One Saturday while we were still dating (is it dating if it only happens around meeting rooms and the bedroom?), Michael dropped by my house unannounced when Whitney, Allan, and my brother Dick were visiting. I was totally flustered with his sudden appearance and unsure how to explain him away. I think I omitted his last name in the introductions in an effort to obfuscate but had to leave him with my family out by the pool while I was getting some food ready. I watched from the kitchen window and I could hear Michael reeling off his credits to impress them, mentioning Captain Blood, Turner & Hooch ... how he had all these great deals going and that he was expecting a phone call from Sherry Lansing any minute, yada yada yada. I could see the cool skepticism settling over Whitney's and Allan's faces. Finally, Dick got up, loped into the kitchen, and said to me, "Well, he seems just too good to be true," a small quizzical smile on his face. I could only shrug and sheepishly acknowledge, "Yes ... I know. He's something, huh?"
One afternoon, I took the kids to Palisades Park for a picnic along the bluffs, and though Michael had joined us for a little while, he had to leave early. When it started to get dark, I packed up our things and got ready to leave, but Peter, who had been fractious with me much of the afternoon, wouldn't stay in the car. I can't remember anymore why he was angry, but he kept leaping out of the backseat and running off. After going through that hair-raising parent evaluation I had no confidence how to proceed. Could I pick up my child and toss him in the car if I thought that was the only way to get him in? He wasn't even ten at the time and I was beside myself with agitation.
Then Michael appeared, dressed to go for a run. I'd not answered the phone at home or the car phone and he was concerned. I told him what was up with Peter and he found him where he was hiding in the bushes. Peter took off running along the bluffs, in the direction of home. As Mollie got buckled into the car, I could see Michael run slowly after him. I circled the block and when I saw them next, they were running apace, talking and laughing. I drove home and waited. Thirty minutes later, Peter panted in through the door. They had jogged the entire way home. He came up and hugged me, pressing his face into my side, saying, "Hi, Mommy. I'm sorry."
Finally, Peter was interacting with an adult man who just listened to him, wasn't making him wrong, wasn't yelling at him, who wasn't being physically abusive to him. I thought, Here's a man who treats Peter like a respectable human being. He uses persuasion, not pressure. That really got my attention.
Not long afterward, Michael showed Mollie the same respect. He and I were standing along the sidelines at one of her weekend soccer games and she was goalie. At the end of one play a girl from the opposing team slammed into Mollie as she stood protecting the goal, absolutely wiping her out. A mass of players joined the collision and when the dust cleared, Mollie was at the bottom of the stack. Now, no one is allowed to enter the field during a game except referees or coaches, but Michael ran onto the field as the girls were getting up, swept up Mollie, and ran back to the sidelines with her in his arms. I could hear her protesting all the way, "Michael, you can't do this, take me back, you can't go on the field!" As he deposited her next to me he said, "Relax, this is largely symbolic. I just want you to know I'll show up for you."
Okay, he broke the rules, but I read it as a profound gesture. I was thinking how David had been so harsh with little Teddy and Eva both before and after we were married and how I'd longed for a different kind of influence for my children. Michael was different. I was seduced. I'd been wooed through my children.
We'd been seeing each other for about six months when the call from Michael came: "She knows," he said, explaining that his wife had followed him to my house, had confronted him when he got home, and now she was kicking him out of their house. "What shall I do?"
What? No, no, no. This was so not what I wanted. I remember being on the phone, standing in my redwood bedroom with late afternoon sunlight streaming in, already feeling the loss of the serenity I usually found there. Ever since I found out he was married, my fantasy was that he leave that marriage, if that's what he wanted, and for us to spend time together as single people ... find out who we were together and see if we had a future. I knew that Michael was shrewd and didn't want to leave the safe boat he was in until he had one foot securely in another boat, that he'd push off from the first only when he absolutely had to. I knew that without question my actions had led me inexorably to this moment I was not ready for. But I had put all this in motion; once again I thought I had no options. I said, "Come."
Our lives changed very quickly. Michael was a whirlwind. He was not a rules guy and earned the kids' immediate devotion by inviting them into our bedroom to watch television with us. I'd always had them on a pretty short TV leash, having grown up with the same: no watching until homework was done, a certain amount of reading attended to, etc. Michael was a great proponent of "kicking back," which was how he referred to any nonwork, nonproductive activity, with which my house now abounded. I didn't argue much because I could see that the kids, particularly Peter, seemed to thrive on being with Michael. This was a totally different way to be a man from the model Peter had grown up with. There was something lacking, to be sure--not a shred of intellectual stimulation to be gotten here--but the concept of not being found wrong every time there was a misstep was a revelation.
Michael was also very social and we started having lots of parties. Michael would invite people from the program over and we'd eat and play charades. It was fun to open my home to people and know how much they enjoyed being there. And the kids were a vital part of the parties, too. Michael's youngest daughter was spending time with us on occasion and the three children got on famously, putting on plays for the crowd or leading the crush into the swimming pool.
We had a nice thing going; it was smoother than I'd anticipated. Michael was trying to work on selling some scripts. We went to meetings together openly now. No more hiding. I still liked going to meals with a bunch of friends after our Tuesday-night meeting. Michael would help out and pick up the kids at school once in a while or drop them at soccer practice. Just that was huge for me. I could never ask David to help me out during a day; he was not available for that.
I did another TV movie around this time, Betrayed: A Story of Three Women. Betrayed had a light side and was an easy shoot, working with Swoozie Kurtz, who was lovely. The only odd part was that Michael would show up on location; he'd unexpectedly appear in the yard of the house where we were filming. He'd look nice and presentable, but I wasn't sure about having someone around like that, just watching. I liked to be with the film company when I was on a job. I didn't have guests come; I felt they distracted, interfered. But he liked it so I didn't say anything.
Then Michael brought up marriage. I never wanted to get married ever again and had been very clear about that from the start. To me, marriage to David was when I lost my voice, I lost my autonomy, my identity. I felt I lost everything. The divorce continued to be hugely expensive and I made sizable monthly child support payments. I had no intention of getting married to Michael. But at a certain point, I'd hear Michael talking with the kids about marriage. His daughter was becoming more of a fixture and the three children were jazzed by the idea. He'd say, "I think we should be married for the kids." What for? Because it's moral? Are we concerned with morality now? And wait a minute ... he was still married! We were going to have to deal with that. I don't know what he said to the children, but he definitely planted the idea of our becoming a storybook blended family because suddenly they started begging us and begging us to get married. Finally, I gave in. I couldn't keep up the argument. It seemed to mean so much to Peter and Mollie. I knew they loved Michael and loved our new life together.
Michael had to get a divorce and it became imperative to deal with it right away. Walking on the beach one day we had a disturbing talk about what lay ahead. His daughter and ex-wife lived in a sweet little house he owned in Brentwood and Michael was talking about selling the house because he was low on mo
ney and didn't seem to have any coming in. It's noteworthy that I at no time asked Michael if or how he would share living expenses with me. He seemed to expect that I would just pull that wagon, so I think I accepted that as my obligation, but never even asked him if he had any. He didn't seem concerned where or how his family would live on only half the money from the house. She had little income; there was no way they could support themselves.
It felt so heartless and really triggered my feelings of guilt about having contributed to the breakup of their family. I couldn't bear the idea of compounding their anguish, so I volunteered to pay what was left on their mortgage so they could stay where they'd been living. I wasn't trying to be a hero; I was trying to avoid a horrendous, untenable situation. I knew Michael was going to be looking at lawyer's fees and some kind of family support and I couldn't conceive of how he was going to handle all that since he wasn't earning any money.
I just remember us walking barefoot in the surf; my head was down, watching the small waves wash over my feet. These problems seemed unassailable and we had barely begun to scratch the surface. I knew this was going to be a very expensive venture. Every little wave that pulled back across the sand to the ocean was part of my savings disappearing. But I reminded myself that I was earning good money at the time and I just thought, Okay ... I can do this. I have to do this. It falls to me. I'd better get a series.
And I did, actually. Within a short time I was coexecutive producing and starring in a new ABC Productions show called The Faculty. I thought it was a great concept--a half-hour comedy shot in front of a live audience (my favorite) and I played the vice-principal of a middle school; I was surrounded by a very talented cast of actors who played teachers, administration, a school nurse, and principal. Our writers and producers were terrific, seasoned professionals, which was important; we needed people there who knew what they were doing. I had no idea how to produce; it was just important to me that I had a say in many of the major decisions on the show. I did love that The Faculty sort of became a family affair. Almost every Friday that we taped, Michael and Elizabeth would bring the kids to sit in the bleachers and laugh themselves silly at our stellar cast of performers. I was proud of The Faculty; I thought it was well written, sharply directed, and wonderfully acted. I felt strong and accomplished and very grateful. Every night before our metaphorical curtain went up, the cast would gather backstage for a quiet cheer. I would whisper a prayer to just be a worker among workers; I didn't want my ego messing with the close relationship I'd forged with my fellow actors; we were all in it together.
If I looked only at the little things, there was much that made me think Michael could be a viable partner. With David, either he was seizing all the power or dumping all the responsibility on me. It was extraordinary to me that Michael helped with the kids on occasion, or that when we began to send out wedding invitations, he sat there and addressed the envelopes with me! I think I grasped at anything that gave me a sense of partnership. That's what made me think, Oh! This is what a marriage is! Because I had so little experience actually sharing a task with an equal partner, it felt safe. I told myself that addressing envelopes together is what marriage is all about.
I did everything I could not to focus on the larger things, because they gave me pause. The lying was very difficult. I had found myself telling half-truths to my children or friends about Michael being married. I'd hear him rattling off his credits again to someone, anyone, telling of some imminent job, which I knew wasn't true. Carla had even asked me once after a meeting, "What about the fact that he lies all the time?" I responded, "Yes ... he does dance, doesn't he?" as if he were a precocious child. I mean ... what??? I knew he embodied the concept of "hip, slick, and cool" as a preferred profile. He needed to appear to be a player; fact was preferable but not an issue. It made me queasy but I let it go.
When I think about why I made some of the decisions I made, a pivotal memory stands out. We were driving to get our marriage license in Norwalk, a gray, industrial suburb of Los Angeles, and we got lost in a tangle of freeway exchanges. I had a Thomas Guide on my lap, but I had arrived at an age where I couldn't read the tiny map and I had no glasses. Michael kept asking, "Do we take the 105? Do we get off there?" I just couldn't read the map and my tears started coming. I was so afraid to tell him I didn't know where we were. Years earlier, David and I were driving at night in Cape Cod, and I was reading the directions from a piece of paper. I could feel David getting angry and frustrated at what I was reading, and he began hitting me with his free hand. Then he pulled over to a parking lot, got out and came around to the passenger side, reached in and began slapping my face. So when Michael started asking me similar questions--"Where do we go?"--I guess I was triggered back to that incident and I was projecting the same outcome. Michael could see how upset I was so he eased over onto the shoulder of the freeway. He held me and said very quietly, "I know what's important."
That single extraordinary gesture made me feel seen and safe; I thought, This is love. So much of what followed over the next few years was ameliorated by the profound feelings he engendered in me that day.
He wasn't David. Michael got untold points for just not being that. In retrospect, it wasn't much of a hurdle: don't hit me, don't denigrate me, I'm yours.
There were a few people in my life who weren't so sure that marriage was the right decision for me. One day I was working at Paramount and my brother Dick showed up. Apparently he was there as a result of a family meeting, which had been held without me, where everyone agreed that my marrying Michael seemed like a terrible idea, but that I seemed too happy about it for them to try to stop me. Dick, my designated savior, was sent on a mission from the whole family: his job was to make sure I got an airtight prenuptial agreement so that when things fell apart, Michael wouldn't get half of everything.
I did as my family advised and got the prenup, although I felt acutely uncomfortable about it. It really upset Michael. It was the first time I'd seen him visibly angry; he said it showed a lack of faith in him. I was secretly happy to have the agreement but felt timid and guilty that I wanted that protection; somewhere I didn't feel I had the right to claim and protect what was mine, what I had earned. I don't remember what the particulars were, but the idea was that, should we divorce, he would not share in anything I had prior to our marriage. Right.
On October 21, 1995, after Michael and I had been together for a year, and his divorce was final, we were married at Westwood Presbyterian Church. I have to say, it was an extraordinary day! From the moment I got up that morning, I floated everywhere I went. I was in another world. I was so happy. I had found someone who loved me and I felt safe and cherished and everything was going to be fine. All five of my children were at home; it was a wonderfully joyous melee of activity as we girls all had our hair and makeup done by a friend. Peter had a sleek new suit and, as Michael's best man, combed his hair straight back, creating a startling resemblance to the groom.
During the ceremony, my eldest daughter, Eva, was my radiant maid of honor and stood with my stunning girls Kate and Mollie alongside me; opposite were Michael and Peter. Ted and Allan had walked me up the aisle and I felt so confident and grateful for the strong relationships we all had. After we said our vows, we had a sumptuous reception at the Hotel Bel-Air. We had a buffet dinner for about a hundred friends and family members, a live band and singers, and hours of dancing. The whole thing was ridiculously expensive but I felt expansive in my happiness.
I was embarrassingly ingenuous about money. I only knew I earned it. David and I never discussed it. I didn't really spend very much (except for that Mercedes). I'd abdicated responsibility for it and didn't understand investments, taxes, accounting, IRAs, insurance, pensions or profit sharing, or endless etceteras. I had a business manager handle it all. Self-esteem, guilt, irresponsibility all played a factor. I didn't actually know how much money was there, but I hoped that somehow in the miasma, it would all work out.
Once we were
married, I felt even more financially responsible for Michael. Although he always talked about some script or project he was working on, he had no income, and I didn't want him to constantly be asking me for cash for fear of shaming him. Having him be responsible for himself never occurred to me. We devised a plan where he became my "manager" (in name only, thank goodness), and I would pay him a salary that I could deduct from my income. I hated the cliche of this but it seemed like a plan that gave him some freedom and dignity at the same time. I also gave him a credit card.
Right around this time the lease was up on my car and I was planning on getting the new model of my current Mercedes, having developed a taste for them. Michael drove a huge old Cadillac with torn roof fabric and a reluctant engine. It was well past time to replace it and I had gone with him to peruse the Cadillac dealership for options. He'd liked several but here was my dilemma: I wouldn't be comfortable if I had a more expensive car than he did. I would have felt shame, then ... as if I were showing off, even if I had earned it, as if it weren't right for me to have one if he didn't. Michael told me when he moved in, "In my old house, I was the star in my family," and that contributed to my feeling that the only thing I could do would be to lease Michael the exact same $100,000 Mercedes that I was getting. I was spending so much to mitigate my low self-esteem, it made my stomach hurt.
Despite some good reviews, The Faculty lasted only one season. But movie scripts were coming my way--some of them good, some less good. I was tired and interested in taking some time off, but my business manager made it perfectly clear that I was not in the position to be picky. He said to me, "You cannot turn anything down. You are hemorrhaging money." What?
I could see how that might be true. There was ongoing child and spousal support to be paid, divorce lawyer's fees that were still being paid, three private school tuitions (thank goodness David paid half for Mollie's and Peter's school), Kate's college tuition, Michael's ex-wife's expenses, our regular household expenses. And Michael had planned some pretty swanky vacations: the Ritz-Carlton in Hawaii with the kids, the Waldorf-Astoria in New York with the kids and several times without, always first-class. This was more lavish than I was used to traveling but I couldn't argue that the kids enjoyed it--prudence never won out. We made three trips to Lake Powell over the years, twice with some of the kids and us on a long houseboat, and once, most extravagantly, with about twelve of us on two houseboats, all trips requiring air and ground transportation. I knew it was pricey but I did so love having all the family together and we had incredible, memorable times on these trips. They became legend and we tell tales of them to this day. There were probably more prudent ways to have traveled but I couldn't really regret any of it. I figured I'd just have to get another job.
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