Home Work

by Julie Andrews

  Once in Los Angeles, Dad and Win saw Dr. Tanney, and also took several sessions with a good therapist, both independently and as a couple. Little by little, they began to find each other again. I noticed them holding hands and being affectionate with one another, which I hadn’t seen for quite some time. When they finally headed back to England, they were in much better shape physically and emotionally.

  Blake and I traveled back to Gstaad, leaving Emma and Geoff in the care of the new French couple. The babies and Charley greeted us joyfully with bunches of Swiss flowers. I focused on getting back in vocal shape, as I now had several concerts lined up in the States beginning in August, culminating in a tour of Japan in late September. My act needed “retooling” once again, since Vegas had been such an anomaly, and I wanted to shift the focus back to music. We opted to make it a solo concert with limited choreography and no dancers.

  Much to my dismay, Ian would not be the musical director for these particular concerts. As brilliant a conductor and composer as he was, and as dear a friend to me, he was always a bit of a terrier, and he had butted heads with my team. It was decided that the venerable conductor and arranger Jack Elliott would take Ian’s place this time around. Jack was hugely talented, but initially I missed the instant and easy communication that I always had with Ian. Jack and I watched episodes from my television series and various specials, and listened to recordings, which gave him a better sense of my style and what I was capable of vocally.

  Blake was producing these concerts for me, and was also in negotiations for yet another Pink Panther sequel. But Peter Sellers was acting up again, making unreasonable contractual demands, and the studio finally told Blake it was up to him to get Peter on board. Blake devised a plan; we would head to the South of France, where Peter had bought a house with his new wife, an actress by the name of Lynne Frederick. We would vacation in Saint-Tropez for a week, during which time Blake would meet and work with Peter.

  Within two days, we were en route to Nice, with Emma, the babies, Charley, Tony Adams, and Blake’s assistant, Francine. Once again, we stayed on a chartered yacht. I shuddered to think of the horrendous expense, but Blake assured me that the film company was willing to cover it, as they were eager to get the problems with Sellers sorted out. Thus began what was, for me, Emma, and the babies, a marvelous vacation—and for Blake, Tony, Charley, and Francine, a working one.

  Blake took daily meetings with Sellers, and the situation with him became even more crazy. Peter was hustling all sides, telling Blake one thing and the producers another. Lawyers and managers flew in and became embroiled in the discussions.

  The rest of us were having a terrific time kicking back, but Blake was under tremendous pressure and growing more and more irritable. He and Peter seemed destined to continue their “merry dance”—part competitive, part love/hate, yet dependent upon one another for so many reasons.

  On our last day aboard, Blake and I took a moment for ourselves and went to admire some of the other yachts in the marina. We were stunned to discover our beloved Impulse moored among them. She looked dilapidated and uncared-for, and I could swear I heard her groaning at her rope ties. It made us both very emotional to see her, and we left quickly, having lost our appetite for window-shopping.

  UPON OUR RETURN to Los Angeles, I began rehearsals for the three concert dates at American venues and the Japanese tour. I met daily with Jack Elliott, and little by little we began to lay out the act. Every day felt like three steps forward, two back, as we tried new material, worked out sequencing, then abandoned that material to try something else. I began to really worry that the act wouldn’t be ready in time for the concert dates. Michael Kidd came in to consult once again, and to work with me on the staging. In his continued efforts to help me conquer my first entrance discomfort, he urged me to stride onto the stage and make a sweeping curtsy, with arms wide, as if to say, “Welcome, everyone! I’m thrilled you’re here, and we’re going to have a lovely evening.” The body language carried me through, and I began to feel more confident. There were costume meetings and fittings, and promo spots to be taped for the various venues. Zoë flew in to take publicity shots, and there were interviews with press outlets.

  The daily commute to town from our new house by the beach—which was still very much a work-in-progress—was long, but weekends there made the effort worthwhile. Emma was summering with her dad again on Long Island, but I did my best on days off to put in as much time as I could with Amelia and Joanna, swimming with them in the pool and playing together in the garden.

  The girls were developing such enchantingly different personalities. Amelia was poised and radiantly beautiful. Now three and a half, she was already a serious fashionista, standing in front of her closet each morning to contemplate the perfect outfit for her day. Joanna, on the other hand, was a feisty and funny two-year-old, with her socks forever around her ankles and scrapes galore.

  On one of our walks around the garden, I asked both girls what they might like to plant if I gave them each a little plot of their own.

  Amelia instantly replied, “Strawberries!”

  Joanna pondered a moment, then said, “Ratatouille.”

  IN LATE AUGUST, I flew to New York for the first of the American concerts, which was to take place in Westchester. I wrote:

  I think I earned my whole week’s salary today. Kept thinking of the old adage, “Well, you wanted to be in showbiz!”

  Our run-through began at 3:30. Photographers were out front shooting everything and seeing all the little disasters—and there were many. The orchestra needed more rehearsal. Some numbers we didn’t even get to, like the final medley. Then Michael Kidd announced that my 20’s dress didn’t work, and I should do that medley in the full skirt, which is virtually impossible to move in. A lady was waiting to do a television interview. She was rather hostile, and kept asking weird questions about failure, and my “image,” and why did I bother to work when I didn’t need to, etc. I wanted to reply, “What makes you think I don’t need to?”

  It rained, and the highways were flooded, so the show began late. I went on just after 10, a basket-case of nerves, convinced I’d had a small stroke because I could not remember my dialogue. Lo and behold, the audience was welcoming—and it helped so much.

  I got through everything, though the orchestra fell apart at one point. But in spite of the gown, and the rain, and being under-rehearsed, the audience wouldn’t let me go.

  We did five performances in Westchester. Emma came to the final one with Tony, Gen, Bridget, and Tony’s parents, who were visiting from England, and with whom I had remained close. I was weary, and quite nervous, especially about Tony seeing the show, with his vast knowledge of theater. But when they came backstage after the performance, it seemed they’d all enjoyed themselves. It was great to see my Emma, radiant and proud, smelling of sun and swimming pool and shampoo.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, I departed for Michigan and four performances there at the Pine Knob Music Theatre—a fifteen-thousand-seat amphitheater just north of Detroit. I shared the bill with Henry Mancini. The concerts went relatively well, but the lights were incredibly bright, to the point where I couldn’t see where to walk or even the first row. It was disorienting, as was the sound. The night air seemed to make the orchestra feel distant, leaving only my voice booming back at me through the monitors. Standing in the bright spotlight, I attracted a host of fans from the insect world, ending up with a moth in my bra, another in my eye, and one in my mouth. Since I was mid-song, I pocketed the latter in my cheek and eventually swallowed it at a discreet moment. Yuck.

  Back in Los Angeles, I performed at the Greek Theatre, another open-air venue, in the Hollywood Hills. Because it was on home turf, there were many friends in the audience who came backstage afterward—Richard Crenna, Bob Wise, Saul and Betty Chaplin, and Blake’s assistant, Francine, who was now going to be assisting me in Japan. Between the guests and the packing up required for our tour, it was a very late night for us all.
Poor Emma had only four hours of sleep, and had to go to school the next day.

  Blake developed a bad virus of some sort, rendering him unable to travel, and the French couple suddenly gave notice. This left me in a bind, as I knew that after the tour, I would only have two weeks left on my visa before having to return to Switzerland until the New Year. Charley and the babies would be joining me there, and Blake would be heading to London to start work on Revenge of the Pink Panther.

  Even though it meant she would miss a few weeks of school, I had already decided to bring Emma with me to Japan, reasoning that visiting that country and culture would be a valuable educational experience. I had no idea, however, what I was going to do once the tour ended, and she had to return to school in L.A. for the remainder of the fall term.

  I discussed the problem with my analyst, who asked whether there wasn’t a kind aunt or cousin who might come and stay for a spell during my forced absence. I suddenly remembered that my former sister-in-law, Jen Gosney, had long wanted to visit the States. Like Emma, Jen’s daughter, Clare, was fourteen, and the cousins were very close. Jen was open to the suggestion of spending time in America. She happened to be going through a divorce, and it seemed we would all benefit from the plan. It was a huge relief.

  EMMA, FRANCINE, AND I traveled to Tokyo accompanied by my concert team: a core group of six musicians—violin, woodwinds, trumpet, guitar, bass, and drums—plus our conductor, Jack Elliott. They had all been on the road with me, and would continue to be folded into the resident orchestra of each venue we played. Our tour manager, Gerry Nutting, doubled as our lighting designer, working alongside our sound engineer.

  There followed a memorable two weeks, which may best be expressed in a series of installments from my diaries of the tour:

  Arrived at Tokyo Airport, where to our surprise, hundreds of fans had turned out to greet me. They swarmed so hard and so close, pressing flowers and gifts upon us, that we nearly went to our knees three times and were sweating with panic by the time we reached our cars. Emma is being a trojan and I’m so glad to have her with me.

  * * *

  Took a vast press conference today. Our lovely translator, Saito, was kept busy interpreting the many odd questions that came up: “What is my philosophy or religion about my work and/or life?” “How do I raise my children?” “What attracts me most about my husband?” “Do I dream, and if so, is it in color or black and white?” I couldn’t outguess the thinking behind these questions. I finally surmised that the interviewers wanted to approve of me as a wife and mother. They seemed to like it when I said that I put my husband and family first. Lots of questions about my books, and a children’s choir sang “The Sound of Music” and “Do Re Mi.”

  * * *

  Blackie, Tony and Geoff have arrived. Hooray! Geoff will be helping out backstage.

  Did my first concert in Tokyo this evening at the Budokan arena. We filled to capacity. The sound system was excellent, and for such a vast place, it was quite an intimate feeling. The stage was six or seven feet high, built that way, I’m told, because enthusiastic fans were inclined to rush at and even climb on it, and indeed at the end of my show, people were jumping up against the structure trying to throw or place their gifts and flowers on deck.

  The audience was mostly very young . . . teenagers and people in their early 20’s. (I gather older people don’t go out to the theatre much. I wonder when one becomes an older person?) The minute I turned to say something to Jack, the applause died immediately, as if no one wanted to miss a single word I said.

  The string musicians have a different way of bowing here. They seldom lift the bow to breathe, but rather “slide” up and down to notes, presumably because their own music is played that way. Dick Dennis, our resident first violin, was a tower of strength in rehearsal, giving them pointers for a more western sound. The musicians are industrious, and no doubt they will soon be perfect.

  The dressing room facilities were awful. A ladies’ loo with no make-up lights, so God knows how my face looked—I just sort of guessed. While I was making up, I kept hearing great crashes, screams and yells. I discovered I was dressing next to another hall where Kendo artists were practicing for a tournament. They finished their practice as I emerged from my dressing room heading for the stage, and we blinked at each other for a moment. The incongruity of their attire—complete with long capes, padded breastplates, head gear and bamboo sticks—compared to my elegant evening gown was farcical.

  In general, it was a successful evening and the audience loved the “Do Re Mi” singalong, clapping and stomping and joining in when I sang it in Japanese.

  * * *

  We are in Osaka. The Festival Hall is a lovely theater. The concert looked pretty and was a huge success. It was hot and humid, but I did enjoy myself. The evening was recorded by RCA and I sang well.

  Blake seems depressed. His back is out and he has been swallowing Demerols at an alarming rate. I have a hunch he’d love to get out of the madness of the next Panther film with Peter, yet he’s committed. I understand his mood, but Em is finding it hard, as he is inclined to be snippy. Blake says he will go home in two days, which makes me sad.

  * * *

  Blake and I have suddenly realized we won’t see each other for about a month. I’m trying to be calm about it all, and I don’t understand why he’s being difficult. Too much pressure, and business and chaos, I guess—yet we’ve created it all.

  I feel myself opening and warming to the pleasures of the tour, and I want to be able to grow and examine where performing still fits in my life, yet I feel stifled by all these other problems.

  * * *

  Saw Blackie and Tony off at the station this morning, where they took the Bullet Train back to Tokyo for their flight home. I tried not to weep, but it was hard. Afterwards, I drove to Kyoto with Em and some of my gang. Mr. Yokoyama, our producer, had invited us to a very special place for lunch—the Okochi-Sanso Villa.

  The exquisite pagoda-like inn was set on a hill. There was a wrap-around balcony one floor up, and as we went on to the lawn below for sweetmeats and a tea ceremony, a familiar voice said, “Well, what took you so long?”

  I looked up, and Blackie was standing on the veranda, legs wide, arms folded, looking pleased with himself. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It seemed like some sort of magic, since I’d seen him depart on the train.

  “I couldn’t leave you,” he said. “We are more important than any of the other bullshit.”

  Apparently the first stop on the Bullet Train was Kyoto, and Blake suddenly said to Tony, “I’ve got to get off.” They did just that, and found their way to the inn. Saito, who had been escorting them, and who was normally totally circumspect, became quite emotional, saying, “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen!”

  We had a fantastic Japanese meal in the tranquil, exquisite surroundings—Fall colors just beginning to set in.

  * * *

  Blake has come down with another virus that seems to have beaten him to a pulp. I stayed with him all day today, while Emma went with my gang to Hiroshima. She was stunned by the visit. Geoff, too. Good.

  It’s been decided that my gang and I will go to Sapporo tomorrow for the one concert there and meet up with Blake in Tokyo on Tuesday.

  * * *

  A “hard work” show in Sapporo, and a really obvious language barrier.

  One funny thing happened: Geoff had been given the job of paging my microphone cord so I didn’t trip over any slack wire. I walked across the stage and suddenly couldn’t go any further. Looking into the wings, I saw that Geoff had fallen asleep. I gave the cord an almighty yank and he woke with a start, almost falling off his stool!

  * * *

  Back in Tokyo. Played the Budokan again. Blake still having a hard time. Claims that I’ve “changed” on this tour. I have no idea what he means. Maybe it’s his flu—or the drugs. Or maybe he’s just feeling redundant, because I’m working and there’s little for him to do. I went
to the concert hall feeling low, but gave one hell of a concert to the lovely, packed audience.

  * * *

  Went with Tony Adams, Em and Gerry to hear the 16-track tapes made of the second Osaka concert. They were surprisingly good—could almost release them untouched.

  Blake in another dark mood today, saying that we never get a moment alone together. He suggests that Em and I meet him in England and go to Gstaad for 2-3 weeks before heading back to L.A. in time for Jen Gosney to take over with Em. God, it’s difficult.

  * * *

  Gave a party tonight for my gang. A good time to say thank you—but it also turned out to be a pre-birthday party for me, since Blake and Tony are now leaving tomorrow. We had delicious eats and lots of disco dancing later. Geoff asked me to dance, and Blackie and I had a rare slow dance together.

  * * *

  Said goodbye to my mate and Tony, then flew with Emma and the gang to Fukuoka City. Saw Mount Fuji from the airplane, with the volcano steaming on top. I would so love to come back and really explore this beautiful country.

  The gymnasium where the concert was held is vast. Oddly, the sound there was probably the best of the tour. I did a sort of floating, easy show, feeling somewhat removed, but everyone said it was great. The orchestra played “Happy Birthday” after “The Sound of Music” finale, and each member presented me with a carnation. I was deeply touched.

  * * *