I Wanted to Marry a Kennedy-Part One

After I mused, a “Kennedy” man appeared

Above: “For a time, always a bridesmaid and never a bride.” I dated Paul in 1981/82 when I was 23 and 24, and at the time the second picture from the left was taken.

The “Love Story” fantasy was an expansion of women’s fascination with Kennedy men. My fascination with the beauty, power, and wealth of the Kennedys captivated me for years.

When our president was assassinated, I was eight years old. I spent hours crying and poring over the “Life” magazine photos of our fallen president, his first lady, and their children, Caroline, and John-John. JFK’s loss was tragic and left me with a longing for the Camelot dreams that had been stolen from us.

People often compared my mother to Jackie. She had the same dark hair and wide set eyes. When people saw a picture of my mother as a young woman, they often exclaimed, “Jackie O!”

Above: My mother with a friend. Mom is on the right.

My father was charismatic and enthusiastic like JFK and shared the same first name. Honestly, I thought my father was better looking than the President. Women seemed to swoon whenever Dad was nearby.

Above: my father as a senior in high school

Mom used to tell me that I had her features and my father’s coloring. My parents were the best-looking people I knew. I was enormously flattered to be compared to them.

My Kennedy fascination was one reason I was so attracted to Brian in my previous story. After musing about Brian, a man I think of as a “Kennedy man,” came into my life.

It was 1981 and I was 23 years old when I met Paul one Friday night while sharing drinks with my co-workers, Patrick and Rocky. A tall, blond, handsome, and well-built, yet slim man walked up to me. His suit looked expensive, his blond hair was neat and freshly cut, and he looked as if he came from money. Not one hair was out of place. His slightly clipped, precise voice gave off an Ivy League vibe.

“Hello,” he said. “I am Paul Hughes. (not his real name) May I buy you a drink?”

From the first moment I saw Paul, I fell hard. Oh dear, I was a “Tree Girl” again. Paul seemed like the embodiment of my most magical childhood desires. You can read about “Tree Girls” here:

Rocky whispered in my ear, “Hey, see if you can hang on to this one! He looks like a Kennedy or something!”

There was something Kennedyesqe about Paul. I was flattered by his interest as I said yes. Paul was 10 years older than me and new in town. A top executive for a national corporation, he was obviously headed for considerable success.

Paul and I spent the rest of the evening talking. He had gone to college in New York. His father was a New York attorney. Paul was obviously intelligent, well-spoken, and had impeccable manners. Intrigued, I very much wanted a relationship with this man.

I often complained when men treated me as a sex object and that complaint was justified. Often, men didn’t even see me as a person. I was not necessarily any better. Paul attracted me because he was a success object. I wanted him because of his good looks, east coast upbringing, success, and privilege.

Sex object, success object, two sides of the same coin, right? In my defense, although I was often attracted to these superficial qualities, I was also interested in the whole person. Paul was someone I wanted to know. I wanted to connect in a meaningful way. I doubt Paul had the same goal.

As the evening ended, Paul asked me to his hotel. He was so new in town he didn’t yet have a place to live. Maybe I should have said no, but the thought didn’t cross my mind. I sensed this guy was safe in that he wasn’t a rapist or anything. He was powerfully appealing, and I wanted to sleep with him. I didn’t believe in the double standard or in playing games. If I wanted to sleep with a man, I did. That was my way of being true to the woman I was then.

We went to his hotel and had sex. He was a great lover. His wonderful muscular chest was soft with blond hair, and he had a flat washboard stomach. I was even more smitten.

After sex, we fell asleep. It wasn’t long before Paul woke me, and we had sex again. Then I fell asleep, he woke me, and we had sex again. We had sex at least five times that night. I was in and out of sleep so much that I lost count. I had never experienced anything like this before, or since.

In the morning, Paul took me back to my car and asked for my number. I gave him my business card. As I drove home, I wondered if I would ever hear from him again. He said he’d call me, but you know how that goes. Guys always say they’ll call you. It doesn’t mean they will.

Several days later, Paul called me at work.

“This is Paul Hughes,” he said when I picked up the phone.

Still in awe over his performance during our evening together, I reflexively said, “I don’t think so. Your real name is Superman, isn’t it?”

Paul seemed taken aback and flattered by the compliment.

“Well thank you,” he said, chuckling.

We began dating every weekend. Paul bought a condo in the city in the Lincoln Park area. His place had floor to ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the city and lots of black marble. At night we often sat in the dark on the marble floor next to the windows. We drank wine, talked, and looked at the sparkling lights of the skyline.

Paul took me out to dinner each night we were together. In the mornings we walked to a little place near his condo for breakfast. I was also his date for corporate events. As it turned out, Paul was a top executive. We sat at the head table during many glittery corporate gatherings. I enjoyed playing the role of corporate wife.

We socialized with the other top executives. My favorite destination was a fabulous French restaurant called “Le Bon Vivant.” Paul also took me to small parties hosted by his co-workers. Though we saw each other often, and the sex was always great, Paul kept me at arm’s length. He often called at the last minute.

My phone would ring Saturday morning, and he’d say, “Karin, you should already be here. Why aren’t you here yet?”

I suspected Paul liked to troll the bars on Friday nights to see if someone better turned up. If no one did, he’d call me.

I wanted to be with him, so I said yes when he called. That was my way of being true to my desires. We spent our time at his place. He didn’t have a roommate like I did, and Chicago was more fun than Rolling Meadows where I lived. I visited so often that the doorman recognized me.

One time his doorman let me in without calling Paul first. When I showed up, Paul was upset.

“How did you get in?” he asked.

I explained. Paul was visibly unhappy. He talked to the doorman. That never happened again.

There were two times we ran into women who greeted Paul enthusiastically. He brushed off their hellos as quickly as he could. I had the feeling he’d dated them. Both women looked a great deal like me – young, blonde, and curvy.

One time, at one of Paul’s work events, a man I didn’t know greeted me warmly and called me by a different name. I suspected Paul had brought someone who looked a lot like me to a work event.

He had every right to see anyone he chose. We hadn’t agreed to be exclusive. It still bothered me, of course, but not much. After all, we were together so often that I didn’t think he had too much time for anyone else.

Sometimes Paul complimented me, but he was just as likely to find fault. I’ve found New Yorkers are often that way. They seem to think there is something sophisticated about being a bit critical. Other times he’d call me dear and was eager to see me. One morning I was sitting cross-legged on the floor dressed in the red terrycloth romper I wore after my shower.

Paul pressed the skin around my shoulders and thighs with his fingers and said, “See how soft you are? You are a woman made for love.”

Paul loved golf. He golfed at every opportunity. I was unbelievably bored with everything related to golf. Paul even watched golf on TV. Yawn. He asked if I wanted him to teach me to play. I said no. He asked again and I said no again. My morning swim was all I wanted and needed. I was busy and had no time for golf.

Dazzled by him, I was also in love. I’ve read that when women have sex, they release oxytocin, the same bonding hormone released when they breastfeed. We often can’t help but fall in love. For us, having sex is often the same as making love. Men can release oxytocin too, but they are far less likely. It is easier biologically for them to have sex without falling in love.

I kept hoping I would break through Paul’s reserve, and he would fall in love with me. Occasionally, I tried to talk to Paul about deeper issues.

He resisted saying, “I don’t want to talk, Karin.”

Paul never wanted to talk about anything below the surface.

I told myself, “He keeps calling me. He must like me.”

During this time, my kitchen design business took off. The cold calls I’d made to architects and interior designers paid off. My showroom presentations were polished but also personal. I knew how to engage with people in a way that made them want to work with me.

Suddenly, I was very busy. Not only did I need to design, prepare presentations, and sell new kitchens, but I also had to help supervise the installations of the kitchens I’d already sold.

While in the office, my telephone rang constantly as I juggled the responsibilities of my job. Clients, suppliers, architects, designers, and installers called me almost constantly. When I went home at night, I often unplugged the phone to give myself a break from all that ringing.

My co-worker Patrick was also a very busy designer. When I asked if it was normal to feel overwhelmed when my business took off, he told me that being successful was hell. I’d never realized that would be the case.

By this time Paul and I had dated for eight months, and I was getting frequent migraine headaches. I’d had migraines since I was 12 years old. Usually, I had one or two a year. That number increased to two a week. It was becoming increasingly harder to do my job.

Lots of people get bad headaches and say dramatically, “I have a migraine.” That often just means their headache is painful. The classic migraines that I have are a whole different animal. They are completely debilitating and include fractured vision, body numbness, disorientation, nausea, and difficulty speaking or connecting thoughts. The pain can be severe and easily knock me flat, but I find the other weird symptoms to be the most upsetting.

After a migraine, I get a hangover that lasts the entire next day and feels almost exactly like I drank too much alcohol the night before. Then, for several days, my nerves are overstimulated. I often experience strange visual disturbances that make me fear I am getting another migraine. If I become too stressed during this stage, I will trigger another headache and start the misery all over again.

When the frequency of my migraines increased dramatically, I saw my regular doctor and then a neurologist. The neurologist put me on a blood pressure medication that made me feel strange and did nothing to stop the migraines. I stopped taking the medication after two weeks.

When my family has a stubborn medical condition, we go to Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. Mayo Clinic often finds problems our regular doctors cannot. My Dad was planning to go to Mayo for some issues with his heart. I decided to go with him. Luckily for us, my brother-in-law was a pilot and rented a small plane to fly us to the clinic.

After a complete and thorough work-up, the doctors at Mayo told me that 80% of the people they see have maladies caused by emotions and psychology. I fell into that category.

There was nothing terribly wrong with me. I wasn’t about to have a stroke. My problem was that I had too much stress in my life. They also told me that their psych testing showed I was immature and superficial. What?! Who?!!! Me?!

When I saw my father walk out of the examining room wearing a hang dog expression, I asked if his psych testing also showed that he was immature and superficial. When we discovered we had received the same results, we had a good laugh that took some of the sting out of the analysis.

Even though I was dismayed to hear this assessment of my character, I decided the best response was to go on living my life. I hoped maturity and depth would develop naturally.

When all the testing was complete, I was given these suggestions:

1) Quit your job. It’s too stressful and doesn’t provide you with enough financial stability.

2) Break up with your boyfriend. He’s a jerk.

3) Take biofeedback training to learn to control your migraines.

I loved my work. There was no way I was going to quit my job. I figured “two out of three ain’t bad.” When I returned home, I called the referral Mayo had given me for biofeedback training and made an appointment. My next call was to Paul. I told him we would not be seeing each other anymore because the Mayo doctors said he caused me too much stress. Paul didn’t argue. Just like that, our relationship was over.

With every choice we make, we vote for our future and even the future of humanity. This was one time when I chose my health over my fantasies. Yay, me.

I may have been immature and superficial, but at least I wasn’t totally stupid. It wasn’t until I was 45 years old that I realized just how much the movie “Love Story,” and the Kennedy mystique had shaped my fantasies and choices.

If you are a man or a woman of a certain age like me, I hope you can be gentle with yourself for the foolish choices of your youth. However, if you are a young person, I encourage you to be better than I was. You have resources I didn’t have. The internet, when used for good, provides you with a treasure trove of insightful information.

Please examine your fantasies with more care than I did. Don’t be led blindly by urges that do not serve your best interest. As I grew older, I learned more about the way JFK, Bobby and Teddy Kennedy treated their wives. I would not want a husband who treated me the way the Kennedy men treated their wives. The dreams I was chasing would never have made me happy.

The same goes for men, of course. Do your dreams reflect wisdom and maturity? Where are your dreams taking you? Is that where you really want to go?

I will say this, however. We each have our own path of learning and sometimes we need the courage to follow our path regardless of what anyone else thinks. I listened to my intuition and desires and did exactly what I wanted to do despite how anyone else judged me. My choices may not have been wise, but they belonged to me and eventually taught me the lessons I needed to learn. I’m happy to report that “Kennedy” men no longer fascinate me.

However, as a young woman, I was no longer done with Paul Hughes. He was not done with me yet either. In part two I’ll share the second chapter of my time with Paul.