Producer by Wendy Walker Read Free Book Online Page B

“Ethel needs all her calls, appointments, and phone numbers organized. There are a million details.”
    I smiled. I always had excelled in organizing. Maybe this would be a good job for me.
    “For example,” Suzy said, “Mrs. Kennedy needs help putting on a charity tennis tournament this summer where pros will play
     celebrities. It’s a fund-raiser for her late husband’s charity,” Suzy continued. “It’s happening in Forest Hills, New York,
     in August, and it’ll be televised by ABC. Does that interest you?”
    “Absolutely,” I said.
    “There’s just one thing,” Suzy added.
    “What is it?” I asked, ready to hear the caveat that could burst the bubble of my sudden good fortune.
    “You’ll have to go to Hyannis and stay at the Kennedy compound for the summer,” said Suzy. “Would that be a problem for you?”
    I could hardly believe my ears. Staying at the Kennedy compound for the summer was no problem for me, I assured her.
    She filled me in on some more details, like my salary, which would be $15,000 a year. Believe it or not, fifteen was a significant
     raise from the art gallery pay, and yet I saw the irony in the fact that when I was serving Ethel Kennedy as a customer at
     Brooks Brothers, I was making $34,000 a year. Now, as her private secretary, handling her personal affairs, my salary would
     be less than half that much. But compared to thegallery, this was a step up, both in salary and in excitement. I took the job, hung up the phone, and ran to my closet to
     evaluate my clothes. I had to make sure I had appropriate clothes to work as Ethel Kennedy’s private secretary.
    When I got into my light blue Chevy Chevette and drove up to Hickory Hill for my first day of work, I marveled at how much
     I hadn’t noticed when I’d arrived at dusk for dinner just a few weeks earlier. I pulled into the parking area, got out of
     my car, and gazed admiringly at the beautiful white colonial home with soft blue shutters, glowing in the morning light. At
     least I was dressed more appropriately than the last time.
    When I was shown inside my new workplace, the first thing I saw was Joe sitting all by himself in the dining room, having
     breakfast. We greeted each other and he said, “I hear you’re going to work for my mom.”
    “Yeah, I am.” I was relieved that my awful granny gown was not the last outfit he ever saw me wear.
    Joe smiled, wished me good luck, and I was suddenly overwhelmed. Yesterday, I had worked at a mediocre art gallery that hardly
     saw a customer. Today, at age twenty-three, I was private secretary to Ethel Kennedy, whose name alone was completely daunting.
     But I had no time to wallow, thank goodness, as a house employee showed me the front room, my headquarters where I would be
     working for Ethel. I smiled at the decorations and fabrics in pastel peaches and pinks, colors for which my new boss and I
     clearly shared an affinity. I settled in for my first day and found that the work, although piled high, was pretty straightforward.
     And did Ethel ever need me!
    I began by tackling her Rolodex that was utterly disorganized. I also helped with her concerns about the upkeep of her home.
     She liked that I was meticulously neat and artistic by nature, and I placed calls to her friends and to celebritieswho were part of her latest charity event. How cool was it to get Chevy Chase on the phone and have him call me “dear.” I
     was having so much fun organizing, and now, there was Chevy Chase. Wow! To me, comedians are more interesting than royalty.
    When I had a break, I walked into the backyard to admire the towering old trees and the old Coca-Cola dispenser by the pool
     where you could get a frosty Coke. Strains of music from an old jukebox wafted across the property, Dolly Parton singing “Here
     You Come Again,” and the Bee Gees’ hit song “Stayin’ Alive.” There was also a Warhol photo screen print in the pool house
     of Jane Fonda, who would later marry Ted