Tales of a Hollywood Housewife

by Betty Marvin

  “Do I have to?”

  “Come on, sweetheart. You should tell her.”

  “Why? She has no interest in what I’m doing. I could be a hooker for all she knows.”

  Lee laughed. “Well, let her know I’ve made an honest woman of you.”

  He wouldn’t let it go, so I finally gave in and called my mother. “That’s nice,” she said when I gave her the news. She seemed impressed when I told her my husband was an actor and wanted to know if she could see him in the movies or on TV. “I look forward to meeting my new son-in-law and grandchild,” she said before we hung up. She never asked how I was. I was surprised she didn’t ask who I was.

  Lee and I happily married

  The next morning, heading out the door for the studio, Lee called back, “I hope you can cook, sweetheart. We can’t live on love alone, and I’m sick of eating out.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, blowing him a kiss. “Bye, love.”

  Lee walked out the door. I ran to the kitchen. Oh, boy, I’m screwed, I thought. My cooking skills ended with boiling water. I needed an expert. I called Crawford’s home, knowing Marie had been taken back after Crawford fired her.

  “Hello?” A young woman answered the phone. Poor thing, I thought. You must be my replacement.

  “Hello, may I please speak with Marie?”

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  I started to give my name and then stopped, imagining Joan Crawford standing right there in the room, like a vulture waiting to descend.

  “Just an old friend.”

  When Marie realized who I was, she took the call privately, in the back pantry. I quickly told her my plight.

  “Good God, Missy, I thought you were too smart to get married.”

  “I fell in love.”

  “What about your career?”

  “My husband says one performer in the family is enough.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s an actor.”

  “Oh, brother. Didn’t you get your fill of actors living here? You work your way through college, then put up with Madame to pay for voice lessons, and now you’re gonna give up your dreams of a career. Why do you wanna settle down and be a cook? At least I get paid for it.”

  “Marie, just help me!” I pleaded, laughing.

  The next day was Marie’s day off from work and, as soon as Lee was gone, she showed up. She looked around our tiny apartment and raised an eyebrow.

  “This closet is your kitchen?”

  “I know, it’s small, but—”

  Marie waved me off, going through every cabinet, taking out our three pots and pans. She gave a sigh and reached into her bag for a Lucky Strike. “Let’s start with money. What’s your grocery budget?”

  “Fifty dollars a week.”

  “Jesus, Betty, I spend that on dinner! But okay.”

  Together we made up a shopping list.

  “Now here are the rules,” she said, puffing away. “First, the kitchen is off-limits to all but you. All your experiments will leave a mess, and you gotta keep your mistakes hidden.” That was going to be tricky since there was a swinging door between the kitchen and dining area. I contemplated putting a sliding lock on the door.

  “Never open a can if fresh is available,” Marie said. Homemade means ‘made at home.’ Bread, soup, everything, comes from scratch, promise?”

  I nodded. She peered into my Frigidaire and found an apple, a head of iceberg lettuce, a loaf of Wonder bread, a stick of butter, and a dozen eggs. “Well, at least there isn’t much to throw out,” she said.

  “What the hell is this?” she asked, reaching into the cupboard and taking out a jar of Sanka.

  “It’s coffee.”

  “Oooh, baby, we got a lotta work to do.”

  Marie tossed the orange-labeled container into the trash, grabbed me by the elbow, and led me out of the kitchen. It was time to shop.

  She introduced me to her special butcher at the Doheny Market and told him to take good care of me. Then she bought all the necessities for my cooking lessons.

  Arriving back at the apartment, Marie took off and I was left with bags of groceries. Exhaustion suddenly hit me. It was getting into late afternoon, and Lee would be home in a couple of hours. All I wanted to do was lie down. After putting a few things away, I walked out of the kitchen and sank into a living room chair. What if Marie was right? What if all of this was a mistake? Married, pregnant, trapped. Years of training, only to end up with a guy who wants me to stay home and cook. I closed my eyes.

  When Lee came home, I was in the middle of the living room singing, “Happiness Is Just a Thing Called Joe.” He stopped and listened for a minute, then came up and embraced me. “The name’s Lee,” he said and stopped my voice by placing his mouth over mine.

  The groceries remained untouched in the kitchen.

  Learning to cook became my mission, so for the next few weeks my daily life revolved around experiments in the kitchen followed by long phone calls with Marie.

  “This can’t be right! It’s all lumpy!” I was stirring what I had hoped would be béchamel sauce. It looked more like pancake batter.

  “More hot milk, Betty, and use the whisk.” I could hear Marie smoking.

  “How long before I take the lamb out of the oven?”

  “It isn’t out yet? Hang up and get that baby out of there before it turns to leather.”

  Flipping through the mail one afternoon, I spied a cream-colored envelope addressed to me from Courtenay Davidge Marvin. My hand trembled as I opened my mother-in-law’s letter:

  Dear Betty,

  My husband and I have recently learned of your marriage to our son Lee. I must say I was quite shocked. I thought he was engaged to Helen. That boy is certainly full of surprises. I congratulate you. Lee is a wonderful catch. I’m sure we’ll meet one day.

  Sincerely,

  Courtenay Davidge Marvin

  There was no mention of the coming baby.

  Before long I was managing more complex menus with perfect sauces, special desserts—things I remembered from Marie’s kitchen in the Crawford home. Lee’s bragging gained me the reputation of being a fine cook. He began to invite members of the cast to dinner spontaneously. I did my best to make it seem like no big deal. “But nobody comes into my kitchen!” I would always announce. Good thing nobody did. They would have found me in a total panic, trying to figure out how to turn a dinner for two into a feast for four.

  Finally, I could keep up the pretense no longer and invited Marie to the apartment on her day off to prepare one of her special dinners. In the middle of Lee’s endless raving over the delicious meal, she made an appearance carrying her famous chocolate mousse on a silver tray, complete with powdered roses.

  “Who’re you?” Lee asked, looking first at Marie and then to me.

  Before I could answer, Marie said, “Your wife’s secret.” Over our delectable dessert, I explained about Marie.

  “You certainly know the way to a man’s heart,” Lee ribbed her as I took the dishes in.

  “After-dinner drink?” I heard Lee ask Marie.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Brandy?”

  “Perfect.”

  When I heard Marie’s throaty laugh, I knew they were becoming fast friends.

  9

  And Baby Makes Three: Big Career Change

  WHEN I WAS seven months pregnant, Lee went on a three-week location in the high desert to shoot a Western, The Duel at Silver Creek. This was our first real separation since our wedding. I was in nesting mode and spent my time shopping for a bassinet and buying baby clothes.

  And then, out of the blue, I received a letter from Lee. He wrote that our marriage had been a mistake and he couldn’t go through with it. I had to read the letter over and over again to take it all in. How could he have fallen out of love with me just like that? Maybe he never loved me to begin with, but whether he loved me or not, he didn’t want to be saddled with a wife and child.
After crying endlessly for a day or two while the news sank in, I wrote back, asking that he stay in the marriage until after the baby was born. There was no reply to that letter. I spent the next couple of weeks in despair, dreading his return.

  He called when he got into Los Angeles and asked me to pick him up outside the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. His voice displayed no real emotion, and I had no idea what to expect as I drove there. I tried to stay calm as I pulled up to the curb. There was Lee, standing with his arms full of flowers. He jumped into the car and held me close, crushing the bouquet as he covered me with kisses. “What was I thinking?” he said. “I love you. I guess I just get scared sometimes. I’m sorry.”

  By the last month of my pregnancy I had gained more than fifty pounds. I could barely breathe, let alone sing, so I told Erv and Roger my career was going on hold indefinitely. Roger tried to convince me I could be a mom and still become a performer at MGM. Erv didn’t try to convince me at all. He just cried. I cried too. But between becoming a mother and being married to an ambitious actor, I knew what I had to do. Besides, I had been raised to believe marriage and motherhood was the only important career for a woman.

  As the due date drew near, I grew more anxious while Lee remained oblivious. My nose was buried in Dr. Spock half the time. I thought the first step to being a perfect mother was choosing the perfect name. I knew that if it were a boy, I would call him Christopher. My giving him the name of Joan Crawford’s son, whom I had grown to love, was completely subconscious.

  The last three weeks of my pregnancy Lee and I left halfway through a number of movies and raced to Queen Anne Hospital on false alarms. Finally it was the real thing. After a seventeen-hour ordeal trying to give birth with no success, I was wheeled into the delivery room and given an anesthetic.

  I awoke very groggy, felt a sharp pain in my belly, reached down, and ran my hand over bandages wrapped tight around my swollen abdomen. I had never been in a hospital before and had been hoping for natural childbirth, not a long, painful labor ending with a cesarean.

  A nurse came in to take my temperature and check my pulse. “Congratulations. You gave birth to a ten-pound baby boy.”

  “I can’t believe it. No wonder I’m sore,” I groaned. “My belly is so swollen I feel as if I’m still pregnant. When can I see him?”

  “Now just relax. You need your rest.”

  “What’s wrong? There’s something you’re not telling me. Where’s my husband?”

  “He called. Sends his love.”

  She disappeared and I drifted off. When I awakened again, Lee was scattering pink roses over my hospital bed. This was the first time I’d seen him since the morning before. I could see by his eyes and stubble of beard he had been out celebrating. Cigars fell from yesterday’s shirt as he gently leaned over and gave me a kiss. “Wake up, sweetheart. We have a beautiful son.” He handed me a rose. “Wrong color, but they don’t come in blue.”

  “You can tell me, Lee. Please, I want the truth. What’s wrong with the baby?”

  “What? Sweetheart, listen to me. You had a big, healthy baby boy.”

  “So where is this baby? Why can’t I see him?”

  “You had a rough time and you have a slight fever. They don’t want to take a chance of infection. Be patient, little mother. Move over. I’m exhausted.” Before long he was snoring next to me on my narrow bed. The night nurse came in, interrupted his nap, and sent him on his way. I fell back asleep.

  I waited three days, full of doubts, but the appearance of Christopher Lamont Marvin, with a perfect head and no birthmarks, restored my confidence. Considering my own mother had been afraid to hold me, I was amazingly comfortable in this new mother role and couldn’t stop kissing and marveling at my beautiful baby. When Lee and I brought him home from the hospital, it was one of the most exciting days of our lives.

  Marveling at baby Christopher, 1952

  A week later Lee came into the bedroom, where I was taking a rest while Christopher napped. He had a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Hey, lazy. What are you doing in bed? It’s the cocktail hour.” He checked out the flowers that filled the room. There was a bouquet of white carnations from my mother and a pink azalea plant from Lee’s family. The next card he read was attached to a bunch of white daisies in a blue china rabbit. It said, “Congratulations, Kiddo. I can’t believe I’m a grandpa. Love, Daddy.”

  Lee put down his drink, went to the bassinet, and picked up little Christopher, enveloping him in smoke. “Come to Daddy, you little peanut.” When the baby started to cry, he quickly handed him to me. The crying stopped. Lee looked at the two of us. “Mother’s magic touch… What about dinner? Want to go out?”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “What about Christopher?”

  “Throw him in a basket. We’ll take him along.”

  I was speechless.

  “I thought you’d like a change.”

  “That’s all I do,” I said. “This kid never stops peeing.” I burst into tears, and Lee looked at me helplessly. I was fighting to gain control. “Sorry. I can’t seem to bounce back. I’m exhausted. Just when I get to sleep, he cries and I have to get up again.”

  “Funny, I never hear you.”

  “I try not to wake you. No point in both of us being up all night.”

  “Good thinking, sweetheart,” he said. “Well, I’m gonna’ run down to Ted’s for a martini and a steak. I’ll bring you back something.” He gave me a kiss and was out the door.

  10

  Doris: The Woman Who Came to Dinner and Stayed

  CHILDREN WERE NOT allowed in the Beverly Hills apartment, so a couple of weeks after our baby was born, Lee and I moved into a modest cottage in Beverly Glen and filled it with cheap contemporary furniture, including a new crib.

  Shortly after moving, we were broke and had to borrow money against our one possession, the 1948 black Ford convertible. That car had saved us from bankruptcy before. It seemed every time we had to float a loan with the car as collateral Lee got a job. We decided it was our good luck charm and called it our “Black Ace in the Hole.” Lo and behold, a week after we got the loan Lee got a tremendous break. He was cast as Chino, the heavy, opposite Marlon Brando in The Wild One.

  As it happened, Brando lived close by. Once Lee became comfortable riding a motorcycle, Marlon, known as “Bud” to his family and friends, and Lee went to and from the studio on their bikes together.

  “That guy tries to pick up every dame he sees at the stoplight,” Lee said after their first outing together.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “He thinks it’s fun. A game.”

  “And do you play?” I asked.

  “Why should I?” said Lee, cuddling up to me. “I’ve got what I want right here.”

  Though Lee and Brando rode their bikes together and saw each other daily on the set, Brando was very introverted. It took a little while before he overcame his shyness and began spending time at our house. He loved playing the bongos and made a set of drums for me by punching holes in mason jar lids, then proceeded to teach me the finer points of drumming. Soon he became part of our family and was Christopher’s only babysitter. At first I was concerned about leaving the baby with Bud while Lee and I raced out to a movie, but they were both delighted with each other’s company.

  In fact, Marlon seemed happier playing with Christopher than spending time with adults. He started him drumming on anything and everything. When Christopher began crawling, Marlon would get down and crawl alongside him, imitating his sounds, repeating his words. When the baby saw Bud moving beside him and heard his own words coming back at him, he would fall over and giggle in delight. Marlon would do the same. What a pair.

  I was hurriedly putting a fresh bunch of daisies into a glass pitcher one day when there was a knock at the door.

  “Hey, kiddo!” Daddy embraced me. “Let’s get a look at you.”

  Five-month-old Christopher had had his dinner, was in his sleepers, and fussing to
get out of his playpen.

  “Sorry, Daddy. Hi, Faye, just a minute—”

  I picked up Christopher as he started to cry. Faye paid no notice. “Hi, honey,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  Daddy looked over at us. “I can’t believe you’re already a mother. You didn’t waste any time, did you? Well, kiddo, at least you got married first. Where’s the lucky guy? I can’t wait to meet this movie star of yours.”

  “He’s shooting. He’ll be home soon.” Juggling the baby on my hip, I went to make Daddy a martini the way Lee taught me and brought Faye a Coke. Christopher had stopped crying and, being a friendly child, was smiling and cooing. I was ready to pass him around, but neither his grandfather nor Faye seemed interested.

  “I’m afraid I’d drop him,” Daddy said, backing away.

  “He’s a fat little thing, isn’t he?” Faye said, keeping her distance.

  Neither of them had the slightest idea what to do with an infant, nor were they interested, so I excused myself and put him down for the night.When I returned Daddy nodded approvingly. “Looks like you’re in your element. It’s none of my business, but… can your husband support you and a baby? He doesn’t even have a regular job.”

  “We get by. Right now he’s playing a character in The Wild One with Marlon Brando. It’s six weeks’ work.”

  “What about the other forty-six?”

  “His agent says he’s got a great future. In this business you’ve got to have faith.”

  “Faith doesn’t put food on the table, kiddo.”

  He should know, I thought. “Excuse me. I have to check the oven,” I said, heading for the kitchen.

  I was bringing in a plate of cheese and crackers when I heard Lee’s motorcycle blasting up the hill.

  Lee at home playing Chino from The Wild One, 1953

  He charged through the front door, still in his leather biker costume from the movie, unshaven, chomping on a cigar butt. Behind him came a buxom brunette. What on earth! I bit my lip. A moment later I recognized her. She was yet another out-of-work actress we had met at a party a few weeks before. I had no idea what she was doing in our house.