And in retrospect, it is so obvious:
Jackie
oughtn’t watch. Yet she waited, heart in wild rhythm, for The Kennedy
Conspiracy Theories to begin. Anniversaries of the incident were hard,
the ten years intervening barely helped. She would finally watch. Jackie
set aside the stack of papers from her latest volunteer committee. She
made her way across the plush aquamarine carpet and pushed the intercom
button.“I’ll have lunch now. In my sitting room…The
usual Thursday diet plate will be fine. What’s on Ari’s calender?… In
Paris until Monday. Okay, then. Consuela? Bring a pitcher of dacquiris,
too.”Jackie opened the drapes. The cold steel and
concrete of Fifth Avenue below looked nothing like Dallas in March. That
unpleasantness belongs to a different time and place. It doesn’t matter
anymore. She lit a cigarette with the big ceramic table lighter,
inhaling deeply.When the maid left, Jackie turned the
television’s volume knob up. Words and images veered in and out of her
focus. The Warren Commission. Lee Harvey Oswald. The KGB. Castro… Did
someone else show up as well, with an agenda of his own? Everything
afterwards was a blur. She only remembered her silly hat.