There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me

by Brooke Shields

  Mom also met a man in Brazil one summer named Antonio Rius. We had traveled to Rio when I was two, but we went back to visit several times during my childhood. Their relationship was intense. She was never more beautiful or happier than when they were together. But he was separated (though not divorced) from his wife, who said he’d never see his children again if he left her to marry an American. Mom was devastated but said if he was the type of man who could abandon his kids to be with her, then he would not have been the man with whom she fell in love. She said she would wait for him . . . and she did.

  • • •

  During these years my parents had very different reactions to my growing career. My father was uncomfortable with my fame and was intent on its not being a part of my life with him. I know he didn’t approve of my being a model or an actress and never went to see any of my movies. He liked my TV work better and in later years enjoyed watching me on the Bob Hope specials and then on Suddenly Susan. But back then he really wasn’t comfortable with my other life as an actress and model. I remember once when we were taking the annual family photo, Dad stepped out and looked at me and said, “Now, Brookie, don’t pose!”

  I was embarrassed and hurt but would later understand his fierce desire to keep me “normal.”

  Even though my mother always believed in me and pushed me to take risks and never give up, she was also familiar with rejection and abandonment. She was concerned with how I’d deal with it. It wasn’t that she discussed it with me on an emotional level; she just tried to prevent me from feeling pain and rejection from others. But, ironically, over the years and thanks to her continued drinking, she herself would end up abandoning me the most and causing me the most emotional pain.

  But in the moment, she could be wonderful. Right around the time I was starting to make movies, my mother took me to see the musical Grease. It starred Adrienne Barbeau and Jeff Conaway. Our seats were close to the stage. They were the seats we could afford, and back then Mom told me the closer the seats the better—something I would later learn was not true. We had not planned it, but we were attending the hundredth performance of the original Broadway production. The preshow for Grease usually consisted of some fifties music and the DJ revving up the audience members and inciting them to clap and dance in their seats. To celebrate this particular show and momentous occasion, the producers decided to hold a Hula-Hoop contest. Any audience member could join in on stage. Mostly people from the Grease era—the actual fifties and sixties—began volunteering to enter. The prize for first place was a signed album, a chance to take photos with the cast, and an invite to their cast party celebrating their one hundred shows. I had never Hula-Hooped in my life but wanted desperately to meet the cast. I jumped up and raised my hand. Mom smiled and through a somewhat clenched mouth reminded me that I had never Hula-Hooped before. I didn’t care. Mom was always supportive of anything I wanted to try, but this was the first time I had ever volunteered to do something completely foreign, and in front of a packed and rowdy theatre. This was a far cry from singing in the church basement. She was nervous for me but encouraged my participation and urged me on.

  “I’m going up there.”

  “OK, then. Knock ’em dead.”

  Well, I went up on stage and was given a Hula-Hoop and began to wiggle as if my life depended on it. It was nine adults, who had been teenagers in the fifties and had Hula-Hooped many times before, and me. I was blindly determined. My jaw was set, I looked at no one, and I made no notice when a contestant dropped the hoop and was eliminated. Before long, it was down to one older man and me. I would not give up. My hoop would go all the way down, almost touching the stage, and then suddenly go all the way back up, each direction eliciting a different-toned “Wooooooo!” from the crowd.

  My mom could not believe her eyes. Then, in one amazing moment that I did not even register, the old man’s hoop dropped to the floor. I kept going until the DJ stopped me and said, “Well, little lady, we might need to make you a part of our cast! Congratulations, and I’ll see you at the party.”

  I didn’t even hear the thunderous applause. Back in my seat, the show began. From the overture till the finale, I was riveted. After the show I met the cast and got their signatures on my vinyl cast recording and attended the celebration. They presented me with a small trophy that said “Hula-Hoop Winner 1976.” From that day on, if I ever expressed a fear of failure, my mom would simply say, “Remember the Hula-Hoop!”

  Part Two

  I’ve never left her as a daughter, but everytime she drinks and hurts me, she leaves me as a mother. It’s been like this all my life.

  —Brooke’s diary

  Chapter Five

  Pretty Baby

  My mother never had any clear plans regarding a career path for her daughter. We kind of just kept rolling along with whatever came our way. One day I could be doing some print ad for the epidemic of young pregnancy and the next I could be doing an amazing ad for the inside of Life magazine, standing in a bathing suit next to Lisanne, a fellow model and close friend. I did some commercials and had two movies under my belt, but we had no idea if I was an actress, a model, or a spokesperson for good causes. As a side note, I feel that this multifaceted approach has always been both a blessing and a curse. I am in a business that loves to define and categorize talent. Being multifaceted suggests that there is a jack-of-all-trades-and-master-of-none quality. It has made for an interesting and extremely versatile career but at times has been strangely and frustratingly limiting.

  But back when we were just beginning, each job meant Mom and I could buy something. As we worked and I earned, Mom and I began to be able to buy things like cars, homes, jewelry, or vacation trips. We went from job opportunity to job opportunity never really thinking in terms of how each project contributed to my career as a whole, or how it fit into the overall representation of me as a talent. Mom also never had specific goals that we reached for. Basically, the criteria for whether I took a job or not was this: Did it fit into my school schedule? Was it going to be a fun and different experience? Would it pay well?

  I don’t remember it ever really being about the type of film, or caliber of people involved, or even if a particular film or project propelled me into any particular category as a performer. Mom and I never considered if any one project made sense in the context of the future of my career. She never really considered nurturing my talent or pushing me to study acting. Rather, it seemed that success was measured in property and popularity.

  Early on, it became evident that there were not many actresses who looked like I did. People kept saying that I had a unique look. As much as I was working in print, I still often didn’t fit into the all-American type that was popular in TV and film. I was frequently turned down for not looking like a freckled-face kid from a farming town. I was still “too European.”

  How weird is it that I would eventually be labeled “America’s sweetheart”? Did Mom consciously commit to changing these early impressions? I really don’t think so. I certainly wasn’t Shirley Temple, and although I had always been compared to Elizabeth Taylor, I had no National Velvet to identify me as the next “girl next door.”

  So when an acclaimed French filmmaker called me in to meet him for the lead role in his first American film, Mom thought I might have a fighting chance.

  Why not? Mom loved European films and directors and had exposed me to films by Fellini and others. She seemed to understand the level of artistry they represented, and she always said women like Catherine Deneuve, Ingrid Bergman, and Sophia Loren were the classiest and most beautiful and most talented actresses out there. I also think she wished she resembled them a bit in style and stature and looks. Personally, I thought my mom was even prettier than any of them.

  A meeting was arranged, and, thankfully, Louis Malle was not interested in an all-American look for his star. The film was to be titled Pretty Baby. It told the story of photogra
pher E. J. Bellocq, who became famous in the early 1900s for photographing women living and working in the bordellos of the red-light district in New Orleans. In this movie, based on his real life and real stories, he falls in love with a young prostitute, Violet, who had been born and raised inside one of these houses.

  Meeting with Louis wasn’t an audition in any typical way. We didn’t work from a script. I went into an office somewhere in the middle of Manhattan and chatted with Louis Malle and the film’s producer, Polly Platt. Polly and a guy named Tony Wade were the unit production managers. Polly had been married and divorced from director Peter Bogdanovich and was currently in a relationship with Tony.

  I don’t remember too much about the “audition,” except that we spoke for quite some time. My mom was not a part of any of the conversation. She wasn’t even in the room. I have always been under the impression that Mom never wanted to be thought of as a stage mother who hovered and interfered. She wanted to be the un–stage mother who was part of the team. In actuality, Mom was much more of an emotional hoverer who affected me internally.

  However, I realize now that my mother was likely very distracted by what had happened much earlier that day. The night before, Mom had taken me and my model friend Lisanne out to a bar. Lisanne and I were very close friends and Mom always thought she was one of the most beautiful girls in the business. This particular night out, not only had we stayed out very late, but also Mom got pretty drunk. Lisanne spent the night but needed to be taken to Penn Station in the morning for a train back home. The next morning, Mom, still kind of tipsy from the previous night’s imbibing, piled us in the black Jeep and drove to downtown Manhattan for my big movie meeting. Mom told me to go into the meeting room and she’d be back to get me. After basically leaving me with strangers, Mom left and took Lisanne to the station. Evidently she had two fender benders on the way, but Lisanne made her train. Mom came back to pick me up and didn’t say a thing. I didn’t know that it had happened at all until Lisanne told me years later.

  But back in the room, I was having a wonderful time. The team showed me photos of inspiration for the film and I was completely enamored of the clothing and the culture of the period. It all seemed beautiful to me. Like an old-fashioned fantasy world.

  The world seen through the eyes of E. J. Bellocq reminded me of paintings I had seen in museums my mom had taken me to. We chatted about the subject of the film. They asked me how I felt about a love story that takes place in a world of prostitution. I don’t remember if they phrased it with such articulation, or as if they were talking to an adult, but I understood the gist of their question.

  I replied that my mother had told me about the part and that I had already known about prostitution by living in Manhattan. Mom and I often talked about the different choices people make. I added that it always seemed sad to me that the prostitutes I saw on Forty-Second Street had to walk on the streets in all sorts of weather and did not have nice homes. My mom always said we should pray for them. I assumed it was because they did not have a safe place in which to live. In the movie the prostitutes all lived at home, which seemed a much more protected setting.

  I don’t remember if the question of nudity came up in the meeting, but I was later under the impression that my mom had discussed with the producers, and they had agreed on no explicit nudity. She was promised it would be filmed in a way that I would be protected. I honestly didn’t give it any thought. I think I assumed that it would all be OK. Somehow I had no qualms about any of it. I was eleven. I’d go to the bathroom with the door open in front of people and have full-on conversations. I was not conscious of my body. Never young but somehow youthful.

  Even though I was such a young girl, I always had mature and evocative looks. I was far from precocious, and that was what Louis Malle wanted. I was not in any way what Nabokov had called a nymphet or a Lolita. That wasn’t what Louis Malle envisioned for his Violet. He believed that her power rested in her wise innocence. Louis wanted a sense of duality and contradiction in his lead character. He saw the woman/child as someone with real naïveté and innocence coupled with intelligence and emotional maturity. He didn’t want savvy provocation. I was what he wanted—at once a little girl and an emotionally mature adult, all the while lacking shrewdness or a cunning persona.

  The audition/meeting didn’t last very long. I was surprised it was so easy and fast. I worried that I should have done more. My mother picked me up and we left. As I remember it, we got the call later that same day. I was offered the role. Mom asked if I wanted to do the film and I said it sounded like a fun movie to make. We would get to move to New Orleans for a few months—we had thought it would be over summer vacation—and I’d get to dress up in period clothing. We would have a whole new adventure. We accepted the part.

  Another reason Louis said he chose me was that I was not a trained actress. I had never studied acting, and he felt I would be able to just respond to situations once I understood the scene. This has always felt like the smartest approach to me.

  Production was pushed back and what was supposed to be a summer shoot ended up starting around mid-February. This would be the first time I would miss school to work, but we had signed on and the money was good and this was a famous director. It was an opportunity not to be passed up. Mom and I felt we could make it work with a tutor and homework assignments. Plus, I knew in advance and could try to get ahead in school before leaving for New Orleans, which I was able to do.

  The entire movie was shot in and around New Orleans. It had all been storyboarded and was seemingly meticulously planned out. The majority of the filming took place in a big white house on Saint Charles Avenue, which has since been converted into the Columns Hotel. The house had a big porch, a beautiful winding staircase, and stained-glass windows. Inside and out, the film’s creative team built the world as it actually existed during E. J. Bellocq’s time.

  But once we arrived, everything was more chaotic than I imagined. The cast and crew were a rowdy bunch. They became known for their loud partying and drug usage. Every night, crew members would either take over the bar or use their rooms to party. Complaints from visitors would be lodged but never seemed to cause change. A lot went on and there were many on-set romances, including a pregnancy (my mother went with the poor girl when she had her abortion). We had all left our real lives at home and had entered a somewhat altered universe.

  I enjoyed life on the set, but it could be very difficult and tense. There was a mystique surrounding Louis. He was making his first American film and there was a great deal of pressure, and he was often a man of few words. He watched more than he talked. He was not one to praise his actors. At first this scared me because I was like a Jack Russell puppy jumping up and up and up, asking, “Do you like me now? Do you like me now?” I wanted to do anything for a treat and a nod. Louis’s reticence made me nervous, but I always believed he was kind.

  He could be difficult with me but he was never mean or overtly demanding. I learned to navigate his often distant manner, and even though he seemed removed, I came to trust that no words were good words. I never fully knew whether he was ultimately happy with my portrayal of his lead character, but I had to believe he was getting what he wanted from me.

  At times I craved more direction and felt awkward not being constantly told what to do and how to be and sometimes even how to feel. I began the movie by asking questions or if I was OK, but as time went on I, too, quieted and trusted my instincts a bit more. Sadly, this would be one of the last films in a long while during which I was learning my craft and experiencing hints of self-confidence. I believe it was because of the quality and artistic caliber of the director. He had vision and he expressed himself quietly and without unnecessary chatter. He could say, “Just be defiant.” I knew exactly what that meant to Violet.

  The cinematographer, Sven Nykvist, was a genius. A gentle, beautiful soul whose art came out through his eyes and his heart. He wa
s incredibly sweet and had a shy little laugh whenever I did or said something funny. I remember how quietly he worked and how thorough he was. If Louis was revealing what he called “a slice of life,” then it was Sven who simultaneously stripped away facades and illuminated the honest truth.

  • • •

  We were all working long hours every day on the film, and sleep became my most coveted commodity. The amount of work I was required to do was staggering. The shooting days lasted between twelve and fifteen hours and included early calls, late wraps, and all-night shoots that began at 5:00 P.M. and went until at least 5:00 A.M. the next day. The weather was at times excruciatingly hot, and when we worked near the rivers the bugs ate us alive. Occasionally it was miserable, but none of us complained.

  Because it was a period piece (my favorite thing in the world to do), all the costumes were authentically from the era. Nowadays many of the undergarments are remade in new materials, and shoes are copied in the style of the 1900s but with more comfortable modern technology. But on this film we were working with the legendary costume designer Mina Mittelman, and she had warehouses filled with period costumes. Her stock was plentiful and she was insistent that even the undermost petticoats be from the actual era.

  I adored how beautiful the clothes looked but the shoes created a real problem for me. They were old and dry and I got a terrible case of an eczema-type rash that made my feet crack and bleed. I had waited to tell my mom how much they hurt and hoped it would get better on its own. I was never one to admit a discomfort and did not want to be a problem. There was work to get done and I could deal with the pain.

  They were the shoes I had to wear the most, and when not wearing them, I was usually barefoot and running across broken shells. Neither option was a good one. The shells were used in the backyard to create a sort of driveway, so to protect me from getting badly cut, the wardrobe person taped moleskin to the bottoms of my feet. This helped and tickled when I peeled them off.