Restless Souls

by Alisa Statman

  He’s right, Sharon thought, as she sat naked in the tub during day after day of filming. With Roman’s encouragement she felt bolder and freer, the years of inhibited societal training to cover up and shut up dissolving as quickly as the soaking bubbles around her. And within those seven days she discovered that she had only one duty in life, to just be herself.

  Because the recasting of Kim Novak’s role required that several scenes in 13 be reshot, Sharon didn’t have much of a break between the two movies. During the back-to-back filming, Jay made intermittent trips to visit her, but even so, the separation had taken its toll. Aware that he was losing Sharon, he tried to remedy the situation by dominating her, which was exactly what she didn’t want. By day, Roman told Sharon how artistically wonderful she looked as they shot her nude bathtub scenes. At night, Jay needled her on the very same subject, rejecting the idea of his future wife exposing herself to the world on a movie screen. One night, he pushed her to her breaking point, and she called off their engagement.

  The Italian Dolomite Mountains, known as the land of legends, the kingdom of fates, home to kings, queens, fairies, and witches, provided a welcome distraction for Sharon after the breakup. They were also the setting for the exterior filming of Dance of the Vampires. The cast and crew lodged in Ortisei, a village nestled in a valley where the mountain’s cathedral-shaped peaks turned fiery red at sunset.

  As the ancient story goes, the king of the gnomes surrounded his kingdom in the mountains with red roses. When captured by the enemy, he cast a spell that decreed: “No one shall see my roses by day or by night.” But he’d forgotten to mention dusk. Ortisei locals claim that the king’s omission is the reason for the brilliant sunset phenomenon.

  It was in the midst of such fantastic tales and natural beauty that Sharon and Roman began their affair. From the onset, Roman told Sharon he’d never been monogamous and probably never would be. His philosophy was to “live for this moment and let tomorrow take care of itself.” But there, isolated in the Dolomites with the future seemingly a millennium away, it was easy for Sharon to lay those comments aside and hold on to her idealistic view of their relationship.

  While all appeared to be going well between Sharon and Roman, things were soon to erupt for them both with Ransohoff. The previous year, Roman had signed a three-picture deal and contract that gave Ransohoff final editorial control for the US release of Dance of the Vampires, but the producer didn’t stop with a few film cuts. Despite Roman’s expressed concerns, Ransohoff gave the film a complete makeover, including a new title, Fearless Vampire Killers. What’s worse, he dubbed over Polanski’s voice with that of actor David Spencer.

  Upon viewing the final cut, Roman stormed out of the screening room and straight to a press interview with Variety. His public chastising of Ransohoff hit the newsstands the next day. “What I made was a funny, spooky fairy tale, and Ransohoff turned it into a kind of Transylvanian Beverly Hillbillies.”

  Steaming over the Variety interview, Ransohoff warned Roman, “You’d better shut your trap. If you want to fight us, we’ve got enough money to bury you.”

  But by this time, Roman was on the verge of signing on for his first big-budget film, Rosemary’s Baby, and didn’t care about burning past bridges. “Fuck off, Marty,” he told him. Ransohoff had already advanced Roman $10,000 for a script called Chercher la Femme. The next day, Roman called his newly hired attorney Wally Wolf, “I don’t care what it costs, get me out of my contract with him, and see what it would take to get Sharon out of hers.”

  While Ransohoff and Roman were at war, Sharon was still obligated to make two additional films, Don’t Make Waves and Valley of the Dolls. The end results of both projects were unbearable for her. She was convinced that Ransohoff was trying to make a complete ass of her when, at the premiere of the first movie, the words “Introducing Sharon Tate” preceded tight shots of her jiggling rear end and were followed throughout the movie with an excessive number of close-ups of her breasts.

  But the greater disappointment was with Valley of the Dolls. After having been hired as a lead alongside Patty Duke, Barbara Parkins, and Judy Garland in a film that generated as much casting buzz as Gone With the Wind, Sharon was ecstatic, until the first day of filming when she clashed with the difficult director, Marc Robson. From then on, she counted the days until the film would end. And through those days, her bright outlook on being a Hollywood actress began to dim. Six months after filming wrapped she saw herself in the movie and knew her lack of faith in Robson was justified.

  Valley of the Dolls shared its premier aboard the maiden voyage of the ship Princess Italia. The cast, the director, Jacqueline Susann, and a gaggle of press set sail from Genoa, Italy, for the first leg of the twenty-eight-day trip that included several premiers in several countries.

  For nearly a month during that cruise Sharon entertained reporters throughout the day and half the night. The only time she had to herself was after midnight. When everyone else was tucked away in their cabins, she’d slip on deck to savor the calm of the moonlit sky. She’d sit there until just before sunrise, gazing at the magnificent cluster of stars. Sometimes she slept, sometimes she dreamt, but most times she contemplated her life.

  During those early-morning hours, she thought about the opening lines that Jacqueline Susann wrote for the book: “You’ve got to climb to the top of Mount Everest to reach the Valley of the Dolls. It’s a brutal climb to reach that peak. . . . You stand there, waiting for the rush of exhilaration you thought you’d feel—but it doesn’t come. . . . You’re alone, and the feeling of loneliness is overpowering . . . it was more fun at the bottom when you started with nothing more than hope and dream of fulfillment. . . . But it’s different when you reach the summit. The elements have left you battered, deafened, sightless—and too weary to enjoy your victory.”

  Susann’s words kept her up at night ever since she first read the book for her role. She knew she was a foothold away from that peak and was scared that when she reached it, she’d be lost in the Valley. Of course, drugs weren’t her problem. To her the valley she feared was a descent into isolation, loneliness, and a life without love.

  The last time Sharon was on a ship, the family had sailed home from Italy. Back then, she had been at the bottom of the mountain dreaming of the celebrated top. What she found instead on her ascent was that an acting career was harder than she’d ever imagined—not the acting part itself, but the part that required trying to survive in a man’s world. A domain where a woman, no matter how talented, is still viewed as a second-class citizen. In just a short time she understood that if she continued acting she’d remain in a constant battle to overcome those men. And though she was a fighter, as of late, she just wasn’t sure she wanted to become the kind of woman it took to survive in Hollywood.

  Shortly after the Princess Italia docked in Los Angeles, Sharon asked Ransohoff to release her from her contract so she could retire and become a full-time wife to Roman.

  Ransohoff was shocked. “Married? Sharon, he’s fucking everyone in town that has a pair of tits!”

  Her cheeks burned from the flush. While she was aware of Roman’s infidelities, she believed it would all be different when their careers weren’t putting them on different schedules. “Oh, Marty, it’s not like that at all. It’s very a European lifestyle where it’s done openly and naturally,” she reasoned with him.

  “European, shmuropean. Baby, you’re throwing away your career on that little bastard. Don’t you get it, kid? Polanski only cares about Polanski.”

  His stinging observation reduced her to tears. “You’re wrong,” she sobbed. “Can’t you see we’re in love? It doesn’t matter who he’s been with, he still comes home to me. He makes me feel whole and alive. He’s helping me to find out who I am; no one, including you, has given me that freedom before.”

  In a rare moment of weakness, he pushed a box of Kleenex toward her. “Okay, okay, if you’ll stop crying I’ll let you go.”

  S
haron left Ransohoff’s office with renewed hope. The fact that Roman had yet to propose to her was incidental. What was important was that it was the last time that Ransohoff would underestimate her acting abilities. Inside her car, she leaned against the seat with complete satisfaction. Her manager warned her that severing ties with Ransohoff would come with a price tag and it did; she’d ultimately have to pay him 25 percent of her earnings until his options expired. But as far as she was concerned that was a small price to pay for the freedom she was gaining. She started the car and drove toward the beach to the house she and Roman were renting; a retreat where she didn’t have to be a sex symbol and she didn’t have to be a movie star.

  But life after that didn’t calm down as much as she thought it would. Nominated for five Academy Awards, Rosemary’s Baby was a financial and critical achievement for Roman. Sharon’s fame heightened as well. With all three of her films released in 1967, the Hollywood Foreign Press took notice and nominated her as Favorite New Female Star. Their success earned them a position with the Hollywood jet-setters, and they traveled the globe to attend parties, movie premiers, film festivals, and award shows. Initially, Sharon had the time of her life—especially after so many years of constraint. But eventually, as with everything that’s done excessively, her enthusiasm waned.

  By the time they married in 1968, she’d been on the road for three years. With each trip wearing more and more at her endurance, she began searching for a plateau to rest on and catch her breath.

  By the time her commitment to making The House of Seven Joys (later retitled The Wrecking Crew) brought her back to Los Angeles they’d been married six months, but Roman was no closer to settling down than he was on the day she met him. On the flight from London to California, she broached the subject with him: “I’m losing touch with everyone I love. No one knows where to find me. I need a home. Someplace that says who we are; furniture that we’ve picked out together—a mailing address, for God’s sake.”

  Roman didn’t look up from the script he was reading. “I don’t want so much responsibility. I want to be able to pack at a moment’s notice, and go wherever my next adventure takes me.”

  Suite 3F at the Chateau Marmont hotel in Hollywood was their compromise.

  Of course, Roman’s growing recognition enticed his friends from Europe to join him wherever he traveled and soon enough, some of them moved into the hotel, too. While Sharon worked, Roman and his entourage canvassed the city, partying through the night. In due time, the small apartment became more of a frat house than the home Sharon had envisioned.

  A Hollywood secret is an oxymoron in the gossip-ridden town so naturally Sharon heard rumors that Roman took her sixteen-hour workdays as an invitation to bed other women. To most, Sharon appeared undaunted by Roman’s behavior. But her closest friends knew differently. She was in a constant emotional tug-of-war. Because she knew that his Holocaust-infested childhood inhibited him from fully loving and accepting love, she had not only tried to persuade him to feel differently but she also refused to give up on him. In the midst of some of his worst behavior she would wonder if he was trying to force her do just that. By this time, however, it had come to a point where it was impossible for her not to be hurt. When Patty Duke and her husband had separated, she offered to lease her house to Sharon. Roman dismissed the idea then, but now that Sharon had reached her limit with the endless partying she had resolved to do something about it. “I can’t do this anymore,” she told him. “You and your friends are devouring me. I need a home so I’m moving into Patty’s house whether you join me or not.”

  Roman not only joined Sharon, but he made a genuine effort to mend the relationship. For the next few months, Patty Duke’s house became their home, along with Winnie Chapman who did the cleaning and cooking. Roman stayed closer to Sharon, spending time with her on the set while she worked, enjoying weekend getaways together, and spending quiet nights at home with friends. It was the happiest few months of her life. And in that time, Roman’s sudden transformation rekindled her suppressed teenage fantasies about adult life of becoming a mother.

  Admittedly, Sharon had always lived in a fairy-tale world, observing everything through a rose-tinted veil, trusting everyone, and being a bit naïve about life. At twenty-two, when she had left for England to film 13, she was searching for a child’s never-never land, blooming with the answers to all of life’s questions. Along the way, she’d found Roman, who seemed to have those answers.

  To Roman’s credit, his influence really did help her to grow up. Through him, she learned her strengths and weaknesses. He was the realist who showed her life for the thrill ride it is. Each climb to the top is filled with trepidation about what lies ahead while the ride down is either breathtaking or treacherous; the choice lies within each person to hang on to the handrail or let go.

  Like the peaks and valleys of a roller coaster, their relationship seemed to free Sharon at times and trap her at others. The prior three years had been a long journey revealing that Roman was simply another question and Neverland a place that could only be found within oneself. At twenty-five, Sharon was ready to attend to a simpler list of needs: happiness, stability, and family. Inadvertently, Roman had helped lead her right up to the threshold of this path. And she intended to follow it even if he chose not to tag along.

  “From what I can tell, you conceived around December fifteenth,” the doctor told Sharon. “That would put your delivery date anywhere from the last week in September, to the first week in October.” The doctor shook his head, “I still don’t understand how this could have happened.”

  She knew exactly how it had happened. She’d secretly put a hole in her diaphragm.

  Sharon’s thoughts orbited around the baby as she and Roman boarded a plane for London to celebrate the London premier of Rosemary’s Baby and their first wedding anniversary. Lying in wait, beneath the euphoria was a disquiet that threatened to break the spell. Afraid of Roman’s reaction, she withheld the news of her pregnancy. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; instinctively, her hand covered her belly. How long would it be before he noticed she was gaining weight? She had other concerns, too. What about the next film she’d agreed to do? She’d just signed on with Roman’s agent and he’d gotten her a role that would make her enough money to keep her financially secure for a very long time. Should she tell him? In London, she called the only person she trusted to keep her secret. “What should I do? Roman will be furious if he finds out I kept this from him.”

  Jay tried to be objective. “Everyone in this town is out for themselves. Roman’s told you he’s not ready for a baby. Your agent and the film producers have a lot of money riding on your next picture. I wouldn’t tell any of them until it’s too late for an abortion. Forget that you’ve seen a doctor, wait another month. No one will ever know that you found out any sooner.”

  Though there might be future consequences to her decision, Sharon’s secret empowered her, coercing her confidence back to the surface. For the first time in her life, she knew exactly what she wanted and where she was headed.

  The following week, Sharon returned alone to California for dubbing on The Wrecking Crew. Having given up Patty Duke’s house while she was in London, Sharon ended up back at the Chateau Marmont, but staying at the hotel didn’t bother her this time because Roman had finally agreed to find a permanent residence in L.A.

  For over a week, a real estate agent dragged Sharon all over the city looking at houses for lease; none of them interested her until they began the climb up Cielo Drive. The gate to the estate swung away from the car, welcoming them through. Sharon stood at the edge of the front lawn near the wishing well; she tossed in a penny, closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled the intoxicating smell of orange blossoms that permeated the canyon each February. “This is the one,” she told the agent. “We’ll take it.”

  IN THE TWILIGHT hour, Roman and Sharon dined by the pool of their new home. He’d poured her a glass of Champagne, but she hadn�
�t touched it.

  “Don’t you like the Champagne?” he asked.

  Before she lost her nerve, she blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shook her head.

  “How? You’re using a diaphragm.”

  With a smile, she shrugged. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Sharon, the timing’s not right. I’m not ready, and what about your movie?”

  She moved onto his lap, kissing him to silence. “Shssh, everything’s going to be fine,” she whispered.

  From February to March 1969, they enjoyed their time together, with lazy days by the pool, and evenings filled with small gatherings at the house. It was a slow process, but Roman was adapting to the idea of a baby. As if the universe had aligned a perfect storm of life and love, Sharon felt at peace. Nevertheless, on the horizon was her next film commitment, and what was supposed to be just a brief separation from Roman.

  In March, when Sharon left for Italy to film 12+1 Chairs, Roman went to a film festival in Rio de Janeiro. He had planned to join her in Italy immediately after the festival ended, but the Brazilian authorities lost his passport and he was exiled back to England, where he began preparing for his next film, Day of the Dolphin. Separated by borders, they were limited to spending brief weekends together whenever Sharon could get to London.

  The previous films Sharon worked on had their unique difficulties; however, 12+1 Chairs moved to the top of her list as the most miserable experience. Because of her expanding waistline, they shot the intimate scenes first. She spent week one filming the seminude scenes with a costar who belittled her at every opportunity.

  Forty-degree weather and an unheated swimming pool served as the set for week two. The scene called for Sharon to dive into the pool to retrieve a chair. For eight hours, she dove into the cold water, dried her hair and clothes, then began the process all over again. The production crew forgot to order trailers and heaters. A drafty three-hundred-year-old villa served as her only protection.