismatched socks.

   

  “Excuse me, Miss Bouvier?”

   

  Jackie turned and found Mr. Kennedy had followed her out of the Bartlett’s home.

   

  “Oh.” She was breathless at the sight of him and didn’t know what to say.

   

  “You left so suddenly,” he said.

   

  “Oh, I apologize. I was. . .” What? In a hurry to stand and mope outside?

   

  “I didn’t have the chance to bid you good night, and to ask for your number.”

   

  “My number?”

   

  “Yes.” He shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “If your schedule allows, I’d like to take you to lunch sometime.” He shrugged. “Maybe even dinner before you leave for Europe.”

   

  Jackie smiled and downplayed her inner enthusiasm.

   

  “I’d like that,” she said.

   

  They regarded each other for a moment, awkward and expectant. Jack reached into his suit pocket and took out a pen. Without any paper handy, they made due with Jack’s handkerchief.

   

  “I hate to ruin it.” Jackie caressed the JFK monogram with her thumb.

   

  “It’s worth it.”

   

  But the pen and cloth refused to cooperate, so Jack offered to memorize the number instead.

   

  “If I’m not being too forward and you wouldn’t mind waiting a short while,” Jack said, “I’d like to take you home or possibly out for a drink.”

   

  “I