He had a partner, Martin – a very attractive man – who was devoted to John, made the garden beautiful, had painted the gold leaf molding in the living room of their home. He would never attend an opening or a party, always stayed in the background. I loved his company. He was extremely well read (had to be with John overflowing with knowledge), and fun. Quite a bit younger than John. Imagine the shock when he suddenly became ill and died. That was completely devastating to John. He was so dependent on him – so many years together – somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty, I would guess. That left John, at ninety-four years old, bereft, rattling around that large, beautiful house alone. A housekeeper and gardener/chauffeur were there, yes, but that was hardly of comfort to him. I would call him from New York, first to chat, see how he was, give him some local gossip. I’ve forgotten how much time had elapsed before John really began to sound frail, when talking on the phone became more and more difficult for him, until one day I informed him that I was coming to London to appear on a TV show and would descend on him almost on arrival. He sounded pleased – he was too polite to deny me the privilege of seeing him. I took my friend John Erman with me and down we went.
It was to be my last time. I found him moving more slowly, speaking with less gusto, but there was tea and there was cake. I regaled him with every bit of information I could garner on happenings in the U.S.A. and mostly the theatre. He became more interested, more alert, was genuinely glad to see me. But he was alone in this house that had always had people and life in it. Now it was sad and I hated to leave him.
Not long after my visit, on May 21, he died. The same date as my wedding to Bogie. A few weeks later I received a call from his lawyer telling me John had left me a ring and asking when could he deliver it. I couldn’t have been more surprised or more touched that John had done that and thought of me. The lovely jade ring arrived a few days later – oval jade set in simple gold. So lovely – so John – so treasured in friendship. I feel now as I felt when we first met, that I was lucky to have known him, lucky to be included in his life, lucky to have seen him so often on the stage. To think I actually heard him say to me about his friendship with Ralph Richardson as we left the Richardson home after an Easter Sunday lunch, ‘He is such a great friend to me. I never thought anyone like Ralph would like me’ – that alone tells you everything you need to know about that modest, lovely man, that great actor.
As if the loss of John were not enough, less than three months later came the passing of Alec Guinness, another brilliant actor who happily became part of my life and allowed me to enter his. We hit it off that evening I first met him in London in 1959 at a Royal Command performance of his movie, The Horse’s Mouth, but for some reason it was a long time before we really became friends. I always attended his theatre performances and went backstage after the show to see him and congratulate him. He was marvelous onstage – very rich and full of voice. When in New York I would see him, but it was in 1972, the beginning of my two years of living in England, that our friendship became more constant, more of a reality.
It’s funny but in England actors like John or like Alec have lovely lunch dates with no more than four people including themselves. It is a habit I am very fond of when traveling. Europeans take time for such pleasures. I almost never do it except when truly special friends come to New York. And I do mean special. Both of these supreme beings fell into that category. They were very different men and actors who led very different lives. Both quite fascinating – supremely intelligent – fun and funny, with over-the-top talent.
Alec was very proper and meticulous when he hosted a lunch or dinner. When I was playing Applause at Her Majesty’s Theatre in London, he invited me to dinner in a lovely restaurant on my day off. I always looked forward to his company. His wife Marella, a lovely, lovely woman, was present and I think Keith Baxter. He had ordered a special wine and when time came for the waiter to serve it – they didn’t have it. Alec was furious. He said, ‘I came down especially today to order our dinner and the particular wines to be served. I was told there was no problem. But now you say you don’t have it. That is outrageous.’ Of course the waiter and maitre d’ were flustered and apologetic but Alec would have none of it. Nevertheless, he ordered two different wines and the rest of the dinner went off without a hitch. But I was amazed, amazed that he had gone to the trouble of visiting the restaurant beforehand to make certain that the dinner would be perfect, and having been assured that it would be, was beyond annoyed that it wasn’t. He was right, of course. He didn’t make a scene, that was not part of his character at all. He just made it clear that he was displeased.
In the more than twenty years that followed, our friendship solidified. As we got to know each other better, we became more open and I became more relaxed. The fact is I was always in awe of both John Gielgud and Alec – also, in actuality, in awe of almost all British actors when I first met them. Laurence Olivier in particular, of course. That friendship having begun in the early fifties continued until his death. When ‘How do you do’ progressed to telephone numbers exchanged – flowers sent – lunches shared – friendships flowered. I am now, at this point in my own life, so grateful for those friendships, for the many of life’s graces they unknowingly taught me – among which were that manners were not forever a thing of the past, that laughter was not always at the expense of somebody else, that intelligence – the reading of books in this computerized, robotic world – still counts, that quality and character can prevail and that status and acquisition are not and should not be a goal. Alec loved to wake up in his simple country house – to hear and watch the birds – to have a leisurely breakfast – a walk on a country road – a good book – a glass of wine and a good meal.
In 1993, I had the immense good luck to work with Alec for the BBC. Charles Sturridge, a fine young British director, came over to New York to give me details on A Foreign Field, a wonderful piece about revisiting Normandy and Omaha beach after World War II. Jeanne Moreau was also to star and Leo McKern. Can you imagine such a proposal? Working with Alec Guinness and Jeanne Moreau in a really interesting and first-rate bit of writing and an excellent part for me. I was more than thrilled to be included. It meant a month in Normandy – all living in a beautiful chateau, dining together nightly. Alec always waited for me before going into the dining room. Impeccably dressed – a blazer with waistcoat underneath, perfectly pressed trousers – the definitive English gentleman. And would I like a cocktail? We-ell … a light vodka on the rocks, perhaps. Even if I didn’t want it, I didn’t want to disappoint Alec. So we would have our ‘cocktail’ and then go into dinner. Alec was the kind of man who would stand when you entered the room, and pull your chair out (not from under you) so you could sit at your place for dinner.
My first day of shooting was with Alec. I was a nervous wreck. It was a short scene – a brief exchange between us at the door to his room: he on the inside, me on the out. When Charles Sturridge called action, I walked to Alec’s door – knocked – he opened it and became the character he was playing so completely that the English Gentleman totally disappeared. And I began to tremble, like the kid I was when I started in pictures. I think it was because I suddenly realized I was in this movie for the BBC with the brilliant Alec Guinness and would I be good enough? That terrible insecurity from my beginnings reared its ugly head after all these years.
I guess a true sense of self-confidence is not in the cards for me. At least in certain special situations. It’s a different kind of nervousness – not like opening night in the theatre. I think it’s reverting subconsciously to my first dreams of becoming an actress – of being so star-struck. After watching for so many years Laurence Olivier, Ralph Richardson, Vivien Leigh, Gielgud, Guinness and more – to find myself meeting them – being accepted by them as one of them, no less – was quite unbelievable to me. And upon working with any of them – at the beginning I became eight years old.
Anyway – the working with Alec and Jeanne Moreau – ever
yone – turned out splendidly. The piece itself was high quality television and the entire experience was a marvel – a highlight for me. And, of course, it brought Alec and me closer together. From then on we were always in touch, mostly when I came to London, always at Christmas. I would call him when I was heading his way, and he always came to town so we could have a long lunch or dinner together. The last time I was in London, I rang him and for the first time he said he didn’t think he could come up; Marella had been ill and doctors were coming to see her. I was of course saddened, but understanding. About two days after our conversation, I was emerging from the elevator in the Connaught Hotel. I brought my room key to the concierge and as I glanced toward the hotel entry, I saw a man who looked like Alec rush into a taxi. I ran outside and asked the doorman if that had been Alec Guinness. Imagine my surprise when he told me indeed it was but he didn’t seem like his usual self. I couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t call anyone without knowing where or who his close friends were. I guess I figured I would hear from him. I wasn’t going to be in London very long, had to get back to New York. I left knowing nothing until less than a week later came the news of Alec’s death.
It couldn’t be. How could it happen so fast? Clearly that’s why he came to London, why he had rushed into a taxi. No warning. Finally my friend Keith Baxter, who had been a close friend of Alec and Marella, came to New York and told me that yes, indeed, it had been quick. Clearly Alec’s personal physician had found that he had cancer and must go up to London and hospital. It was obviously terminal as it was all over in less than a week. Keith said that with Marella at his bedside, Alec said what he hated most was leaving her. In Alec’s worry about Marella, he had forgotten about himself. So, so sad – so touching. And she followed him about three months later.
To lose these two major men in such a short time was painful. My world was getting smaller. Shrinking too fast. And little did I think that the millennium would be the beginning of so many more endings. The chipping away of pieces of your life that had been there for so many years, threading their way through your work life and your personal life. Just as you think you can take a breath again, another jolt comes along. Then I get to thinking that my awareness of and learning to deal with losses started when I was eighteen and nineteen with the loss of my grandmother, followed by my Uncle Jack and my surrogate father Uncle Charlie. You never think of death at those ages – it seems so far away. Then as I moved into my twenties, when a friend became ill – seriously ill – other friends would remind me that I had been with people at least twenty-five years my senior as Bogie had been! I guess that was true then. It is not true now. But I also think how very lucky I have been to have had mostly good health in my life, with interruptions from time to time with physical injuries – nothing life-threatening, usually work related. And the real luck is in knowing and having the great friends I have had and the extraordinary people I have known who have graced my life, enhanced it and enriched it. I am so grateful for that.
So life went on, as it must. I had my children luckily and my work and still some friends that I treasured.
With my emotions at a low ebb, a most unexpected lift to my spirits appeared. A new relationship resulted in a roundabout way from my commitment to Waiting in the Wings. What has turned out to be my lifetime companion arrived in the form of a three-pound, four-legged tri-color beautiful Papillon. During rehearsals of the play, Alexander Cohen had told me he wanted to give me a dog for my birthday. In the mid-Nineties, I had begun a habit of going to the Westminster Dog Show in Madison Square Garden. Not to sit and watch the show as much as to walk behind the scenes where all the dogs are being prepared for the competition. After the loss of my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in 1984, I was so upset that I couldn’t think of having another dog. Clearly my decision to attend Westminster was the beginning of my need for another four-legged companion. Greg and Veronique Peck had been after me for years to get a Maltese. They had two and took them everywhere when they traveled. When I perused the different breeds at Westminster there were groups of Maltese, pink bows atop their little heads and hair in curlers getting ready for the big event. Show dogs are not the same as other dogs. They are trained to show, to prance around the ring, to stand perfectly still and in position for the judges’ examination. These were so small. Anyway, I’d always had a sneaker for Pekinese.
Not long before starting Waiting in the Wings, I had gone to Westminster with Judy Green who had great seats down front. All the dogs were beautiful. If I lived on a farm heaven knows how many I would have. She knew some of the breeders who were down on the floor. It was soon to be time for the toy group to be judged. She introduced me to John Oulton who bred Papillons, a breed I had never seen before. They were all colors – black and white, brown and white, tri-color (black, brown and white). John was holding black and white Kirby who had won every Best in Show and Best in Breed in every important dog show anywhere. He was very appealing, but I just wasn’t sure. I’d never imagined myself with a small dog and yet, if I was going to have one, it made sense with all the traveling I do for work and pleasure – the dog I chose would have to travel with me on the plane, not in the hold. I took John’s card and asked him to let me know when he was going to have another litter. Meanwhile the toy group was about to be called. Kirby won that one easily. When Best in Show came around, he pranced around the ring looking so happy, so sure of himself – he loved the event. He was a great dog, irresistible, and he won. It couldn’t have gone any other way and, of course, I found myself thinking in terms of Papillons.
I wavered back and forth between Maltese and Papillons for ages, then came the call – the new litter had arrived. I had to choose. I wanted a girl but as I was about to go into rehearsal for the play, I couldn’t think of training a puppy at that time. In any event, I had made up my mind not to have a dog under six months old. That was fine with John. I told Alexander Cohen I’d let him know when I could take the dog – it would have to be after we opened and after I’d settled in. Agreed! The day came a few months later and I called John Oulton saying I was ready, whereupon he told me he’d already given the dog I’d chosen months before to Alex. He thought naturally that as Alex had paid for the dog, he would give it to me. Wrong! There evidently was a young man visiting Alex at the time and Alex gave the dog to him. Knowing he was not in good health, I said nothing. I was mortified, hurt and angry. John, of course, did the right thing from his point of view. The dog had been paid for so he had no choice. The saga continued and I had to wait for the next litter. So we went for it – the same routine – John called me – the litter arrived – two tri-color Papillon girls – he would bring them down in a few months so I could choose. The time arrived, down they came. I defy anyone to make a choice between two adorable sisters. How do you know which is the right one for you? Of course, you don’t. They played in the kitchen for a while, I picked each of them up, scrutinized them carefully hoping for a sign. There was none. Then fate stepped in – one of them licked my nose when I picked her up – I figured she liked me. So I chose her and after another few months and many phone calls for instructions – food, behavior, what she was used to, etc. etc. – delivery day arrived.
I was like a nervous mother, so anxious to do the right thing by this tiny, four-legged creature I had brought into my life. Well, it didn’t take long before I was a goner. I took her to my old vet who pronounced her a beauty. I had lucked out. She had perfect markings, was by far the prettiest Papillon of those I had seen at Westminster – except for champion Kirby. She is a great traveler, a great companion, always happy to see me, never answers back. She is very independent, has a marvelous personality – it is all true and I am besotted. I had forgotten the unconditional love that a dog gives you. To top it off, she is a country dog. Now that I’ve sold my house I take her to friends where she goes wild. Runs around in circles – so happy to be free – chases squirrels, chipmunks. If I ever decide to buy another house, it will be for Sophie. That is her name,
after my beloved grandmother.
Fantastic luck for Sophie and me comes in the form of my adorable dog walker Kerry Stevens – daughter of my building superintendent. She walks Sophie early morning and at night. Actually the entire Stevens family plays a life-saving role in Sophie’s life. Whether I am home or away, she is always on familiar ground. What could be better?
My job is afternoon walking – our bonding time. I do most of the talking – a happy departure for me as I used to talk to myself or the walls exclusively – Sophie takes care of the sniffing and squirrel chasing. I even find myself talking to her when we are on the street or in the park. I can’t imagine what people passing by must think. These days, if they’ve noticed, they probably think I’m just another nut, which of course I am and proud of it. Sophie is the high in highlights of my life. Even through rain, snow, ice and general laziness, she is the reason I smile when I wake up and a comfort to me continually. I could never have imagined that a now five-pound-six-ounce dog would take over my life. But it has happened and I am happy to have someone to look after and share my moods with.
By Myself and Then Some Page 60