Martha. One of Susan Mary’s friends, Barbara Cushing, who would later marry CBS founder William S. Paley, had been hired by
Vogue
as a fashion editor because she was photogenic and had great beauty, style, and connections.Barbara, whom most people knew as Babe, helped Susan Mary write an enthusiastic article on the glorious future that was in store for open-toed shoes, after which
Vogue
offered her a job as a receptionist for twenty-six dollars a week.
During the summer of 1939, the New York World’s Fair gave people a chance to admire the city’s most recent architectural marvels like the Empire State Building and Rockefeller Center. Babe and Susan Mary posed for a
Vogue
photo shoot in evening gowns, hanging in the air from invisible harnesses with the fair as background. It was a well-paid gig for amateur trapeze artists.
But things got even better. One evening that same summer, while Marietta was away, her fiancé, Desmond FitzGerald, invited Susan Mary to dinner at the Maisonnette Russe, a fashionable restaurant in the St. Regis Hotel. At the end of the meal, he signaled to an old Harvard buddy to join them. In a flash, any feelings Susan Mary might have had for other men vanished like rabbits scattering at the blast of a shotgun. Her eyes lit up as they met the stranger’s gaze.
Bill Patten
Everybody loved Bill, and not just out of pity. Asthmatic since childhood, Bill had been pampered by his parents, William and Anna Patten, both Bostonians from good families—and in Anna’s case, rich. When he was fourteen, Bill’s parents sent him to Groton, where he met Joe Alsop, who was born a year after him, in 1910. Neither boy corresponded to the athletic ideal espoused by the school’s venerated British models: Bill was sickly and Joe much too fat. Still, Groton’s severe teachers and evenReverend Peabody took a liking to young Bill Patten. It was the same story at Harvard. Whereas Joe, sweaty and short of breath, earned his stripes through clownery, storytelling, unabashed snobbery, and brilliant intelligence, Bill just smiled the winning smile that made two deep dimples appear at the corners of his mouth. Though Harvard claimed to have a more democratic and intellectual atmosphere than other universities, social success was still considered as important as academic grades, and this was measured by admittance into the elite final clubs. Both Bill and Joe were admitted to the Porcellian Club, Harvard’s most selective, making them equals to former member Theodore Roosevelt and giving them a slight advantage over Franklin, whom the Porcellian had passed over.
By the time Bill met Susan Mary he was almost thirty. He had a group of close friends, and was as asthmatic as ever. Professionally speaking, he worked for a Boston brokerage firm and had done nothing worthy of reproach, but he did not have much in the way of a future. Choices made with personal happiness in mind rarely seem reasonable, and quite a few people pointed out the drawbacks of marrying Bill, which Susan Mary had immediately wanted to do. Well-wishers told her she was too young, and that Bill was too sick. Charles Francis Adams, a friend of Bill’s from Harvard, took her aside at a party and explained that Bill had to marry for money because his poor health forbade him from earning it. This line of reasoning hardly shocked Susan Mary. She was aware of the laws of matrimony but she was not going to let them stop her. She could allow for the fact that Bill ought to be looking for an heiress, but if that was not his intention, she was not going to stand aside. She saw no reason to give up the things about Billthat made her happy: his good humor, courage, kindness, and the concern he showed for her. She felt as though Bill would always let her pass through a doorway first, that he would always be on her side in times of conflict. He would not be a guide or a tutor, but a dear and tender friend. She had considered the match from every angle, and had