Faith Domergue finally arrives, forty minutes late. I wave, and she blows the horn and motions at me: she wants me to back out of her driveway so she won’t block me in. I move my car, she pulls her silver Taurus up into the drive, and I pull in behind her. She gets out. Her gray hair is pulled back into a bun, she’s wearing a high-necked, dark blue dress, and she’s plump and matronly, no longer the wisp she was when young. She explains that Mass ran late and then traffic was bad. Then she stands beside my car a moment, looking it over, and says she’s been thinking of getting a Lexus herself, a used one. She asks me how I like mine. I tell her I’ve had it just two weeks, but so far I like it fine.
Inside, while she changes clothes, I stand in her living room and examine a wall of photographs above the couch, the typical shots of family and friends. There’s only one from her days in Hollywood, it’s black-and-white and she’s reclining on a dark couch, wearing a sequined, low-cut evening gown, her legs are curled under her, and she stares directly at the camera with the sultry look typical of 1940s publicity shots.
She returns wearing a powder-blue pantsuit, and we move to the kitchen, dark, cool, and smelling faintly of cabbage. She puts coffee down for both of us.
AR: MS. Domergue, thank you very much for agreeing to see me. (She nods.) My assistant said you wanted this interview to be recorded word for word in the book so you wouldn’t be misquoted. I understand your concerns and doing things that way is fine. (She nods again. Though earlier she seemed relaxed enough, now that the interview has started her manner is hesitant, nervous. She takes a sip of her coffee, and I notice her hand is trembling— she catches me watching her hand and quickly looks away, embarrassed. There’s an awkward silence. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the living room is the only sound in the house. When she finally looks at me again, I smile to try to put her at ease.) Well, Ms. Domergue, I guess we should get started. (I glance at my notepad.) You were quite young when you and Hughes became a couple. Any comment on that?
FD: Well, if we had gotten together today, in this day and age, Howard would have been arrested.
AR: SO despite the sexual revolution, we’ve actually grown more provincial— I’ve recently been thinking the same thing. I was in Europe earlier this year promoting a book and cultures there seemed much more open and accepting about different-age relationships.
FD: (She sighs audibly.) I’m not saying it’s a good idea for a high-school girl to live with a forty-year-old man. I’m just saying that’s just how it happened for Howard and me.
AR: SO how did he win you?
FD: Well, he bought a house for us to live in, even though I hadn’t said I’d move in with him, so that led me to believe he was serious about me, serious about us. The day he took me over to see it, he’d had the foyer filled with yellow roses, my favorite flower. It was a huge foyer with a cathedral ceiling and there were literally thousands of yellow roses. It was unbelievable. Those flowers must’ve cost three or four thousand dollars. That was at least a year’s salary for my father. (She pauses. The color in her face is high; when she speaks again her voice is low and lilting.) That day was the first time we had relations.
AR: Well. (Awkward silence.) So what was life together like?
FD: Strange. Howard saw a lot of other women.
AR: And that bothered you?
FD: (Defensive.) What’d you think?
AR: Well, some people have open relationships and are happy with that … I mean, they understand that their partner is just a very vital person with a lot of—what should I call it?— libido energy— and they accept that about him.
FD: HOW many people really live like that?
AR: I don’t know. I’m just speaking hypotheticalry.
FD: I put up with it because I was young and didn’t know any better. I also had my family to consider. My father and uncle had been given good jobs at Hughes Aircraft. I wasn’t sure either what would happen to my acting career. Howard owned my contract. He knew everyone in Hollywood.
AR: SO you felt trapped. Did you resent Hughes?
FD: (She looks down and wipes imaginary crumbs from the table, which is already as clean as a pin.) Yes.
AR: DO you still?
FD: (With barely disguised anger.) Of course not. Not now.
AR: So what finally caused you and Hughes to break up?
FD: Things just fell apart.
AR: For instance?
FD: Oh, Howard was going after more women than ever, but he also was having me monitored more closely than ever. A man was always following me, staring right at me like I was a fly he was trying to kill. Howard was staying gone for days, too, with no explanation when he came back. He never took me with him, but he was always saying someday soon we were going to be together all the time. Of course, it never happened. He valued other things more than he did me.
AR: Well, there are a lot of different parts of life and work is one of them. Sometimes we go through periods where we have to spend more time on one thing than on another.
FD: Yes, but you still have to make choices. I believe you can tell where someone’s treasure is by where they put their heart, and I was never Howard’s treasure. His work and being in the public eye, that’s where his heart was, and you see how he ended up.
(I accidentally knock over my cup and coffee spreads in a dark puddle across the table. I quickly move my recorder away from the puddle.)
AR: Sorry, sorry. (I get up from the table and come back with paper towels and spread them over the spill.) Sounds like you’re saying something along the lines of leopards have spots and there’s nothing they can do about them. He wasn’t going to turn out well no matter what.
FD: I suppose.
AR: (I gather the sopping paper towels into a wad and she directs me to the garbage pail underneath the sink. I return to the table and sit down.) Of course, you knew Hughes much better than I do, I didn’t actually know him at all, but what you just said, as a general comment about human nature, the human condition, I’d have to disagree with that. I think it’s possible to equally value two or three things at the same time and to value them all dearly. Whether it’s your work and another person, or even two or three people you value equally, it doesn’t mean you don’t love them all. Monogamy is really an illusion, don’t you think?
FD: No.
AR: Well, all right. I wanted to ask you about something I’ve come across in Hughes’s diaries, a joke he played on Ava Gardner with a Mercedes.
FD: (Herface turns wooden.) Yes, I was baking a cake that day …
(She stares at the tabletop.)
AR: I know what Hughes did to the car. I was more interested in your impressions of the incident.
FD: (Looking up.) Yes, well, I guess that day was really the last straw for me. When I saw Howard watching that Mercedes through the binoculars with a big smile on his face, and then saw the muffler come off, well, at that very instant, I knew my days with Howard Hughes were over. I loved him, but at his age, to be pulling stunts like that… (She shakes her head.) That day I admitted to myself that there was no hope for him.
AR: I see. Okay. Well, can you think of any other incidents, things like this one with the Mercedes, that tell us something about Hughes?
FD: Well, let’s see. (She takes a sip of her coffee.) I’ll tell you, one of my oddest moments with Howard was a day I came home and he— it was a warm spring day, mind you— and he had built a fire in the huge fireplace in our living room. He put down pillows in front of the fireplace and told me to sit down, he needed my help with something. He went down into the basement and came back with these bundles of old letters from his family. He started going through them, reading them aloud before handing them to me to put in the fire. It was so hot next to that fire that I suggested we throw everything in all at once, but he insisted we go on the way we had been. A good number of the letters were from the time after his father died and Howard was trying to get control of his father’s tool company. He would read these bitterly and p
oint out how his family betrayed him. [Hughes’s father’s will was set up so that Hughes would not get full control of Hughes Tool until he was well into his twenties, and until then the company was to be controlled by a group of family trustees. Hughes went to court to get this arrangement changed. At first he was unsuccessful, but then a judge granted him full control of the company after he played a round of golf with him one day— ed.]
AR: DO you remember any specific letters?
FD: (She considers.) Just one. It was the only one I tried to convince him to save, a letter his mother wrote from the hospital the day before she died. She was having routine surgery so her death was quite unexpected. Howard started reading this letter aloud but halfway through he stopped. He didn’t cry but he handed me the letter and asked me to finish reading it. His mother had beautiful handwriting, and she said tender things to her husband and kind things about Howard. She described how she wanted her belongings distributed if something did happen. She wanted her part of the tool company given to Howard. The pages were blue and the letter was still scented, even after all those years.
After I finished reading Howard said to throw the letter into the fire. I suggested he save it— it was one of his few mementos of his mother— and he looked at me like I was a child who’d just asked why the wind blows. He said the idea we live in the memories of those who survive us is a lie we tell ourselves so we don’t go crazy thinking about our own impermanence. He said after we’re gone all we are is a name on a rock in a cemetery, and even the famous only had a statue in a park, a different kind of rock. He said the only reason he had saved the letter was in case he had to use it against his relatives in court, and for me to go ahead and throw it in the fire. I didn’t, though. I mentioned the filing cabinets down in the basement where he stored everything he wrote, even grocery lists— why not just file the letter down there?— and suddenly he started screaming at me. When had I been down there? I was never to go down there! Well, I started crying. I raised the letter to toss into the fire and then suddenly he said, I’ve changed my mind, no, no, and he grabbed the letter out of my hand. Then he forced me into an embrace and wouldn’t let go until I promised I’d never leave him. I made that promise, but I had serious doubts about being able to keep it. (She pauses.) And I guess I was right, because that day with the Mercedes was just a couple of weeks after this.
AR: From everything you’re saying, Ms. Domergue, I get the impression you put most of the blame for the failure of the relationship on Hughes.
FD: (Curtly.) Who do you think should get the blame?
AR: (I hold up my hands.) No offense intended. I was just trying to clarify things.
FD: I was just a girl, Mr. Reece. (Her mouth is a tight line and she looks away from me.)
AR: Of course.
(I wait for her to go on, but she doesn’t.)
AR: Well, my next question is about a weeklong shopping trip you and Hughes took to Mexico City.
FD: (She nods.) We took that trip right after I’d caught him in the car with Ava Gardner one night, in that same Mercedes he’d given back to her, right in our own driveway. I let them both know that I didn’t— (The telephone starts ringing. She reaches up for it, hanging on the wall above the table.) Hello? … Yes, this is her … Why, my goodness, how have you been? It’s such a nice surprise to hear from you. Where are you now? … Why yes, I’m fine, just going right along … Well, yes, what a coincidence. Actually, he’s right here … (She stops abruptly, as if interrupted, and listens for at least thirty seconds.) All right then, I will. Yes, I’ll call you in a little bit … No, it’s here on the caller ID… . Thank you for calling. Good-bye. (She hangs up and then looks across the table at me with a dour expression. I smile and wait for her to speak, but she doesn’t.)
AR: You were saying you found Hughes and Ava Gardner together?
FD: You know, I think we’ve done enough for today.
AR: (After a short silence.) Well, okay, but would it be all right if we set up another appointment? I’ve got several more questions.
FD: I’ve probably told you about all I know that’s of any interest.
AR: Ms. Domergue, I’d really, really appreciate it if we could speak again.
FD: I’m sorry, but I just don’t think so.
AR: It sounded like whoever was on the phone knew me. (A flicker of acknowledgment passes across her eyes, but she doesn’t answer.) Is there some connection between your ending our interview and that call? (Still no answer. Her face is stony and expressionless.) Ms. Domergue, I’ll have to admit, I’m at a loss here. Did I do something to offend you?
FD: (Sharply.) No, I’m just ready to stop. Can’t you understand that?
AR: This just seems awfully sudden, Ms. Domergue, and … well, if you don’t mind me asking, who was that on the telephone?
FD: That’s my business, young man.
AR: (Sighing.) Well, all right. (I reach for my wallet.) Here’s my card, in case you change your mind. (I push it across the table and force a smile.) I’d really like to speak with you again, so I hope you reconsider.
(She doesn’t respond, and instead gets up and busies herself at the sink, her back to me. I gather my recorder and other things, and when I’m ready to leave, she escorts me to the front door and says a brief, stiff good-bye. I go out and get in my car, put the key in the ignition, and then glance back at the house. Faith Domergue is standing at the picture window in the living room, watching me, and talking on the telephone again. I sit there a moment, staring at her, then start the car and drive away.)
Alton Reece interview with Ava Gardner at her home in Beverly Hills, California
It’s ten o’clock on a bright morning when Ava Gardner’s live-in personal assistant, Tom, a well-groomed man in his mid-fifties, ushers me into the high-ceilinged entry foyer of Ms. Gardner’s home, asks me to wait, then disappears around the corner — as he leaves his trouser legs rub together and make a noticeable whish-whish. Then there’s silence except for a clock ticking loudly in the next room.
A couple of minutes later, Ava Gardner appears, smiling, followed by Tom, and she leads me to a sunporch with a red tile floor and a variety of potted plants along the glass walls. We have a view of the pool and beyond that the orange and lemon trees that ring her backyard. Ms. Gardner and I sit down at a bamboo table; Tom receives his instructions and leaves. Despite her age, seventy-nine, Ava Gardner still has an electric presence. Her skin’s pale and surprisingly smooth, her hair’s cut short, steel gray with black tints, and she wears baggy black slacks with a thin belt cinching a white blouse at her trim waist.
AR: Ms. Gardner, maybe I’m being presumptuous, but you’re as lovely as ever.
AG: Thank you.
AR: What’s your secret? I want my wife to have it.
AG: Just lucky, I guess.
AR: You’re being modest.
AG: Really, I don’t do anything special.
AR: Then you must have made a deal with the devil. That’s what I’ll have to believe, I guess. (I smile.) So, anyway, what can you tell me about Howard Hughes?
AG: Well, since I’ve known I was going to do this I’ve been thinking a lot about Howard, and I guess what I can say is outside of a few bad times, he didn’t make demands on me and I didn’t make demands on him.
AR: No trying to tether each other? No stunting each other’s potential?
AG: (She shrugs.) I don’t know about that. Let’s just say that when Howard and I did get along, we really got along. If I could’ve been happily married to any man in my younger days it probably would’ve been him. Maybe that’s why I didn’t marry him. In those days, I wanted romance and excitement.
AR: Sure. That nerve never goes numb, does it?
AG: (A little coolly.) I really wouldn’t know.
AR: All right. Well, did Hughes ever ask you to marry him?
AG: Yes, once he proposed in Palm Springs and handed me two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in a shoe box. I handed it right back and said,
“This means nothing to me,” and he said, “Me neither.” Once he gave me a bag full of jewelry and then waited for my answer. I kept the jewelry for a few days and wore one of the bracelets to a premiere, then gave it all back. I think Howard set up these situations to test me. If I said yes after getting the jewelry or money, then he’d know I was with him for his wealth. That was a great fear of his.
AR: Well, in his situation, I guess it’d be hard to blame him.
AG: (Smiling sardonically.) Mr. Reece, do I strike you as a gold digger?
AR: Oh no, I just meant that, generally, when you’ve got money, you don’t always know who to trust.
AG: That was probably right in Howard’s case. Take when he died— no one went to the service. It was open, you know, anyone could’ve gone. I cried when I heard how poorly it was attended. The funeral home was empty. No one but the undertakers were there, so I guess he was right not to trust us.
(Then Tom walks in with a tea service and a plate of warm scones. I ask for milk for my tea and he leaves to get it. Then Ava Gardner tries to slice off a pat of butter but the stick is too hard for her to cut through and the knife slips from her hand and clatters loudly on the tray. She looks embarrassed. She picks up the knife again, and, with difficulty, manages to shave off a few slivers of butter and press them onto her scone. Tom returns with a small silver pitcher of milk and sets it on the table.)
AG: (Curtly.) You forgot to set out the butter to soften.
TOM: I’m sorry.
AG: (She looks across the table at me.) Don’t you think it’s too cold to spread? I notice you didn’t take any.
AR: It does look pretty hard. (I smile.) Ms. Gardner, you know, several times in his diaries Hughes said things to the effect that you were your most charming and attractive when you were in a difficulty of some sort. I can see for myself that’s true.
(She nods, embarrassed, but secretly pleased.)
AG: Tom?
TOM: (Stopping in the doorway.) Yes?
AG: Please come back and sit down. You might find this interesting.
I Was Howard Hughes Page 6