A Little Thing Called Life

by Linda Thompson

  I continued to wear my wedding ring for a while. We were keeping up the pretense that we were still married. I was trying to cover for Bruce and just be there for him in any way that I could. I had an open-door policy for Bruce when it came to visitation, letting him see his sons anytime he wanted to. Brandon and Brody went over to his home occasionally but never spent the night there. Bruce never created a room for them to sleep over at that house. One day, after having spent a little time at Bruce’s house, both boys came into the kitchen.

  “Mommy, we saw Daddy getting out of the shower naked, and Daddy has boobs!” they said.

  That day I began trying to cover for Bruce, to protect him and explain away what was clearly happening to his body.

  “Well, boys, you know how your dad was super-muscular and trained very hard for the Olympics?” I said. “He had big muscles, and some of those chest muscles are called ‘pectorals.’ When you stop training and you stop lifting weights, sometimes the muscle turns to fat. So his pectoral muscles have probably just gotten a little flabby and look like boobs.”

  I felt such an obligation to keep Bruce’s gender dysphoria his secret to reveal, or not, that I did not even tell my sons until they were thirty-one and twenty-nine years old, respectively. I wanted Brandon and Brody to experience enough life and garner enough knowledge, confidence, and compassion to be able to deal with their father’s true self. We are not defined by our parents, but we don’t know that as young children. I tried to raise my sons to embrace open hearts, forgiveness, kindness, tolerance, and an inclusive spirit. They have been imbued with good values and are remarkably noble, showing great acceptance, understanding, and forgiveness toward Bruce and others.

  Although they were under two and four years old at the time Bruce shared his truth with me, I immediately began trying to instill in them an encompassing scope of understanding and tolerance toward all variations of human existence. I made a determination then that it would be incumbent upon me to help cultivate in my sons the deepest facility to understand and accept all races, religions, sexual preferences, and expressions of the human condition in this world. Of course, I always would have wanted them to grow up with openness and a strong sense of humanity. But now, it was even more important for them to have a gracious heart and spirit, and an intelligent, sophisticated understanding that humans are infinitely varied. We need to embrace all people and understand that our differences as well as our commonalities are precisely what make life so interesting.

  I knew if Brandon and Brody were eventually going to understand who their dad was and still feel secure within themselves, they would need to be able to call upon all of the strength and flexibility they had been imbued with as little boys. It had been clear from the time both of my sons were born that they were all boy and totally heterosexual. They both loved little girls, even when they were quite young. I sometimes wondered if they would be able to understand their father’s need to express himself as the woman he truly felt himself to be. Again, please remember, this was three decades ago, when we knew so much less about the transgender experience, and it was so much more hidden within our culture. I felt so much pressure to get it right, to do what was best for my sons, and also for Bruce, even though it wasn’t clear back then how all of this would eventually play out. It was an agonizing experience for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone.

  In my darkest moments, however, I always returned to my empathy for Bruce and the even darker moments he was facing and had faced for as long as he could remember. The story of our separation began to leak among our friends, and our community in Malibu, in September 1985. But we didn’t go public with our separation until the following February. When the story was picked up in such publications as People magazine, we attributed the split to the distance that had come between us because of how much Bruce traveled for work. In the People interview, I tried to remain upbeat, not ruling out the possibility of reconciliation, even though my own heart had closed that door.

  I did everything in my power to support Bruce and make his life easier for him, including not asking for any child support or alimony. I may be the only woman in the state of California to have done so, but when Bruce and I divorced, that’s what I did. As confused and sad as I was, I knew that Bruce was also very confused and extremely distraught. His life was far too important to me and to our sons to risk over money.

  When Bruce and I went to court so our divorce could be granted, the judge paused the proceedings in order to discuss my choice with me. He seemed genuinely concerned.

  “Do you understand what you’re doing?” he said. “You’ve got two little kids to raise, and you’re waiving child support and alimony? You can come back for child support, if he decides to be a deadbeat. But you can never come back for alimony, even if he wins the lottery.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I hope he does win the lottery.”

  He can live out his dreams and become who he wants to be, I added in my head.

  Of course Bruce hadn’t gone public with his story yet, and so I couldn’t mention the truth of our situation, that Bruce was basically going off to become someone none of us would recognize. She in all likelihood wouldn’t be able to come out as her true self. At that time in history, who knew how people would react? Today, thirty years later, she’s been able to go on and have a vibrant public life. Back then she would have very likely lost the income from Bruce’s public speaking engagements, appearances, and endorsements once the transition was complete. She would have probably ended up living in hiding somewhere, denying any relation to the former Bruce Jenner.

  Because I couldn’t tell the judge any part of our secret, I simply tried to appear as positive and self-possessed as possible. Plus, I was still appearing on Hee Haw, so I naïvely thought I could raise two kids on that meager salary, along with whatever acting jobs I landed. And Kenny Rogers had released “Our Perfect Song,” which he’d been smitten with when I’d first played it for him, on his 1985 album, The Heart of the Matter. So there was extra income from that, too.

  “Well, I’m doing a little TV show,” I said, putting on my most upbeat tone. “And I’ve got a pretty promising songwriting career. So I’ll be okay.”

  The judge didn’t look entirely convinced. But he accepted my explanation and granted our divorce with the terms we’d requested. When Bruce and I finalized the division of our assets, we agreed that I would keep our Malibu home and assume the mortgage, and he would be granted our Lake Tahoe home, which was of similar value, maybe worth a little more. In keeping our Malibu home, I at least felt better about not disrupting Brandon’s and Brody’s lives further by having to move. Bruce assumed our tax debt, and we agreed I’d take our modest retirement fund. The only problem was that I had to pay a significant tax penalty. So I decided to sell a few items of jewelry Elvis had given me, including a lion’s head necklace that had been his. This was a difficult decision to make, and I wish I still had that piece today. But I had to take care of my two little boys, and I knew Elvis would have been glad to help me in this way.

  When I broke the news of our divorce to our inner circle, I explained the distance between us by saying that he traveled a lot, and we had grown apart.

  On top of the complex new reality Bruce and I were attempting to navigate, we also had to learn how to coparent our children, which is challenging even under the best circumstances. I tried to support Bruce and help him to maintain his relationship with the boys, but I was often alarmed by his freewheeling parenting methods. At the time, he had a big station wagon, and when he came to pick up the boys, he didn’t put seat belts on them or even make them ride in the seats. He put them in the back of the station wagon, and when he took corners sharply, they slid around. Brody came home with his whole entire back bruised. I called Bruce right away.

  “This is unacceptable,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, they had a great time,” he said. “I put the seats down in the station wagon, and they were ju
st flying around back there. They had a ball.”

  “That’s not safe,” I said. “You can’t do that.”

  On another occasion, when Brandon was seven or eight, Bruce picked him up from school in Calabasas on his motorcycle. He put him on the back, without a helmet, and drove him home via Malibu Canyon Road, which is extremely narrow and winding. I was furious at his irresponsibility.

  “Oh, you’re overprotective,” Bruce said.

  “No, that’s not overly protective,” I said. Returning the focus to what he had done, I said, “That’s dangerous.”

  It was a real struggle for me. I didn’t feel completely comfortable when Bruce had the boys, because he clearly wasn’t careful with them. But still I wanted them to have a close relationship with their dad. I resigned myself to sounding like the nagging mother. I started taking them over to Bruce’s house myself and dropping them off along with a list of guidelines.

  “Be careful,” I said. “Put seat belts on them. Don’t just let them fly around in the back of your car. No motorcycles. Dirt bikes up in the hills, that’s fine, but not on the road. And, always, helmets.”

  I’m sure Bruce heard, “Blah blah blah …”

  Anyway, they survived, thank God, and Bruce did, too. My house continued to be open to Bruce. He was invited to all of the birthday parties, Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners, and Easter egg hunts, and he was free to drop in and hang out with the boys anytime he wanted. This arrangement seemed to be more comfortable for Bruce than having the boys at his house. And I was happy to do what I could to make sure they got time with him. Of course, this setup would cause friction in my own personal life, soon enough. But the boys came first. Always.

  In the beginning, the only people other than Trudy who knew Bruce’s secret were the singer Lionel Richie and his wife, Brenda. Bruce had actually confided in Lionel himself. The Richies were great friends and I knew they were trustworthy.

  It was such a relief to have one place where I could be honest about all I was going through and receive the compassion and support of true friends. They were wonderful and did so much to help me. Right around the time Bruce left home for good, and I was struggling with my new reality as a divorced single mom, they invited me to Hawaii for a few days. Lionel kept us laughing, which was the best possible therapy, and Brenda was great. She was very kind to the boys. When my world was falling apart, they rose to the occasion and made my existence so much better than it would have otherwise been, and I’ll always appreciate that.

  Without any of us realizing it at the time, Lionel and Brenda had also opened up the next chapter in my life when they’d invited me to be their guest at the 27th Annual Grammy Awards on February 26, 1985. This was right after Bruce had made his initial confession to me, and I was glad to have a night out with my friends to take my mind off the problems at home.

  That year, Lionel was nominated for Producer of the Year, and it was a thrilling experience to be there cheering him on. My seat was across the aisle from Huey Lewis, who was a big star at the time, and the whole show offered me the chance to reconnect with the music world, which in many ways I’d been missing since Elvis’s death. After all, this world had been my life during my years with Elvis, and I was happy to find myself revisiting now as a burgeoning songwriter. Of course, at the time, Bruce and I were still officially together, and I was trying to grasp the full implications of what he had confided to me and figure out what course my life would take going forward. So at the time, I was still very much a married woman in my mind and had no interest in anyone other than my husband. And I wasn’t at all sure about him anymore, either. It was the Grammys, and I just wanted to relax, hear the music, and have fun.

  Lionel won that night, tying with a producer I’d never heard of, named David Foster, so that each received a Grammy for the song he’d produced. Lionel had his after party at Le Dome restaurant, which was a big music industry hangout, and David Foster came by with his then wife and congratulated Lionel on their shared win. This was where David and I first met, although I have no memory of the interaction. I was caught up in celebrating Lionel’s victory, and there were a great many people stopping by our table to say hello. And besides, I never looked twice at a married guy.

  A few months later, I was in the kitchen of Lionel and Brenda’s house when David came in with his wife at the time. Introductions were made all around.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand to David with a smile.

  “Oh, we actually met the night of the Grammys,” David said.

  I didn’t pay any attention to David beyond that. But, as I would soon find out, he already had designs on me. In November 1985, David surprised me by calling me on the phone. I was aware that David was a well-respected songwriter and producer, although he wasn’t as well known in the United States as he was in his native Canada. He seemed nice and was extremely charismatic, and charming. I’ve always been a big believer in being cordial and open to friendliness in others. David said he was calling me as a favor for someone else.

  “Do you know of anyone that’s renting a guesthouse?” he asked. “I have a friend who’s moving here from Canada, and I’m trying to help him out.”

  We chatted a bit. He was clearly smart and very amusing. I told him I had a guesthouse on my property that I might consider renting to his friend.

  David came over to check out the space, taking everything in as I gave him a tour.

  “I thought you were married to Bruce Jenner,” he said. “I’ve never met Bruce Jenner. Is he ever even around here?”

  “Oh, he travels a lot,” I said.

  Bruce was already living in his other house by then, and a few people in our inner circle and Malibu community knew about our separation, but we were still keeping everything as quiet as we could. David gave me a quizzical glance, but then he nodded, and we began talking about something else.

  The next time David called me, several days later, his tone was even warmer.

  “Do you like Malibu?” he asked. “We’re thinking of buying a house and moving to Malibu.”

  He and his then wife did ultimately buy a house together in Malibu. Because he was still obviously married, I didn’t think much of our budding friendship beyond the fact that he seemed like a great guy. Anyway, I had much bigger issues than a new neighbor weighing on my mind and captivating my attention.

  But soon David called wanting to play tennis. And then he called asking me to meet for a game of racquetball. Our interactions grew increasingly friendly and more intimate. He was obviously “crushing” on me, and I was all too susceptible to his attention. I knew some of David’s work, and I was impressed with his talent. I also thought he was a good family man, and I began to like him as a person. He was very funny, in a kind of deviant and irreverent way, not unlike Elvis’s sense of humor, which of course I loved.

  However, he was still married, and for the time being, at least, I was trying to simply think of him as a new friend. Given the insecurities, sadness, and what could accurately be defined as insane desperation swirling around in my consciousness, this was a moment in my life when I needed all the friends I could find.

  Adding to my fragility during this time was the fact that, while I’d been dealing with the whole Bruce situation, my mother had been told by her doctors that she was in the final months of her life. I was not only traveling with my sons to Nashville twice a year to film Hee Haw, I was also taking the boys back to Memphis once a month to see their grandmother in an attempt for them to get to know her before she died. My mother had been in somewhat poor health for as long as I could remember, and following her emphysema diagnosis in 1983, she’d been given six months to live. And while she’d amazed the doctors by defying the odds, she was extremely ill, bedridden, and on oxygen.

  I’d long grown accustomed to my mother living with one ailment or another, and it was difficult to believe anything could really fell her, strong as she was. When I was a little girl, she’d had her gallbladder removed
, and she’d gotten an infection and almost died. I went to visit her in her hospital room, earnestly clutching the flowers I’d picked for her. The nurses started crying at the sight because she was gravely ill, and they thought it was so sweet that I’d brought her what I’d thought were pretty flowers I’d picked for her myself, and they were actually weeds. But she’d hung on and lived. Probably the only reason she didn’t die is that she was such a devoted mom, and she refused to leave her kids.

  By the time I’d married Bruce in 1981, she had diverticulitis, an inflammation of the digestive track. When she came to Oahu for our wedding, it was her first time in Hawaii, which was her dream trip. Sadly, she couldn’t really enjoy it as much as she wanted to, because she had such terrible abdominal pain. And she couldn’t eat many of the local delicacies, like pineapple.

  Her health had been on a downward spiral, and then she’d received her “death sentence” in 1983, which is when I’d begun making my monthly trips back to Memphis with the boys. She wasn’t a heavy smoker, but she was a resigned smoker. She was sadly addicted to tobacco, as have been far too many others.

  “You need to quit smoking,” her doctor said.

  “Well, honey, you’ve got to die of something,” she said in her inimitable Southern way, having no idea what was coming for her.