Nothing happened the next day to relieve my anxiety. I had a meeting that morning with nurses at a major hospital. Theodore had made the reservation at a fancy French restaurant, Abreuvoir, in the chic Kolonaki area, a cab ride’s distance from the hospital. That day there was a general strike in Athens—not an uncommon occurrence—so when I emerged from the hospital, traffic was at a standstill. I always wore high heels, even when I was campaigning. My father destroyed his feet in the war, and I like to say that I destroyed mine in stilettos. However, I had no choice but to hoof it. I sprinted the last five hundred yards so that I arrived only fifteen minutes late.
Theodore was standing at the door—I thought maybe he was getting ready to leave—and it was clear that he was quite cross. I think he wanted to show me that he was no pushover, not someone who could be taken for granted. When I caught my breath, I apologized profusely, explained the problem, and tried to calm him down. I was quite anxious when we were seated, so it took me a while to realize that we were the only diners in the restaurant. Theodore must have booked the entire restaurant—he won’t admit it to this day—so that we could be alone. That only made me more nervous, a conspicuous reminder that not only did we not belong together, we did not live in the same world. He proceeded to order lunch—une salade Cote d’Azur, un filet Café de Paris, and pommes frites—without even asking me what I wanted.
I had agreed to this lunch so I figured I’d try to make the best of it. To melt the ice, I started talking about my daughter and brought out pictures to show him. He relaxed a little—the wine helped us both—and he talked some about his life and his work. And slowly, over a very long lunch, we began to talk quite easily and openly. As he had in Istanbul, he asked a lot of questions about my job and my family, and, surprisingly, I found him to be an excellent listener. I began unburdening myself about my marriage, revealing that it was unhappy and that I could not count on my husband for support. I told Theodore I didn’t know what to do about it or, indeed, if I was going to do anything at all, because my greatest responsibility was to provide for my daughter.
The conversation was flowing so comfortably and had become so intimate that I found myself becoming nervous again. I told him that this engagement was uncomfortable for me and that I hadn’t a clue why we were lunching together in the first place. “Because I wanted to see you,” he replied calmly, then added, “and I want to see you again.”
“Why?” I persisted.
“Because I want to.”
“But don’t you understand my situation?”
“Yes, I do.” He was persistent, though not intimidating. His voice was surprisingly soft and his tone was gentle. And he seemed so certain of himself and what he wanted. As I have learned through the years, when Theodore is certain, it is very hard to tell him, “No, I won’t do that.” It’s pretty much the equivalent of telling me, “No, you can’t do that.” It’s no deterrent at all.
After we exited the restaurant and were chattering away on the street, we almost bumped into a woman who was the wife of his former brother-in-law. “This is exactly what I didn’t want,” he said after she left. But I was less focused on the awkward encounter than on a revelation that hadn’t come out at lunch. “You have an ex-wife?” I asked. “Of course I have an ex-wife,” he replied. Then I asked him if the boys who were standing next to him in the church in Istanbul were his sons. “Those boys are my nephews,” he said. “I don’t have any children, and I don’t think I ever will.”
As we were nearing the corner where we would go our separate ways, he asked, with some urgency in his voice: “Do you think it will be possible to see you again? I want to see you. Do you want to see me?” And while I struggled to find the right words, I knew I couldn’t refuse him. Nevertheless, all I managed was a feeble response that I didn’t really know what I wanted, but that our time together had been nice. Then I panicked again and started repeating how complicated it all was. He just kind of hushed me and said, “It’s okay—one step at a time.” And then, as we were standing in the middle of the street, he leaned over and kissed me.
“I will invite you to my house when I return from Switzerland next week.”
“I can’t possibly come to your house,” I protested.
“I can’t come to your office and you are clearly nervous about being out in public. So where might you suggest? The least you can do is let me offer you a cup of coffee at my home. No matter where we meet, we will find a way.”
“A way for what?”
“A way for you to decide if you want to see me. Probably you won’t want to see me again. Or maybe I won’t want to see you again.”
It wasn’t the most promising note on which to part. But neither of those things happened. Our relationship proved to be a coup de foudre. I was completely smitten with Theodore. He was strong and solid, yet also understanding and supportive. He started coming to Athens weekly, which had people in his office wondering since he normally came only about once a month. Remarkably, we managed to keep our relationship out of the public eye. On the few occasions we dined out, it was in undistinguished restaurants where we were unlikely to meet anyone we knew. As an added precaution, I wore big glasses as a disguise. Only his house staff and, eventually, my most trusted associate, Lena, knew of our relationship, and they all knew to keep silent.
My work in Parliament continued. On one day in 1990 when Theodore and I had planned to meet, my party sent me quite unexpectedly to Crete to deliver a speech on education policy. This was in the days before mobile phones and I had no way to let Theodore know that I would miss our date. I couldn’t call his office because I couldn’t identify myself to whoever answered the phone. I decided I would send Lena to his office with an apologetic note and flowers, which she concealed in a big handbag.
Security was very tight at the Angelopoulos offices because his family had been targeted by terrorists in the past. But Lena has always been a force of nature, and somehow, despite refusing to identify herself, she talked her way into the building and up to the floor where Theodore’s office was located. Security was less receptive there and wouldn’t let Lena proceed, but she caused enough of a commotion to bring Theodore out of his office. Mind you, at this point, he and Lena had never met. All Theodore saw was this attractive woman insisting she had to see him urgently.
“What do you want?” he asked politely.
“I can only tell you that in private,” she replied.
He insisted that she tell him there and then, but still she refused. Exasperated and perceiving no threat in this elegantly dressed woman, he gave in and waved her into his office. He was standing behind his desk when he saw her reach into her handbag; he instantly recoiled, thinking, “Could she possibly be reaching for a gun?”
When she pulled out a bouquet of flowers and an envelope with my handwriting, he relaxed. His face lit up, and he invited Lena to sit down and have a coffee. She politely declined. Mission impossible had become mission accomplished.
Even though I kept our relationship secret from almost everyone, I couldn’t help but tell my mother that I was dating someone without mentioning his name. She was thrilled at the news and at the happiness that my new relationship had brought me. A few days later, she gave me some halva, her favorite dessert, to give to my new beau.
I’m not sure how long we would have been able to maintain our secret. Theodore was beginning to chafe at the restrictive nature of our relationship. A few times he even insisted on driving me to political events, figuring that in a suit he could pass for my chauffeur! There were always bigger-name politicians in attendance; had Theodore been spotted, everyone would have assumed he was there to hear one of them. Nobody could have imagined he was coming to see a little-known freshman member of Parliament. One time I was going around kissing all the people in campaign fashion when Theodore demanded that I kiss him too. “Since you’re keeping me a secret, then at least kiss me like you kiss everybody else here,” he said. “If you don’t I’ll tell the world our
secret.” So I kissed him—exactly like I kissed everybody else.
I didn’t like sneaking around any more than Theodore did. We had been together just a few months and already I was exhausted from my double life. I was getting home either very late or very early. One night Carolina asked: “Why is Mommy away? Are there beds in Parliament?”
I had many good cries over the tangled mess my life had become. Sometimes a good cry clears everything out of your system—and sometimes it clears everything up too. That’s what happened for me. I decided I couldn’t wallow in self-pity any longer. Instead, I would do what came far more naturally. I would take action. I was very much in love with Theodore. My brief time with him had made clear to me which of the two relationships I valued most. I told Theodore that before we could proceed further with our lives together, I had to resolve my marital situation. He asked if I needed any help. “No,” I said, “I will deal with this alone.”
I HAD GOTTEN INTO MY MARITAL MESS ALL BY MYSELF, and I thought it was only fair—both the right thing and the brave thing—that I end it all by myself. There were also practical considerations. Discretion was of utmost importance. Elections would be held again in April, the third national election in less than a year, and I had to run again to hold my seat. It obviously wouldn’t help my campaign if my name started appearing in the gossip columns rather than in the news pages. Moreover, beyond any potential for scandal, I didn’t want Theodore thrust into my political life.
In the spring of 1990, after seven years of a contentious marriage, I decided to confront my husband. The conversation with him proved to be much like the marriage; it didn’t go well at all. I didn’t mince words. “Our paths are different,” I said. “This marriage is over.” He didn’t mince words either. He was furious and combative. He threatened that he would never grant me a divorce, and he warned that if I pursued one, he would humiliate me publicly. As unsettling as his threats were, they didn’t deter me. “Do as you like,” I said. I left the room, took Carolina by the hand, grabbed only my passport and identity card, and left home for good. Other than the clothes on my back, I left behind everything I owned. I just wanted to get out of that house.
It didn’t take me long to realize that trying to handle my extraction from this marital mess alone might have been the honorable path, but it was a foolish one. Since my husband seemed as miserable as I was in the marriage, I had hoped we could dissolve it amicably. Once he threatened me, however, it was clear I needed some help. My parents happened to be coming to visit, so I asked a friend to pick them up at the airport. I didn’t have enough money to secure accommodations for them, so I asked Theodore if he could arrange a hotel room for them as well as Carolina and me. And the next day I called a high-powered lawyer, Alexandros Lykourezos, whom I had met when, as a law student, I went to see him perform in court. I didn’t expect him to remember me, but I was pretty sure he would recognize my name. When I phoned, however, my name didn’t get me past his secretary, who informed me that he was busy and didn’t have any appointments available. I hung up, went directly to his office, and confronted her. “If he knows I asked to see him and you didn’t allow me,” I told her, “he will be very cross.” This time, with me standing right in front of her, she agreed to speak to him. And he agreed to speak to me.
I had no idea how much he normally charged to handle a divorce. I told him money wasn’t an issue because I had none. When he laughed at my predicament, I took that as a good sign. There was no reason he should do me this favor, but I suggested that, having gone through a divorce himself, he knew how painful it was to be stuck in a bad relationship. “I’m trapped,” I said. “And he threatens me. Please help me.” And Lykourezos did, a gentleman helping a woman in distress.
Despite that good news, Theodore was not optimistic. His own divorce had been an ordeal and had taken more than four years to complete. But my lawyer was very good and very tough, and the fact that we did not have many assets to fight over proved to be an advantage. It also helped that I was making no demands on my husband and was willing to leave all material possessions behind. In the end, despite my exhusband’s anger and bluster, I got my divorce in just twenty-nine days, which must be some kind of Greek national record. What is not known publicly is that—despite the ugliness surrounding our divorce—I would later help my ex-husband financially. Credit goes to Theodore for that idea. He believed it was important to try and maintain a civilized relationship with my former husband, if only for Carolina’s sake.
Almost overnight, a life that had been riddled with turmoil and despair was transformed into a calm and remarkably sunny existence. I was happily divorced and had moved, with my parents and Carolina, into a small but lovely apartment near the presidential palace in central Athens. And I had easily won the 1990 reelection in April, garnering 25 percent more votes than in my first run. New Democracy had won big as well. And I was even happy to see Constantinos Mitsotakis, a man who had both mentored and betrayed me, finally assume the office of Prime Minister. We had made our peace and, if further proof of that were required, he would become the godfather to my second son, Dimitris. (The ceremony in which Mitsotakis became godfather, Dimitris’s baptism, was unique in that it was personally conducted, for the first time, by His All Holiness Bartholomew, the Ecumenical Patriarch of the Greek Orthodox Church.) And most important, I had introduced Carolina to Theodore and the two of them had clicked immediately. Her favorite of all her stuffed animals was the huge white bear named Teddy, and to her Theodore was just another big “Teddy.” For a man who had no children, Theodore was remarkably kind and patient with my little six-year-old.
We took the next big step as a couple when I agreed to visit Theodore’s home in Zurich. He had insisted that making this visit was important, so I arranged to take two days off from Parliament. Given that I pretty much worked all the time, this was a big deal for me. After Theodore picked me up in Zurich, we drove into the city and entered the garage of a building that didn’t look like it could be a home. Had I been asked to guess where we were headed, I would still be guessing today. The correct answer turned out to be a bank, and I found myself—with no clue why—sitting in the office of the bank’s CEO while he and Theodore conversed in German. I couldn’t follow much of it, but I understood when the banker asked Theodore, “Are you sure about this?” Theodore assured him he was, and the banker presented me with some papers to sign. Theodore explained that he felt responsible for both me and my daughter. Who knew what the future would hold for us as a couple, he wondered. He told me he had a history of minor heart problems. I could find myself all alone with my daughter. “I don’t think I will ever have children,” he said. “And it will make me very happy to know that you and Carolina will always be secure.” He wanted to ensure that no matter what happened between us, Carolina and I would be well taken care of.
Nothing he said, however, could have prepared me for what came next. The documents the bank CEO presented to me revealed that Theodore’s gesture was an amount that, at that time, made me dizzy.
Theodore’s extraordinary generosity was the first of many things I experienced during a brief trip that was beyond my wildest dreams. After our bank visit, we went to Theodore’s home. It was three floors (with an underground swimming pool), and each floor was, essentially, a separate apartment. The top floor was his bachelor pad: light and airy, with lots of marble and beautiful antique furniture. It was the home of somebody with excellent taste and the money to exercise it. But what really took my breath away was the art displayed on the walls. I was staring at paintings the likes of which I had seen only in books or museums. At least that’s what I assumed I was looking at. There was one painting of two female dancers that I couldn’t take my eyes off. I was pretty sure I knew the artist. But I was already dizzied by the extraordinary events of the day, so I didn’t quite trust myself. The last thing I wanted was to appear uneducated and uncultured. I inquired tentatively, “Is that what I think it is?” I expected Theodore to launch int
o an expansive discourse on his artwork. Instead, he simply said, “Yes.” End of the day’s art lesson!
I didn’t pursue the matter. But that night, after he went to sleep, I found a magnifying glass in his study and sneaked out to examine the paintings. Below the two dancers was the very signature I had expected: Degas. There was also a Renoir, a Picasso, and two Pierre Bonnards. I remember thinking I really was a world away from Crete.
My next surprise came early the next morning. Very early! It was just 6:00 am when I was awoken, having sensed a shadow in my room. It was Theodore, who apparently found it perfectly normal to rise at that hour. I have always worked long hours, but I hate it when I have to start really early in the morning since I am always careful to look my best. (This would become a problem for me when I ran the Athens 2004 Olympic effort and had to meet regularly at 7:00 am with the International Olympic Coordination Commission.) Seeing Theodore appear so cheery at six o’clock in the morning, I buried my head in the pillow so he wouldn’t hear me groan and thought, “My God, it will be a nightmare if I stay with this man.”
The day didn’t turn out to be anybody’s idea of a nightmare, however. Au contraire. By the time I was both awake and presentable, Theodore was ready to present me with what he called “our options.”
“What do you think if we spend the day in Zurich and later have dinner at the Kronenhalle restaurant and enjoy its magnificent art collection?”
My Greek Drama: Life, Love, and One Woman's Olympic Effort to Bring Glory to Her Country Page 10
