by Betty Marvin
Lee immediately went over to Daddy. “So, I finally get to meet the chief.” Daddy, speechless, stood and they shook hands. Lee turned to Faye. “Hello, lovely lady.” He kissed her hand and she came undone. He waltzed over to me. “Hi, sweetheart.” He gave me a long, passionate kiss, then, as an afterthought, acknowledged his companion. “Oh, you remember Doris, friend of Doug and Jane?”
I greeted her as pleasantly as possible. “Oh, hello. Nice to see you again.”
“She needs a place to stay for the night,” Lee said. “I told her she could crash on the sofa.” Doris smiled at me while helping herself to the appetizers, and I halfheartedly smiled back. On his way to the makeshift bar, Lee checked Daddy’s empty glass. “Hey, a martini man. Good. Let me fix you another… What about you, Doris?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Doris said coyly. She squeezed between Daddy and Faye while Lee made a pitcher of martinis for the three of them. I made my exit, going into the kitchen to finish preparing the meal. Lee came in to give me a hand.
“Where did Doris come from?” I asked immediately.
Lee put his arms around me. “Just a kid on the set with nowhere to stay. She’ll be out of here tomorrow, I promise.” He gave me a peck and went back into the living room.
We’d had a steady stream of overnight guests since our marriage. I told myself that one more was no big deal.
“Dinner!” I called, a little too shrilly. I brought a large, steaming platter of beef stroganoff on a bed of rice to the table.
Daddy looked like he’d hit the jackpot, with Faye seated on one side and Doris on the other. He took a bite and broke into a smile. “Delicious. Well, kiddo, you finally found your calling.”
Doris laughed. “It’s certainly not mine.”
Daddy looked at her appreciatively. “No, you don’t look like the domestic type.” He looked at me and then at Lee, smiling. “It’s great to see my little girl so happy. Can you afford her?”
Lee laughed. “Today I can.”
Daddy nodded. “It’s all in the luck of the draw. I’ve never had a nine-to-five job in my life. Couldn’t take it. Nothing like a good roll of the dice to get the heart pumping. Course, the closest I’ve been to the Hollywood scene was once when I sat in on a weekly poker party at Louis B. Mayer’s. Late in the game he was in the chips and one of the regulars accused him of cheating. ‘How dare you insult me!’ he yelled. ‘I’m leaving here and never coming back.’ He slammed the door behind him. Soon as he got outside, he realized he’d stormed out of his own house!” We all laughed.
Lee egged Daddy on. “Sounds like you’ve had some wild times.”
“Oh, boy, have I,” Daddy said. “I lost so much at the races one year I decided to join the winners and bought a track in Canada. Was the only year Canada got rained out the first season.” Doris hung on my father’s every word, but Daddy kept his eyes on Lee. “Tell me how you got the job with Brando,” Daddy said.
“My agent got it. I had to lie and pretend I knew how to ride a motorcycle. First day I rode the damn thing through the women’s john on the back lot. Now I love riding. Can’t wait to get Betty her own bike so we can ride together.”
That’ll be the day! I thought.
At the end of the evening, we all walked outside together to say our good-byes. Doris whistled when she saw my father’s sports car. Daddy gave her a wink, then turned to Lee. “Listen, son, you wanna make some real money, you talk to me. I just bought into a radium mine that’s gonna be worth a fortune.” He and Faye crawled into his pride and joy.
“When you’re ready for one of these, you call the chief. You kids have gotta come over and check out my new digs in Beverly Hills. Real class. Bring some cash, Lee, and we’ll shoot some pool.” He fired up the engine and they sped off into the night.
Lee and I sat on the edge of our bed for twenty minutes waiting to brush our teeth while listening to Doris’s version of “Why Don’t You Do Right?” coming from our tiny bathroom. “Get out of here, and get me some money toooooo…” She sang loudly and off-key.
“One night, right?” I said, shaking my head.
The next morning Lee and I were up at dawn, he off to the studio, and I with our baby. Doris was sound asleep on the sofa, and her clothes were draped all over the living room. She slept through the morning as I fed Christopher and gave him his bath, washed his diapers and clothes in our old, used washing machine, hung them out to dry, put him down for his nap, then went out to work in the garden. After an early lunch I cleaned the house, purposely vacuuming the rug next to Doris. She never stirred, except to put a pillow over her head. Several hours later she got up, put on a Chinese silk robe, flipped on the radio, and made a pitcher of martinis, which accompanied her and the telephone into the bathroom. An hour later, she finally appeared in heavy makeup and a revealing cocktail dress, reeking of Joy perfume. “Well, I’m off to work,” she said.
“Work?” I asked.
“Right now I’m making the rounds. Paramount tested me after I was crowned ‘Miss Canada Dry.’ Can you believe it? Me, ‘Miss Canada Dry’?” A horn honked. “Gotta go, sweetie. There’s my ride.”
She passed Lee coming in. He went to the cupboard and picked up the empty gin bottle. “Goddamn it,” he grumbled.
I went over, grabbed the car keys, and gave him a quick kiss. “I need money for the market.”
“Don’t talk to me about food,” he joked. “There’s not a drop to drink in the house.”
“Doris’s one night is over, as I see it,” I said, going out the door. “Keep an eye on Christopher.” The baby was in his playpen having a happy imaginary conversation on his toy telephone.
“Hurry back.” Lee never wanted to be left alone with the baby.
Five days passed and Doris was still living at our house. She was like a fixture, part of the couch, until late afternoon, when men began calling her for last-minute dates. By that time we were both looking forward to bed, but for different reasons. Lee promised to tell her to leave, but she’d be gone when he came home, and we were always asleep when she came in at night.
I walked into the living room one morning and found her cheap, lacy under things strewn about the floor. I’d had it. “Rise and shine, Doris!” I shouted into her ear. In a fog she took off her sleep mask and fumbled for a cigarette.
“What time is it?” she groaned.
“Time to pack,” I said. I had her up and out of the house before Lee got home from the studio. We celebrated by popping our one bottle of champagne and making love on our reclaimed sofa.
***
As attractive and charismatic as he was, there was a side to my new husband that surfaced night after night in his sleep. He was plagued with terrible nightmares about his time in the Marines during World War II. Many nights I was up changing the sheets wet with sweat, which poured from memories he forced himself to turn off while awake. Like many damaged war heroes—Lee had received the Purple Heart—he clung to the pride of having been a Marine. Then he drank to forget what the war had done to him.
11
Movies and Babies
AFTER THE WILD One wrapped, Brando returned to New York. When he was leaving Beverly Glen, we promised to stay in touch and get together. But, as often happens when filming ends, we drifted apart. I missed not having him around, particularly for our drumming sessions. Christopher kept looking for him whenever he went crawling.
When we got to the theater for the opening of The Wild One, we were thrown into total chaos. It was almost New Year’s Eve—December 30, 1953—and word of the film (then called Hot Blood) had gotten out to the Hell’s Angels. They’d seen previews and had already crowned Lee their new hero, and they were there to party. The front of the theater was jammed with bikers in full regalia on their motorcycles, their tough-looking girlfriends behind them. When they saw Lee they went crazy.
“Chino! Chino!” they chanted, calling out his character’s name over and over again. Lee waved, put his arm around me, and guid
ed me past the mob.
“Don’t look at them,” he whispered.
But following the evening of the screening, it was impossible to avoid them. They began to follow us, and it was frightening when they would appear unexpectedly. Lee mentioned a few had even shown up when he was riding his dirt bike on some back trails.
One weekend we left Christopher with a baby sitter and hauled the motorcycle out to the desert so Lee could participate in an all-day “hair and hound.” We had rented a cabin nearby at Big Bear. After driving Lee and his bike out to the starting lineup of the race, I went back to the cabin and found it full of Hell’s Angels. They must have followed us and taken over our small getaway while I was gone. They were hanging out with their “douche bags,” as they called their female counterparts. Nobody budged when I came through the door. They were too busy guzzling beer and laughing raucously at their own crude jokes. They clearly had no intention of leaving. I was terrified.
Without making eye contact, I managed a nervous “Hi,” and raced into the makeshift kitchen. When in doubt, cook, I told myself. I grabbed everything I’d brought for our weekend away and got busy heating chili, hot dogs, and anything else I could quickly get my hands on. From the kitchen, over the radio blaring rock and roll, I could hear a lot of “Fuck,” “Shit, man,” and “Oh, baby.” When I came in with refreshments, I saw a lot of dirty dancing going on. I kept reassuring the guys—and myself—that Lee would back any minute.
In the late afternoon he finally walked in the door. Hell’s Angels froze. Lee sized up the situation, walked over and turned down the radio, then got himself a beer and raised it high. The guests let out a cheer. They crowded around him, but Lee gently pushed them aside, taking me by the hand into the bedroom and closing the door.
“Did any of these guys touch you?”
“Nobody touched me. They forgot I was here.” Lee, always the actor, managed to have a quick beer with his “fans” and sent them on their way.
Lee came into the kitchen one morning when I was feeding Christopher. He poured himself a cup of coffee, made a face at the baby, and joined us.
“Sweetheart, what about this? We’ll pack up the car and take a trip up the coast. I’ve never been to Oregon, and it’s about time I meet your mother.”
I was reluctant. “Can you take the time?”
“I need a break. We’ll take a family tour. It’ll be fun.”
Not for me, I thought. A family tour indeed. I imagined my mother with Lee—let alone my stepfather and Lee—and cringed. I hadn’t told Lee much about my unhappy childhood, being abandoned by both parents. I was ashamed of my early life.
“Are you sure you want to drive that distance with a baby in the car?”
“Come on, sweetheart. Call your mom and tell her we’re coming. I’ve met your crazy daddy. Now it’s time to meet the other half.”
“Can we go on to Washington and see my grandparents?”
“Sure, I’ve been dying to meet your aunt Rella.”
Even though I hated the idea of spending time with my mother and Elburn, I wanted to show off my devoted husband and beautiful baby. I wanted my mother to see Lee loving me and my giving Christopher the kind of care she had been incapable of giving me. I told myself if I could get through that visit I would have the payoff of spending time with Grandma and Grandpa Rundquist, the family who had raised me. So I gave in and called my mother.
“I told my mother we could only stay three days, okay?”
Lee put his arms around me. “We’ll only stay three hours if you like. Whatever you want. Don’t worry, sweetheart. You have me, remember? We’re a team.”
At that moment I loved my husband more than ever.
My mother was watching and waiting for us at the front door. She was still pretty, though much heavier than when I’d last seen her six years before. Even though she was wearing a matronly cotton housedress with an apron, she had kept her hair dyed the original auburn. After greeting me warmly, she became as shy as a schoolgirl when meeting Lee. She blushed when he kissed her cheek and called her “Mother,” still a moth to the flame when it came to any male attention.
Mother in 1953
Just as I had guessed, she seemed to be in awe of Christopher the whole visit. Like a child, she watched my every move as I bathed him, fed him, changed him, and played with him. She even got up her nerve to hold him briefly.
The three days passed slowly, and I was relieved when our time there was over.
“See you soon,” my mother and I said to each other as Lee and I went to the car. It wouldn’t be soon. She and Fat were back inside the house before we’d even left the driveway.
After the three of us were safely back in the security of our car heading to my childhood home, I burst into tears. Lee pulled to the side of the road, turned off the engine, and held me.
“I know that was hard, honey, but we did the right thing. You were wonderful. And your mother loves you. She just can’t show it. She’s like a little girl.”
“Swell,” I sniffled. “Little girls should play with dolls and not have babies.”
By contrast, our visit with Grandma and Grandpa Rundquist was a pleasure. My seventy-seven-year-old grandfather and Lee were kindred spirits. They both loved fishing and were on the lake or river every morning at daybreak. Lee was amazed at my grandfather’s energy. “He’s the youngest man I’ve ever met,” Lee observed.
My father’s family was duly impressed with my husband’s acting career and put on a formal feast to welcome their new family member. For the first time in my life I did not feel like the poor relative. Aunt Rella was in rare form and played the piano nonstop.
On our drive back to California, I realized it had been good to go home again. I had left eight years before with nothing but hope and determination for a better life. So far my good fortune was beyond my wildest dreams, and the future held great promise.
When Lee was sent the script for The Big Heat, we sat up in bed reading it together. Fritz Lang was set to direct, and the screenplay was raw and powerful. It was also funny—Lee and I laughed out loud at Gloria Grahame’s line when she walks into a dismal hotel room, looks around, and says, “Oh. This is great; early nothing.” Lee’s role, Vince Stone, called on him to play a sadistic gangster who turns on her. When we got to the scene where Lee was to throw boiling coffee in her face, disfiguring her, I shuddered.
“Bit over the top, isn’t it?” Lee asked, an eyebrow raised at me.
“Everyone will remember that scene, I promise you.”
“Script’s good, though.”
“Meyer’s right, Lee. This will be good for your career.”
Meyer Mishkin had been Lee’s agent for almost five years, taking him on when Lee was twenty-five, and we trusted him for good reason. He worked hard for Lee; moreover, instead of the usual Hollywood smugness, he had New York City smarts, which Lee counted as gold.
Almost immediately after Lee left to start work on The Big Heat, I learned I was expecting again. Jerry was over a few hours after I’d gotten the news, and Christopher was toddling back and forth between us, pulling at Jerry’s shoelaces.
“Cute,” said Jerry wryly.
“Good thing you think so. He’s going to have a little brother or sister in a few months.”
“God, Betty, that’s just obscene!” Jerry shook his head, laughing. “When are you not pregnant?”
It was true. When Christopher was just a couple of months old, I lost a baby to an early miscarriage. Now he was a year old, and I was with child once again. I was happy but nervous, especially after the miscarriage. Lee, on the other hand, was thrilled.
“The more the merrier,” he sang when I told him.
After The Big Heat, Lee was scheduled to go to Mexico to shoot Gorilla at Large, which seemed like a silly project to me, a thriller being filmed in 3-D. At least he had only one line. It was a short location, and he’d get to work with Lee J. Cobb and Raymond Burr. A beautiful young actress, Anne Bancroft, was t
he female lead. That didn’t hurt either.
Lee left for Mexico, promising to be back quickly, as our second child was due in just weeks. Two days before I expected him home, the phone rang in the middle of the night.
“Hi, baby. Did I wake you?”
It was 2:00 AM, and he sounded like he’d had a couple. But it was still good to hear his voice.
“Hi, darling. It’s okay. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, but I’m afraid I’m gonna be later getting home than I thought.”
“Why?”
“Shoot’s delayed. You won’t believe it, sweetheart. We’ve run out of film! Shooting in Mexico is a joke!”
Lee was home when, right on schedule, in the spring of 1954, another cesarean brought Courtenay Lee Marvin, a beautiful daughter with a perfect head and no birthmarks.
With this new addition to the family, we’d run out of space in our rented cottage. “We’ll have to move,” I told Lee.
“Start looking for a house to buy,” he said. “I’ve got two more films lined up after this one.”
Lee’s steady work gave us enough money for a down payment on our first home, a new, three-bedroom California ranch house in the Hollywood Knolls. There was even enough left over for me to furnish our new home with reproductions of French country furniture.
I wanted to have a housewarming. Lee was amenable, but I sensed he was doing it for me. “Doing the ‘Keeping up with the Joneses’ thing,” he teased, circling his arms around me. “Sure, let’s warm up the place.”
I sent out invitations for our first cocktail party. Roger and Jerry were there as well as my friend Robert, who had been named Christopher’s godfather. It was fun to look around and see the mix of people, from old friends to new acquaintances, mostly Hollywood hopefuls. Knowing we had a toddler, a couple of people had brought their own kids, and there were babies crawling around in the mix of things. I kept the buffet table filled while Lee made drinks and held court.