By Myself and Then Some (24 page)

My Uncle Jack wrote Mother that he and Vera had seen a preview of
To Have and Have Not –
they were very proud and pleased. He’d been apprehensive because he thought the publicity was building me for straight sex – he was happy there was some humor in it too, for he was convinced, as was my Uncle Charlie, that my forte was going to be comedy. At the end of his letter – dated September 15 – he also said, ‘Mother is not well again and I don’t know how long she is going to last. I would arrange for her to see the preview no matter what it cost if I weren’t convinced she wouldn’t live through it – the emotional strain would be too great.’

On the sixteenth a box of flowers was delivered to my door. A note inside read, ‘Look who’s twenty – Steve.’ He’d remembered. I was teary-eyed – my first red roses – he did love me, he was just trying to do the right thing by everyone, trying to be fair – he was too good, too kind. But oh, I missed him. Thank God for my friend Carolyn. She could moan to me about Buddy and I could moan to her about Bogie. We had some swell times moaning together.

Grandma was living with Rosalie and Charlie. When Jack’s letter arrived, Mother and I called her there. She was happy to hear our voices, but she sounded very weak – a shocking sound to me. I wished I could be with her. She had sent me a birthday card – ‘To my darling Bettelein.’ The warm feeling of unjudging, protective family love cannot be equaled. I told her she had to see the movie – I’d have a screening set up for her in New York. Mother said she’d be coming to New York with me soon, so we’d all be together again.

On the afternoon of Wednesday, September 20, the phone rang. I was alone in the apartment – Mother had gone out with a friend. It was
Charlie, telling me that Grandma had died. It had all happened very quickly. Tell Mother there’s no point in her rushing to New York – the services will be tomorrow. Jack got on the phone – Vera – oh, I wanted to be with them. My poor darling Grandma. And how would I tell Mother?

I was destroyed when I hung up. My Grandma, I’d never see her again – the first time I’d lost anyone I loved. It all seemed impossible – how could there be a world without Grandma? She was so much a part of my life, I couldn’t conceive of it. I tried to pull myself together – I looked awful. I listened for Mother, heard her coming up the stairs. She knew something was wrong the minute I opened the door. I was shaking – I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t help it – how do you tell your mother that
her
mother is dead? That was the beginning of a traumatic pattern in my life.

I told her Rosalie and Charlie had called. She immediately said, ‘Grandma.’ Yes, I said – put my arms around her and as gently as I could told her what they had told me. She cried, but tried to hold herself in check for me. She was strong in that way, used to not giving in to her emotions. She told me – it was too queer – she had gone with her friend to a palm reader. The woman had said she was going to have some bad news – the letter M was prominent in her palm.

Why is it that on the eve of great success disaster always strikes? Grandma knew that good things were happening to me, that I was on my way, but she could not live long enough for me to share it all with her.

Mother and I spent the next several days on the phone to New York. She needed very much to talk to her brothers and sisters who were all gathered at Rosalie and Charlie’s. She needed to talk about her mother. So she and I talked a lot about Grandma – it was very sad on Reeves Drive that week.

Jack wrote us about Grandma’s services and how happy our many cheery letters and my impending success had made her. He also told us of passing the Broadway theatre where
To Have and Have Not
was to open in three weeks – to see what photographs and ads had been put up. He was satisfied with all he’d seen – Walter Brennan and I were the only ones featured, with Bogart starring. He would check the coming attractions so he could see the kind of build-up Warners were giving me. They had sent out a release on my life, largely put
together by Howard, stating that I was the child of American parents of several generations and implying that I was from Society. Jack knew there was nothing to be done about it, but neither he nor Charlie liked it. He couldn’t know that it would all be set straight before long – not intentionally, but because I could never lie for long. I lied too badly.

I was frenzied over what might happen when the picture opened in New York. My imagination had a field day. I couldn’t stop thinking and talking about
To Have and Have Not –
even though it had been finished six months earlier, it was the only tangible thing in my life at that point. I hadn’t seen Bogie or spoken to him for weeks – and was very unhappy. I knew he had agreed to be in
The Big Sleep
, which was to start shooting in early October.

I was at the studio one afternoon, sitting outside Howard’s bungalow getting some sun while waiting for him, when I heard a car draw up and a door slam. It was Bogie. I started to shake uncontrollably. He walked up to me, said, ‘Hello, how are you, Slim? I didn’t expect to see you here today.’ He was nervous – I was monosyllabic – we were both so unnerved by the meeting that we couldn’t say anything personal. There was too much to say, so it became nothing to say. Bogie said, ‘I have a new car – come take a look at it.’ After all we’d been through together, that was all we could talk about. I looked at the car – a blue Cadillac, his first – said something brilliant like ‘Pretty color,’ and then ‘I have to go to wardrobe.’ He was going to see Howard for a minute about the picture. After he went in, I went to the nearest ladies’ room and just trembled. There was so much I didn’t know – didn’t understand. Was he really going to stay with Mayo? I refused to believe it. But when would I have the answer? I’d have to pull myself together before the picture started, that was for sure. I waited for about fifteen minutes, then headed back for Howard’s bungalow. The blue Cadillac was gone – Bogie was gone. I went to Howard’s office. He was looking at wardrobe sketches for me – told me which he liked – his taste was impeccable, and I wouldn’t have disagreed with him anyway. He also wanted to try me with my hair up for one scene. Everything would be tested as usual. Had I seen Bogie? ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘He looks good – a summer at Newport agreed with him.’ ‘If you only knew, Howard,’ thought I.

To Have and Have Not
had opened in New York and my entire family
had gone to the first evening show. They’d been to a preview, but of course had to go into a regular theatre and hear the audience reactions. Uncle Bill wrote me that he loved everything I did in the film – he saw so much of the me he knew. They all knew I was a great mimic, so there was no surprise for them when I mimicked Dolores Moran. Uncle Bill was a scholarly, imposing man – difficult in that he expected a great deal from you. He wrote,

Funnily enough, on that same day Charlie wrote to me:

He went on to describe how they had sat in the loge, $1.60 apiece – how they’d laughed – how the audience had laughed – how I was a perfect foil for Bogart. ‘This means Warners, Hawks and Feldman need you as much as you need them. This means you can maintain your faith and personal integrity and individuality regardless of their prejudice.’ I must be grateful – eternally grateful to them, but the press had leaped overboard because of me, not them. My forte was comedy.

So he knew something. Mother must have written that she was worried about me and that unknown-but-had-to-be-no-good-for-me quantity called Bogart.

I see now in my middle age how aware they were from the heights of their middle age of the dangers of being twenty – of decisionmaking in innocence and inexperience. That they who knew nothing really of the movie business should know what the pitfalls might be does them credit. But that both Charlie and Bill mentioned Mother astounds me. Did they really think I didn’t know how much I owed her – that I wouldn’t want her to share in my success? I had always been headstrong, selfish, but at my worst I never turned away from my mother – and I never stopped needing her.

I’m fascinated and still unenlightened when I think of certain of my family now – Charlie especially. I see that he was a father figure – I see his worry, his love for me, his wit and his own need for approval, his need for his own mother. He always seemed the most vulnerable one to me, I guess that’s one reason I loved him the most. But I see too how solid they all were – what a firm base I had to grow from. They adored my fame and all that went with it, but their basic life values didn’t change. If they bragged, if they displayed my photograph in an office or at home, it stemmed from personal joy and pride in me. Not one of them ever used me for anything at any time. Even now as I live through my life for a second time, I am warmed and strengthened by reflecting on them. In moments of doubt (which are many) and insecurity about one’s future (which is more present than not), if I think about Charlie and my mother and my Uncle Bill, the lows and highs of their lives and how they dealt with them, it helps me to ride
over the rough spot in the road. I was profoundly lucky to have such a family to draw upon.

S
o To Have and Have Not
transformed me from a nothing to a combination of Garbo, Dietrich, Mae West, Katharine Hepburn. I was the greatest discovery since … I made Bogart sit up and take notice … I was a new face to deal with on the screen … I was the answer … Hooray! So proclaimed the press. I was everything Howard Hawks had always wanted. My name would be on everyone’s lips all over the country, my words would be immortal – my God, what was I going to do about the me that was buried beneath all that, the me that I was stuck with, that was real? How could I live up to all that – how could anyone? Fortunately, I was unaware of the huge impact. As long as I stayed in my little apartment on Reeves Drive with Mother and Droopy – as long as I worked and didn’t go out too much – I would remain so.

We started shooting
The Big Sleep
on Tuesday, October 10, 1944. My first scene was my first scene in the picture – the first day of shooting – with my hair up. I played it very cool on the outside, which was hard, since anyone could see my hand shaking every time I lit a cigarette or held a glass. I had to pour a drink in the first shot – my typical luck. As the bottle hit the moving glass, I wished I were dead. Bogie saw it immediately and joked with me a bit. We had the same camera crew, luckily, and I stayed very close to Howard that first week – that seemed to be the only way I could deal with it.

Bogie asked me to stop on our street on the way home so he could talk to me. God give me strength!

I played the yet-to-happen scene as I was driving toward Selma Avenue. I handled myself beautifully – it’s always easier when you’re playing both parts. The blue Cadillac was waiting. I stopped just behind it. He got into my car. I huddled against my door on the driver’s side – mustn’t get too close. He told me that the last few weeks had been the most difficult of his life. How many times he had wanted to call me, how much he had thought of me, how much he did love me. I must try to understand. Mayo said she’d stop drinking, she’d try. She’d failed before, but he had to give her a chance.

I said I’d have to respect his decision, but I didn’t have to like it. And
we needed so much to be together. He was unhappy, I was – even Mayo was, I guess. But I wanted what I wanted and when I wanted it. Patience is not one of my shining qualities, it never was. All I could do was the best I could do. There was no way Bogie and I could be in the same room without reaching for one another, and it wasn’t just physical. Physical was very strong, but it was everything – heads, hearts, bodies, everything going at the same time. After our talk it became easier to work, no time at all before we were back at our old joking, ribbing Slim-and-Steve status. I was more guarded than he was, but only at the beginning. After about two weeks of shooting, the phone rang late one night. Who else? I met him. We went back to my apartment. He couldn’t bear being away from me any longer. He’d had a fight with Mayo, of course. She’d been drinking when he got back from the studio and things went from bad to worse. He had to get out of the house.