But he and Bobby Jr. had that male Kennedy entitlement, the expectation that their wives should be mind readers, hostesses who could throw together a dinner for twelve at the last minute—the uncomplaining Cool Girl. If her husband didn’t come home when he said he would, if he was an hour or a day or a week late? The good Kennedy wife just brushed that off. And, of course, a wandering eye, Bobby’s wandering eye, was just part of the deal. Congenital, generational, baked in—the original recipe Kennedy.
