The Mediterranean
October 1963
Jackie felt so ill during the eleven-hour flight from New York to Athens that she had to ask a stewardess for an oxygen mask. Her whole body felt broken, every bone and joint aching, and her head fuzzy with exhaustion. Franklin Roosevelt Jr. and his wife, Sue, were worried and offered to call a doctor when they landed, but Jackie refused. She just wanted to get there. A chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce was waiting to collect them at the airport, and they were whisked to Piraeus and straight onto the Onassis yacht, which towered over the others in the port.
As they boarded, she saw that the railings were decorated with roses and gladioli, and a lavish cocktail party was underway, with a live band and a barman in black tie mixing cocktails in a shaker. Jackie was not in the mood. She made her excuses and slipped down to her cabin, where she climbed into bed and slept for fourteen hours straight. The sheets were finely woven, the mattress sublime, and the wood-paneled walls seemed to hold the warmth of summer.
On waking the next morning, she pressed a bell set in the wall, and a maid appeared, who took her order for orange juice, tea, and toast. Through a porthole, she could see white sun glinting off the turquoise Aegean Sea, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Jackie felt stiff from sleeping so long, but she could also feel the release of some of the tension she had been holding in her body since Patrick died. The change of scene helped.
That first day, she lay in the sun, an unopened book by her side, and every now and then she dove off a diving board into the sea, which was as warm as bathwater. They docked in Istanbul that evening, but she did not feel like going ashore and ate dinner alone before an early night.
The next day they sailed to the island of Lesbos, and Jackie swam far out from the shore, till the Christina was a mere dot on the horizon. There, where no one could see, at last she let her tears for Patrick flow freely; they mingled with the salt water stinging her eyes and became part of the vast ocean. It felt cathartic.
That evening, all the guests dined on board. An orchestra played on deck after the meal and Lee got up to dance, drifting around the floor on her own: “showing off,” their mother would have called it. Still their host had not made an appearance. It seemed he had his own quarters on the yacht and was giving them their privacy. They were to dock at Smyrna the next day, and Jackie sent Franklin to request that Onassis join them, because she knew this was the place of his birth.
Their host appeared the following morning and gave them a guided tour of Smyrna, explaining the background of the Turks’ decision to drive out the Greeks in 1922 and the complex enmity between the neighboring nations.
“You’re a talented raconteur,” Jackie complimented him. “I wish you could be our guide during the rest of the cruise. I’ve always wanted to explore this area and learn about its history and mythology.”
“It would be my honor,” he said, with a slight bow. “If you’re sure I’m not intruding.”
He had an old-fashioned charm, she decided, as if he came from a more genteel prewar generation. “I read an article that called you the modern-day Odysseus,” she probed. “Is that true? And, if so, where is the Ithaca you are searching for?”
Onassis gestured toward his yacht: “The Christina is my Ithaca, the place I call home.”
“I was hoping Maria Callas might be here,” Jackie continued. “Will she join us later? My husband has already met her and he is not remotely an opera fan, whereas I love it, so it doesn’t seem fair.”
Onassis seemed uncomfortable with the question. “Unfortunately Maria had to go to Paris on business,” he said, before changing the subject abruptly. “Shall we head back now? Cocktail hour is fast approaching and I seem to remember that you favor a vodka martini, with an olive.”
“Well remembered, Mr. Onassis.” She smiled.
“Please—call me Aristotle.”
“Only if you call me Jacqueline,” she replied.
THE DAY AFTER their jaunt into Smyrna, Ari called Jackie up to the boat deck, which served as his office. “There’s a call for you,” he said. “From your husband.”
“Isn’t modern technology extraordinary?” she exclaimed as she took the receiver. Aristotle left the area to give her privacy. An Oval Office secretary was on the line, and she put the call through.
“Is everything alright?” Jackie asked straightaway.
“The kids are fine,” he said, the line crackly, with a ghostlike echo. “But some photos of you with Onassis made a big splash in the papers this morning. You even appear to be holding hands in one of them.”
“Really?” She couldn’t remember that.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re having a good time but you need to be more discreet. Stay away from photographers.”
“I’ll try, but it’s not easy. They’re sneaky critters. How are you?”
“You know,” he said. “Tired. Sad. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, bunny.” Her heart ached for him suddenly. What was she doing so far away? Jack had lost a baby too. She kept forgetting that. “I’ll write every evening. We’ll be back in ten days, no time at all.”
“I hope this trip helps. I really do. I have to go now, kid.”
The line cut off when she was in the middle of saying goodbye, and she sat clutching the receiver, aching with missing him.
“Need a drink?” Aristotle asked, appearing in a doorway.
She shook her head and forced a smile. “Another swim, I think,” she replied. “But thank you.”