By Myself and Then Some (45 page)

A Star Is Born
opened in October – a big old-fashioned Hollywood opening. Sid and Judy were giving a gigantic party and, as friends and neighbors, we were of course invited. Bogie and I were not ones for openings – too many lights, people, and, worst of all, cameras, and to get all done up just to sit in a movie theatre seemed silly. But this was not the usual opening – because of Judy. She was a complicated woman of tremendous wit and intelligence who had survived a distorted childhood and distorted marriages and relationships that had left their mark. But she and I became good friends. She was fun and, when we’d sit quietly of an afternoon or evening, great company. It was hard for her to think beyond herself – it had been that way for too long. But
A Star Is Born
was made in spite of the cynics’ predictions, and it was Sid who helped her get through. Whatever quirks he may have had, he was very good with his children and he did take care of Judy through some rough times that could not have been easy for him. The movie was a real comback (I hate that word, but for want of another) for her, and at last she seemed happy – had a lovely home, Liza and Lorna with her, nothing could go wrong.

Bogie had four films released that year. Cary Grant came to the house one afternoon and remarked, ‘You get all the good parts now, Bogie – how do you get so many of them?’ Bogie’s answer was ‘Because I keep working.’ He felt that work breeds work, and you’re bound to get good things if you keep at it. So that our life (thank God) was far from being one enormous party. Most of our free time was spent at home. Our idea of a perfect evening was dinner on trays in front of the television. We had a great comfortable sofa with an enormous coffee table in front of it – our trays would be set on the table – I’d serve – and if Bogie liked the menu we’d have a wonderful evening. He’d sit at the end of the sofa nearest to the TV – I’d stretch out at the other end with my feet on his lap. We enjoyed our cozy evenings alone – we guarded them. Only my occasional urge to go to a party would get Bogie out – otherwise he was perfectly content to stay at home every night of the week. What he did enjoy was lunch at Romanoff’s. When he wasn’t working he’d go almost daily and take Steve from time to time. Often he’d play chess with Mike into the
afternoon. Unless Bogie was on the boat, he was at somewhat of a loss when he wasn’t working.

We both started the new year with jobs – Bogie in
We’re No Angels
with Peter Ustinov and I in
The Cobweb
, my first time at the legendary M-G-M. It was also the year of the new Thunderbirds, and Bogie and Cooper and Gable each bought one – middle-aged hot-rodders. The new sleek look appealed to them all.

Judy was expecting another baby, she’d told me months before; was so excited about it, so looking forward to it. Maybe this time she’d have a boy! And she was nominated for an Academy Award for
A Star Is Born
. So was Grace Kelly for
The Country Girl
, and though she was riding very high at the time, we were sure Judy would win.

Frank stopped by our house for a drink the night Judy was taken to the hospital. We had a rule by then: If the light over the front door was on, we were home and awake and a chosen very few could ring the bell; if not, we were not receiving. Frank had started coming almost nightly – clearly we provided some sort of stability for him – and wherever he’d been for dinner or with whom, he still felt the need to check in. Bogie said some time later, ‘You don’t think he comes to see
me, do
you?’ Bogie was sure I was the attraction. But I was only one of them – Bogie sold himself short.

The night Judy’s baby was born Frank was going to the hospital to see her and asked me if I wanted to come along – Bogie was working the next day, so we went without him. Frank had brought some kind of stuffed toy for Judy. We saw her after she came out of the recovery room, still fuzzy from the anesthesia, having indeed mothered a son. We kissed her – Frank gave her the toy – it was a lovely moment, very sweet and thoughtful of Frank, and it meant a great deal to Judy. The Academy Awards would be given while she was still in the hospital. The TV networks had sent crews to wire the room, get cameras in – men were hanging outside her windows placing cables, lights, God knows what. The big night came and we were all gathered around our sets praying – and Judy lost. She carried it off beautifully, saying her son, Joey, was more important than any Oscar could be, but she was deeply disappointed – and hurt. It confirmed her belief that the industry was against her. She knew it was then or never. Instinctively, all her friends knew the same. Judy wasn’t like any other performer. There was so much emotion involved in her career – in her life – it was
always all or nothing. And though she put on a hell of a front, this was one more slap in the face. She was bitter about it, and, for that matter, all closest to her were.

That year I was in
Blood Alley
with John Wayne – to my surprise warm, likable, and helpful – and William Wellman’s salty and terrific directing.

And then Bogie and I were offered a live telecast of
The Petrified Forest
for Producer’s Showcase – a two-hour special, with Fred Coe producing and directing, Tad Mosel adapting Robert Sherwood’s play. Henry Fonda was to play Leslie Howard’s role, Bogie his original one of Mantee, and I the girl. It was a simple, romantic, ingenue role, unlike anything I’d ever done, and all
live
. God – like a play! We said yes. I was totally terrified through the entire three weeks of rehearsal. I recall David Selznick telling me I was crazy to do a live show – ‘If you make a mistake, you make it in front of three million people.’ But I had long since decided I had to take chances with my career. I remembered Bogie telling Judy, when she’d sit in the living room saying she had more goddamn talent than anyone in town, ‘Talent’s no good in a living room, you’ve got to get out there and do it.’ I knew I had to take risks; if I fell on my ass, I fell on my ass. And certainly no one in the film industry would let me try anything new. So we did it. I’d never spent time with Fonda before – he was a rather withdrawn man then, ill at ease. But great to work with – professional, generous – the start of my admiration for and devotion to him. Scared as I was, it was wonderful working with pros like Hank and Bogie, even wonderful working in this new medium of television, which seemed to have a corner on the worst features of movies and theatre combined.

When we were finally ready to go on the air and I heard the countdown – 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 – my heart was pounding so hard I was sure it would be picked up by the mike. But I seemed to sail through with flying colors, my friends were surprised and pleased, and, most important, Sherwood liked me. I had a tremendous sense of accomplishment, which was my first clue as to how much I would enjoy acting onstage now. After the show we gave a party at our house. Everybody was so relieved, they got drunk. We had a rug with a pattern of large squares, and at one point in the evening I looked down and saw Hank curled up peacefully inside one. He looked so comfortable that I decided to join him, which I did on an adjacent square. The last thing
I remember was being carried upstairs, and Bogie being absolutely furious with me for passing out.

The Desperate Hours
was going to be filmed by Willie Wyler. Bogie wanted to play the gunman – the first Mantee character to come along in years. To have Bogie and Spence in the same picture was everyone’s dream. But one day Bogie told me there was a billing problem with Spence – naturally, they had both had top billing for many years. Bogie said, ‘I don’t give a damn. Let them work it out.’ The result was an × (the agents were having fun with it), and the way they’d drawn it, it looked like Spencer Bogart and Humphrey Tracy. So it never worked out, which saddened Bogie. If it had been left to them the result might have been different. How I would have loved to see them work together! Fredric March played the part, a marvelous actor, and Bogie enjoyed working with him. But Bogie and Spence, all the feelings they had for one another, plus their talent – that would have been extraordinary to see and to record on film.

David and Hjordis Niven, Mike and Gloria Romanoff, Swifty, Frank, Judy and Sid, Bogie and I formed a group known as the Rat Pack. In order to qualify, one had to be addicted to nonconformity, staying up late, drinking, laughing, and not caring what anyone thought or said about us. Spence was only an honorary rat, because he lived a secluded life, but his heart was in the right place. We held a dinner in a private room at Romanoff’s to elect officials and draw up rules – Bogie’s way of thumbing his nose at Hollywood. I was voted Den Mother, Bogie was in charge of public relations. No one could join without unanimous approval of the charter members. Nat Benchley, a visiting rat from New York, drew up an insignia for us – a large group of rats of all shapes and sizes in all positions. What fun we had with it all! We were an odd assortment, but we liked each other so much, and every one of us had a wild sense of the ridiculous. The press had a field day, but we had the upper hand.

Noel Coward was going to appear in Las Vegas for the first time at a nightclub in The Sands Hotel. The Sands was where Frank always played; he had an interest in it. Frank liked to fly his friends into Vegas, not a place most of us Rat Packers frequented. He really enjoyed being head man, arranging everything in his territory. Looking forward to Noel, we all flew up to Vegas and were met by hotel representatives; luggage was whisked off to appropriate suites filled with booze. Then
drinks, dinner, all arranged by Frank, with a hundred dollars’ worth of chips for each lady. And a front table for the opening, stocked with the usual Jack Daniel’s (which I’d started drinking a few years before and Frank had switched to), Scotch, vodka, etc. Frank forgot nothing.

I shall never forget watching Noel Coward walk onto that stage. He was holding a mike and – I couldn’t believe it – he was shaking with nerves. After all his years and years of experience and accomplishment, he was still nervous. He’d been apprehensive about appearing in Las Vegas – would they understand his material? Would they care? He needn’t have worried – he had a huge triumph. We were there for two more days, saw Noel’s show nightly, met at Frank’s suite each noon for drinks and laughter. Funny, but Frank, who was known to have several girls around, didn’t have one with him that time. As a matter of fact, he seldom brought a broad (his word) when he met with us. We all flew to Frank’s house in Palm Springs for the weekend, and Noel came down for his day off, courtesy of Frank. Noel played and sang his songs, Frank sang, they were both in top form – imagine what that song fest would have been worth recorded! Frank took us over in Palm Springs as he had in Vegas. No one was ever bothered with a bill for a hotel, for a meal – that was Frank’s way. It made him feel good; it was his way of entertaining us – in his home as he had been in ours. And he had company – he wasn’t alone.

Then back to reality. Bogie enjoyed that convivial, crazy, party-holiday atmosphere for a while, but he wasn’t one to pass his time aimlessly for very long. We were all good friends, but the Vegas-Palm Springs life was Frank’s life, not ours.

When Noel closed in Las Vegas, we gave our first pool party in his honor. All the Hollywood people he cared about were there. I, the nervous hostess who was always demented about everything being exactly right, decided that Noel had had enough grand dinners. Ours would be very American, very California, so we had a barbecue going at one end of the pool, with hamburgers and hot dogs and salads, and Good Humors of every variety for dessert. Noel loved it. It was a happy night. 1955 was full of happy nights and days.

We took Steve out on the boat with us one weekend and I was so terrified he’d fall overboard, we agreed that next time Bogie would take him alone on a men’s weekend, leaving the anxious mother home with her daughter. Bogie was amazing with Leslie. I used to love watching
them together. He didn’t know quite what to do with her – he would gaze at her with wonder in his eyes. She was delicate, she was a girl, so he would be delicate with her. He was a gentle man, not overly demonstrative, yet when he looked at his daughter you could see him melt. He became totally vulnerable.

Bogie finally did take Steve out on the boat. When he returned, he told me that when they got to Catalina, they went out in the dinghy to set their lobster trap, then back to shore so Steve could play on the rocky beach for a while. Steve wanted to go on playing, so Bogie said he’d come back for him and rowed off. A few minutes later Steve called out, ‘Daddy, wait for me,’ and started to swim to the boat. He was only six and a half years old, but, by God, he made it. Bogie was so impressed. ‘The little guy’s got spirit,’ he said. They became very close in those few days together. That was the test period, and Bogie intended to teach Steve to sail and take him with him often. Steve loved it, did what he was told to do on board, and felt very grown-up being with his father.

Mother and Lee were about that summer. Lee always went on the boat with Bogie; Mother stayed home with me and the children. She adored those children. It was good to see her so happy. Her marriage could not have been better – Lee was a good, kind man who took care of her, and she was mad about him; they took trips together, laughed together. Mother had a wry wit that I hope I inherited. Bogie’s sister Pat also got along wonderfully with Mother and Lee. She was with us a lot when she was out of the hospital, and she was out for longer and longer periods of time. We were a family, and it seemed that the quality of life had improved for all of us, that nothing could blight that condition.

Bogie and I went to New York in time for the Rocky Marciano championship bout in September. I always looked forward to a trip to New York, but that year we’d moved around a lot and I really missed being in our new house. I’d got the garden just the way I wanted it, the pool and the poolhouse made it perfect, and with the tennis court we really had everything there. There was no reason to leave. But Bogie had contracted to do
The Harder They Fall
, a fight picture, and because he was playing a reporter the studio had gotten him ringside seats. He sat with the press. One of the reporters there, an old friend of Frank’s, said – with affection, mind you – ‘Frank’s a last-rites pal. If you get hit
by a truck, he’s right there with an ambulance, everything, but how often do you get hit by a truck?’