The Importance of Being Kennedy (24 page)

It was all the same to me. I don’t care for Belleek.

“Now,” she said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the house. Our house. It was left between us, you’ll remember. One-fifth shares each.”

I said, “You’re not going back?”

“No,” she said, “of course not. Mr. Jauncey will be coming out of retirement momentarily and he’ll need me back at my post. But the last I heard, Edmond had shifted to Tullamore with that wife, and if I know him he’ll have gone off and left it with the
door unlocked. You’re in that part of the world, Nora. You might think of going to inspect the place when you have a minute.”

I said, “Ursie, I live in London. I never set foot in Ireland. And anyway, what’s to be done about the house? I don’t give a tinker’s about it. It was a hovel.”

“It was not,” she said. “It’s a solid stone house and our birthright. And there’s the land. We’re entitled to it, and if you don’t want your share, I’ll take it. I’ll hold it for Deirdre. If she ever goes home she’ll need a roof over her head.”

Margaret said, “Are you sure it still has a roof? The Clavin widow likely took the tiles with her when they quit.”

I said, “And Deirdre’s been thirty-five years in Africa. If she goes back to Ballynagore she’ll be dead of the damp before she’s unpacked her trunk. You have the house, Ursie, and welcome to it. But don’t depend on me to find out if it’s still standing.”

“Well,” she said, “I’d have to have that in writing. I’m sure Mr. Jauncey would be very happy to draft something for us. He didn’t at all want to retire, you know, but his wife nagged and nagged him to do it.”

Margaret said, “Sweet Jesus, not Mr. Jauncey again. The man must be eighty if he’s a day.”

I said, “I’m in service with Lady Hartington now, you know, Ursie? With Kathleen Kennedy as was? She won’t ever be Duchess now because Lord Billy’s dead and gone, but she still goes as Lady Hartington.”

“Oh yes,” she said, “it was in the dailies about her getting married. Not a big write-up, but I did cut it out to send to Deirdre. But I’m afraid we don’t have such a high opinion of the Kennedys as we used to, not since Mr. Kennedy went for Ambassador. Mr. Jauncey said the man was an embarrassment to us in London and a thorn in the flesh of the poor President. I’m afraid we think them all rather vulgar.”

Margaret said, “Speak for yourself. I went to one of those Meet the Kennedys coffee parties, for the election, and I thought they were grand. One of the Altar Guild ladies held it in her conservatory. It wasn’t the boy, the one who was running, but two of the sisters came, lovely, tall, smiling girls, and then Mrs. Kennedy. She drove up in a big limousine car. Beautiful powder-blue costume and an ostrich feather hat. Honestly, Nora, it was like meeting the President. Better probably. She gave us a little talk, about being Mayor Fitzgerald’s daughter, and how she’s raised nine children, and all about visiting with the King and Queen at some castle in England.”

I said, “That was Windsor. And the King and Queen were asked back. I saw them as close as that door.”

She said, “I know. I remembered you writing about it. I told everybody there about you and I’d have mentioned you to Mrs. Kennedy only I never got near enough to speak. She asked were there any Gold Star Mothers present, which there were, Laura Checketts for one, lost her only boy in Burma. She had a special word with them. And then she said she hoped we’d vote for her Jack, because boys like him were America’s great future. And I did vote for him.”

I said, “Well, Jack’s a fine lad. Though I can’t say Mrs. K had much of a hand in raising him nor any of them. She knows how to put on a good show though. She learned that from the Queen of England. And you know your Val went dancing with Lady Kathleen when he was in London?”

Ursie said, “Yes. He wrote and told us all. He said she was a very pleasant girl. And now Val’s in the police. We’ve that to be thankful for. One of Margaret’s boys has turned out all right.”

Margaret said, “Both of Margaret’s boys have turned out all right. There’s nothing wrong with shop work.”

Ursie said, “Ray should have gone into something worthwhile,
like insurance, or banking. You get no respect in shop work, but you see, Nora, all he’s interested in is clothes. And New York! Well!”

Margaret said, “Will you take some ice cream, Nora? I’ve strawberry flavor and chocolate.”

I said, “There’s nothing wrong with New York. He’ll have wanted to spread his wings, same as we did. You’ve got a short memory.”

“Not the same thing at all,” Ursie said. “I found a good position and stuck to it. And I saved for a rainy day. Ray spends every cent he earns. He’s just like his father. And if he must work in retail he could have gone to Jordan Marsh. Mr. Jauncey always buys his shirts at Jordan Marsh.”

Margaret said, “Here we go again.”

And Ursie started right back in, like a broken phonograph record.

She said, “You know, Nora, I’ve never believed Mr. Jauncey had claudication of the arteries. I’m sure it was plain old charley horse, but you see his wife was determined to move to Marblehead. She’d been plotting it for years.”

Fidelma Clery was on 230th Street, living over the brush with a man called Horace. He’d been kept out of the military because of brain seizures, so he’d spent the war doing paperwork, at the shipyard where she’d gone as a riveter.

She said, “He’s all right, for a 4F. He’s still got a bit of snap in his celery.”

She was scandalized when she heard me and Walter were living apart.

I said, “It’s not so easy, this marriage business. Especially when you go into it later in life. When you’ve been accustomed to pleasing yourself.”

She said, “Pleasing yourself? Working for Queen Kennedy? One night off a week and a load of theatricals if you asked for a raise, is that what you call pleasing yourself? You want your bumps felt, Brennan. Given up the chance of a little house and a man with a job for life? For a Kennedy? I wouldn’t depend on the
Kennedys for anything. If you ask me, they’ve had their day. We had the best of it when we were at Prince’s Gate.”

She wasn’t the first I’d heard give that opinion. There were plenty who thought Mr. K had come off badly, that he’d put his shirt on the wrong horse, saying the Germans could never be beaten. But Joe Kennedy never put his shirt on anything. He was too canny for that. He was certainly all right for money. But he had stuck out, still arguing against the war when there were brave American boys volunteering, so in that respect the tide had turned against him. And that was what people remembered. They took him to be a sidestepper even though he’d lost his own son, who’d been the star in his crown.

I said, “Well, I know he won’t be doing any more ambassadoring. Those days are over. But I’d still like to follow what the youngsters are up to and Kick surely needed somebody to come with her to face the music, especially now Joe’s gone. You know he was the only one who really stood by her when she married Lord Billy. And Herself won’t give her a minute’s peace till she’s back in the fold. Then she’ll start campaigning for her to get an annulment, I’ll bet you anything. She won’t rest till she’s wiped Lord Billy off the slate.”

Fidelma said, “How is she?”

I said, “She’s started going dancing again. I don’t know. They only had two weeks together. They can hardly have known each other. But there are plenty of others in her shoes. She’s gone to see Nancy Tenney while we’re over. She’s left on her own as well, and with a child to raise. I want to go to Craig House while I’m here. I want to see for myself what they’ve done to my darling Rosie. Do you know how to get there?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do. Is Kick going with you?”

But Kick had never quite answered me about that. She’d said
she’d think about it. I’d asked Jean and Teddy if they’d like to write her a little note. Jean said I’d better not upset Mother talking about Rosie, and Teddy said only family was allowed to visit, but then he went scrambling off on his bicycle to Scussett’s and came back with a box of Almond Joys for her. He went himself too, instead of sending Joey Gargan like he usually did when he couldn’t be bothered, and his eyes filled up when he asked me to give them to Rosie.

Fidelma said, “Euny was at the nursing home one time when I went. She said they had thought of having her to Hyannis for a week in the summer but Mr. K had kiboshed that. He said it was too liable to unsettle her.”

Horace came home and the whiskey bottle came out before he’d even hung up his cap. Not like my Walter. The first thing he looked for was a brew of tea. I felt a long way from home that moment, sitting in Fidelma Clery’s walk-up, drinking liquor I didn’t want with a man I hardly knew. I wasn’t even sure where home was anymore.

We had cheese and crackers for our dinner and then Horace fell asleep.

Fidelma said, “You know what, Nora? When you go to see Rosie, I’ll come with you. We’ll take the bus.”

It’s a pleasant ride from the city up to Beacon. When a person needs caring for night and day you couldn’t ask for a better-favored place than Craig House. It has beautiful lawns where the patients can be taken for walks, and seats set under the trees with a view down to the Fishkill Creek. And the inside is very fancy. They have parlors where they can sit with their visitors, and a chapel and a dining room. There’s even a grand piano. Fidelma said there was another part, for the bad cases that need locking up, but we didn’t see any of that. In fact, we hardly saw anyone, just a couple of poor souls shuffling along a corridor with their visitors.

Rosie has two Sisters who take care of her. I suppose Mr. K bungs them a bit extra, so they’ll make sure she’s all right. She has her own bedroom and bathroom and everything she needs. More like a hotel than a sanitarium really, with a few of her little bits and pieces to make her feel at home. There were cushions I remembered from the house in Bronxville and some of her dollies, and a painting of yachts racing on Nantucket Sound. No photographs though. Sister Bernadette asked us most particularly not to give her photographs, because they make her agitated.

She came walking towards us so fast and eager I thought she’d recognized me, but that’s just the way she walks now. Going nowhere in a hurry. She was clean and tidy except for her hair.

I said, “Fetch me your comb, Rosie. Let me make your hair pretty.”

But she just gazed at my shopping bag, as if she was wondering was there anything in it for her.

She’d put on weight of course, for they feed them a lot better at Craig House than at the Kennedys, and she’s not forever getting hauled out to play football or do her daily gymnastics like she would have been at home. She has her own personal phonograph and a wireless, and plenty of magazines. Sister Barbara said she loves her magazines. She’ll look at the same one over and over and never tire of it.

When it was decided to send her for the operation, Mr. K. told Fidelma it would calm her down and stop her from getting nervous tension. He said it was the very latest development, being done for all kinds of diseases of the mind, even things like Communism and men going with men. He said they were lucky to get her an appointment so quickly, because there was quite a waiting list, and that apart from a bit of bruising around her eyes and a patch where they shaved away her hair she’d be the same, the same old Rosie, only happier. Well, doctors can be wrong. It was
the same old house she used to live in, you might say, only my Rosie wasn’t at home.

She ripped open the candy Teddy had sent her and ate every last piece, though she’d only just had her luncheon, and then she sat, not looking at anything in particular. She has one arm that doesn’t move. She carries it tucked tight against her bosoms. The other arm never stops. Up and down all the time, with her hand like a chubby little claw, as if there’s something bothering her, as if she’s trying to recall something, trying to catch hold of it and it keeps fluttering away.

We’d taken stale bread with us, because when Fidelma had visited with her before, the Sisters had said she loved to go out into the grounds and feed the birds. But all she did was dump out the whole lot onto the path and walk away. She seemed to have forgotten about feeding birds, and how to smile. She knew her name. If you said it she’d look at you, but it was an empty look.

We talked between ourselves, me and Fidelma, bringing up things she might remember, watching her to see if she caught on. About the day Teddy was christened and she was allowed to carry him into the church, proud as a queen. About the night she was presented at Buckingham Palace, her and Kick with Prince of Wales feathers pinned in their hair and Mrs. K dazzling us all with her diamonds. And the little club her and Kick got up with Nancy Tenney, to swap pictures of the film stars, and how Miss Swanson paid them a visit and signed her autograph.

Fidelma said, “Do you remember the first time the old goat brought Miss Swanson home? For afternoon tea, if you like! He’s the brass front of the devil, that one. And Miss Swanson had on that gold cape and a cocktail gown, but Mrs. K was all buttoned up in a cardigan set, smiling and passing the cream. You know, I’ve often thought he could have diddled one of his sweeties right
there on the parlor couch and Herself would have carried on smiling and pouring the tea.”

It wasn’t a nice thing to speak of in front of Rosie. I remembered Danny Walsh trying to see up Miss Swanson’s skirt as she went up the ladder into the loft over Mr. Tenney’s garage, but I wouldn’t have talked about it in front of the children. Mrs. K was right though. Rosie didn’t appear to understand anything. So I thought I could at least stop fretting about her, parked there while the family carried on without her. It didn’t make her sad, because she didn’t remember what had been. The way she kept rifling through the empty candy box, she didn’t even seem to remember she’d eaten them all not half an hour before.

But then, when we’d put our hats on and it was time to go, she got me in such a bear hug with her arm that jiggled and clung to me and mewed such funny little sounds into my ear.

“Nor nor nor,” she was saying. “Nor nor nor.”

I believe she did remember me. Sister Bernadette came to take her to her room, and still she clung to me. I thought my heart should have broke.

Fidelma said, “You have to sing ‘On the Lovely Banks of Laune.’ She loves that. That used to calm her down if she got into one of her paddies.”

Sister Bernadette said, “We don’t get into paddies anymore, do we, Rose Marie? You have to realize, madam, she’s not the person you knew. None of the old things apply anymore.”

Fidelma sang it anyway,

but Rosie just walked away with the Sister and never once looked back.

Neither of us spoke till we were on the bus.

I said, “We shouldn’t have come. All we’ve done is upset her.”

She said, “That wasn’t upset. That was her remembering something. It was probably the smell of you when she gave you a hug. Well, I shall still come. It’s a nice trip out and one of these days she might just come to, like waking up from a long sleep, and we’ll have our old Rosie back. The only thing that bothers me, I wouldn’t like to run into Herself. I suppose she’ll be turning up one of these days.”

Five years Rosie had been there and neither her Mammy nor her Daddy had visited.

Fidelma said, “When we were working for them, did old man Kennedy ever, you know? Did he ever try it on?”

I said, “What, with me? Hardly. He liked glamour-pusses, not nursery maids. I had my behind pinched a few times by Mayor Fitzgerald, but that was years back. In the end I learned to dodge him.”

She said, “Your Man liked the glamour-pusses when he could get them but he’d settle for anything that was handy for a quickie. That’s what happens when men are kept on short commons at home.”

I said, “You’re not telling me he tried anything with you?”

“Sure he did,” she said. “At Beals Street. I’d only just started with them so I thought I’d better oblige. I thought it maybe went with the job. It does at some places, you know?”

You never could be sure with Fidelma. She was a bit of a romancer.

I said, “He never did. What if Mrs. Kennedy had walked in on you?”

“Oh,” she said, “he wasn’t that stupid and neither was I. It was
when she’d run off home to her Daddy, remember? When she was expecting Kick?”

I said, “Did he come to your room?”

“God Almighty,” she said. “I don’t think he’d have known where my room was. No, he had me in the pantry. It was all over very fast. It was a bit like getting the smallpox shot.”

I said, “Why did you never mention it before?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “To be honest, Brennan, you always struck me as a bit of a prude. I wonder he didn’t try it on with you though. I reckon he’d have liked someone who put up a little fight. And you were better-looking than I was.”

I said, “Well, he never tried a thing with me and just as well. You wouldn’t have seen me for dust. I could never have looked Mrs. K in the face again.”

“Oh,” she said, “I thought that was the best part of it. Looking at her and thinking, ‘Your old man might have a pot of money because he’s nothing to write home about in the other department.’”

I said, “Was it just the once?”

“No,” she said, “it was any time he thought of it, until Herself came home. Do you remember how she got the red-carpet treatment? Anything in the world she wanted. We know what her price was. A new car and a bigger house. So, when you married your man, Nora, you were still a virgin. That must have come as a shock, at your time of life.”

I’d never said I was a virgin.