Between a Heart and a Rock Place

by Pat Benatar

  Of course, Chrysalis was still pushing an intense timeline for us, in which we were recording the album and shooting the videos for the singles at the same time. The first video we shot was for the song “Painted Desert,” and not surprisingly the shoot took place in the desert outside of L.A. We hired an Italian director and began filming on June 21, which was the summer solstice—the longest day of the year.

  It was also the hottest. I remember that the glue that held the soles of my shoes together melted. We had to improvise and make it work, but the heat was making me incredibly sick that day. Normally I’m not affected by warm temperatures, but I felt awful. I stayed in my air-conditioned trailer, only coming out when they needed me in the shot. To make matters worse, my clothes were stretched tight on every part of my body. Two weeks prior to the video, the wardrobe person had done a fitting for the clothes I’d be wearing on camera, but for some reason, now the clothes no longer fit. The pair of black pants she’d fit me for, which were supposed to be tight to begin with, were now cutting off the circulation in my waist and legs.

  We filmed all day, and I struggled with my concentration the entire way. I couldn’t focus and felt sick. The heat was agony, and my clothes were vacuum-sealed to me. I counted the minutes until it was finally finished.

  The next day we went to the post-production site. This director liked to edit on a big screen, and the images from the footage we’d shot were huge. Surprisingly they looked pretty good, considering the main character had been barely able to participate.

  At one point I was in the editing room alone with the director; he leaned over and in his thick Italian accent, he quietly asked, “You are with child?”

  What a crazy thing to say, out of the blue. I barely know this guy.

  “Oh no, no,” I responded. “We can’t have children.”

  A shot of me was on the big screen, and he paused the footage, walked over to me, and looked intensely into my eyes. Then he smiled.

  “Look here,” he said, walking over to the big screen and pointing at my face. “You see there in your eye—a little light. You are with child!”

  At first, I thought to myself, Wow, this guy spent way too much time in the sun yesterday. But then I started thinking about how awful the shoot had been, how sick I’d felt, and how my clothes didn’t fit. I didn’t want to hope, but immediately I made an appointment to see my ob-gyn the next day. The blood test confirmed what the director had seen in my eyes the day before: I was pregnant.

  I couldn’t believe it; two years of trying and testing, and suddenly it was a reality. Even the girls in the doctor’s office cried. I didn’t know how to tell Spyder. I needed something special. On my way to meet him at the MCA Whitney studio, where we were recording, I bought a pair of knitted infant booties.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked curiously when I finally arrived.

  “Editing and the doctor’s office.”

  “The doctor’s? How come?”

  I placed the gift-wrapped box with the baby shoes inside on the recording console. He opened it and stared down at its contents. For a couple of moments, he froze. He looked up at me, stood, and went straight into the bathroom. He didn’t come out for thirty minutes. When he finally came out, he headed straight for me and said, “Is it true?”

  I smiled and said, “Yes.”

  The atmosphere in MCA Whitney shifted immediately. Everyone was overwhelmed by the news. They’d all known how difficult it had been for Spyder and me those last two years. The announcement elicited a collective sigh of relief from everyone in our lives. Immediately all of the nerves and stress that went into recording just melted away. Who had time to fret when we’d been blessed with the seemingly impossible?

  And so making Tropico became one of the best recording experiences either of us ever had. I was euphoric and felt completely inspired. We felt we were making a record that had been blessed with a miracle. The entire band was so relaxed, and all of us were curious to try new arrangements. Being pregnant permeated the entire process. Pregnancy makes all the long muscles in your body relax, and your vocal cords are a long muscle. Suddenly I found that I could do things vocally that I’d never been able to do before. And once I did, I was able to re-create that sound even without the pregnancy hormones. I’ve never had an easier time singing than when I was pregnant. To hear Spyder tell it, it was the most cooperative I’d ever been (but it was over as soon as I gave birth).

  Unfortunately, our good moods couldn’t control the fact that I periodically had to deal with the realities of pregnancy. By the time we were filming the video for “We Belong,” I was a few months along and suffering from morning sickness. Throughout the shoot, when I felt sick, I’d run to the bathroom, throw up, brush my teeth, reapply lipstick, and then go back for another take. The whole time I had saltine crackers in the pocket of my jacket, and I’d eat the crackers in the hope that they would curb my queasiness.

  Morning sickness aside, I found being pregnant and recording to go pretty well together—that is, until Chrysalis heard about what was going on. When Chrysalis got wind that I was pregnant, they were definitely not thrilled. They wanted it to be a guarded secret. They didn’t want any photos taken of me once I started to show, and they didn’t want me talking about babies in interviews. And of course, they made it clear that they wanted me to go right back to my vixen self as soon as that baby was born and get right back on tour. No time off. Not during the pregnancy and not afterward. I guess they thought the audiences wouldn’t notice that I was pregnant and that journalists wouldn’t ask about it. I told them that they could kiss my ass.

  “This is my life,” I told them. And I meant it. I was all about family.

  For his part, Newman was happy for us but worried about the impact this would have on my career. It meant we’d have to take time off (what a concept) and that my image would be changed in everyone’s eyes.

  “Why would you do something like this?”

  He was an old friend. So I attempted to explain how unhappy Spyder and I had been when we thought we might never have children and how excited we were to find out that we were finally pregnant. Newman wanted the best for us, but he was also concerned about how the pregnancy would complicate things.

  For the first several months of my pregnancy, I continued to work on Tropico, making the video for “Ooh Ooh Song” in addition to the videos for “Painted Desert” and “We Belong.” Eventually though, Chrysalis insisted that I rest, not because they cared about my well-being but because they didn’t want me to be seen. They were adamant that no one get a shot of me when I was pregnant. I wore big coats and loose clothing to hide it. At one point, I was actually chased by the paparazzi, which was unusual in those days, as I was coming out of a movie theater on Fifty-seventh Street in New York. Luckily I was with my old friend Cynthia Zimmer, who proceeded to chase away the photographers with her gigantic Louis Vuitton bag. Needless to say, no one ever saw a photo of me pregnant.

  It may sound amusing, not to mention ridiculous, but it wasn’t funny at the time. In fact, it was terribly upsetting. This was the 1980s and I was a married woman, yet Chrysalis treated me like some Hollywood starlet from the fifties who’d been knocked up out of wedlock. My pregnancy was something to be ashamed of instead of celebrated. It was insulting, not to mention sexist. It was discrimination in the workplace, plain and simple. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. They had spent years objectifying me, but somehow I thought pregnancy would be different. This was about the beauty of childbirth; this was about my life, my family. This should have been off-limits.

  Of course all of these frustrations evaporated with the birth of our beautiful daughter Haley on February 16, 1985. She came into the world demurely, no crying, no purple baby skin. Just beautiful eyes shining and bright, with a full head of black hair and eyelashes that looked like caterpillars draped over her eyelids. Spyder and I were overjoyed. At last, we were a family. Everything about our lives was changed the second she drew he
r first breath. It was a new day. The playing field was about to be leveled, by a seven-pound infant.

  FOR EVERY DAY SINCE I was old enough to think, I’ve considered myself a feminist. Even before I knew what that word meant, I was one. From early on, I believed that it was my job to advocate for women’s rights in every context because we were equal to men in every way. I believed that if you protected the rights of one group, all groups’ rights would be protected. It was simple, it was pure, and as a young girl growing up in the sixties, it was my mantra.

  In my parents’ house, feminism wasn’t theoretical; it was being practiced every day. Everyone’s paycheck counted and everyone was expected to do their share of child rearing, grocery shopping, and dish washing. My parents did this without debate or bitterness. It was simply their way of life. They loved each other and respected the contribution each of them made to the family. This was the atmosphere that I grew up in. It never occurred to me that women could be regarded as inferior.

  I could have been the poster child for feminism in America. I read everything I could get my hands on, attended rallies at school, and protested discrimination against women on the railroad tracks in the middle of town. As I got older, squishing all those worms on my bare legs to prove myself to the boys paid off big-time, helping me scrape my way through high school, life as a military wife, the South, and the boys’ club of rock and roll. I forged a path for myself where there wasn’t one before, putting up with lecherous radio program directors, sexist record executives, and all their sleazy brethren. Now, at long last, I was someone’s mother. My life—both professional and personal—would never be the same.

  From the first moment I held that baby in my arms, I knew things would be different. For all my blustering and battling, I’d spent six long years being vetoed or coerced into doing things I didn’t want to do. I’d made concessions because I didn’t want to be a bitch or cause problems for the band or upset Newman, or because of whatever stupid reason I used to rationalize allowing them. With Haley in my arms, I knew those days were over. I had something to protect that trumped all else: my daughter’s future. Now every artistic and financial decision would impact her life. It wasn’t just about Spyder and me anymore.

  Of course just because Haley was born didn’t mean that Chrysalis was about to change their ways. They hadn’t had much regard for our personal lives before, and they sure as hell didn’t after. It was difficult enough being a first-time mother without their hassling. Ask any new mom how ominous it is to suddenly be responsible for the care and well-being of an exquisite little creature whom you love more than your own life. It’s terrifying. Complicating things for me was the fact that when Haley was born I knew nothing. I’d never even babysat when I was a young girl. I had no idea what I was doing. Not to mention that being an entertainer brought a whole new set of problems. I knew women who were married to rock stars and who had their babies with them when they traveled. But when I had Haley, I knew few female rock stars to begin with, let alone female rock stars with babies. There’s no handbook for being a rocker girl with a newborn baby.

  At heart, though, I was simply a working mother, and working mothers are all pretty much the same. Our profession is incidental. We all feel like we have no grip, like there aren’t enough hands or hours in the day. Every one of us has to choose between our child and our job every day—and it sucks. There’s absolutely nothing worse than having to pry the fingers of your sick-with-a-101-degree-temperature toddler off your body and walk out the door to go to work. It’s horrible, even when “work” is performing at Madison Square Garden.

  One of the most reassuring things I heard around that time was something Chrissie Hynde told me when I ran into her at an event where she had brought her little girl, who was born about six months before Haley. I’d met Chrissie a couple of times while we were on the road. I’d long admired her work. I loved her voice and I appreciated her unorthodox attitude. But she was dark and moody. There was a distance she possessed. We never really connected, but we were acquaintances and new mothers. I asked her how it was going, being a new mother and a rocker. I hoped maybe, since she was six months ahead of me in the mom department, she would have some good advice or insight.

  “How are you doing this?” I asked in desperation. She shook her head.

  “I’m not doing it! I’m not doing it! I’m just trying to get through the day—every day.”

  Oh, crap! I couldn’t believe that she was telling me it didn’t get any easier. But once I thought it over, I realized that what she’d said was priceless. I knew that I was no different than anyone else. It’s the hardest job that you’ll ever love. And it is your job. I’ll never try to perpetuate the big lie—that you can do it all easily. But I will tell you that it’s worth every minute of it.

  I started being very honest about what being a new mom on the road was like, and I never stopped telling people the truth. Years later, when I had my second daughter, Hana, I remember a young journalist explaining how other singers readied themselves for their shows.

  “I’ve heard that Mariah Carey lies down in the back of the bus and doesn’t take her head off the pillow,” the woman said. “Her assistants bring her a warm liquid that she sips through a straw to keep her vocal cords loose.”

  I nodded. Okay.

  “And Céline Dion doesn’t speak for twenty-four hours before a concert,” the woman continued. “How is it with you?”

  So I told her how it was with me.

  “Here’s what I do. I’m standing in the bathroom on the bus trying to put on mascara for the show. My two-year-old is sitting on the potty saying, ‘Mommy, wipe me!’ That’s how I get ready.”

  The young woman, who was only twenty-three years old, was horrified. Horrified!

  “Oh…” was about all she managed to get out. I just smiled. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

  I’m not sure she got it, unless maybe the day came when she went to a meeting with baby puke on her blouse or had to wipe a child’s bottom while trying to get ready for something. As for me, I decided that to be a parent is to develop your sense of humor. I decided I rather liked the idea of being Erma Bombeck with an edge.

  Ultimately, what I discovered with Haley was a hard lesson that many women, before and after, have been forced to confront: no matter how wonderful having your baby is, there is a big lie about how you can easily have it all as a working mother. The truth is, you can have it all, but it ain’t gonna be easy. It’s not like they told you—they lied about motherhood and careers. It’s harder than you think it’s gonna be. You can do it, and I think you should do it. But go in with your eyes wide open, and know that sometimes people won’t try to make it easier for you. They won’t realize that your children—your family—must come first, and the career second.

  And that was the part the feminists conveniently left out. There was no mention of how the scent of a newborn could render you incapable of making a clear decision. No explanation of how love-drunk you would be because of baby spit and chubby little fingers. No sense of how some primal bond hard-wired in your brain could cause you to do unthinkable things—like want to stay home and be a wife and mother.

  But that’s exactly what happened. In the weeks and months immediately after Haley’s birth, my brain went smooth. I couldn’t write, I didn’t want to sing—I just wanted to be with my baby. “We Belong” had missed the deadline to be nominated for a Grammy, and so for the first time in four years, I didn’t win one. That wasn’t the strange part, though. The strange part was that I didn’t even care.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE HARD WAY

  THE DISTANCE THAT HALEY’S birth put between my music and me quickly became a problem. I had a bunch of dudes around me who wanted to continue with the status quo. Keeping things as they had been was their goal, and they did not want to negotiate this next chapter.

  Almost immediately after I’d given birth to Haley, a litany of comments from Chrysalis began in an atte
mpt to motivate me back to work by warning me that there could be backlash about me having a baby.

  “No one wants to see a rocker who’s someone’s mother. Mothers aren’t sexy.”

  “You downplay this; no talking about the baby, no photos with the baby.”

  “You need to make everyone forget it ever happened. You need to assure them that nothing’s changed. That you’re still the hard-core rocker girl you’ve always been.”

  At first I dismissed all this as their typical insulting bullshit, but after hearing this chorus for long enough, I started to believe it. They made me feel that by becoming a mother, I’d risked my entire career. It got under my skin. I started to convince myself that the only way to stay on top was to rush back into things. I became panicked. What if they were even half-right? I didn’t want to make a mistake and mess everything up for our future, for Haley’s future. So I did what needed to be done: I pulled my new mother self together and went to work. And that was how in 1985, approximately three months after giving birth to Haley, I found myself recording the song “Invincible.”

  “Invincible” had come to us through our friend Holly Knight, who’d also written “Love Is a Battlefield.” She’d written the song for a film called The Legend of Billie Jean, and not long after Haley was born, she approached us to see if we were interested in recording it. In a perfect world this opportunity would have come six months later, allowing me to settle into motherhood, but unfortunately it didn’t. I really wasn’t ready on any level. I was just beginning to get a routine with Haley, figuring out how to avoid falling asleep on my feet. But there I was back in the studio laying down vocals. When it came time to shoot the video, I hadn’t even lost all my pregnancy weight, and we ended up incorporating live performance footage with scenes from the film.

  Even though the movie “Invincible” was made for ended up being a bit forgettable, the song itself was a smash, a top-ten song in the U.S. It was the hit that everyone had wanted to keep us visible, but it also had another consequence: it whetted Chrysalis’s appetite. They didn’t want just one hit single—they wanted a full album.