By Myself and Then Some

by Lauren Bacall

  Very early in the morning Bogie returned. He was filled with remorse – didn’t know why he’d behaved that way – he would never hurt me – he must have lived through so many years of drinking and fighting that he had simply continued that pattern last night. He was miserable about his failings, and again I had to reverse positions and reassure him. I finally figured out some months later that in his cups he had confused me with Mayo and acted accordingly. I remained alert over the next months, watching for signs on drinking nights. But it was not necessarily the same things that set him off, so there was no way for me to be prepared. Mark Hellinger used to tell him he drank like a kid, mixing his drinks – Mark drank one thing all night and stuck to it. Bogie would have Rob Roys before dinner – or martinis, which were always deadly (one is too many and two aren’t enough) – beer with dinner – Drambuie after.

  It was a lot for twenty years old to handle. I don’t know how I did, except that when you’re twenty, it never occurs to you that you can’t.

  Howard’s initial instinct was confirmed. The Big Sleep was cut and being scored, he did need one more scene between Bogie and me. The scene would be one of those sex-by-inference scenes – locale, a smoky bar. He could cut it in easily and it would only take a few days to shoot. I hadn’t seen Howard for a couple of months – my relationship with him and, more sadly, with Slim had faltered. He was friendly, though, and the scene, written by Jules Furthman, was a good one. Everyone was professional on the set – smiling, warm, but impersonal. The days went well – made me wish for another film for the three of us – but that was not to be.

  I appeared on an overseas broadcast with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, and shook as much as on the first day of shooting my first film. There was a large audience, and I remember Bing standing next to me with his arm lightly around my waist, knowing my nerves and letting me know he was there helping – and Bob Hope doing handstands in front of us.

  Mayo had been in Reno for two weeks when word reached Bogie she had come into L.A. Hurried calls to Morgan and the lawyer – ‘Christ, can’t you make her stay there? This will go on forever.’ And some of the gossiping press – Jimmy Fidler, the trade papers – would not leave us alone. All in all, it was a very nervous, tentative time. Mayo was prevailed upon to go back, but those two days in Los Angeles lost us two weeks, since she had to start all over again. Bogie was worried. When he drank worried, the results were not terrific. He feared that maybe it wasn’t going to happen for us, that something would go wrong, so he’d lash out at me on the defensive. It was only serious for a moment, but he certainly kept me on my toes.

  At last the six weeks in Reno were coming to a close. If all went well, Bogie would be free on the tenth of May. He started to make plans. Calls to Louis Bromfield and George. We wouldn’t have any time – he didn’t want to wait until he’d finished his movie. With all my talk about how he’d been married all his life, how he needed his freedom, I didn’t want to wait either. So it was finally decided. We’d leave California on a Friday, arrive in Ohio on Sunday; on Monday, May 21, we’d be married, and on Tuesday we’d start back to California. That way they’d only have to shoot around Bogie five days, and I could start Confidential Agent the following Monday.

  We were walking on air. The wedding would be simple and short. George and Louis would arrange blood tests, license – everything. Bogie and I went to Gershgorn to choose our gold-chain wedding bands. We were photographed at the studio. Jack Warner gave me a 1941 black Buick convertible as a bonus, and I felt very glamorous, particularly with the top down. My family were all very happy for me – they liked Bogie enormously after New York and felt he’d do everything to make my life a good one. Mother was excited and teary – she’d stay with us round-trip and then go back East for a while. I found a very simple pale-pink wool suit, Mother a brown silk dress, for the wedding. Charlie Einfeld told Bogie that Life wanted to send their top photographer in the train with us. ‘Great,’ said Bogie, ‘maybe he’d like to photograph us fucking.’ That took care of that. The press were having a field day. I’d go to Bogie every day and hold up five fingers, four, three, and so on, to signify days left before he was trapped. Tony Martin had recorded a song called ‘Mrs Me’ months before and Bogie and I played it constantly – it was very hokey, very romantic, sentimental, but we were all those things, so it was perfect for us. At long last we didn’t have to be careful anymore. We could go anywhere together, holding hands for all to see. Miraculously, we found a house on King’s Road in the Hollywood Hills above the Strip. It was on three levels, very modern and completely furnished. I fell in love with it – the great view, patio with lawn on the second level, above the bedroom, and large study on the third. There was no land, but I wasn’t thinking of land then. We couldn’t take occupancy immediately, so we’d stay at the Garden of Allah until we finished our pictures.

  Nothing could go wrong for us. All of Bogie’s friends – who had begun to be our friends – were happy about it. There was nothing to mar our joy. I immediately became part of Bogie’s generation – being the chameleon I was, it automatically seemed the thing to do.

  We boarded the Super Chief on the eighteenth of May with photographers at the Pasadena station to send us on our way. We’d spoken to Louis and George, who had told us Mansfield and Lucas, Ohio, had never seen anything like the multitudes of press that were gathering there. The Bromfield phone never stopped ringing with requests for permission to pitch tents on the farm grounds – they had to call the police to keep crowds away, and George was the man to deal with all of them. Louis was busy being photographed in old corduroy pants looking like a farmer. He loved the fuss. They never had a better time.

  George and Louis met us at the station and we headed for the farm. Arrangements had been made for a doctor to come over that night for our blood tests, and the next morning we were to be at the courthouse at 9:00 a.m. to get our license. The press were being held in abeyance as much as possible. There was no way for them not to be there after the ceremony, and a couple of them got into the house before, but the police would keep all strangers off the premises. Such excitement. The Bromfield kitchen was alive with activity – almost everyone connected with the farm had an assignment. The Dragon, as Louis called his mother, sat through it all strong and fierce. Hope, the Bromfields’ second daughter, would play the Wedding March as George and I walked down the long, curved stairway. He was giving me away – Louis was best man – Mother was my matron of honor. The house was shining, every table waxed, brass polished – it was truly beautiful. Bogie and I were ridiculous, holding hands like teenagers (I almost was one), we mooned and swooned – there has never been a more perfect time.

  Judge Shettler arrived. He said he felt honored to be marrying us and he explained what the ceremony would be: very short, simple, but very real. ‘Cherish’ was to be substituted for ‘obey.’ He was a lovely man. How could I think otherwise? He was going to join me to the man who meant everything in the world to me. I couldn’t believe my luck. I knew the sweetness and gentleness of Bogie better than anyone. He was an old-fashioned man – laughingly he’d referred to himself as a last-century boy, having entered the world on Christmas Day 1899.I felt as though I owned the world, and I did. My every dream and hope, and far beyond, were to be realized. I couldn’t have wished for a man as incredibly good as this man was. And even so I didn’t realize every quality of Bogie’s on that day. He was to surprise and delight me continually in the ensuing years.

  The happy house went to sleep at a late hour – it was not a night for sleep. We managed a few hours. I had to rise to roll up my hair so as not to frighten the groom. My last hours of what was known as single blessedness. I wrapped a scarf round my head and off we went for the license. As I had stayed the night in Lucas, I was acknowledged a resident – a prerequisite. Again photographers. All went smoothly – Louis and George signed the piece of paper, and back to the magical farm to prepare for my giant step into a new life. My suit was pressed and hanging in my
room. I was beginning to get nervous. I took a bath – laid out my something blue (a slip with my name embroidered on it), my something old (Bogie had told the press that would be him, but it was my identification bracelet that he’d given me), something borrowed (a handkerchief from Mother), and something new (everything else I wore). The wedding was to be at high noon. Bogie, dressed in gray flannel – I refused to see him before the wedding, being superstitious – was pacing downstairs, succumbing to a martini before the ceremony. Mother was helping Mary Bromfield set things up and asking me if I needed anything. I put my arms around her before getting dressed and gave her many kisses and told her how much I loved her. After her trip East, she was going to live in California for the time being. She liked it, and why not? I loved having her close by.

  I was finally dressed, though running to the john every five minutes – make-up on, hair combed. Time was moving very slowly until suddenly, all at once, it was five minutes of twelve. George was knocking on my door. ‘Are you ready, Baby?’ I was Baby to many friends by that time, though no one said it quite the way Bogie did. I opened the door, we hugged each other, I gave him the ring. I was so nervous – began to shake. ‘Hope’s at the piano, ready to start. Bogie’s very itchy standing with Louis, who is also very itchy. Everyone who works on the farm is assembled at the back of the entry hall – the family in front. Shall I give the signal?’ Okay, I said. While he was signaling, I made my last dash for the john – my kidneys were no help that day. In the bathroom I could hear the start of the Wedding March. Oh God, why hadn’t she waited? Later George told me Bogie had looked up and said, ‘Where is she?’ George’s romantic reply: ‘Hold it – she’s in the can.’ I emerged – Hope started again – and George and I started our descent. My knees shook so, I was sure I’d fall down the stairs. Bogie standing there looking so vulnerable and so handsome – like a juvenile. Mother as nervous as I, trying to keep her eyes from spilling over, a smile on that sweet face. Little Ellen and large Ann Bromfield, Mary, Hope, the cook – all those faces. Prince, Louis’ favorite boxer, was the only dog allowed in. My knees were knocking together, my cheek was twitching – would any sound come out when I had to say ‘I do’? We turned the corner. When I reached Bogie, he took my hand – the enormous, beautiful white orchids I was holding were shaking themselves to pieces; as I stood there, there wasn’t a particle of me that wasn’t moving visibly. The Judge was speaking – addressing me – and I heard a voice I’d never heard before say those two simple words of total commitment. Bogie slipped the ring on my finger – it jammed before it reached the knuckle, the trembling didn’t help, and then it finally reached its destination. As I glanced at Bogie, I saw tears streaming down his face – his ‘I do’ was strong and clear, though. George wisely kept my ring for Bogie on one of his own fingers through the ceremony, so it went very neatly onto Bogie’s. As Judge Shettler said, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ Bogie and I turned toward each other – he leaned to kiss me – I shyly turned my cheek – all those eyes watching made me very self-conscious. He said, ‘Hello, Baby.’ I hugged him and was reported to have said, ‘Oh, goody.’ Hard to believe, but maybe I did.

  Everyone hugged and kissed everyone else and more tears were shed. Bogie said it was when he heard the beautiful words of the ceremony and realized what they meant – what they should mean – that he cried.

  Then all hell broke loose with the press. Cameras were whipped out, the outsiders were let in, the cake was brought out – three beautiful tiers, with a bride and groom standing under an arbor on top – and we were photographed from all angles – cutting the cake with Louis watching, me feeding Bogie a piece, George and I, Mother with both of us, all of us together. Some newsman asked if I was going to continue my career or stay home and raise a family. Bogie said, ‘A lot of people would like to know that, including Warner Brothers.’ ‘And what do you think about it, Mrs Bogart?’ ‘Oh, I love you,’ I said, ‘you’re the first one to call me Mrs Bogart.’ Champagne was flowing – we all went outside for more photos – Louis finally could stand the blue suit no longer and changed into his dirty, old-man-of-the-soil corduroys – and newsreel cameras followed us around the farm. The Judge got very emotional – wished us a really happy life – told us to never forget the words of the service, and, with tears streaming down his face, gave me his Phi Beta Kappa key. The only shadow cast that day was from the trees. It was clear blue sky all the way – as I was sure our life would be. I couldn’t forget Bogie’s tears. Every time I looked at him I welled up. How had I lived before him? I couldn’t remember my life before him – it all ran together, like watercolors. It seemed that everything that had ever happened to me had led to this day with him. I don’t know whether it was his particular personality, his strength and purity of thought, or whether all brides feel that way. Probably a combination. I had no doubt that this happiness would last forever. I could not imagine living a minute without him. From now on I would not have to – we were together now, like the man said, ‘till death do you part.’

  The day continued on that high. We eked out every last drop of Midwestern air and sky – of farm and cooking smells – boxer dogs. Prince, who had calmly lain on the Judge’s feet during the ceremony, had knocked up Folly, Bogie’s bed companion on his first trip to Malabar without me earlier in the year. One of the puppies was to be our wedding present from Louis. That and one acre of land. I’d tossed the bouquet from midway up the stairs – Hope had screechingly caught it. Carolyn called from California to congratulate me – having had a fight with Buddy. She, having been with him for two years, was still unmarried – and here I was, after little more than a year, Mrs Bogart! Wires from family kept arriving – the excitement never ended.

  We hated having to leave, but the following day, after profuse thanks to family and staff and one last look, with a promise to return soon, we left for our train. There was so much ahead that it was probably the only time in my life I was able to leave a place that housed people I loved without a wrenching pain. So the newlyweds headed back to California united at last and ready to live happily ever after.

  Back in California, I faced fully for the first time that I was a big girl now and really was not going to live with my mother anymore.

  The Garden of Allah was primed for our return. Benchley, Butterworth, McClain, Delehanty, and Parker had bought a cake, and once again the champagne flowed. A pile of telegrams greeted us. And phone calls from the studio – Bogie’s work call and my wardrobe call. A sentimental lot. Wedding presents were being sent to the new house, which we’d be getting into permanently in about a month’s time.

  It was fun to be at the Warners studio as man and wife. Everyone we passed congratulated us – there didn’t seem to be anyone even slightly against our union. Except Howard, of course, from whom we heard nothing. I visited Bogie on his set when I wasn’t working. I couldn’t go through a whole day without seeing him. We were a happy, laughing pair.

  Confidential Agent started shooting. Charles Boyer was a marvelous man, a first-class actor, but plagued with insomnia. If he had four hours’ sleep, it was a celebration. He led a quiet private life, but liked chess, so when Bogie came on the set they played. Herman Shumlin would take no advice from anyone – he even tried to tell Charles, an expert, how to play a love scene. He would not allow me to see the rushes and gave me none of the help which I desperately needed. One would have thought – hoped – that someone, somewhere, would have cared whether I conveyed some sense of the character I was playing, but there was never a suggestion from Shumlin that I alter my speech, change an inflection, convey a particular attitude. From ‘You know how to whistle’ vamp to British upper-class girl might have been achieved by Lynn Fontanne, but sure as hell not by me. At twenty, I was far removed from either character, but the wry, earthy girl of To Have and Have Not had humor, which was always a part of me – whereas the British broad was totally straight and dreary. No way – no way possible to deal with her. I was one unhappy girl. After tw
o pictures with total protection, I was on my own. One small problem: I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. The facts were that I was a novice – had no experience – had everything to learn. I had come to Hollywood with only what I was born with, and Howard had known how to use it. Between him and Bogie I was submerged in tender loving care. But with Herman Shumlin – much ego and no communication – it was hopeless. I tried to reach Herman, but couldn’t – didn’t know how to ask Charles – only Bogie’s visits to the set gave me any sense of myself. I knew the result would be negative. And I was furious that Jack Warner had been so careless with me. By this time Howard and Charlie Feldman had sold the other half of my contract to Warner Bros. for a purported million dollars, so I was really isolated. I was still able to beef to Charlie, who was always kind and remained my agent – he promised to keep an eye on the film and talk to Shumlin and Warner.