Massachusetts' sky was crisp blue, and a bright sun spilled down on the familiar figure cutting through the ocean on water skis. Just as she has done every day during her six-week stay at the Kennedy compound in Hyannisport this summer, Jackie Kennedy celebrated her 39th birthday skimming over Nantucket Sound. Then she collected an assortment of Kennedy children and treated them to an alfresco picnic on Egg Island, a sand bar that was a J.F.K. favorite during his summer White House days. Came evening, and she was at Father-in-Law Joe Kennedy's house for a quiet family dinner and a private screening of The Thomas Crown Affair, the story of a swinging Boston millionaire-turned-bank-robber.
The mixture of screaming teeny-boppers and shoving matrons made it look like a cross between a rock concert and a girdle sale. Actually, that wasn't far off the mark as the Beatles' Apple Boutique, London's psychedelic Woolworth's, staged a two-day going-out-of-business giveaway. Why, after eight months, was Apple closing? "We got fed up with the rag trade," explained Paul McCartney. Groused Ringo Starr: "I never could find anything to fit me there anyway." In fact, despite the Beatle name and a hefty investment, Apple was barely breaking even.
If a lady of style has gobs of money, she can still find all the exclusive, just-for-you creations her heart desires in Paris' high-fashion houses. But the designers these days trend more to mass-market ready-to-wears, known as pret `a porter--and to more pants, more boots, more chains, more turtlenecks and, of course, more transparency. For his fall collection, Andre Courreges' main excitement was a white, rib-knit jump suit, with a tunic for daytime wear and a sequined pants outfit with see-through top for after dark. Not to be outdone, Yves St. Laurent turned out an even more daring evening gown, then produced for everyday a series of wide-cut pants suits just possibly ugly enough to be chic. At least Lauren Bacall, on hand for a CBS-TV fashion special, thought they were. "I'm going all over New York in them," she promised. "And I dare any maitre d' to throw me out of a restaurant."
Truth and beauty. That's what Author-turned-Film Maker Norman Mailer says he's after, and despite the critical catcalls over his first movie, he's still in there cranking away. The latest is a flick about a paranoid film director, played by old Norm of course, with a sharp little subplot about a bunch of male prostitutes. How's that for a takeoff on Belle de Jour? Beautiful. So there they were, Mailer and about 100 of his pals, out on Long Island shooting some scenes and pow!--Norm got into a fight with Actor Lane Smith and broke Smith's jaw. Next day, Mailer and Actor Rip Torn were doing a scene--and pow again! Torn whammed Mailer over the head with a toy hammer, to which Mailer responded by chewing away on Torn's ear. "I was making a movie on a violent subject," said Norm. "Obviously you can't always control violence." True, but not necessarily beautiful.
On April 11, three bullets slammed into Rudi ("The Red") Dutschke, 28, West Germany's firebrand New Left student ideologist. Two of the slugs lodged in his head, one in his shoulder. Few expected him to live; indeed, his life hung in the balance for days. Now, after two delicate brain operations, Rudi is out of danger and recuperating "somewhere in Italy," according to an illustrated spread in West Germany's Stern magazine. Stern's report shows that Rudi has progressed to the point where he can knock out a few croquet games each day, bat a pingpong ball around, and play with his six-month-old son, Hosea-Che. Within a few months he ought to be healthy enough to return home to face a series of disorderly-conduct charges picked up during his brief but bombastic career as a revolutionary.
Look, if a guy wants to exercise his lungs by belting out a few bars of his favorite tune, who's to complain? Certainly not the staffers at Groote Schuur Hospital in Cape Town, South Africa, when a rousing version of Hello, Dolly! wafted out of the sterile isolation room housing Dr. Philip Blaiberq, 59. Blaiberg, who used Brahms' Lullaby for exercise after his January heart transplant, has been hospitalized for the past two months with a lung complication coupled with hepatitis. Critical and near death for a time, he is now bouncing merrily along the road to recovery, enough so that wife Eileen, taking her own cue from Dolly, could say enthusiastically: "It'll be good to have him back where he belongs."
It's nice when things go smoothly on a movie set--when temperament doesn't rise up and take over. Note the scene in Italy, for instance, where Marcello Mastroianni, 43, and Faye Dunaway, 27, are filming A Place for Lovers for Vittorio De Sica. She helps him with his English. He helps her with Italian slang. They both help each other with their diets. They trade compliments: he likes her eyebrows, she likes making movies in his country. And there haven't even been any of those snippy romance-is-in-the-air rumors buzzing around. Says Faye, "You're always a little in love in the midst of a love scene. But to become involved is bad for the film." Notes Marcello: "Faye is really concerned with the project."
Rudolf Nureyev may call himself a stateless person since his defection from Russia seven years ago, but that didn't stop Uncle Sam from clamping a claim on him. According to the Internal Revenue Service, the practically peerless dancer owes $30,642.70 in back taxes for 1963. Rudi says he used his New York City bank account to deposit funds from all over the world, not necessarily money earned in the U.S. The taxmen haven't been much impressed, so Rudi is trying a new step. He says IRS overcharged him in social security deductions. And he wants $213 back.
Buenos Aires reporters clustered around the visiting literary lion and his hostess. How did Graham Greene find the food in Argentina? "I like to drink more than I like to eat," he smiled. "That is a joke," interrupted Victoria Ocampo, noted essayist and editor, "because he has come to a house where the hostess does not touch a drop of alcohol." No kidding, continued Greene, he found the Argentine whisky he was served "interesting but not very good." Er, and politics? "I am a great admirer of Fidel Castro," said Greene, after which Miss Ocampo allowed as how she was "an admirer of Gandhi and Nehru but had not been converted." Last seen, Greene was boarding a riverboat bound for Asuncion, Paraguay, for final research on his book, Travels with My Aunt.
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