She was their Marilyn, an aristocratic blonde with knowing blue eyes, lissome moves, the softest curves, and sometimes, a velvet pouch with pot and acid at her side. “She was what woman were meant to be,” one former lover sobbed, still bereft 60 years later. Among her conquests was a man named Jack—John F. Kennedy to you and me. And like him, the story goes, she had to die before her time.
Her name was Mary Pinchot Meyer, and she lived and died in a gone world of monogrammed matchbooks, white-glove dances at Yale, yachting summers in the Med. She bewitched the blue-blooded men she ran with and who ran the world for a while, arrogant, entitled men who thought of themselves as poets and spies.
What is it we have to sell them? We hope we have to sell them prosperity, but for the average guy the prosperity is nil. He’s not unprosperous but he’s not very prosperous; he’s not going to make out well off. And the people who really are well off hate our guts.
She suggests that “violently liberal women in politics” preferred Adlai Stevenson, the former Democratic presidential nominee, to Mr. Kennedy because they “were scared of sex.” Of Madame Nhu, the sister-in-law of the president of South Vietnam, and Clare Boothe Luce, a former member of Congress, she tells Mr. Schlesinger, in a stage whisper, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were lesbians.
In Tapes, Candid Talk by Young Kennedy Widow
(Source: The New York Times)