Unfortunately, she was too good to last very long. After about six months, mommie dearest became aware that we really loved and cared about this fanturned-nurse and she was fired on some trumped up charge. Luckily for her she got a job right away as a secretary again and never mentioned being a nurse at Crawford’s asylum.
Years later when I saw this same woman in New York she told me the rest of the story. She said that she was always sorry about leaving us because she felt that she’d been able to make our lives a little easier, which was true. At the time I met her again I was about nineteen and going through a really horrendous time with mother. After I’d unburdened my troubles to her for several hours she told me the real reason she’d had to leave our house years before.
I knew it had been a bad time for mother because she was trying to get another film to do and kept complaining about always being in debt with bills piling up and the house under a second mortgage. I knew she was having a hard time but I never quite understood why we supposedly didn’t have any money because I’d heard her say before that she was making $150,000 to $200,000 a picture. Even at one picture a year, that was a hell of a lot of money in the 1950’s.
Nevertheless, it was a bad time for her generally. She didn’t have a steady boyfriend and complained about having to pick up the checks at restaurants all the time. She didn’t have her next job lined up yet and that always made for difficult times in the house because she was there so much and didn’t have enough to do to keep us from being the focus of her anger.
In addition I knew very well that her drinking was getting worse. The surest way to recognize mother’s drinking was her temper. Alcohol unleashed so much anger in that woman that it was sometimes very frightening to be around. She was never easy to deal with when she was under stress or tension but when the situation was compounded by her drinking she was impossible. She wouldn’t listen to anybody and she’d find something to focus her anger upon. When I was around it was usually me, but when I wasn’t there Chris or someone else got it. I know that she’d done it for years with men because I’d heard the fights since I was about six. I knew she drank too much when she was alone because I’d helped the nurse carry her to bed. Now there weren’t too many men around except for the assortment of homosexuals she’d known for years who served as “dates” when she had to make public appearances or wanted to go somewhere and couldn’t go alone because it wouldn’t fit in with the image of the glamorous movie star. Since she had no man, no job and said she was running low on money, the image of the movie star was about all she had left to hold onto. She protected it with all her energy, imagination and every dime she could get her hands on. Most of the money went for show … the house, the parties, her clothes and jewelry.
The former nurse then told me that after she’d been with us several months, mother started drinking very heavily at night after we’d gone to bed. The woman said that one night mother came into her room and wanted her to have a drink. The woman said no. Mother got angry and stormed back into her own room, slamming the door behind her. A few nights later the woman was already asleep and woke up to find mother standing next to her bed. She said mother must have been drinking for hours and was unsteady on her feet. Then she said that mother made a pass at her and wanted her to come into her room. The woman said no again and after a few choice swear words, mother left. After that the woman closed and locked the door to her room at night. However, when mother got drank she’d come and pound on the door cursing and telling her to unlock the door immediately. The woman said nothing and didn’t move from her bed. Finally mother left and the woman decided then and there that she couldn’t stay with us any longer.
Even though I was nineteen years old when I heard the story and knew by then to take everything I heard with a liberal grain of salt, what she told me made me sad. It didn’t shock me because I’d already seen so much my mother had done that having someone tell me they thought she was also a lesbian made little difference to me at this point.
What I did think about was the pieces of the puzzle of my own childhood. I thought about the night raids which this woman knew about because she’d been there for the rose garden and orange tree decapitation. I thought about the loneliness of the famous movie star with no job and no man, who drank herself into a solitary fury and vented her rage on the household or whomever was closest at hand that couldn’t do anything to protect themselves. I thought about the drunken arguments and the irrational anger, the fabricated stories and the lies about me and what I’d done. And then I thought about how excruciatingly ugly and sad it was for mother to get drank and crazy and make passes at the servants.
However, during early summer of 1953, I only lasted a few weeks at home. It wasn’t long before I was on my way back to school with a sigh of relief. I went back to Chadwick house after summer school since there wasn’t anywhere else for me to go.
I had been in touch with Walter and he’d come to see me on campus a couple of times. We’d even been to the movies in Redondo. I guess we were still sort of going together even though it was unofficial after graduation. He was going to college at Claremont and I knew he’d find lots of girls there, so it was nice to be able to still be special for him even for a little while longer. He came to see me one day at Chadwick house when Commander and Mrs. Chadwick were away. The only person besides me in the house was a young Japanese woman the Chadwicks had sort of adopted unofficially as their daughter and she helped with the housework in addition to working and going to college. She was quite strict with me and tended to boss me around when the Chadwicks weren’t there. When she told me that Walter was at the door, I was delighted. I had to work hard at the house and it was a lovely surprise to be seeing Walter. He stayed for about an hour and we sat outside with some iced tea. He was getting excited about going off to college and I enjoyed hearing about all his plans. He told me that he’d keep in touch with me and try to see me. I smiled because it was nice to hear that he cared, not because I though that would be the case in reality. He kissed me goodbye and left. After I walked him to his car, I went back to finish my work.
It, therefore, came as a huge shock to me when Mrs. Chadwick was furious with me when she found out Walter had visited. I was completely baffled because I hadn’t made the arrangement, I hadn’t called to ask him to come over, I hadn’t opened the door to let him in and I knew I hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. For once I stood up to Mrs. Chadwick and told it to her exactly like that. She countered by saying that I wasn’t supposed to have any visitors without her permission. I asked point blank, “since when?” What was I supposed to do? Tell Walter to wait outside while I called Mrs. Chadwick to ask if I could see him, when we’d gone steady for almost a whole year at school and he’d been student body president. It was all absurd. I told her that we just sat out on the patio with some ice tea and he left after about an hour. The Japanese woman had told Mrs. Chadwick that Walter had kissed me goodbye. I didn’t see one thing to be ashamed about and I told her so. She and Commander went into a conference right after she spoke so sharply to me and I think he must have calmed her down somewhat because I didn’t hear any more about it that evening.
It was decidedly bad timing that my mother called the next night for her weekly report on my behavior. Mrs. Chadwick made the mistake of telling mother about the Walter incident of the day before and mother flew into one of her rages. In no time at all they had me on the extension phone and mother was screaming that I wasn’t to be trusted and she was going to have to bring me home since I was causing Mrs. Chadwick so much trouble. After the phone call I saw Mrs. Chadwick crying. As terrible as I felt, it hurt me to see her cry. Mrs. Chadwick was such a basically good person that she never learned to second guess mother and she just never got used to how mother could made any molehill into a mountain of her own choice. This time Mrs. Chadwick knew that she’d been responsible for getting me into much more trouble than I deserved and there was nothing that she could do about it now.
I nev
er understood why she wouldn’t recognize the problem with mother’s drinking and kept falling into the same trap, taking me with her. I knew Mrs. Chadwick loved me and wished me no harm of any kind. I knew that she was a very well educated woman who had a brilliant mind. But many times I wished that she’d had a little more sophistication about the rotten side of the world we all lived in so that these blunders of hers wouldn’t disrupt my life for months on end. I think the trouble was that she tried to talk sense to mother and she was intimidated by her. That’s a trait she shared with many. Most people were intimidated by mother in one way or another.
About 10 o’clock that night mother showed up in the station wagon with her secretary as a companion. She’d been drinking and at least had the good sense not to drive by herself. I was packed and ready to go as soon as she finished talking with Mrs. Chadwick. Mother wouldn’t speak to me except to order me into the back seat of the car. But before we left the Palos Verdes area, she asked the secretary if there was a liquor store in the area. The secretary said she didn’t know anything about Palos Verdes. I volunteered from the back seat that there was a liquor store about two blocks away once we got to the main street. Mother slammed on the brakes which nearly sent me into the front seat and the secretary into the windshield. Mother slapped me across the face and growled, “You always know where to find the boys and the booze, don’t you?” As I opened my mouth to explain, she slapped me several more times and ordered me to shut up. I sank down into the back seat and didn’t say another word during the drive home. When we went into the house I went upstairs to my room to go to bed. I never wanted to say another word to her ever … period.
The next few days were just terrible. She wasn’t talking to me, so she’d order the secretary or the nurse to tell me what to do. She kept me working ten or twelve hours a day. I ate my meals in silence and went to bed. There was to be no television, no radio, no books, no unnecessary conversations with anyone.
Toward the middle of that week, things eased off a bit and settled into just the normal bullshit routine of whispering in the mornings and abiding by the rules.
Mother had a friend who was visiting from the east and she’d invited the woman to have dinner with us one night. The woman’s name was Dorothy and when the evening arrived, mother decided that she’d take Dorothy and me to Don the Beachcomber’s. Under normal circumstances that would have been good news, but I was extremely nervous about being with mother for any length of time, particularly in the evening. I’d found that staying out of her way and saying yes as pleasantly as possible was my only salvation. Everything I did seemed to irritate her immensely and I simply tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. An evening alone with her was not welcome and I hoped fervently that the lady would be talkative so that I could keep my mouth shut.
Going to Don the Beachcomber’s and being with mother was enough of a treat for Dorothy so that she felt obligated to entertain mother for the duration of dinner. I sat furthest away from mother and tried my best to do nothing to bring attention to myself. I smiled and nodded and was conscious of my most precise table manners … offering everyone the food before I took any, taking small portions when I helped myself and only speaking when I was directly asked a specific question. In other words, I was a nervous wreck the entire time. Dorothy seemed oblivious to anything except enjoying herself as mother’s guest and chattered happily for several hours. Dinner went smoothly for me, though I noticed with some trepidation that mother was drinking a number of vodkas on the rocks.
We were nearly home and I was literally counting the minutes until I could safely escape to my room when Dorothy asked me how school was going. I had been sitting silently in the back seat until then, seemingly unnoticed by either of them. I replied that I liked school very much.
Dorothy asked me about several people’s children that she knew who were also at Chadwick. One of the students had been expelled. I told her that I thought one of the students she mentioned had some trouble and had been expelled. With that mother turned half way around to momentarily face me, while driving full speed ahead, and icily inquired who was I to say anything about anyone else, since I’d been expelled too.
I was so taken aback that I didn’t have any answer for her. I had not been expelled from school. She’d created a scene and taken me away from the Chadwick’s house when school wasn’t even in session. I could see that Dorothy was embarrassed and I didn’t utter another word during the remainder of the drive.
Once we were inside the house I went to my mother when I found her alone and asked her why she’d told Dorothy I’d been expelled when it wasn’t true. Mother hauled off and hit me across the side of my head so hard it made my ears ring. She told me in no uncertain terms that she’d decide what the truth was and that considering how much I lied no one believed me anyway no matter what I said. All I said was “That’s not true” and she slapped me across the face again.
I was so mad I didn’t cry even though it really hurt. I just stood there staring right back at her, determined that I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing one tear. She slapped me hard several times again and then stepped back saying, “You love it don’t you … you just love to make me hit you.” By this time her friend Dorothy was in the room and saw the last time she slapped me.
Only because mother didn’t want Dorothy to have any more information about our happy Hollywood home, mother called me into the bar to finish our conversation. I followed her into the little room where the drinks were fixed. She sat on the counter top and asked me why I insisted on arguing with her. I answered that I didn’t wish to argue, but that I also didn’t appreciate her telling people that I’d been expelled from school, which wasn’t true. I said I thought she was supposed to be the one who was more understanding since she was the parent and the adult.
From the distance of this much time, it may not sound like it now, but this was the wrong thing to say to my mother at that particular moment in the time and space of our lives. It triggered something in her, the likes of which I never saw before and hope never to see again. It struck at some volcanic trauma in the center of her being that erupted with a violence, a hatred and a suddenness that plunged us both into an instantaneous struggle for survival.
She leaped off the counter and grabbed for my throat like some mad dog … like some wild beast … with a look in her eyes that will never be erased from my memory. I was caught totally defenseless and staggered backward, carried by her momentum. I lost my footing and fell to the floor, hitting my head on the ice chest in the fall. The choking pain of her fingers around my throat met the thudding ache of the blow to the back of my head. She banged my head on the floor, tightening her grip around my throat. Her face was only a few inches away from mine and she was screaming words at me I couldn’t even hear. Her mouth was twisted with rage and her eyes … her eyes were the eyes of a killer animal, glistening with excitement. I gasped for air and felt myself sinking into unconsciousness as I tried desperately to fight back … to free myself. All I could think of was that my own mother was trying to kill me. If something or someone didn’t help me very soon I was going to die. I tried with the last bit of my strength to struggle free of those choking fingers and managed to wedge one of my knees between her body and mine and push upward on her ribs with my hands which loosened her grip slightly. It at least allowed a trickle of air down my throat and kept me from loosing consciousness. Now I fought back harder. I didn’t want to die. I completely forgot that she was my mother. She was trying to kill me and if I had the strength I would try to kill her first. She was terribly strong and all I could do was concentrate on loosening her grip on my throat.
The next thing I knew the door opened and the secretary Billie burst into the small room, no larger than a hallway with counters on both sides.
“My God, Joan … you’re going to kill her …,” Billie yelled. She tried to pull mother away from me. Though Billie was also a strong woman, it took her some time to separate the two of us
. When Billie had succeeded in pulling us apart, mother continued to hit me across the face. I felt her ring cut my lip and saw some blood on her hand.
“Joan … Stop … Stop … you’re going to kill her!” Billie yelled again. Finally mother allowed herself to be pulled away from me and sank into Billie’s arms sobbing. I lay on the floor several minutes trying to catch my breath and get my bearings. My head was throbbing and I had a hard time swallowing, but nothing seemed to be broken. I raised myself to a sitting position slowly to test whether or not I was all right. Through her tears mother ordered me to go up to the middle room and get into bed. Someone would be up to lock me in there.
The “middle room” was one of the servants’ rooms off the back stairs, now used primarily for storage although it still had a bed and dresser in it. It had only small windows, no trees outside and no bathroom attached to it. Having to sleep in the middle room was a form of punishment for either Chris or me. It meant that we were not being trusted to stay put. I had tried to run away only once a long time ago but my brother Chris had successfully made the break several times already even though he was three years my junior.
Up I went to the middle room and put myself wearily into bed without brushing my teeth or washing my face. Since I had no pajamas or nightgown I just took off my clothes and left on only my underwear. I lay in the darkness for a few minutes before I heard the key turn in the lock outside the closed door to the room.
Strange to say that although I ached all over there was no real sensation of pain. I felt a peculiar numbness throughout my entire body and mind. I briefly thought about trying to figure out just exactly what had happened, but the image of the look in mother’s eyes flashed across my memory and I decided to just fall asleep.
Mommie Dearest Page 19
