We left Tom and Jeanne in Germany, and made our way to Florence, Italy where we spent a few days exploring the city. We flew home from Milan invigorated and refreshed.
On the work front, life was becoming more and more interesting. I remember coming into the office at 10:00 am one morning, to hear the phone ringing off the hook. As usual it was Raquel Welch, asking in a pitiful voice if she could speak to Guy. Since he was in the morning staff meeting, I could do nothing but talk to her since she obviously needed a willing ear to listen to her ramblings. She was sweet but had no self-esteem. All she could talk about was her fear of doing the next project and wondering why she was not given better parts. She was about to start filming “Kansas City Bomber” and was terrified that this film might flop. I felt like “Dear Abby” listening to her, trying to give constructive advice, but mainly being a sounding board. At that time, she was married to Patrick Curtis, who was a very slick manager, determined to make Raquel into the biggest bombshell of all time.
Weeks turned into months and I became more and more fascinated with my work and the people I was meeting. I remember Warren Beatty calling Guy on the phone one day. Guy was out and I told Warren that he would call him back.
“I’m at the Beverly Hills Hotel,” he informed me. “Why don’t you come over?”
“Uh, I’m pregnant,” I responded “and married.”
“So what?” he laughed. “I like them pregnant.”
The actors I came in contact with were varied and of all ages. One of Guy’s favourite clients, whom I never met in person, but spoke with often on the phone, was Roddy McDowell. He lived in New York and was the most charming and kind man I have ever dealt with. Guy was very fond of Roddy, and would visit him as often as he could when he was on the east coast.
My pregnancy was progressing, but I was determined to work until the last minute. One day, Guy asked me to pick up a client and take him to a rental house in the Hollywood Hills while his fiancée was on an audition. As I gathered my purse and keys, Guy added, “Yes, pick up George C. Scott and take him to the house on Coldwater Canyon. And then pick up Trish van Devere from her audition at the studios and take her back to the house.”
I wasn’t star struck, since I had worked with what I considered to be “real actors” in England. I picked up both “stars” and left them without too much fuss or bother.
I enjoyed the little moments at CMA. Grabbing the elevator as the doors were closing, only to find myself face to face with a fairly short man with dazzling blue eyes – Paul Newman! Or being sent down to Reception to bring up Candace Bergen – who I thought had a very pointy nose. Robert Wagner and Lee Marvin were both very tall and handsome, while Samantha Eggar was sympathetic and beautiful.
I was six months pregnant when Guy announced that Natalie Wood was throwing a baby shower for his wife, Sheila, who was now eight months pregnant. Out of the blue he looked up and said “I think you should go.”
I was horrified! Me? Go to Natalie Wood’s house on a social occasion? I think not.
I said I would rather not go as I wouldn’t know anyone. Guy insisted, saying it would be fun.
I remember wearing a full-length sleeveless blue dress that I hoped was appropriate. I drove through Beverly Hills, trying to find Natalie’s house on Bentley Drive. Eventually I came up to the long driveway, and parked my MG Midget sports car next to the glamorous cars belonging to the other guests.
I walked up to the front door and knocked. A waiter, holding a tray filled with glasses of sangria, beckoned me to enter. I looked in front of me and saw the room filled with women – stars – and I felt incredibly overwhelmed and self-conscious. Without paying attention, I stepped forward, and tumbled down the three steps which were directly in front of the door. I almost fell, but managed to catch myself. How embarrassing! Then, a beautiful woman appeared in front of me. She was tiny, perfect, like a doll. Her eyes were the hugest brown and her hair was a shining dark waterfall to her shoulders. This was Natalie Wood. She was dressed to perfection with a huge cross hanging from her neck. She introduced herself to me, and asked me to sit down.
I accepted the glass of sangria that the waiter offered me. Who knew in those days that drinking was bad for a pregnant woman? Not me. In fact, I was still smoking! I sat there, next to Gail Hunnicut Hemmings and her baby boy, and listened to everyone make small talk. I said not a word until the event was over, and then left. I was incredibly uncomfortable and felt I had nothing in common with these famous actresses. I suppose I was a bit of a snob, feeling that American actors were just flash-in-the-pan successes, while their British counterparts were the real thing. The truth of the matter was, I had nothing to say.
Bill and I were enjoying our married life in Marina del Rey, and I felt very grown up when his sixteen year old son, Larry, came to visit. Larry had lived with his mother and step father in Oregon for many years and Bill had not really made much effort to spend a great deal of time with him. I found Larry to be a very charming young man, who immediately had a crush on me. I was only ten years older, so it was to be expected. There were very few problems and I enjoyed having my two men and Huckleberry.
One day I came home from work to find that Huckleberry had disappeared. I couldn’t believe that my cat had actually found his way out from our second floor apartment. I searched every street around the marina, calling his name, sobbing with distress. I loved that animal as much as any pet I had ever owned, and refused to believe that I might never see him again. I pinned up notices on trees, fences and anywhere allowed, hoping against hope that someone would return him. But we never saw our blue-eyed cat again and I was inconsolable.
I arrived home from work a few weeks later to an incredible surprise. Bill had driven out to the San Fernando Valley to pick up a kitten for me, to replace Huckleberry. Kittens were not available locally, so he had looked in the newspaper and found a pet shop offering a Manx kitten for the outrageous sum of $300.
Phineas was adorable. White with green eyes, and of course no tail, he melted my heart. I placed him on our king size bed, and was startled to see him fall over. We put him on the floor and saw that he could not jump and was very unsteady on his feet. After a few days observation, nothing had changed. Friends told us that he was probably an in-bred cat and had motor problems. We took him to a vet who told us that Phineas had the equivalent of cerebral palsy. I asked Bill to take him back to the pet shop and get his $300 back.
The next day, Bill returned Phineas to the pet shop and asked for a refund. Not being the most assertive of men, he was talked into keeping Phineas, and accepting a second cat at no charge. So back he came with Phineas and, as an added bonus, Suky, a black, pregnant cat who was scared out of her wits.
I arrived home from work to find Phineas on the bed, and Suky hiding under it. She wouldn’t come out for days, and when we discovered she was pregnant, we had to take her to the vet for an abortion. Now we had two cats and an imminent baby.
My friend from work, Laura, and her fiancé, Jean Marc had become close friends. I asked Laura if she would like to be godmother to my child, and she happily agreed. On March 3, 1972 I went to work as usual and decided to register at Cedars of Lebanon Hospital in Los Angeles for the birth of my baby. Bill had been born there as well, which was a happy coincidence. I was due on March 24th, so thought it would be prudent to visit the hospital in my lunch hour and do the necessary paperwork.
Laura agreed to come with me, and as it was a sunshiny spring day, we walked the many blocks to the hospital on our lunch hour. By the time we got back to the office, my feet were blistered and killing me. I couldn’t wait to get home and have a relaxing bath.
I arrived home around 5.00 pm and went into the bedroom to chat with my mother on the phone while Bill was in the kitchen, preparing our dinner. As I was talking to my mother, my water broke. I gave a cry of surprise, and Mum asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” I responded. “I think my water broke”.
“You have to get to the hospital right away. You are supposed to have a C-section, and you don’t want to go into labour,” she exclaimed.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’m fine. There’s no rush.”
My mother’s frantic protestations urging me to get to the hospital right away made me realise that perhaps this was the day. Perhaps my baby was coming three weeks early. Mum told me that she would take the bus to the hospital and meet us there.
Bill was most concerned that I would get my “water” on his new BMW car, so he stuffed a towel between my legs to protect his precious automobile. We sped down the “405” freeway to Cedars of Lebanon in downtown Los Angeles, and arrived there around 7 pm. I was immediately wheeled into the delivery room and prepared for a C-section. I had no idea what to expect, but presumed it would be painless. I was given an injection at the base of my spine to numb me from the waist down. To my shock and horror, I went into convulsions as the medication entered my bloodstream. I had never experienced anything so frightening before and wondered if the shaking would ever stop. It was with great relief that the convulsions ceased when a nurse threw a warm, wet blanket over my body. I couldn’t see what was happening, as a screen had been placed in front of me. All I could feel was a pressure on my stomach. After what seemed an eternity, a shrieking bundle was withdrawn from my body and held up for me to see.
“Here is your baby girl.” announced Dr. Adler. “I am very surprised you were able to have a baby at all,” he went on. “Your tubes are full of scar tissue. If you want another child, you will need to have your tubes cleaned out.” I hardly took in what he was saying. All I could do was gaze at this creature, covered in a thin white wax that was my daughter. In less time than it took to take in everything, she was whisked away, and I was wheeled into the recovery room. It was 9:30 pm on March 3, 1972, and Vanessa Eve Fee had entered my world.
Valerie and Vanessa 1972
CHAPTER NINE
It only took a week for me to get back on my feet, despite the massive scar that reached from my navel to my pubic bone. Instead of making a new incision, the doctor had chosen to re-open my first one, which was a poor decision. It wasn't easy taking care of a newborn and a husband with stitches that were red raw and gas pains that had me doubled over. However, I was so taken with my new baby girl that I didn't notice the discomfort.
We settled into family life at Villa Venetia, and I enjoyed showing Vanessa off to the tenants in the building. I would change her dress several times a day, and appear at the pool with my dolled up baby in tow. She seemed to have inherited my intolerance for milk and would projectile vomit every time I gave her formula. It was most unfortunate, especially since she constantly ruined her lovely new clothes. She had refused to breast feed, so I had no choice but to put her on the bottle.
I finally got her settled with a Soy milk formula, and all was well. Sue Pethybridge and her Richie arrived from England for a two-week vacation, and we enjoyed entertaining them, taking a trip with them and the new baby to Carmel and San Francisco. My life seemed full and happy, and I was truly content for the first time in my life. I finally had everything I had always dreamed of.
Vanessa was a colicky baby and had trouble sleeping at night. She would cry for hours on end, and the only way we could calm her was for Bill to take her out in the car. He would drive for hours through the night, sometimes going as far as Santa Barbara. He would arrive home in the early hours of the morning, whereupon she would wake up and start wailing again.
Eventually her repeated crying caused problems with the neighbours, who were complaining about being kept up at night. Our apartment complex was supposedly for adults only, although several young married couples had babies. We did our best to keep her quiet, as we loved living at Villa Venetia and didn't want to leave. Bill's son, Larry, visited for the entire summer, and enjoyed being a “big brother” to little Vanessa. We took him to the dentist, bought him new clothes, and introduced him to other young men who lived in our complex. He seemed to fit right in and enjoyed being part of our little family.
One day I decided to take Vanessa to see my cousin Jackie, who had not had an opportunity to see our three-month-old baby. She had recently become involved with a dynamic young man named Fred Rappaport, and was spending most of her time with him. I drove to Hollywood and Highland, where Jackie had her office, located in a tall high-rise. She and Aunt Corry had their own business, “Continental Domestics,” supplying household help to celebrities.
After our visit, I returned to the huge parking lot. As I was about to enter my car, a woman spoke to me.
“I could have used a baby like that last week” she commented.
“Really?” I queried, not quite knowing what she meant.
“I’m Evelyn Schultz. I’m with the Jack Wormser Agency,” she explained, handing me her card. “We represent babies and children for television and commercials.”
I stood there awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say, fearful of appearing too eager.
“Why don't you send me her photograph, and I'll try and get her some work,” Evelyn went on.
I was thrilled and took the business card she offered, determined to get little Vanessa into show business as quickly as possible. A stage mother? Me? Nah!!
Bill was still attending church at St. Michael's in Studio City, and although I had accompanied him almost every week, especially when Vanessa was very tiny, it became a chore and I stopped going. It was a relief to have the apartment to myself on a Sunday morning, just enjoying being alone with my baby.
One day he came home from church, full of excitement. He had met an Englishwoman named Maureen at church, and he thought I would really like her. He told me he had invited her for tea the next weekend, and gave me a brief background. Apparently she was a firebrand, full of personality, and was separated from her husband. She had two small boys, aged three and four.
“You’ll love her,” he gushed. “She is so much fun and very funny.”
I happily agreed to meet “Mo” and greeted her with open arms when she came for tea the next weekend with her sons, Rory and Kieran.
Our friendship and compatibility were immediate, and I felt a strong connection to her. She was small and plain, and wore a wig. I never knew why, but she finally explained it was because her hair was thin. She wore very high heel shoes to compensate for her height, and smoked non-stop. She was outgoing and funny, with a broad English accent, and I enjoyed her company. She became an instant friend, and we started to see a lot of her.
I decided to return to work when Vanessa was three months old. I wanted to stay in the entertainment field, and luckily got myself a job working for Peter Bart, a very well respected movie executive.
Peter had formed an independent production company with millionaire Max Palevsky. “Bart-Palevsky,” was well located on El Camino Drive in Beverly Hills. Peter had formerly worked as an executive at Paramount Pictures, rising to vice president in charge of production. He played a key role in such films as Rosemary's Baby, True Grit, Harold and Maude, The Godfather and Paper Moon.
I was very impressed to be working for such an important movie mogul, and was determined to make a good impression on Peter. In the meantime, Bill and I had found ourselves a four-bedroom rental house in the beautiful City of Manhattan Beach, as we had found it impossible to keep Vanessa from disturbing the other tenants at Villa Venetia.
We moved into Maple Drive, Manhattan Beach when Vanessa was almost a year old. My babysitting worries were solved by Mo, who decided to move to the area with her boys, and take care of Vanessa while I worked. It was the ideal solution for both of us, and our friendship grew more solid. We would have each over for dinner several times a week and talk on the phone daily.
I loved my job, especially since I was able to read new scripts as they arrived for Peter’s review as possible movie projects. Peter took advantage of my experience in synopsizing scripts into one page breakdowns, and also asked my advice when he starte
d casting his new films.
I met several interesting people while I worked in his office, most particularly Ernest Hemingway's grand-daughters, Mariel and Margaux Hemingway. They often came to visit, along with their godfather, the writer Denne Bart Peticlerc. The girls were young, tall and vibrant, often wearing bright red lipstick on their full lips, determined to break into the acting field.
Denne was a very charismatic and charming man. Apparently, in the 1950's, while living and working in Florida, he wrote a fan letter to Ernest Hemingway. He received a response and they became friends. On one of their fishing trips, Hemingway alluded to a yet unfinished book he believed would make a great film. Later Denne would adapt Hemingway’s novel, but when I met him he was writing the screenplay for the film “Islands in the Stream,” which Peter and Max planned to produce.
In fact, this was the film Peter and Denne were working on when I came to be his secretary. It was to be filmed in Maui with George C. Scott starring, and I spent weeks and weeks typing and polishing the script, and even sitting in on casting sessions. It was a magical time for me, although Peter turned out to be a little reserved and I had to be on my best behaviour. I could no longer use my sex appeal to amuse my boss; my skills were all that mattered in this very professional atmosphere.
These were the days before VCR’s had been invented, so I had a tiny television set installed in the back lunch room. During lunch I would avidly watch my new favourite soap opera “All My Children.” I had started watching when I brought Vanessa home from the hospital, and had become hopelessly hooked.
I was so used to being with lots of people around me at work that this new job was a complete change. I was the only employee, and Peter kept to himself in his private office. He was very high maintenance, and I had to ensure he had his requisite number of bottles of soda in the fridge, as well as any other supplies he felt were necessary. We had a pretty formal relationship, and I knew very little about his personal life.
No Ordinary Woman Page 20
