Tales of a Hollywood Housewife

by Betty Marvin

  “I’m glad you’re home.” Lee was planting kisses all over my face. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too,” I murmured, thinking if only I’d known this would be the result, I would have gone on a trip ages ago.

  Lying in bed later that night, I told Lee about the deals I’d made in Paris. He seemed impressed, and when I got up my nerve and said I’d need $10,000 to open a boutique, he said, “Okay. I’ll call Ed in the morning.” That was it.

  Ed Silver, our longtime financial adviser, knew better than to argue with Lee when he said, “Betty wants it, that’s why.” But when Ed gave me the money to start the business, he said, “Hope this investment is a loss so we can write it off.”

  I scouted for the right property in the right location and soon established Paris V, the first boutique on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills representing Christian Dior, Lanvin, Guy Laroche, Jacques Heim, and Jean Dessès. I had my own business, and I loved it.

  Paris V, 1960

  At first Lee loved it too. He was relieved for me to have a challenging project since he was away most of the time. M Squad was rolling on, and however unhappily, he was still attached.

  In short order Paris V was booming, and I hired a manager so I would not be away from the children when they were home. The boutique was open by appointment only. To add to the collection of imports, I ordered custom furs and hats that were made in Beverly Hills but designed by well-known names in French fashion. The Beverly Hills Hotel gave me its antique jewelry on consignment for the European models to wear. I arranged to introduce the collections at the Brown Derby Restaurant in Beverly Hills on the same day they were being shown in Paris. When Lanvin came out with a new perfume, I held a high tea fashion show and invited all my best customers, providing each with a gift of the new scent.

  At another event, I pulled in Lee as emcee. We had a blast that evening as he introduced the models, who ran in their finery from Paris V, across the alley, and through the kitchen of the Brown Derby restaurant before finally landing in the dining room. They paraded among the seated guests, flashing antique jewelry, seductively dropping their furs, and removing their hats at the appropriate moment to reveal the latest Parisian design. A live combo played jazz in the background. It was a high-fashion striptease, and the audience loved it. As usually happened, that night we sold the complete collection right off the floor.

  Paris V was such a big success we had the best-dressed women in the country as clients. I still never really cared about shopping or fashion per se, usually grabbing something from the collection at the last minute to wear for the show. But this business was like theater. It was great fun, at least for a couple of years.

  Lee, Tris, and I with the “best-dressed” clients at a Paris V gala

  When the drinking got so bad he couldn’t avoid facing it anymore, Lee admitted he needed to get some help. He made several attempts at Alcoholics Anonymous. Unfortunately, he usually stopped for a couple of martinis on his way to meetings, claiming it was the only way he could get through those evenings. He finally gave up. “The whole sad lot of them are nothing but a bunch of frustrated actors,” he declared. “They can hardly wait for their turn to get onstage and tell the rest of us drunks the boring story of their miserable lives.”

  Finally, Lee told me he was going on suspension rather than do M Squad for another season. He was deeply depressed and started drinking at home during the day. He said he needed me to be with him. The decision was easy. I sold the inventory, canceled my lease, and closed Paris V.

  Out of desperation, Lee went to Meyer, his old agent, and begged for him to take him back. Meyer negotiated with MCA and made a deal to again represent Lee.

  “Guess what? I’m getting married.” I almost fell over when Tris delivered the news to me during a casual phone call. “I would love to have the wedding at your house. What do you say?”

  What could I say? My dear friend was tying the knot! “Fine. When?”

  “You don’t sound very enthused?”

  “I’m just surprised. Who’s the lucky lady?”

  “Kay. I’ll bring her over tonight. She’s American Indian. I call her ‘Black Cloud.’”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “She’s strange but beautiful. You’ll love her.”

  That night I met Kay, an attractive brunette with ice-blue eyes that were out of focus. It appeared Tris had met a drug partner.

  Two weeks later I gave them a wedding. Lee was the best man; I, the maid of honor. The evening of the big event, Kay, while changing into her wedding suit in our master bedroom, got high on pot. She swayed down the stairs behind our daughters, who were the flower girls. Claudia, three, was in tears as she picked up the rose petals being tossed by Cynthia and Courtenay.

  “You’re dropping your fowers!” she cried out.

  At the last minute Tris had engaged the services of a senile minister who kept repeating himself and losing his place in the scriptures, while Kay, leaning on Tris, laughed and delivered constant amens. Our small wedding party found the whole thing entertaining, and we ended the evening with a lavish dinner party at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  A few weeks later Tris sent Black Cloud to stay with us while he moved to Livermore to work at the Rand Research Lab, developing questions for which there were already answers. His brilliant, abstract mind was perfect for that complex task but could not handle the simple ground rules for marriage.

  The divorce took place shortly after the wedding, and Tris took a year off from medicine and went around the world playing jazz piano.

  19

  Lee's Affair with the Bottle: Losing Hope

  WHEN LEE WAS cast in Donovan’s Reef, the studio rented a big, airy beach house for our family in a coconut plantation on the island of Kauai, and we all sailed on the Matsonia to Hawaii for the summer.

  Sailing with the family to Hawaii, 1962

  The first evening at sea, John Wayne spotted us and came over to our dinner table to greet Lee. They hadn’t seen each other since The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance; their reunion was loud and warm.

  “Duke, meet my family,” Lee said proudly, turning to our table. “My wife, Betty, my daughters, Claudia, Courtenay, and Cynthia, and my son, Christopher.”

  I gave him my best smile and a warm hello, and the girls managed polite greetings, but Christopher just glared at Duke, refusing his big, outstretched hand. I was embarrassed by my son’s rudeness, but later Christopher exclaimed, “I hate that man! He shot my dad!” He had remembered Wayne from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. But Duke won him over at breakfast the next day.

  “Hey, pal, ever see a horse race?” Christopher balefully shook his head.

  “C’mon with me. I’ll show you how to pick a horse and bet on him. Hope you don’t mind,” he added, turning to me with an endearing smile. “It’s something every man needs to know.”

  By the end of the sea journey, Christopher had happily become Duke’s runner, placing bets and gathering tips. My daddy would have been proud.

  Kauai was beautiful, and we moved with ease into a relaxed tropical summer—swimming, sunning, and dining on fish and fruit. Though he was shooting during the week, Lee spent all his spare time romancing me and playing with the kids.

  On the beach in Kauai

  We also played a lot with other members of the cast: Jack Warden, Elizabeth Allen, but especially with Duke and his wife, Pilar. Next to the giant presence of her husband, Pilar, a lovely petite woman, practically disappeared. They were an odd couple, a big, lumbering, all-American guy and this tiny, elegant Spanish beauty. I hated Duke’s politics but fell in love with his teddy bear charm.

  A familiar face showed up at the one local saloon on our first night out—Cesar Romero, another cast member. When we spotted each other he did a double take. “Missy?” he asked with a curious look on his face. He hadn’t seen me since Crawford’s.

  “Betty Marvin,” I laughed. “I’m here with my husband and our kids.”

&nb
sp; “What a nice surprise,” Cesar said, pulling me to my feet. “Come and dance with me.”

  “It’s so good to see you,” he said as he swept me around the floor. “You look absolutely wonderful. And I see I’ve found a dancing partner on this island.”

  “Hula!” a loud voice announced over the P.A. system. “Five minutes till the hula contest!”

  The Mai Tais had me feeling good, so I jumped at the chance. “Come on, everyone,” I clapped my hands at our table. “Hula time!”

  Pilar and Elizabeth were quickly up on their feet, but Lee, Jack, and Duke held tight. “You’re not getting me up there wiggling around,” Jack announced.

  The tourists’ favorite Hookelau started to play, and almost everyone in the bar was on the floor in formation acting out the lyrics. I managed to get Lee up, and eventually Jack was pressed into service by Elizabeth, but Duke held fast, simply shaking his head no.

  Doing the hula with John Wayne seemed too great an experience to pass up. “Come on, big guy,” I insisted. “We’re going to a hookelau.” He practically fell to the floor laughing as we threw our nets out into the sea.

  On my birthday Duke and Pilar gave me a little dinner party. Duke and Lee broke out a bottle of bourbon and got into shop talk. “Oh, come on, Lee, you know I’m no actor!” Duke stood up, laughing. “I’ve got this walk”—he began to imitate his infamous amble—“and I’ve got this talk”—he continued in that John Wayne growl—“but that’s it!”

  As Lee and I were getting ready to make our exit, Duke disappeared for a moment. He returned carrying a brown paper bag, which he offered me with his head half-down. “Happy birthday,” he mumbled shyly. “Sorry for the wrapping.” In the bag was an Hawaiian mumu he had chosen himself. When he saw how pleased I was, he blushed.

  When the shoot was over, the company and their families were invited to spend the weekend in Oahu before flying home together. The children and I flew ahead and waited for Lee to join us. When he did not show up at the hotel, I called the location manager. He said Lee had been drinking but had boarded the plane with the rest of the cast for the short island hop. I tried to remain calm while the island police conducted a secret search.

  Three days later I received word from our neighbor at home that he had found Lee passed out in our garden. In an alcoholic haze, he had flown back to Los Angeles alone looking for us, believing we were home. The children and I flew back with the cast and crew, who were all extremely kind to us, knowing the sad truth of the situation. When we arrived home Lee was pacing back and forth in the playroom. I sent the children in to see Anna and went to him. He could barely make eye contact.

  “I’m a hopeless alcoholic,” he said finally. “Please help me.”

  I called Dr. Mishell, who got Lee into a detox center.

  “You can do this,” I told him before he entered the center, holding him tight.

  “I’m scared,” he whispered.

  “I know, Lee, but I’m here, and I’m telling you, you can do this. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

  “So here goes nothing.” He gave me a weak smile, we kissed, and I watched him walk up the path into an old Victorian house in the bowels of Los Angeles. It felt so strange driving away, leaving him in those tacky surroundings, more uncertain of what the outcome of his stay would be than I wanted to admit.

  Weeks later, back home, Lee went back to AA meetings, determined to stay sober. He even asked Dr. Rangell to recommend an analyst for him. “Don’t give it too much hope,” Dr. Rangell told me. “Analysis rarely works for alcoholics. But it’s worth a try.”

  Lee went to his analyst at UCLA five days a week, and I felt more hopeful now that we were both in treatment. He really tried. He counted the weeks, days, minutes, and seconds between drinks. I counted with him, praying he would be able to stay sober. Sadly, the periods of sobriety were accompanied by terrible depression. I could always tell when he was going to fall off the wagon because he would become very cheerful and affectionate. I loved him this way but knew what lay ahead. I joined Al-Anon to be supportive, feeling my behavior played a role in his sobriety.

  One day Lee answered the phone. When he hung up, his face was ashen.

  “My mother’s dead.” No more words passed between us, but I felt a twinge of guilt for the lack of love between my mother-in-law, Courtenay, and myself. We left the children with Anna and caught the first flight to New York. When the attendant came by to take drink orders before we took off, Lee ordered a double Tanqueray martini, very dry, with a twist. I looked at him, showing my disappointment.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m fine. And you know what? Now that the wicked witch is dead, I don’t need analysis anymore.”

  I realized then nothing had changed. Nothing was going to change. Wishing would not make it so.

  The whole week in Woodstock neither Lee, his brother, Robert, nor his father, Lamont, drew a sober breath. At the service a drunken Lee threw himself on the casket, sobbing uncontrollably, “Mommy, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

  It made me sad to see him this way, perhaps because I realized the pity I felt for him was killing my love. He drank steadily and quietly on the way home, speaking little, gone from the world.

  Despite Lee’s continuing battle with alcohol, he was still getting roles in major features.The summer of 1964 he was signed to play an ex-baseball star in Stanley Kramer’s Ship of Fools. It was a plum role for him in a cast that included Simone Signoret, Vivien Leigh, Elizabeth Ashley, and José Ferrer. We rented a summer beach house, as was our custom, in Malibu. Vivien Leigh took a place a few houses away. Her houseguest for the summer was Sir John Gielgud, who spent most of the time indoors. I think he was allergic to the sun. Simone Signoret was our houseguest, sharing the guest quarters with our new friend Larry Hagman, a young actor from New York. Larry had come to Hollywood without his wife and two children looking for work. Lee and I met him at a party and found him very engaging, and he was in our lives from that moment on. He was lonely for his family, so he moved in almost immediately and became a welcome part of ours.

  Lee and I had had a lot of people come and stay with us, mostly struggling actors. But Larry was different. Being Mary Martin’s son and having performed in theater, he wasn’t the typical young, starstruck actor. He, like Lee, had pizazz, commanded attention, was larger than life. And Larry had amazing confidence—no job when he moved into our guest quarters, but amazing confidence.

  Vivien Leigh was a beautiful, aging, blond coquette, typecast in the film, but in many ways quite different in person. I found her self-indulgent, rather vulgar behavior fascinating. She had a fetish for costume jewelry, which she carried in her handbag and changed with each activity. One afternoon I suggested we take a swim. “Marvelous,” she said. She quickly removed her beach baubles and put on an array of fish pins. The afternoon we attended the 1964 Summer Olympics in downtown Los Angeles, she was adorned in beads, bangles, and earrings with sports motifs. She admired my beach bag with shells so much that I gave her one as a birthday gift. From that day on the bag went with her everywhere, no matter what the occasion. One evening it even accessorized a black silk cocktail dress.

  One day at the studio she and I were having lunch in her dressing room. When her mail was delivered, she examined a letter from her ex-husband, Sir Laurence Olivier, who still carried a torch for her. “Oh, poor Larry,” she said dismissively as she opened the envelope. She read the contents quickly and threw them on the floor where they stayed. She turned back to me. “Now where were we?”

  I continued to spend time with Vivien, who amused me, although it was Simone Signoret who really fascinated me. Vivien and Simone disliked each other. They were so different. Simone was perfectly cast in the movie as a political activist. I liked her politics and I liked her. She was beautiful, intelligent, and sophisticated.

  During the filming of Ship of Fools, our home was the gathering place for the cast and their friends. In spite of my eroding marriage, I
entertained nonstop—endless brunch, lunch, and dinner parties, followed by late nights around the piano. Lee’s drinking obviously went way beyond the others’. He drank all the time and rarely ate with the rest of us. It became impossible to ignore his losing battle with booze.

  One hot Sunday afternoon, I watched him crawling up the beach clutching a bottle of vodka. I was heartsick, knowing the children would see their father in this condition. But I could not always protect them, and I no longer had the strength to nurse him or my fantasy that he was going to change. Finally, I learned to ignore him drunk. So did the children and our friends.

  As I got to know Simone, my respect for her grew. She was a smart woman and seemed to have great insight into men and how to treat them. I liked the way she had dealt with her husband Yves Montand’s brief affair with Marilyn Monroe during the filming of Let’s Make Love. Without a word she flew back to Paris and went incommunicado. I was impressed that she, in her French fashion, could remain detached from his various dalliances during their marriage. Unfortunately, I could not detach myself from Lee’s unfaithfulness.

  Simone had become very fond of Lee and was saddened by his obvious spiral downward. She also saw the trouble I was in with my marriage. One day she had a driver take her into town and returned with a book for me, leaving it on my bed. It was a copy of Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano, the story of a hopeless alcoholic.

  Later in the day I started reading; I got through the first few chapters and collapsed. I could not stop sobbing. It was impossible to ignore the heartbreaking message beiong sent me through Lowry’s writing. I did not come out of my room at the usual cocktail hour in order to keep the children and our houseguests from seeing me with swollen eyes. Lee was staying in town that night rather than making the long commute to the beach, so I feigned a headache and instructed Anna to feed the kids and deliver my apologies to all. I hid under the comforter, curled up in a fetal position, and fell asleep. Later in the evening Simone came to check on me.