New York City
March 25, 1965
Maria’s second performance of Tosca at the Met received yet another ecstatic reception from the New York audience. Afterward, as she sat in her dressing room removing her heavy stage makeup, she was stunned when the manager came to the door and asked if Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy might visit her.
“Of course!” she replied after just a moment’s hesitation, far too curious to refuse. She wiped the cold cream from her face and gave her hair a quick brushing, noticing that her hand was trembling. What did Mrs. Kennedy want? Was this about Ari and Lee?
Jackie knocked, then entered timidly, looking slighter than Maria had imagined. She was dressed like royalty in a white ermine stole over a white-satin ankle-length gown, and her hair was backcombed and lacquered into the famous style that flipped up at her shoulders. She hung back, as if uncertain whether to approach.
“I don’t want to take your time,” she breathed. “You must be exhausted . . .”
“Not at all.” Maria rose to shake her hand and indicated a chair, saying, “Please—sit down.” A wave of expensive scent reached her. Mrs. Kennedy was prettier in real life than in photos, and Maria wished she’d had time to reapply some makeup. She felt exposed, her face shiny from the cold cream.
“I had to call in a lot of favors to get a ticket for tonight,” Jackie began, her voice a little croaky, “but I’m so glad I did. You were wonderful.” She smoothed her skirt beneath her, fidgeted with her evening bag.
Was this really the visit of a fan? If so, it was very brave of her, under the circumstances. “I’m honored that you came. Next time please ask and I will send tickets to save you the trouble.”
“Why, tha-a-nk you,” Jackie said. Her accent was New England one moment, then almost upper-class British the next, as if she couldn’t quite decide who she was. Like Lee’s, her words had a prolonged ah sound, and she dropped her rs. “I’ve long been a fan. In fact, I heard you sing Norma here back in 1956. It was unforgettable.”
Maria smiled. “I love Norma. I’m very glad you enjoyed it.” That had been the year before she met Ari. The production had been marred for her by the critical Time magazine article in which her mother denounced her as selfish and heartless, but she knew her voice had been at its peak and was pleased Jackie had heard it then.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jackie said next.
She paused and Maria frowned, wondering what the apology was for. Mrs. Kennedy spoke slowly, leaving long gaps between sentences, and Maria’s mind leapt through a handful of possibilities. Was she apologizing for her sister’s affair with Ari?
Jackie continued: “I should have invited you to brunch with Mr. Onassis last fall but I was not very good at meeting new people back then. I am slowly getting better, I hope.”
So that was it. “Please. Don’t apologize,” Maria said.
“Oh, but I must. I was ashamed of myself, especially since you had written such a beautiful letter after Jack died. I remember it most particularly.” Her voice softened at the mention of his name.
She’s nice, Maria realized. Nothing like her sister. There was sincerity in her expression, alongside vulnerability. “I was so saddened by your husband’s death I had to write. It felt important to let you know that the world was mourning with you.”
Jackie reached across suddenly and took Maria’s hand, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “No one can explain it to me. I don’t think they ever will. Yet opera is full of tragedy. It is part of the universal human experience, is it not?”
Maria nodded. “All of us know loss at some time in our lives, but not of the magnitude of yours. Thankfully that is rare.” She paused and chose her words with care. She didn’t want to upset someone who seemed so fragile, but she couldn’t miss this opportunity to make her position clear. “Your dignity since then has moved me greatly, and Ari feels the same way. I know I can speak for him in saying you and your children would be welcome to come for a cruise on the Christina whenever you like. It’s a good way to vacation without the world’s media photographing you at every turn.”
She looked Jackie in the eye and hoped she had gotten the message across: Ari was hers; she was the hostess on the Christina. Lee’s name was not mentioned, but it was the clear subtext.
Jackie blinked and pulled her hand away. “I have the warmest memories of our cruise in 1963. That was in October, just before . . .” She stumbled over her words. “Jack was alive then. I should never have gone. I could have had two more weeks with him.” For a moment her composure slipped. “I regret every moment we spent apart. What I wouldn’t give . . .” She clasped a hand over her mouth, seeming close to tears.
“Can I get you a drink?” Maria asked quickly. “A glass of water? Champagne?”
Jackie shook her head. “I think I must go before I make a fool of myself.”
She rose to her feet and turned to look back at the chair as if worried she had left something behind.
“Please don’t rush . . .” Maria began, but Jackie spoke over her: “Thank you again for moving me so greatly with your music. It has been an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is all mine,” Maria said, rising. “Please—stay for a drink.”
Jackie shook her head with a wan smile. “I can’t.”
She slipped out the door, leaving Maria staring after her, openmouthed. The former First Lady was much more childlike than she had imagined, with her big eyes and little girl’s voice, but how brave of her to come and apologize over that brunch. What guts that must have taken. She might seem fragile on the surface, but she had a core of steel.
The encounter had been fleeting, yet at the same time it felt momentous, and Maria was shaken afterward. She wondered what Jackie had made of her. The former First Lady was regal, Maria decided. Formal. She held herself at a distance and didn’t give much away.
Maria liked her, but even if circumstances had been different, she couldn’t imagine them being friends.