“I’d like you to produce a song for my new movie,” Kevin said to David. “I found this song I already knew of, ‘I Will Always Love You,’ which was written by Dolly Parton. I want this song in the movie.”
“That’s a big mistake,” David said. “That’s a country song. You can do something better than that.”
“No, I want this song,” Kevin said. “I’ve got a whole vision for it.”
At first, David argued with Kevin about the song and its inclusion in the film, but then, once he listened to it and played around with it, he realized he could produce it in such a way that it would be monumentally important in the film, which, of course, it was.
“We need a couple of original songs,” Kevin said. “Can you and Linda write something?”
“Yeah, sure,” David and I said. “We’ll give it a go.”
David was soon inspired.
“I’ve got this musical idea that’s kind of a big, Shirley Bassey, James Bond–ish sound,” David said. “I’ll play it for you. Mick wants to talk to you about the lyric and what it’s meant to say.”
By this, David meant the director, Mick Jackson, who wanted to talk to me about the lyric for our song. We were sitting in a parking lot at Warner Bros. when Mick got on the phone and explained the film’s premise to me. It was centered around this gorgeous megastar. She’s petulant. She’s a diva. And she has this bodyguard. He’s protecting her, but she’s difficult. And then she starts to fall in love with him. And the song has to be called “I Have Nothing.”
“Really?” I said. “That’s the title?”
“Yeah because she receives all of these menacing notes that always say, ‘I have nothing. You have everything.’ And it turns out they’re from her sister, who ends up being the one who’s threatening her because she’s jealous of her.”
“Okay,” I said.
So I had to write the song’s lyrics around the title “I Have Nothing,” and the description of the star’s character, since it was sung from her perspective. Knowing she was a difficult diva, I came up with the line “Stay in my arms if you dare, or must I imagine you there? Don’t walk away from me.”
Having lived with the very biggest rock star of all time, I had a good deal of experience to draw on while creating that lyric.
There was something magical about my collaboration with David on that song. When he first heard my lyrics, he beamed at me, building me up, as he sometimes could.
“When you get it right as a lyricist, there’s nobody that can touch you,” he said. “You’re the best lyricist that I have ever been around when you get it right.”
I took a great deal of pride in receiving such a strong compliment from a man whose talent I admired as much as I did. The song became a huge hit and was nominated for an Academy Award and a Grammy. To this day, it’s still being performed. It’s such a big song that contestants often performed it on The Voice and the now-defunct American Idol. Kelly Clarkson even performed it at one time.
Attending the Academy Awards as a nominee was a thrill, of course. But I don’t do glam squads, even though I know it’s long been the norm. When we went to the Academy Awards, I borrowed a red sequined dress by the designer Pamela Dennis. As always, I did my own hair and makeup. David and I each got to bring a guest, so I invited my daddy and David invited his mother. We all went together.
It was nice to be able to take our parents to the Academy Awards because we’d been nominated. I had had plenty of experience being in the public eye, but this night felt different. I was very nervous. When it was announced that “A Whole New World” from the Disney film Aladdin had won, I was almost relieved. I was so anxious just being there, I couldn’t imagine having to walk up to the podium and accept my award. We’d been up against “Run to You,” which was also a song from The Bodyguard. “I Will Always Love You” wasn’t eligible because it was a remake, and to be nominated, the song had to have been written for the movie and have been used to propel the story forward. It was said afterward that the vote was split because of these two competing songs from the same movie. But nothing could diminish the thrill of having been recognized with a nomination. David had already been nominated for “Glory of Love,” from the film The Karate Kid, Part II, but he knew how significant this moment was for me.
“You realize, don’t you, that you’re always going to be known as an Academy Award–nominated lyricist from now on?” he said.
The Bodyguard soundtrack was one of the high points in our collaborative life, but as had become routine for us, the joy it brought was short-lived.
In January 1994, David ended one of our frequent arguments in accordance with his usual pattern: He stormed out of the room, got into his car, and drove away. I knew from past experience that he might come home later in the day, or he might come home two days later. But this time, he didn’t come home or call for an extended period. A week went by, and then another.
Since it was just the boys and me in the house, one night we decided to make a fun night of it and have a slumber party in my bedroom. I made up a little pallet on the floor for them, where they were sleeping, while I was alone in my bed. In the early morning, around four thirty, the house started shaking. I jumped up, my first thought being to protect them.
“It’s an earthquake, boys!” I shouted. “It’s an earthquake! Get up! Let’s go downstairs!”
We did everything wrong, because I was the leader, and even though I was aware of proper earthquake procedure, my half-asleep instincts took over my better judgment. Instead of staying in one place like we should have, we went down the staircase into the kitchen, where things could’ve been falling out of the shelves and cupboards. Luckily, they weren’t. As we got down to the kitchen, the shaking subsided, but we were still shaken up. This was the Northridge earthquake, which registered at a 6.7 magnitude, resulted in fifty-seven deaths, and was felt as far away as Las Vegas. We stood there in pitch black darkness with no power.
“I have some candles here, but I don’t know where matches are,” I said.
“Mommy, don’t get mad, but I have lots of matches in my room,” Brody piped up.
Like the three blind mice, we held on to each other, navigating our way into Brody’s room, and sure enough, he had a big stash of matches hidden deep in a bottom drawer.
“You little pyro,” I teased him, but he saved the night.
Not too much time passed before the phone rang. When I answered, I was pleasantly surprised to find that David was on the other end of the line.
“Are you guys okay?” he asked.
The earthquake had clearly shaken David up, and he ended up coming home later that day. It was moments like these when I felt glad to have a partner. This was especially true because the boys had by now become increasingly aware of Bruce’s unreliability and indifference as a father.
The day after the Northridge earthquake, I was outside and stepped back into our TV room, where Brandon and Brody were sitting on the sofa.
“Mom … Dad called and asked if we were okay after the big earthquake,” Brandon announced. “He was just checking on us.”
“Oh, that was really sweet and thoughtful of your dad,” I said, truly touched. “How nice!”
“Mom … I was just kidding …” Brandon said, looking up. “He never called …”
And he never did.
“Dream On”
Your heart is young and oh so tender
Open to the pain
And once it breaks in sad surrender
It won’t be the same
It’s part of life to taste your own tears
If I could spare you pain and heartache
I’d take it on myself
But you can’t live protected
On a shelf
One thing you must never lose
… yourself
Dream on
Let imagination take you
Dream on
Don’t you ever let life break you
There’s a part
of you
That harm cannot touch
Dream on
When you’re down & feeling lonely
Like there’s only you
Just look around I’ll be there with you, too
Don’t you ever let go of your dream
Dream on
Let imagination take you
Dream on
Don’t you ever let life break you
There’s a part of you
That harm cannot touch
Dream on
Let imagination take you
Dream on
Don’t ever let life break you
Dream, dream on
Know I’ll be there with you
There’s a part of you that harm cannot touch
Dream on
And always remember that I love you so much
Dream on
LYRIC: LINDA THOMPSON
Chapter Twenty-two
Villa Casablanca
In the aftermath of our success with The Bodyguard, David and I embarked on a series of collaborations that rivaled anything I could have ever dreamed of professionally. And perhaps the best symbol of our success, and the success yet to come, was the home that we bought together in Malibu in late 1994, a twenty-two-acre estate called Villa Casablanca.
It was far and away the most lavish home I’d ever owned. It included a five-bedroom main house and an eight-car garage. There were two large guest apartments that were connected to the main house by a 150-foot tunnel than ran under the motor court. It was an epic home on majestic, fabulously landscaped grounds. Moving into that manor felt like a culmination and celebration of all the hard work David and I had done over the past decade. It was a place not only to grow our songwriting career and host many charity benefits with hundreds in attendance, but to enjoy a haven for our extended family.
Around the same time, our friend Celine Dion was getting married in an elaborate ceremony in Montreal in mid-December. We had already set our moving date, and the trucks filled with our furniture were set to arrive during her marital celebration, so I opted to stay home and oversee the unpacking. David, who enjoyed a long and fruitful creative relationship with Celine, attended the festivities without me.
I was sorry to miss being there to celebrate Celine’s marriage to her longtime love and manager, René Angélil, as David and I had discovered her together in the early days of our romance, and I’d been a huge fan of her artistically and personally, ever since. Back in 1986, David had received a tip about Celine, who was still unknown outside her native Canada, from a friend of his in the Canadian recording industry. Intrigued, David and I flew to Montreal together to see her perform. We braved a downpour to watch the then teenage chanteuse sing beneath a tent in a field. Although she still performed mostly in French and struggled with her English, it was obvious she was a rare talent.
“If you have piece of paper and a pen, sign this girl tonight,” I said to David. “Don’t let her get away.”
David recognized her gift as well and signed her immediately. Not long after that, she came to Los Angeles, and we met with her at his studio. Celine barely spoke English, but she was just like a little colt, bursting out of the gate, ready to show everyone the racehorse she could become. She clearly possessed so much energy and drive that she could not be contained.
From then on, she’d had a special role in our creative life, and our personal life, recording many songs David and I wrote, including the wedding song David penned for me. And she’d recently recorded a song David and I had written together, “Love Lights Up the World,” along with Peabo Bryson and Color Me Bad, for an album David released in Japan in April 1994. Our collaborations were always gratifying, and I always thought the world of her.
I had always desired to have a close relationship with David’s daughters, and in truth, my inability to break through the barriers was a deep source of sadness for me. I would also have to define it as a failure on my part. I always loved children and tried very hard for many years to be a nurturing presence when David’s daughters were with us, either in my home or when traveling. Still, being a stepmother is a very tricky proposition—especially when the children’s mother is already hurt and angry because of your presence in their lives. I remember a line from the movie Stepmom, when the child of divorced parents says to her mother about her stepmother, “Mom, I’ll hate her if you want me to.”
I’m sure I must have seemed like an overly attentive mother with my sons, because I probably was. I felt it incumbent upon me to be two parents in one, both mother and father, most of the time. Additionally, I harbored a secret I hoped would not damage Brandon’s and Brody’s spirits one day, more than their absentee father already had.
I wanted to be the person in David’s daughters’ lives that I believe I am in the life of Bruce’s daughter, Casey. Not the mother of course, but another trusted adult to turn to. Because I was acutely sensitive to the complexity of our family situation, I never tried to overstep that understood boundary, to be unctuously solicitous of their affection, or take the place of their mother in any way. I felt damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. I pretty much gave up and retreated, waving a white flag.
But, if there is blame to be placed for the dysfunction of our relationship when it came to our children, it lies not with the children, but with the grown-ups. David, his ex, and I should have been able to make adjustments to our post-divorce life in a more civil manner. We all failed to that end.
I have finally come to a place in my life where I can look back, see my mistakes, acknowledge them, and forgive myself, while hoping that others have forgiven me my shortcomings as well. I, like all of us, am merely human. I have made my share of errors and missteps. I’m quite certain I’ll make many more. But just as I do not judge others because I have not walked in their shoes, others have no right to judge me accordingly.
In many ways, buying Villa Casablanca and moving out of the Knest meant that David’s need to be the head of household became even more pronounced. He wanted to maintain absolute rule, as if he really were a king and we were all his loyal subjects, who owed him complete and constant deference. I don’t think I’d ever realized how much it must have galled him to live with me and my sons for all of those years in the house I had acquired with my ex-husband. And to live there with my dogs.
I love animals, especially dogs. I can’t remember a time in my entire life that I haven’t owned a dog. When David moved in with me, he had to learn to accept my dogs and cats, as well as my children. David simply does not relate to animals.
“I don’t necessarily mind dogs. I just don’t want to live with them,” David often said. “I don’t think they should live with people.”
“Well, then where do you think they are supposed to live?” I asked. “Do you think they should just run wild on the streets, fending for themselves?”
He thought at the very least they should be relegated to the outdoors. My insistence upon having pets for my children to grow up with was a sore point with David. Even today I have a sign in my kitchen that states, “Every little boy should have two things: a dog, and a mother who is willing to let him have one.”
Now, in David’s defense, even though Villa Casablanca was on twenty-two acres, I admit I took the rescue thing a little too far, at one time having six dogs. That was not much of a compromise on my part, I know. And the puppies made their share of you-know-what, sometimes in the house. If you are not a dog person, you don’t understand that that’s part of what you have to do—clean up poop. David never had to, but it was an unsavory sight for him anyway. I get it and give him credit. “I don’t love dogs,” he said. “But I love a woman who loves dogs.” That was a sweet concession and I appreciate his effort more today than I did then.
And now that we had a new address without any prior associations, David was insistent on upsetting what he’d apparently experienced as an unfair power balance and establishing what he saw as his rightful regime.
“
This is my house now,” he said. “I’m not living in your house anymore.”
He went so far as to dictate all of these very specific rules of behavior for our new home. “Nobody sits in my chair in the kitchen,” he told us again and again.
Now, around this same time, David became obsessed by what he saw as a possible threat to his dominion in the household, specifically regarding the sanctity of his kitchen chair. My dad lived with me off and on for the twenty-odd years after my mother died, until the time of his death. I brought him to live with me full-time when he turned eighty, and he was with me for the last ten years of his life. This was after he’d had to give up his driver’s license, and he was not doing well at his house. I didn’t want him to fall and hurt himself.
By the time we’d moved to Villa Casablanca, my dad had limited mobility and needed to use a walker. Because of our vast grounds and enormous house, it was quite an undertaking for him to get anywhere. He would amble through our living room and then had to get up the two steps to the kitchen. He was soon out of breath and he had to sit down in the first chair he could reach in order to regain his composure before continuing. Well, this chair at the end of the table was the one David had designated as his chair, which no one else was allowed to sit in, not ever. Not even when David was not home, he had dictated.
I wanted to point out to David how ludicrous all of this was. It was a kitchen table chair. My dad was in his eighties. It was as laughable as any Monty Python sketch, except that David was serious.
There was no reasoning with David on this matter and so I couldn’t resist at least making a (humorous) statement of protest. Down in the tunnel, we had this prop that was a big, oversize chair with a high back that looked like a king’s throne. So I got the boys to help me move it, and we put it at the end of the table in the place where David’s chair normally sat. As a joke, we placed a goblet and a crown at his setting and a sign that said “King David,” because he’d made such a big stink about my dad having sat in his chair.
A Little Thing Called Life Page 35