As the days went by, Max told story after story – how he discovered Ernest Borgnine, Humphrey Bogart, Marilyn Monroe among many others. He was even one of the talent scouts searching for Scarlett in “Gone with the Wind.” My mind boggled with this treasure trove of information, and I would race home to tell Bill all about it. Of course he was duly impressed, himself being a movie buff.
It was most unfortunate that the other high-powered agents and moguls at CMA had no interest in Max. They looked upon him as a has-been, and I am sure he felt their scorn. It was very sad, and for the first time in my life I became quite protective. I could see how the business was geared toward younger agents, who could relate more to super-stars. Sometimes the agents themselves became super stars. They were known as “super agents” and we certainly had our fill at CMA.
Forgive me, but I am going to drop a few names now and you probably won’t have heard of any of them. But back in 1970 they were hard-nosed agents, representing the highest calibre stars, and they all had offices at CMA.
There was the very bitchy, blonde and foul mouthed Sue Mengers. No-one liked her because she was fat, loud, rude and pushy. You could hear her screaming on the phone, from one end of the office floor to the other. I remember going into the ladies’ room one day, and she was sitting on the toilet with the cubicle door wide open. With pudgy legs wide apart, she was smoking a cigarette. She didn’t miss a beat when she saw me, and went on peeing. There were no cell phones in those days, but I’m sure if she were around today, she would have had her ear glued to one constantly. However, she did represent the most super of super-stars, including Barbara Streisand, Gene Hackman, and Jack Nicholson and lived a very glamorous life.
Then there was the slight, dark and very delightful Jack Gilardi. He was married to Disney’s Annette Funicello, star of the “Mickey Mouse Club.” Everyone liked Jack as he was polite and friendly. Other super agents included the very young and reserved Jeff Berg, who handled literary clients. He went on to become the head of the agency many years later. Dick Shepherd and red-headed Mike Medavoy were also hotshots and of course Freddie Fields, husband of actress Polly Bergen, was the head of the office with his brother, Shep Fields, also a part of the action.
Even the mail room had its share of up-and-coming agents, who were starting their careers as mail carriers. Joey Funicello, Annette’s younger brother, delivered mail to our desks each day, and ended up as an agent, as did James Caan’s younger brother, Ronnie.
Lots of quiet whispers surrounded David Begelman, who was a New York CMA agent. He often came to the office for meetings, and later became the head of Columbia Pictures. He was disgraced in a check forging scandal several years later, and committed suicide in 1978.
CHAPTER SIX
Back at our apartment on Cartwright Avenue in North Hollywood, I tried my hand at domesticity. Mum had never really taught me how to cook, but I had tried a course or two of home-making classes back in England, when I was working at Granada. Bill enjoyed home-cooked meals – whatever I did sure beat opening a can of Dinty Moore stew – and I tried my best to be innovative. I remember making an apple crumble for him one night, which was greeted with hearty appreciation.
The novelty of having our own place soon wore off. We had only lived in the apartment for two months, and I was getting fed up. We were in the San Fernando Valley, known for its warm temperatures, humidity and . . . bugs. When I worked in our kitchen, cooking delicious meals for Bill, I couldn’t help but notice the giant sized insects nonchalantly marching across the floor. I would shriek in terror, and Bill would have to pick them up and place them outside. He was used to bugs, having grown up in Sherman Oaks, and they were no big deal. Not me, though. There were no bugs in England – especially not ants. It was too cold for insects to exist over there but here they seemed to reproduce as I looked at them. The humongous water bugs that I found in our bath tub were enough to make me faint with terror. I decided we would have to move, and I encouraged Bill to check out new places since he got off work much earlier than I did. Cartwright Avenue just didn’t feel like home and I had no desire to entertain our friends in this uncomfortable apartment.
By the end of February 1970, we had only been married three months, but our lives were about to change for the better. Bill came home one night and announced he had found us the perfect apartment.
“Where? What? Tell me? How much?” The questions burst out of me in my excitement.
“I’ve seen the most beautiful apartment ever,” he gushed. “It’s in a complex called Villa Venetia in Marina del Rey.”
Marina del Rey! Oh my lord. I couldn’t believe my ears. We had driven out there once and marvelled at the new marina and harbour. It had been completed in 1965, so was only five years old. I was beside myself with excitement and clamoured to take a look.
“I’ve put a deposit down,” Bill announced proudly. “It’s a lot more money than we’re paying now – $200 a month.” Since we were only paying $145 a month for rent, this sounded like a fortune. “Wait ‘til you see it,” he went on, “you’ll be so happy.”
And happy I was. More than happy – I was elated, joyous, filled with the kind of emotion I had never experienced before. Our apartment, located in the Villa Venetia complex off Fiji Way, was fantastic. The Fisherman’s Village was just steps away, as was the marina. We could walk out of our apartment and within moments be standing at the water’s edge, watching the yachts sail by.
The first time I stepped into our second floor apartment, my heart almost stopped. The living room was huge, and the central features were a gas fireplace that operated at the touch of a button on the wall, and a mirror-backed wet bar. We had a serviceable kitchen, dining area, and fairly large living room. A large balcony ran the length of the apartment, overlooking a swimming pool. The bathroom was nothing inspiring, but our one large bedroom sported the most enormous walk-in closet I had ever seen. I knew from that moment on that my life was really starting, and only good things were going to come to us.
It was wonderful to finally have a real home of our own, one that I could be proud of. I planned our first meal with special care. We were going to have chicken with banana fritters and spinach salad. The chicken turned out great, but the spinach not so much. I was still such a novice cook, that I didn’t realise that I shouldn’t cook fresh spinach in boiling water. It came out slimy and nasty and I had to throw it away. Still, it was fun playing house and being a real housewife at last. All we needed now was a baby.
Back on the work front, poor Max Arnow had been given the boot. He just couldn’t keep up with the livewires running the show at CMA, and I was told I would have a new boss. I was a little nervous when he first arrived, as he was young, but very sophisticated, and almost stern in his demeanour. There was no camaraderie with Guy McElwaine and our relationship was never truly comfortable. Conversely, I respected him greatly, and went out of my way to make myself indispensable because I knew he was going to be more than a “super agent”.
There were several interesting and attractive secretaries at CMA, and I became friendly with a few of them. At the desk next to me was a beautiful young woman who was constantly on the phone with all her boyfriends, I could hear her talking quietly to one married actor with whom she was having a clandestine affair. She later became involved with another very well-known Hollywood actor, known for his indiscriminate sexual peccadilloes, and was constantly using her lunch hour to speed to the local free clinic for penicillin, never certain if her had infected her or not.
I smiled to myself listening to all the gossip. It reminded me of Granada and my earlier days. But now I was above all that. I was a married woman, trying to have a baby. I didn’t need to flirt any more or accept dates. I was taken. This knowledge gave me a feeling of security and comfort I had never known before and I went out of my way to let Bill know how happy I was to have married him. I sent him cute little letters and love notes at every opportunity. Life was really good and I felt content for the first
time in my life.
I made friends with another secretary called Laura. She and I hit it off right away, and we lunched together and discussed our men. She was engaged to a French Canadian, Marc Poulin, and was looking forward to marrying him in the near future. Laura listened to me talk of my desire for a family, and sympathized. One day she came to work with a white, blue eyed kitten, and asked if I wanted him. I had always been a sucker for animals, and snatched him up.
“Of course, I’ll take him,” I exclaimed. “He’s gorgeous”.
Huckleberry captured our hearts, and Bill was as taken with him as I was. We would open our apartment door, step into the hallway, and throw a ball down the length of the corridor. Huck would race after the ball, like a dog, and proudly return it between his teeth. I adored that cat and, for a while, he took the place of the baby I yearned for.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In April 1971 Bill was turning 39 years old. I decided to throw a huge party to celebrate the occasion, and invited all our friends to join us in our Marina del Rey apartment. I was fortunate to have Raymond, who was Freddy Field’s personal chef, prepare the menu for me. As you may recall, Freddy was the top agent at CMA. Since Raymond was always at the office, it was easy to ask for a favour, especially since I was prepared to pay him well. He made a delicious lasagne tray, salad, French bread, and a peppermint and chocolate ice cream cake.
So many people showed up, including Jean Deskin (my old flat mate from Beverly Hills); cousin Jackie and her new boyfriend, Fred; Ginny Chernack (the judge who had saved the day!); and various other close friends. To my surprise, Jean brought along a person from my past. John Dennis! You may remember that John was a thirty something actor back in 1956 when I was fourteen years old. He had shown a strange interest in me, and I had been saved from his advances by the sudden return of my mother to our apartment.
Nevertheless, these memories had faded and I was beside myself with excitement when I saw his face. He hadn’t changed much physically, and was overjoyed to see me. We talked for a while, and arranged to meet the next week to catch up.
John asked to meet Bill and me at a small religious facility in Beverly Hills, which I thought was quite odd. When we got there, he told us his story. Apparently, he had been working on a movie at Universal Studios, and had been accused of child molestation. He was married at the time and had a young child himself. He was sent to prison for several years, and when he came out, he had an epiphany. He found God in jail! Now he was a minister, filled with a renewed zest for life, and saving people. I was happy that his life was back on track, and we promised to keep in touch. We didn’t.
At the birthday party, I had also made arrangements to meet up with Jean the following week. I had told her how much I wanted a baby, and she confided that she knew the best fortune teller in Los Angeles. Always interested in psychics, I was eager to meet this one, who Jean promised would tell me if and when I would get pregnant.
We drove to the psychic’s house and I received some very welcome news. She told me that I would get pregnant very soon, with a daughter. She also said I would have a son, one day, who would turn out to be either a priest or an actor. Laughing, I said, “Well, he definitely won’t be a priest.” Little did I know how accurate her predictions would turn out to be.
I was due a week’s vacation, and decided to join my mother for a trip back to England. She wanted to visit her childhood friend, Oudie in London, and Mary Shevloff, our neighbour, from Sale, and had asked if Bill and I would go with her. Bill had to work, so he elected to stay at home with Huckleberry, while I took off for London.
After arriving at Heathrow, we took the train to Edgeware in North London, to stay with Oudie. The moment I arrived, I called Steve, who was very pleased to hear from me. We made arrangements to meet, and he arrived at Oudie’s flat the next night. When I saw him again, I realised that my feelings had changed, and I could see him only as a friend. We had a meal together, and then parted on good terms. I also called my old beau from Granada, the golden-haired actor, Richard Howard. He took a train to Oudie’s to visit for the afternoon and we enjoyed one of her magnificent teas. As we scoffed down her delicious trifle, Richard and I caught up on all our news.
I made a quick visit while I was in London to see my old Granada pal, Sue Pethybridge, and was happy to see that she and her editor boyfriend, Richie Stewart, were living together. I invited them both to visit Bill and myself as soon as they could.
It was wonderful to see my old boyfriends, and of course I was looking forward to taking the train to Manchester to visit Pauline and her mother, Mary Shevloff, and all my other friends. My ex flat-mate, Min, was marrying her Welsh cameraman, and Christine was newly married to a Granada employee named David Dale. Pauline had also married, and had recently given birth to her first son, Matthew. My friends Zelda and Mike were bringing up their son, Myles, so it appeared that everyone was getting on with their lives and were quite happy. The week flew by and we had a wonderful time. Bill wrote to me while I was gone, and the letters he sent made me miss him more than I thought possible.
On my return to Los Angeles, I told Bill I was worried that I hadn’t become pregnant. We decided to see a fertility specialist, Dr. Adler, in Beverly Hills and rang to make an appointment. Meanwhile, my job was proving to be more exciting than I had anticipated. Guy had been given a choice selection of clients, including Natalie Wood, Raquel Welch, Samantha Eggar, Candice Bergen, Robert Wagner, Warren Beatty and George C. Scott, among others. Every day was exciting and I never knew who would show up at my desk.
Guy had recently married Sheila, an Englishwoman, and she had just become pregnant with their first child. She was his third or fourth wife – who could keep track? They were both fairly friendly toward me and even invited me to visit their new home in Bel Air. Guy was full of excitement when he purchased the house on Stone Canyon Drive, exclaiming that he had paid the exorbitant amount of $90,000 for it. In 1971 this was a great deal of money to pay for a home and I expect it fetched several million when he sold it many years later. I gazed with envy at Sheila’s “bump”, praying that I, too, could have a child.
Bill and I arrived at Dr. Adler’s office in Beverly Hills in the spring of 1971. After examining me, he suggested that we try artificial insemination. That sounded pretty radical for the times, and I was not certain what it entailed. However, after explaining the procedure, I figured it would be pretty easy. All Bill had to do was ejaculate into a plastic container, and I would then drive from Marina del Rey to Beverly Hills, give it to the doctor, and he would use a turkey baster to insert the fluid inside me. Sounded pretty simple, but somehow Bill managed to screw it up.
On our first attempt, the doctor sadly informed us that all the sperm had died. Bill had apparently used soap to lubricate himself and the soap killed the sperm. We tried several times but it was proving futile. Finally, Dr. Adler suggested we relax, enjoy each other and just let nature take its course.
“Wait and see?” Not me. I had to make it happen because I was, by this time, frantic to have a child. Huckleberry was receiving all my hugs and kisses, but he wasn’t the same as a baby.
My mother decided to give me the benefit of her wisdom and suggested I douche with baking soda or, if that didn’t work, vinegar.
“You might have too much acid in your body,” she offered. “If you do this, perhaps the baking soda will neutralize the acid.”
I was up for anything, so took her advice. A few weeks later, after arriving home from a wonderful meal at the Fisherman’s Village, and having enjoyed a good bottle of wine, we made whoopee on Bill’s mother’s birthday, June 21, 1971. That night our first child was conceived.
Of course I was in ecstasy when I realised I was pregnant. All my dreams were coming true, and I could not have been happier. Our marriage seemed to be perfect, despite the lack of sexual passion. We were good partners, having fun together, regularly entertaining friends, and enjoying our respective jobs. Life could not have been better, a
nd I savoured every moment of my pregnancy.
I furnished our bedroom with a yellow crib and chest of drawers, and had everything in readiness for the new baby months before it was due. Huckleberry would leap into the crib and sleep on the fresh sheets, as if it were his personal sleeping spot. I certainly treated that cat as if he were my child and had no problem with him enjoying the crib, even though my mother warned me that he might smother the baby if I continued to allow him to sleep there.
Our marriage was working well. It seemed as though there were only a few negatives, one of which was our religious views. Bill was a pretty devout Christian while I was a non-practising Jew. He enjoyed driving out to the Valley on a Sunday to attend services at St. Michael’s church. I accompanied him, as I felt it was important to be together as a family, and I enjoyed the friends we made there. Our intimacy was not much better than it had been, but as far as I was concerned it was ok. Not earth-shattering, but who cared? I had been told by friends that sexual passion usually wears off, but a good friendship is more important.
I assumed he was happy enough because he never indicated that he wasn’t. We laughed a lot and had a wonderful social life and I assumed that this was what marriage was supposed to be. Did I think about those passion-filled nights with my prior lovers? No, not at all. I was now a respectable married woman and had no inclination whatsoever to look at another man.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In October 1971 Bill and I decided to take a trip to Europe and meet up with his ex brother-in-law Tom Schultz, and his wife, Jeanne who were already in London. Although I was three months pregnant, I was healthy and looking forward to a great holiday. We flew into London and stayed at the Hyde Park Hotel in their honeymoon suite. Tom and Jeanne picked us up in their VW camper and we drove from London to Austria to Germany, staying at various hotels along the way. We ended up at the Oktoberfest in Munich and had a grand time drinking beer and visiting castles.
No Ordinary Woman Page 19
