At Roddy’s house with Leslie and Sam
With Phyllis Newman and Adolph Green celebrating my birthday in Paris, 1989
With John Gielgud at my house in the Hamptons
Me with George Axelrod
At Véronique and Gregory Peck’s home after receiving the Cecil B. DeMille Award for Outstanding Achievement in Motion Pictures at the Golden Globes, 1993
With Gregory Peck in The Portrait for TNT, 1993
With Alec Guiness in A Foreign Field for the BBC, 1993
Receiving the Commandeur des Arts et Lettres with Dustin Hoffman receiving Officier, 1995
Winning the great César presented by Alain Delon in Paris, 1996
With Barbra Streisand and Jeff Bridges, 1997
Me leaving my Paris hotel, the St Simon, with M. Gil, my driver, 1997
With Sam and Sidsel Robards, 1997
In my hotel suite on the night of the State Dinner with Steve, Sam and Leslie, 1997
Bill and Hillary Clinton and my family – Barbara Bogart, Erich Schiffman (son-in-law), Stephen Bogart, Leslie Bogart, Sam Robards and Sidsel Robards. Kennedy Center Honors, 1997
Kennedy Center Honors – with Charlton Heston, Edward Villella, Bob Dylan, President Clinton and Jessye Norman, 1997
Kirk Douglas crushing me at the Deauville Film Festival – Diamonds, 1999
With Alexander Cohen on the opening night of Waiting in the Wings, December 1999
With Lars Von Trier on the Doguille set, 2002
With my son Steve at the Birth premiere, 2004
Nicole Kidman et moi at the New York premiere of Birth, 2004
The three endless days went by and Jason left. He hadn’t had a drink. I enjoyed him like that – I mean I really liked him. But I couldn’t live with him anymore. I reviewed much of our life together. It was clear that I had always wanted it more than he had; that I had taken on something I didn’t understand; that many of the times had been good, many rotten; that I was sadder for Sam more than for me; and that if I’d listened to Katie, I would have had five more years in the sun. I was relieved when Jason went. I could do as I pleased, go where I pleased, no excuses to make.
I called home before leaving the Coast to make certain that Jason had moved out. He had not – couldn’t find a place. I said he had to be out when we arrived, I couldn’t go through that with Sam. Again I was fierce about it. Once the step had been taken, it had to be followed through. I should have been prepared for the fact that Jason wouldn’t be prepared for the final step.
Sam was used to not being with Jason on a regular basis, but the fact of his not living at home even part-time would be a high hurdle. I told him on the trip back that Daddy would probably not be at home. That Daddy loved him very much, but sometimes grown-ups have to stop living together. That Daddy and I had decided to try living in different apartments. That he would still see his father, that he could talk to him whenever he wanted to – like Jady, David, and Sarah. I wanted so much for Sam never to have a sad or insecure day. Jason and I agreed on that – that he was the only one of our children who was not screwed up due to childhood traumas, and we wanted to keep him that way. He was an open, loving child – it was marvelous to have a child who was not afraid to show love or talk about it.
Sam heard what I said, of course, but he didn’t accept it.
I turned the key in the lock – opened the front door to what I thought was an empty apartment – only to find Jason walking toward me. I was furious, but couldn’t say anything with Sam there. Sam rushed to his daddy, joyous at the sight of him.
The last few weeks of Jason’s being at home were most peculiar. Here we had decided to end our marriage, but he still hadn’t moved out, so we were sharing the same bedroom. All very civilized. I went out on my own – not with men, but with friends. He came home every night. The contradictory quality of our life was spellbinding. When I’d wanted him home, he wasn’t; now that I was going out, not caring what he did, he was there. I wasn’t thrilled with having to insist, but I was not willing to have this limbo go on and on. Jason did try to explain to Sam, much as I had, why the decision had been made. He would be in a play on Broadway, so within easy reach.
I had to prepare Sam’s school for possible erratic behavior, and I talked to Sam’s pediatrician (a wise, understanding man) about it. He felt it would be a good thing for Sam, if he had difficulty, to talk to a doctor. ‘Better now than when he’s seventeen.’
Mother’s reaction to the separation was full of understanding. She was fond of Jason, in spite of her awareness of my unhappiness. One day she would say, ‘It’s all for the best.’ The next, ‘Sam will miss him,’ and ‘I’d think twice if I were you, Betty, he’s very attractive, you know, there aren’t many as attractive as he is.’ Like her, I knew the pluses and the minuses. But so many times I’d been left alone to make our decisions, I might as well be single. Was it pattern or destiny having to bring up three children alone? And the constant pull between work and home – it is simple for some, but not for this kid!
Sam was happy at Collegiate, but he began to show signs of rebellious behavior. I tried talking him into going to the doctor, just to talk about anything he chose. He was remarkable for his seven years – very decisive. He couldn’t be forced to do anything. Threats didn’t work, deprivation of pleasure didn’t work. He was his own person, and I admired him for it. He finally consented to go to the doctor. Fascinating to see a child psychiatrist at work, as I was allowed to do on the first visit. The child was turned loose in a room full of toys, and as he played, the doctor would casually ask questions that were not casual.
At our first Christmas without Jason, I had arranged with him to come up during the day to see Sam. Jason made the appearance, but emptyhanded. Sam had a gift for his father, so did Leslie, but Father had nothing. I’ll never forget how one Sunday Jason joined Sam and me at a Chinese restaurant and Sam said, ‘Why, Daddy? Why didn’t you bring a present on Christmas Day?’ Jason gave some feeble answer, but Sam wouldn’t let him off the hook. He really cornered him. He couldn’t understand it, and he wanted an answer. I’d never seen a child so openly put a parent on the spot, and I thought it terrific that he could do it, that he so clearly had the upper hand, and in a way was more mature than his father.
Mother and Lee became regular Sunday visitors and often came to dinner during the week. Sam would unfailingly say, ‘Don’t go home, Granny – why can’t you stay? Are you staying for dinner?’ He really made her feel wanted – ‘He has heart,’ she would say. He did and does – had and has always been an open person – he hadn’t learned to protect himself at an early age as his brother and sister had had to do.
I started the New Year looking for a divorce lawyer. It was unknown territory to me – I had never thought I would be in that position. I was planning to make no unreasonable demands on Jason, I wanted it handled simply and undramatically. My friend, Joan Axelrod, found me a lawyer, and Jason had his, but he was doing nothing about it. Finally I got up the nerve to call him about it – not easy, but he was very nice on the phone, sensible, agreeable. If we’d been able to communicate that well from the beginning, we would have stayed together forever. After this conversation I was filled with doubt – almost considered not going through with it – though in my deepest heart I was certain it would be the best solution for us all. With my tendency to romanticize, I even thought that the divorce might bring us closer together. It was harder to let go, even being the instigator of the split, than I had thought it would be. And painful. There’s no way to forget the good things – the promise of a life shared. And no way not to feel some sense of your own failure.
At least I felt that it was honorably done – that Jason would have a chance at a free life for the first time. The lesson of Bogie I had finally put into practice: in the face of inevitable, terrible happenings, how much better to hold on to one’s character and hurt others as little as possible. The straight road. My only prayer was that, somehow, Sam could benefit. I
f we remained honest with him, he might be better able to cope with his life in the long haul.
The year would be a tough one. Jason was going to Rome after some work in Nevada. He hadn’t spoken to Sam for months, and I was running out of excuses, but kept assuring Sam that when his father returned to New York he would surely see him. Sam always accepted the fact that separations from his father due to work were enforced rather than deliberate. Then I learned, after the fact, that Jason had been in New York without calling Sam. I was livid – called my lawyer, who in turn called Jason’s, who’d also been unaware of Jason’s visit. But Jason had told his accountant to go ahead with the divorce settlement. Sam had been fairly calm, but the impact had not yet fully reached him. I desperately hoped for Sam’s sake that his father would break his pattern and not rush into another marriage – a pipe dream on my part, and I knew it, but I was still a great one for hoping. Damn careful I would be before leaping into another relationship. I’d done it once before for the wrong reasons – never again, I vowed. But the amazing thing about life, I’ve finally discovered, is that you really don’t learn from past mistakes. You do logically, reasonably, but emotionally not for a second. Whether through stupidity, or my old habit of romanticizing and dreaming, I kept thinking, ‘You never know what’s just around the corner. It’s been there once – twice – it has to be there again!’ I was always ready for a bright, fresh start, and I didn’t mean to waste one more minute. Patience was still not my strong suit.
Mother went into the hospital for pulmonary edema – she had been hospitalized for this before. Three weeks after she was released, she went in again. Each time it happened in the middle of the night. She would be so frightened – thank God the doctor was always available, and the hospital only five minutes away. She was advised as an extra precaution to keep a portable oxygen tank in the apartment. Oxygen was security. I spent a lot of time driving back and forth to be with her. Mother, the children, the divorce – a lot to occupy me, but, alas, none of it work.
Then, out of nowhere, I was approached about a musical version of All About Eve, to be produced by Joe Kipness and Lawrence Kasha, with a score by Charles Strouse and Lee Adams. The book was being written; nothing else was set.
I’d always been musical – one of my great frustrations had been my inability to sing. If I did this show, I wouldn’t be dancing with Fred Astaire, but I would be in a musical. Could I do it? How do you decide if you can do something you’ve never tried before? I’d always gambled with my career, but would this be really going out on a limb! The idea was that I would play Margo Channing, the part played to perfection in the movie by Bette Davis. Wouldn’t it be funny – funny in the proper context, I would hope – to be playing the same character as my childhood heroine? I heard the score – liked what I heard. I might fall flat on my face with this one, but I might not. I’d be terrified, but that was nothing new. It would mean a lot of work, but that could only be good. I thought and thought and finally decided to take the plunge. What the hell – with everything else in my life shaken up, might as well go all the way. I remember Moss Hart saying you have to shake up your life every seven years – this was less than seven years, but a needed shake-up nonetheless. Once I said yes, I was terrified. Who to direct it? I’d need all the help I could get.
My first move was to start voice lessons. I arranged to work with Keith Davis, the voice coach who had helped me on Cactus Flower. And I’d go regularly to a decent gym until a couple of months before rehearsal, when I’d have to start serious body work. From all I could glean from experienced friends, it was stamina which would carry me through in the end. But at least I had a goal – a reason to get up in the morning. I would be totally disciplined, do absolutely everything I had to do. I picked Angela Lansbury’s brains about what she had done to prepare for Mame. Angela – a damn good actress and a total pro – gave me the full lowdown on what a musical entails: nothing short of slave labor. There’d be no room in my life for anything else. But at that point I had nothing else, and no real expectation of finding it. Yet I was enjoying life alone, though very frustrated still at my inability to get a divorce. Jason was inaccessible in Europe and in no hurry, while I wanted it behind me. I needed that legal piece of paper – that public statement. Why was it so bloody important? Training. I’d been brought up on marriage certificates – divorces – proof positive of one’s official condition.
I was at a low financial ebb – hadn’t worked for a year and a half. If the show went well, I’d earn a lot, but until then I had to watch out. I wasn’t used to thinking about money. Through my life with Bogie it had always been there; with Jason, though he never stopped working, most of his earnings went to past wives and growing children. Yet there’d always been enough. He paid his way – plus. People were under the impression I was a rich widow. Wrong! After Bogie’s death, newspapers had published part of his will – over a million dollars – a fortune! Yes, but they neglected to mention that the government took over half. Why do you have to pay for dying? I do not understand, and no one will ever be able to explain to me why what you have earned in your lifetime does not belong to you to do with as you see fit. God knows the government gets enough in taxes while you’re earning it. Incomprehensible. Anyway, what was left was half mine in trust and a fourth each for Stephen and Leslie. A cushion, but not enough to live on. And twelve years later the cost of living had risen considerably, and responsibilities continued. I wanted to go to Europe for five or six weeks before starting work on the show – my last fling. The Nivens invited me, with Sam and Leslie, to spend two weeks at their beautiful villa at Cap Ferrat. And Sam Spiegel offered me his flat in London for as long as I wanted. So there’d be no hotel bills – just tourist plane fare, with Sam going for half. I could just manage that – a brief stop in Paris, then train to the Nivs.
Until we left on July 1 it was voice lessons three times a week with Keith and work on the score with Peter Howard, our conductor. I’d been working for a few weeks with Peter when Charles Strouse, the composer, walked in to listen to me. My nerves began to jangle immediately, but I’d have to sing in front of many – better start learning now. Just concentrate on your breathing – the meaning of the song – forget him. But how can you forget the man who wrote it and is now judging you? Why wasn’t I born with a voice? But I sang, and felt it wasn’t too bad – Peter, playing the piano, was giving me approving smiles. I didn’t know Strouse well, and he seemed very serious to me. As I finished, he looked at Peter and said, ‘She was flat on that note.’ What a boost for my morale! I felt like a fool – inadequate – became defensive. ‘If you wanted Streisand, you should have got her!’ Peter was on my side – said I was doing well. I asked Charles to do me a big favor and not come around – it was too soon for him to listen to me. Months later I reminded him of that episode – he hadn’t meant it that way at all, I had misunderstood. He’d known I could do it, he’d just wanted Peter to be aware of my weak spots. We had become friends by then, but at the beginning I was too fragile to accept that kind of criticism. I knew I wasn’t a singer – I knew that everyone else knew it too – but by dint of hard work, perseverance, much encouragement, I was sure I could do it. I could act it. Just give me enough time.
Late in the spring Mother made another trip to the hospital – same problem, pulmonary edema. Again it happened late at night, again she asked the doctor, ‘Is this it?’ She’d had so many scares, poor love. What a way to live. This too was a short stay, but it’s strange that I still didn’t find her recurring edema ominous. It was just something that happened – that would be taken care of – and then she’d be fine. I accepted it as part of life. I hated hospitals, hated to see her in one, but as she behaved more with annoyance than with fear, I didn’t become anxious.
Lee had planned a golfing weekend over Memorial Day. Mother didn’t want to go, and Lee wouldn’t leave her. She suggested she come stay with me, and I wasn’t overly receptive. Not to excuse myself, but I was apprehensive about so
mething happening, with only me to deal with the oxygen. I was plain scared. She was upset at my lack of generosity, and she had reason to be, but I was so emotional about her that I feared for my behavior under duress. It was the one time in my life I truly felt cowardly.
She said, ‘Lee hasn’t had a moment’s peace for thirteen years. He works hard, he needs to get away and relax. How can you be so selfish?’ She was right. I fell very short of the mark that afternoon. Of course Lee could go, of course she could come – I would love to have her. As the weekend approached, Lee brought her to my apartment – with her portable oxygen tank, which he showed me how to work. Preventive measures had to be taken. Nothing left to chance.
One of my mother’s habits that I remembered most clearly from childhood was her rising at seven, taking a bath, and dressing immediately. She had always been ready to go off to work when she woke me up for breakfast. Now, some twenty-five years later, her routine remained unchanged. Very reassuring, that kind of steadiness. She stayed in my bedroom. My bed was enormous, and I wanted to be there if she rose during the night. And it was really fun having her there – I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed her. The first morning I woke up to find her dressed, with a cup of coffee in her hand, having seen Sam and Leslie off to school. They adored having her there, and she was mad about being with them so much. I was a daughter again, and it felt good; I’d been alone a long time. The second night she woke up in the middle of the night – I opened my eyes to find her sitting on the edge of the bed. I quickly got up, walked around to her side, put my arm around her, asked her if she felt all right. Did she want anything? Should I get the oxygen? No, she just felt a little weak – she’d be okay. She leaned her head against mine and we just sat quietly – mother and daughter – for about fifteen minutes. I stroked her hair, her arm, feeling very protective, full of love – and going over in my mind what to do with the oxygen if the need arose. She had never leaned on me before. We were very close together those three days. I so loved her being with me, I couldn’t bear the time to end. The day Lee was to collect her, I wanted her to stay, but she wouldn’t dream of it – she belonged with her husband. What a dunce I was – I could have had her many weekends. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my own life, I might have thought of it. If I’d known how wonderful it was to have her in my house, I might have thought of it … If –
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