I'll Scream Later (No Series) (17 page)

R
ANDOM QUESTION
—
WHY DO
they call them Secret Service agents since you can pick them out of a crowd in a heartbeat?

In May 1987, I was in Los Angeles at the Four Seasons Hotel at a fund-raiser for the Jewish Home for the Aging, where my grandmother Rose was now living.

I spotted these guys with close-cropped hair in crisp, blindingly white shirts, dark suits, ties, and black earpieces with cords snaking down and disappearing inside their coats, milling around in one of the hallways. I looked at Jack and said, “I bet the president is here. I want to meet him.”

“You can’t do that, you can’t just walk up and say, ‘I want to meet the president!’” But that’s exactly what I did.

I walked over, tapped an agent on the shoulder, and said, “Hi, I’m Marlee Matlin and I’d really like to meet the president and I need to be able to tell him a little story.”

After a brief discussion among the Secret Service agents—thankfully one of them was a fan and decided I was not a national security threat—one of them disappeared behind a doorway.

In a flash, Jack and I were escorted into this room, flanked by Secret Service, and there was former president Gerald Ford, smiling.

We shook hands and he said, “Marlee, both Betty and I loved you in
Children of a Lesser God.
”

I was beaming and said, “I just wanted to tell you that I have always been and will forever be grateful to your wife for opening up the Betty Ford Center, because I was there for my own drug addiction. I’ve been sober now for more than four months!”

“Well, congratulations. I’m proud of you for taking care of yourself,” he said. “Betty will be so pleased to hear.”

Years later, I would meet President Reagan in an equally random way. I was getting my hearing aid adjusted at the House Ear Institute in L.A. Suddenly they started clearing everyone out of the building. Former president Reagan was due in a few minutes. Dr. House asked if I wanted to meet him and said he’d be glad to introduce me.

Then the hallway was filled with the dark suits and white shirts…and I saw President Reagan standing in a dark gray suit, and I remember his hair was as black as night.

Dr. House came out and introduced me, saying, “This is Marlee Matlin, who won an Academy Award for
Children of a Lesser God.
”

President Reagan sort of looked at me…he was a big, tall guy, then he smiled and said, “Well, I never won one of those.”

I
N
J
UNE
1987, I got a call from Jennifer Beals—we had stayed in touch after the Paramount bash and tried to get together whenever our schedules would let us. She’d just finished her final photography project at Yale, with a special exhibition scheduled of her work.

She invited me and Jack up to Westport to stay with her over the July Fourth holiday and see the exhibition. I was vague, maybe I could, maybe I couldn’t.

By now, Bill had bought a house in Snedens Landing. This beautiful home was in an even more beautiful area in the Hudson River valley that was a popular enclave for both artists and actors. Snedens Landing was quiet, surprisingly remote despite being just about a half hour from midtown Manhattan. It should have been the most peaceful place, surrounded by nature so that all your cares can just melt away. I dreaded it. The place and its remoteness frightened me.

On July Fourth, Jack went to visit Jennifer, relaying my apologies—plans with Bill that I couldn’t cancel. Really, we were just spending the weekend in Snedens Landing. He was never interested in meeting my friends.

The following day was a typical, hot East Coast summer day with humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife. That morning I was watching
Sid and Nancy,
feeling so drawn to the film, and of course it felt different watching it now that I had worked with the director, Alex Cox.

I don’t remember when or how the fight started; what I know is that I have never been as scared in my life before or after that day.

The struggle turned violent. I was afraid I might not survive. I pulled myself free and ran to the phone. I called Christine Vericker. She was married to Bill’s AA sponsor and had become a good friend. They lived not too far away.

Before I could say anything, Bill yanked the phone out of my hand and slammed it down. I said a quick prayer, thanking God that he hadn’t ripped it out of the wall. Minutes later I broke free again, grabbed the phone again, and called Christine. This time the call went through. I sobbed, “Please come get me, please. Hurry, please.”

Bill turned on his heel and stormed out of the house.

Christine immediately dispatched her husband, Billy, to pick me up. She thought that if anyone could reason with Bill, he could.

It was a little like what I imagine you do in a fire or a flood or some other emergency when you only have a few minutes to get out. I grabbed a small bag, stuffed a few things in it, got my purse, nothing else. I left almost everything I owned there, including my cat, Otis.

I barely remember crawling into Billy’s car or the ride to the Verickers’ house. So many emotions were coursing through me. How had the love between Bill and me turned into this? Why were we killing each other this way? How could we ever patch things up after today?

Deep down, I knew the only way to recover from this day would be for me to never go back to him. That was a great, great sadness.

Christine remembers, “It was a hot, hot day, and Marlee came in crying these huge sobs, and she was shaking. She was wearing a jean jacket so she was completely covered up. I thought she should go to a hospital, but she refused. She was worried that someone would recognize her, that Bill would find out.”

Christine insisted I see a doctor anyway and called her ob-gyn, Dr. Robert Gallo, and asked if he would examine me right away. He agreed.

Dr. Gallo remembers, “Christine had called my wife and explained the situation. I was going to do an assessment, make sure there was no major trauma. Marlee was upset and embarrassed—she cried during the exam but had clearly been crying a lot beforehand. She asked me not to say anything to anyone, and I assured her I wouldn’t and I haven’t spoken of it until this day.

“There were fresh bruises on her arms and her face, but no major tissue trauma. I felt my role at that point was more of moral support and to assure them there were no major medical issues.”

I felt lost. The kindness of those around me—Christine, Billy, Dr. Gallo—helped. But I did not know how I was going to get through the next twenty-four hours, the next week, much less how I was going to rebuild my life.

I called my sister-in-law, Gloria, that night around ten and said, “I need you, Glo,” and asked her to come as soon as she could. She did; she got on a plane that night and landed around 2 a.m.

In the days after that, Jack would go over to Bill’s and pack up my clothes, my life. I knew I couldn’t let myself go back—ever. I was terrified for two reasons: we would in all likelihood fight again, or just as bad, I might not have had the strength to leave.

In a stroke of luck, Jack had just rented an apartment on Waverly Place in Greenwich Village, but hadn’t yet moved over from student housing at NYU. He stayed at the university and let me have the apartment instead.

It was a huge studio loft that Gertrude Stein had once lived in. Right below was the Coach House, the legendary restaurant that got a mention in
Prince of Tides
and was famous for scrumptious American fare and was a longtime favorite of James Beard’s when he was alive. The smells that would sometimes waft upstairs were heavenly.

The loft was right across from Washington Square Park. The floor slanted wildly toward the front of the building, and I would sit there, curled up, looking out the window and trying to figure out my new life.

Gloria and Jack helped me set up the apartment and buy all the basics. Gloria remembers, “It was a very emotional time for her and also for me. We did have some fun that week. We did a lot of walking, eating, and laughing. I felt like we had the chance that week to get reacquainted. As I was leaving, Marlee said, ‘You need to have another baby, you’re such a good mom.’ I laughed then, but I got home and a week later I was pregnant with our daughter, Arielle.”

It was the first time that I had lived alone ever. I didn’t do much to fix the place up—it never felt like home, just a way station to somewhere else.

A
UGUST BROUGHT WITH
it a sense of freedom and relief. No more walking on eggshells. No more trips to the edge of the volcano. No more volcano!

I wanted to breathe deeply, let the muscles in my body relax, embrace life in a different way, laugh—a lot. That was my personal prescription.

Rob Lowe, with his amazing smile and blue, blue eyes, helped get the party started.

But let me back up a little. I’d got to know Stephen Collins, who years later became the anchor of the popular family series
7th Heaven,
and his wife, Faye Grant, through Jack. Stephen invited us to come see him in
The Three Sisters,
a Chekhov play that was one of the productions at the Williamstown Theatre Festival that year.

This terrific festival does so much to nurture the tradition of the theater, and in such a beautiful spot. I fell in love with the Berkshire Hills of western Massachussetts, which was easy to do.

The festival always attracts top actors—in addition to Stephen the cast of
The Three Sisters
featured Amy Irving, John Heard, Christopher Walken, Kate Burton, and Rob Lowe, among others.

We were all hanging out after the show talking with Faye and Michael Unger, who had just finished appearing with her in
The Rover
earlier in the festival, when Rob walks up. I thought,
Oh my god, Rob Lowe, Rob Lowe!

The always gracious Mr. Unger stepped in quickly and said, “Marlee, this is our friend Rob Lowe.” I’d like to say that I played it totally cool, that my jaw didn’t drop, but it did. I recovered nicely though.

We hit it off immediately—he was so funny and laid-back and easy to be around. No complications, no tension, no dark moods.

With Rob, everything was easy. We drifted into a comfortable friendship—friends with benefits. One unforgettable night on the beach in Santa Monica we had all the light we needed from the luminescence of the fish swimming near the shore.

I hung out a lot with the sweet, playful, extremely flirtatious Mr. Lowe, who is gorgeous to this day. Together we’d hit concerts—U2 one month. Springsteen another—or parties, and we had a grand time vamping it up on a photo shoot for the cover of the now defunct
In Fashion
magazine. He was described as a Hollywood heart-throb; I was called strong-willed and magical. It was a kick teaming up like that with him, and that cover photo remains one of my favorites—as does Rob.

In Fashion
threw a big party in New York for the issue, which came out in the spring of 1988. I’ll never forget getting to ride on MGM’s private plane, which took us to the party. The plane was so luxe, everything was tricked out to be top-of-the-line. Even the bathrooms were plush, so plush that Jack felt moved to include them in the video he shot of the trip. But then that boy can get crazy with a video camera. He shot a few behind-the-scenes videos of some of the early projects we worked on together that are easily two or three times longer than the movies themselves turned out to be.

Rob and I would finally get to work together years later on
The West Wing
. But more than anything else, Rob introduced me to a new Hollywood circle that included everyone from Demi Moore and Bruce Willis to Charlie Sheen and Robert Downey Jr., to Jane Fonda and Tom Hayden.

Rob was interested in politics and pulled me into that world along with him. I was his date for an Actors Fund gala in D.C. Through Rob, and his assistant Stephanie Matlow, who would become a good friend, I became involved with other young actors who mobilized for voter registration drives and fund-raisers.

I was a guest of Senator Joseph Biden’s at the Bork confirmation hearings. I got involved in support of SANE—the Committee for a SANE Nuclear Policy.

The political involvement I was introduced to by Rob would quickly grow into full-blown activism on the issues that matter most to me.

A
T THE END
of August, I went back to Chicago for a joint birthday celebration with Liz. I was turning twenty-two.

It was a great party; all my family and friends were there. We had a cake with twenty-two candles for me and twenty-three for Liz. It’s amazing it didn’t set off the fire alarms. There was dancing and much laughing—and karaoke, big-time! It was a happy time and I started to feel that things were going to get better.

Not long after that, I flew to Australia for a round of publicity, and their version of
60 Minutes
wanted to do a piece on me. While there, I visited one of the country’s schools for Deaf children and was really bothered by how primitive it seemed. They were providing the fundamentals, but nothing more. But I loved spending time with the children.

When a reporter asked me about their schools for the Deaf, I said it was sad that none of the children seemed to have any dreams for their future—a statement that would cause a ripple throughout my stay. “Actress criticizes Aussie schools for Deaf!” A minor ripple compared to what was to come.

Eventually I stopped reaching out in this way to the Deaf community, both in the States and abroad. It became virtually impossible for me to do so without triggering some sort of backlash or wave of criticism for what I did or did not say or do.

It was a painful time for me. I didn’t feel as if anything I did on behalf of the Deaf community was appreciated. I got tired of being used for target practice by the growing number of ringside critics looking to take me down.

So I pulled back and waited for better times, other ways to channel my energy and my desire to help. I would find them.