Toots
I did not want to continue on with Suddenly Susan. Without David it was a different show. The studio tried to revamp it to make it feel fresh. But the problem was that it hadn’t been that broken and didn’t need to be drastically fixed. It was never as good as it could be because of the focus of the writing, but people loved it and it could have endured if the cast had remained.
We did a farewell tribute to David in which my character goes all over the city trying to find his character, Todd. Along the way I learn how he impacted various people’s lives and what a unique person he was. It was a fitting and beautiful tribute, but it did not bring David back. I would have done the show forever if David had been alive. But for various reasons the show was cancelled, and although I strongly missed doing a sitcom, I wasn’t sorry. I was relieved to be away from everything that continuously reminded me of David.
I called Andre after I got the word that our divorce had all been filed and done with. I was driving in the Jeep that had been a gift from him and I called to ask, “So do I just take off my ring?”
“I guess so.”
“OK, then.”
I went to a bar where a friend from college was waitressing and I drank whatever they served me. I played with my thin platinum band in the booth and was very sad but felt like I was simply where I was. I called my mother to tell her it was over and she commented on it being fast. I could tell it was more important to be rid of Perry than it was sad for me to actually be divorced. Somehow I never thought I’d be. I had seen myself alone, even with a child, or married. But never divorced.
I could not admit it, but I was actually already falling in love with the guy I’d met when I was walking my pit bull. We had stayed in touch from working out with David in the Warner Bros. gym. He had eventually met the girlfriend with whom I was trying to set him up. Thankfully, they had not hit it off. I had kept him at a safe distance but believe subconsciously I’d wanted him close by. Nobody had yet known I was getting a divorce, and I needed time. I was dealing with too much with losing David, actually being divorced, and with my dad’s diagnosis that I feared any relationship. Chris stayed around but had his own very busy life. He finally said that it was pretty clear he wanted to be more than friends but would rather be my friend than not have me in his life at all. But I had to tell him whether it would ever be possible. I told him yes but asked for his patience.
He did not pressure me but after a respectful amount of time finally said, “I’ll wait, but I won’t wait forever.”
I leaned on him for support regarding my diagnosis and my dad’s. I finally admitted that we were dating and I was falling in love. Andre had moved on, too, with my blessing. I helped Andre get dressed for his first date with Steffi Graf. He called me from a hotel room where she waiting in the lobby. I was happy to oblige.
• • •
I told Mom I had met someone and I had wanted her to meet him. He was Irish and from New York and was a writer. I was planning to go to New York City to have my surgery to hopefully clear up the dysplasia and rid me of probable cervical precancer.
Mom was supposed to take me to the hospital the morning of, but I could tell she was not going to be able to make it. She was still drinking, and even though she probably could have rallied, I didn’t want to be around her. I couldn’t deal with her drinking and with going under the knife at the same time. This seemed to be a pattern. But she was always around to attend to me when I was sick. Maybe surgery and death terrified her. Justifying again, am I?
I suddenly broke up with Chris a week before the operation out of fear that I had not given myself a real chance to be free. I thought that the feelings I had for him had to be false rebound emotions. But I called him every day during this breakup.
He finally said, “You know you broke up with me, right? Technically you can’t call me every day if we are broken up.”
“Oh, yeah, right. . . . Well, bye, then, I guess.”
I admit I made one last call before the impending surgery. I was actually scared and just wanted to hear his voice.
I called his cell and he sounded different so I asked where he was. He was in Vermont visiting his writing partner for a few days. I told him I just wanted to call him before my surgery and he asked if anybody was going to take me to the hospital. I said no, which was true, but my mom was going to pick me up. He volunteered to drive in to take me and meet my mom. It seemed like a lot, but I said yes before I could change my mind.
He came in to take me to the hospital and he met my mom for the first time. I went under and the two of them went for a walk and a bite to eat at some diner. While on the walk, Mom handed Chris an envelope and asked him to keep it safe for her. She needed to mail it and would do so after the meal. It was a hot summer day and Chris kept the envelope in his breast pocket for hours. After the meal, she took it back from him. He asked her what it was and she replied that it was her dog’s stool sample—her Maltese had had diarrhea. She thought it was hysterical. He knew instantly what he was getting himself into.
The operation ended up being much more invasive than they had anticipated. They practically had to remove my entire cervix. I recovered in Vermont with Chris and his friends, and I finally admitted once and for all that he was my boyfriend.
Mom seemed to like Chris. His parents were from New York and were from the same era and background. Chris’s family consisted mainly of firemen, cops, and nurses. They were the kind of people Mom had known growing up and always felt akin to.
On a trip to Ireland over the millennium a year after we started dating Chris gave me a promise ring. I nearly passed out when he showed me the box while we were overlooking Dingle Bay on the last sunset of 1999. He saw the look of terror and pressure on my face and quickly said it was only a promise ring. I had no desire to even think about getting married again.
A year later, when he was finally prepared to propose, ring in hand, he got the shock of his life. The man who sold him the ring had his sister secretly photograph Chris leaving the store after the purchase. I had no idea he had bought the ring, and when he opened the paper that morning he turned sickly pale.
I saw the photo, slammed the paper shut, and said, “Oh God, I am so sorry, Chris. . . . Whatever you were going to do, don’t.”
“What?!”
“I mean do it, but reclaim the time and do it at another time.”
“Oh, OK, wow. . . . How could he . . . How could they . . . ?”
I felt terrible that because I was famous, his first time proposing was ruined. I felt terrible because unfeeling people and the press once again chose to rob me of the beauty of my personal experiences for their own profit.
I told Mom about the whole thing and she said, “That’s a shame, honey, but you can make it your own again.”
I wonder if she was secretly a tad bit relieved that the press still paid attention.
I put it out of “our” minds, but when Chris finally did surprise me a few months later by proposing to me in Mexico, I said “Yes!” and then had the jeweler’s name buffed out of the ring.
And a year after he gave me the promise ring, I was saying, “I do.”
• • •
Before we got married, the in-laws were all sitting at a diner in LA and the mothers began talking about what they wanted to be called by their grandchildren. My mother-in-law claimed “Cha Cha” and my mother coined herself “Toots.” God forbid they be called Nana or Grandma or Granny. . . .
I loved the idea of having children with Chris. Despite my fears about my cervix, I was encouraged by my doctor and told it should all be fine. Chris and I wanted to start as soon as we could.
My father was going through chemo at the time, so we decided that instead of New York City we would get married where he lived, in Palm Beach, Florida. Dad’s close friend Terry Kramer had a stunningly beautiful home on the water and graciously offered
to have us hold the wedding there. I humbly accepted but on one condition: that we hold the reception in a tent outside. As much as I really wanted to be seated inside, surrounded by the priceless paintings and incredibly precious art and furniture, I didn’t trust any of our relatives not to do something somehow damaging. This home housed original Picassos both from his Blue Period and his later works. Many masters were on the walls, and real Fabergé eggs were scattered like confetti. I pictured my mother feeling up a server or kissing a portrait with fire engine–red lipstick, or one of Chris’s old friends stealing the Cuban cigars or somehow pocketing an egg or silver monogrammed matchbox.
My mother had gotten another DUI a few months before the wedding and was placed in mandatory rehab. Her license was suspended and she went under psychiatric treatment. I was called when she was first arrested and put in the hospital for observation. They said she was confused and they would keep her overnight. I tried to have them keep her in for a few days but she insisted on leaving. She could not drive and had to take a taxi home.
The courts decided that she should go to a mandatory alcohol treatment facility. I was relieved and thrilled and thought the timing was perfect. She would be out just in time to get her life together and be at the wedding sober. She would even make the shower.
My girlfriend Sherie from Broadway threw me a shower. I did not want to have a typical shower because we needed nothing, but I did want to celebrate and also give Chris’s friends and family a chance to do so as well. We had a crafty type of shower, where we all put together mosaic tiles to be put some place in our home. Mom and my mother-in-law and sister-in-law all seemed to be getting along beautifully. Mom did not drink the mimosas and acted fine, but I could tell she was a bit vulnerable. She was just not able to relax. She was awkward and restrained and I felt bad because I could tell she was struggling. I must admit, though, I was much less on my guard believing she would not drink that day and was subsequently seemingly able to relax a bit and basically enjoy the festivities.
I had a romantic idea—maybe I could invite Mom’s old love, Antonio Rius from Rio, to be her date to the wedding. I’d found his number and called him years before, only to find out he’d had a stroke and didn’t want her to see him in such poor (and disfigured) health. I encouraged her to try him again, though. But it still wasn’t meant to be, sadly—when she finally called, he was thrilled to hear her voice. He was doing better, but had married his nurse only two months earlier. Another chance at happiness lost.
“But I waited. . . .”
• • •
The wedding date arrived. The hostess was incredibly generous and housed the whole family. My mom and Lila were in one room and Chris and I in another.
Dad and Didi threw the rehearsal dinner, and Cristiana organized the after-party. It went off without drama—it was actually rather peaceful in Dad’s home. Mom did not drink that night and it was looking like it was all calm on the Teri front.
We had not hired a wedding planner, which in hindsight was a huge mistake. To save on costs and keep it simple we had decided to do it all ourselves. With the money saved we splurged on hiring Tuck and Patti to perform. The planning was relatively easy and I had assistants to help, but once in Florida I realized I really needed extra support. I had to organize the entire event myself. I could not rely on my mother for a myriad of reasons and the pressure was too much for any of my in-laws. We needed a person other than the bride or groom to take charge. I had two assistants helping, and Gavin’s guys were taking care of security, but nobody had been designated as the captain of the ship. The problem was that without a point person, the mothers began to get involved. The day before the wedding, during the rehearsal portion of the day, I was being pulled in all directions. There was no one to tell me where to go and yet people also needed instruction. I instantly wished I had had a logistics director. It became obvious that I was getting a bit harried.
At one point my mother-in-law and Mom were wandering around aimlessly, trying to be helpful. My mother-in-law evidently said to my mother, “Can I help you, Teri?”
Mom responded with “No, thank you. . . .” And as she turned away, Mom added, “You fucking cunt.”
Oh, dear God. Chris heard it but I did not. My assistant told me what had transpired and I knew alcohol had finally reared its ugly head. Chris and I both prayed his mother had not heard. She was gracious and never mentioned a thing, but it was a horror show. Then, not too long after that, Cha Cha took it upon herself to order my assistant Patty to come to my rescue. Everybody was on high stress alert and acting out. Patty had been my assistant for eleven years and always knew when I did and when I did not need anything. She was insulted. She did have it all under control but admittedly was getting a bit flustered by the tension and mounting confusion. I make it a rule never to order my assistants to do anything. I apologized to my longtime and excruciatingly (for her, I’m sure) loyal employee, explaining that tensions were high and these strong mothers were simply needing to be needed.
On the day of the wedding our hostess held a lovely lunch for the houseguests. Didi stayed at their house to deal with the rehearsal-dinner aftermath, and I went to get a massage with my sisters. Mom stayed at the house for lunch and was evidently charming and on point. She and my dad laughed together and were very sweet with each other. Mom was gracious and not inappropriate and seemingly very in her own skin. She did not drink any of the delicious wine that flows like water at this stunning home. I will always regret not witnessing my mother and this meal.
Later that day, I was getting ready and putting on my big princess wedding dress. I was getting the veil adjusted and my father awkwardly came up to the room and said he had to ask me a quick question. He pulled out a letter from a buddy of his who freelanced for People magazine. The guy was begging my father to just be able to be invited to the BBQ the following day so he could cover it for the magazine.
I looked at my father and, pointing to myself, said, “Dad . . . wedding dress . . . bride! Can we not discuss this right now, please?”
“I’m just saying, he’s a nice guy and he’s a buddy of mine from—”
“I am sure he is, Dad, but I am not going to discuss this with you right now, seconds before I am going to actually walk down the aisle.”
“OK.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I get it. We will figure something out. But please let’s just focus on this first.”
I was standing in the doorway, surrounded by beautiful marble pillars and shiny steps, and I was about to walk out and down the path to my waiting groom. Mom would be walked down the aisle by my brother-in-law, and my stepsister, Diana, was my maid of honor. Her girls were flower girls and my other sister Marina was going to do a reading. Our youngest sister, Olympia, was serving as the oldest ring bearer ever and helped the flower girls down the aisle.
I was helping my dad navigate his Rollei camera, which did not fit in his pocket, and I could tell he was nervous. It was the second time he’d walk me down an aisle, but we all knew this was different. Chris had actually flown to Florida to ask him for my hand and that impressed my father more than ever.
It was about time for me to start walking. I looked at my mom and said, “Well, Mom, this is it. I am about to go get married. Tell me something.”
She motioned for me to come closer, and I did. I leaned in and she sloppily whispered into my ear, “No People magazine cover.”
I reacted so suddenly and actually shoved her away. I pulled back in a daze and stared at her. I saw the look. The lips were dry and the liner had begun to bleed slightly into her wrinkles. She had obviously been drinking from some stash or had made some arrangement with the staff. She was on her way.
She cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips into a smirk and said, “What?! I’m just saying. No People magazine cover.”
She wanted to be the one who perpetually controlled my image. It was all she knew.
She could not give me advice, support, or words of wisdom. She did not have any. She knew nothing but how to try to dictate my public persona. The shove was on the wedding video but I had it erased.
I felt so terribly sad for her at that moment. I got it. She had no idea how to just be my mom and was lonelier than hell. She felt she was losing me all over again.
I grabbed Dad’s camera as he fumbled to try to fit it in his pocket and I hurriedly put it on a table. I wanted him to watch, not to take photos during the ceremony. I wanted him to be present. I looked at him and at my mother and I thought it was all crazy. I panned past my father, who was adjusting his jacket, and then to my mom, who looked like a little orphaned kid, and then I looked out to the lawn by the water to where Chris stood in his white suit, his hands clasped in front and his neck craned to see me. I thought, Crazy to my right. Crazy to my left. Not crazy ahead. Finally, not crazy. Just walk toward your future, Brooke. You get to leave the crazy and go to this man you love.
During the reception, people started making toasts. There were a few comedians in attendance and I swear I saw them working on their speeches during the actual ceremony. Comedians are like that. Each one wanted to be the funniest.
They were all great. Once I got over the fact that I did not think any of them had paid attention to their best friend’s vows, I laughed harder than anybody. Dad got up to make a toast. He was always tremendous at making toasts and was warm and funny and even got a bit teary. He held out his glass and you could hear a pin drop. I knew he would not drink its contents because he had given up drinking a while earlier.
My eye was immediately drawn to his beautiful hand with his gold bracelet and crest ring, and I suddenly saw my father through a child’s eyes. He held his pinky slightly extended, not from affectation but from necessity. His hands were just too big to fit the stem. He explained how impressed he had been that Chris had asked for his permission and he was comforted that I had found a man who made me so relaxed and happy. It was a beautiful moment.
There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me Page 27