There’s something about The Onassis Women by Kiki Feroudi Moutsatsos that rings a bit hollow, and it’s Kiki herself. She is the only character in the book who has no public reputation, and she doesn’t give us much to go on. Consequently, we are forced to use our imaginations (I just hate that in a tell-all book), and my imagination chose to cast Kiki as a little Pekinese dog -- jittery and loyal, but ultimately of little interest. She did occupy, however, a very interesting position; she was Aristotle Onassis’ personal secretary. That information alone had me drooling with anticipation, so I grabbed the book and a bib, and settled down for a lovely read on one of my favorite subjects.

The women referred to in The Onassis Women are Ari’s daughter Christina, diva Maria Callas, and, of course, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. We also spend time with Aristotle’s three sisters, Artemis, Merope, and Kalliroi, who serve as a sort of Greek chorus and close confidantes to little Kiki. Unfortunately, the author has an annoying habit of calling all these women by their first names, preceded by “Mrs.” Therefore, we are inundated with “Mrs. Artemis”, “Mrs. Merope”, and worst of all, “Mrs. Jackie”, which somehow lends a very Hazel-ish cast to the whole story. The effect, of course, is to impart a sense of distance between Kiki and her employer’s family, but the technique also imparts distance between the reader and the story. These mythic figures come off as very one-dimensional in a story dripping with passion and intrigue.

A few chapters into Kiki’s story, I felt it necessary to put the book down and imagine that I was Kiki herself: “Good morning, Mrs. Jackie. You look lovely today,” and “May I bring you some coffee, Mrs. Jackie?”

It was almost too glorious for words. Almost, dear reader, but not quite. In fact, that “Mrs. Jackie” business had to go. I tried again, assuming the formality that I felt was necessary: “Good morning, Mrs. Onassis. You look lovely today.” It was sublime. I was giddy with ecstasy. Suddenly Kiki’s story came alive. Briefly.

I get the distinct feeling that Kiki knows a lot more than she reveals, even if she did wait until everyone in the book was dead before she talked about them. The new information that she includes has to be painstakingly extracted, as if mining for gold, but once acquired, it’s as disappointing as finding pyrite. We learn that Onassis cursed a lot, was extremely self-centered, and could be very careless with cash (he once dropped two million dollars on the floor of an elevator and was unaware of it). We learn that he could be penurious and treacherous -- when Callas heard that her “Aristo” was going to marry the widow Kennedy, she fled Skorpios, leaving behind her jewelry. Aristo gave it to Jackie, presumably not mentioning where it had come from. Tack-ee.

We do get to hear a great deal about Jackie and Christina, but Kiki’s coverage of Maria Callas and her long-running affair with Onassis is spotty, at best. This cannot be held against the author -- it’s really just a testament to both Onassis’ and Callas’ obsessive need for privacy. While we already know virtually everything possible about Jackie’s life from the moment of her birth until the moment she died, and Christina’s short, tragic life has been reasonably well-illustrated, it is Maria who cries out for illumination.

Maria Callas’ life contained all the elements of the epic dramas she sang. By the age of 17, most of European society was beginning to genuflect at her altar. La Scala, The Paris Opera, and Covent Garden, all of them falling all over themselves to offer her an engagement. Maria Callas: Sacred Monster by Stelios Galatopoulos is the work of a man possessed. Mr. Galatopoulos adores his subject and experiences the ultimate fan fantasy: He became her confidante. This is his third book on La Callas, and he knows his subject well. His idol worship is not blind but he never stoops to dish the dirt. He loves Callas too much to betray her by offering the detritus of her life for public consumption.

Instead, he offers up her achievements and history in a respectful and elegant package that is lavishly illustrated with many rare photos of Callas in performance. Though a little scholarly, and even dry, Sacred Monster fills a need for record-keeping purposes, and for those who are interested, an introduction to a fascinating personality. It is a play-by-play account of her career, with its highlights as well as its lowlights, and no one knows them better than Mr. Galatopoulos. If he wasn’t there to witness the events himself, he hears about them firsthand. From Maria, a diva of the old school. And as far as what are loosely called “divas” today? Sorry, VH1, but Mariah Carey and Brandy, please pick up your tickets to oblivion at Will Call.

In reality there existed a little association that actually furnished profits and not losses. The Olympic Aviation was able to do this by offering service for the island with the hire of airplanes and also taxi-airlines. The society was guided by Alexander Onassis, first son of Onassis, to whom Ari was not supposed to give up command of the society. Because of his myopia, Alexander could not achieve the bravado of airline pilot, but became a commercial pilot and guided taxi-airplanes. He became famous for his urgent transports even when the weather tried to dissuade him from leaving. He controlled little airplanes and had a good knowledge of motors. In his store of vehicles were two Piaggio that Alexander wanted to substitute with two helicopters because he found them too dangerous. The Piaggio were also used for Ari’s personal transport, one was on the deck of his yacht, the Christina. After about a year of insistence, Alexander finally gained enough funds to substitute the helicopters.

Ari wanted his yacht to be brought to Miami with the Piaggio for his movement, and Alexander was entrusted with educating the new pilot Donald McCusker who was replacing Donald McGregor because of an injured eye. When he began to teach the new pilot, McGregor sat behind for ulterior control. At about 30 meters off the ground, the plane had just started the takeoff from the runway of the Athens airport, the airplane was inclined dangerously on the right and spun around in circles for 500 meters. It then smashed its nose, the tail and the other wing before finally stopping. When help arrived, Alexander was recognized only by the monogram on his handkerchief.

The next day, January 22, 1973 at 18:55, Alexander died. The death of a son can cause different reactions in different fathers, but we see how it affected Onassis from his future years. Immediately after the death, he decided to hibernate his son, and only after affectionate advice from his friend Georgakis did he give up the project. Alexander was buried in Skorpios, the private island that Onassis bought in 1963 to make his own Ithaca. But the guilt of his father for not agreeing to the substitution of the Piaggios earlier still lingered. He couldn’t accept the idea and spent the next few months trying to prove that the commands had been sabotaged.

The emptiness left by Alexander would not remove Ari from the taste of struggle that always supported him. The summer of 1973 was a moment of prosperity for the ship owners of oil tankers. The tariff on the market grew continuously and the VLcc and ULcc, big oil tankers obtained from a single voyage from Kuwait to Europe brought a profit of 4 million US dollars. With entries of 12 million dollars in a month derived from 100 ships, the price of oil increased by 8% for the year and Ari ordered his other 4 oil tankers to Japanese yards and 2 ULcc to France.

However, this was the obvious answer to the market’s condition and so there wasn’t a sense of victory or triumph. When his cousin Kostas congratulated him, he answered “I’m not happy, it’s not always millions that resolve what a man needs.” An epic was clearly finished. Ari always measures his success in mathematical terms and now that method had fallen short. Money no longer gave him the pleasure of life. He threw himself into a new project with renewed energies. It was the construction of a refinery in New Hampshire. He presented the project to the locals in October of 1973 and waited. The refinery will never be built.

Onassis found himself in contrast to the public opinion, an assembly of trained citizens. The oil would pollute the water permanently. Onassis didn’t care about the assembly of civils and succeeded in the liberty affair behind the law court. He had faced Aramco, the association dominated by the four big American oil tankers for the business in Saudi Arabia. On that occasion he lost, but he had been strong in his challenge. Now in front of an assembly of citizens reunited in a gymnasium, he was in trouble, not knowing how to use his strength of persuasion and charm.

He abandoned the conference and left for New York feeling beaten. The sentiment of danger in life did not excite him anymore. In flight from Acapulco to New York with his second wife Jackie Bouvier, widow of Kennedy, he drew up his will. He wrote pages after pages with tremendous mental effort. The giant had surrendered in front of the reality of death. He felt sick and was diagnosed with a serious form of myasthenia that would claim his life in less than a year. The scripture proceeded rapidly and the pages accumulated quickly.

“To my beloved daughter” were the words that began his last will. His empire would be separated into two financial districts, alpha and beta. Alfa would keep the capital of heritage together and beta would have the shares of alpha. Christina, his heir, received all the heritage of the first society, while the principal share of beta, 52%, went to the Alexander Onassis Foundation. The intent of the Foundation was to perpetuate the Onassis spirit through charity, art, and the development of Greece.

His daughter Christina had already begun her training and showed gifts similar to her father. On February 6, Onassis was hospitalized to have his gall-bladder operated on. The operation was successful, but he was very weak afterwards. The days passed in a continuing cycle of hope and disappointment until March 15, 1975. It was on this day that death, behind him for two years and ready to seize him at the first sign of surrender, finally found an opening large enough to win over his resistance. He was buried in Skorpios near his son Alexander.

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