By Myself and Then Some (71 page)

I slept fitfully, trying to decide how I would tell Sam, he loved and looked forward to her so much. Early in the morning I went into his room. I put him on my lap, and just told him, ‘Granny has gone away – to heaven. Her heart just gave out.’ He was very sad – hugged me, comforted me. His gift of love was a very special one. I thought of taking him to the funeral, and then I thought, why? I didn’t want him to have that final picture of a coffin – I wanted him to remember his granny alive, full of fun and laughter.

We made arrangements. I had decided to speak to the rabbi – I wanted his words to be personal. If I couldn’t speak them, I would write them for him to speak. There were the grisly details – the
choosing of the casket – how do you shop for death? After that, Lee and I went to their apartment to choose her final outfit. Who invented that tradition – dressing up for never being seen again? It was weird walking into her apartment without her in it – knowing she would never be in it again. Going through her clothes, choosing something she favored. We went to look at the funeral parlor, at the impersonal room where the service would take place.

Aunt Renee came to my apartment. How close everyone becomes – how we hang onto one another, remembering everything from childhood on. I was an orphan – that realization came as something of a shock. No mother – never a father. There would never again be anyone who would love me without reservation – to whom I would be such a shining, glowing creature. Nobody’s child. That realization would become more acute with time.

As we sat in the library talking – worn out, wrung out – the telephone rang. Jason, tipsy, from Spain. I was in no mood to humor him, I just wanted the divorce papers signed. As he rambled on, I cut him short: ‘Look, I’m in no mood for your drinking. My mother just died and I can’t talk to you.’ He sobered up immediately. ‘What? When?’ Quickly I told him. He wanted to know when the funeral was. I told him and he said he was coming. I said, ‘No – I don’t want you there. Don’t come.’ He said, ‘I’m coming anyway.’ I was sure he wouldn’t – didn’t see how he could from that distance.

I went to my desk to write about my mother. Her persona was clear – that, of course, was the reason for the mutual love and respect between her and Bogie. They stood tall together. She was a truly selfless woman – no acquisitiveness, no greed, no waiting for payment for services rendered. No doubt, ever, where one stood in her affections – totally honest. Enormous vitality, zest for life, and constant awareness of others – with the importance of the preservation and protection of family looming largest. Her life had not been an easy one, but with every disappointment, every broken dream, she remained funny – her unrelenting sense of humor saved every moment of irritation or tension. I was an amalgam of her and Bogie. I knew that what she had implanted in me from the beginning was what had gotten me through up until then. She left me with all my memories, but she left me, and the pain would be mine forever. And I had never thanked her for everything.

T
he next day Steve arrived
with Dale – our first meeting. She was pretty, quiet, sweet. It was an impossible time for me to meet the girl in Stephen’s life. And dreadful for her – she was exposed to the entire family at once under the worst possible circumstances.

We drove to the funeral parlor that evening. The room was badly lit. Against the wall was the coffin in which my mother’s body rested. I’d been offered the chance to see her – that same offer – ‘She looks lovely!’ Those people are mad. Of course I would not see her. Friends came, all who loved her. She had the gift of lasting friendships – twenty, thirty years. My sweet cousins Judy and Joan. Uncle Bill – strong, vulnerable loner. Uncle Al, her last brother, who hugged me with tears running down his face. They’d had their differences, but blood was thick; particularly Rumanian blood.

And suddenly I saw Jason walk in. I was stunned and yet it was right after all. Mother had cared about him and he obviously had about her. He had flown a long way. I rose and put my arms around him – it seemed natural. When Jason was cold sober, we understood each other very well. I was glad he’d come, and grateful.

Finally everyone left. I asked Steve and Leslie to wait outside. As Lee and I stood beside the coffin, I started to stroke it, wanting my touch to reach through to my mother. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably – I wanted, so wildly, to open that casket and climb in with her. It was the most unbearable moment of my life. Poor Lee stood there not knowing what to do, never having seen me in such a state. I could think of nothing but her. I wanted her to feel that I was there, with my love strong enough to reach her. To make up for all I hadn’t done for her and wished I had, and some I had done and wished I hadn’t. Losing is the hardest lesson in life, for once someone is lost, it is too late to change anything. So we are forced to live with and face our imperfections. Not easy, but there is no escape.

I was able to get through the following day’s service having totally worn myself out the night before. The words sounded all right, though they couldn’t ever say enough. I kept Steve and Leslie close and wondered how Lee would deal with his life from then on. Twenty years with someone is a lifetime, particularly for someone who waited so long to commit himself. They were perfectly suited, always answering each other’s needs.

Jason left for Spain after the service. I thanked him for coming, and
he promised to sign the divorce papers at last. Endings happen in tandem more often than beginnings.

This would be Lee’s first night alone without Mother in the world. I wanted him to feel I was a haven where he would be welcome any time. I and mine were more his family, his own, than even his sisters and nephews and nieces. He felt more grandfather to Steve, Leslie, and Sam than he felt father to me – in truth, I never felt he was my father. I wanted to, but I had been too grown-up when he and Mother married – and Mother had always been my parental force. The dawning of being nobody’s child would come stronger – loom larger – as the days, weeks and months went on. I would have to learn to live with it, though I did not expect to succeed.

I started the next day trying to settle divorce details. Might as well quickly follow one disaster with another. I would leave for Juárez, Mexico, on Tuesday, September 9 – get my divorce Wednesday. All papers were in order, Mexican lawyers set up, day’s routine planned to the second. Divorce was an industry there, for God’s sake. I was sent the revised script of
Applause
, which I would take with me. I wanted the divorce behind me – what I was really looking forward to was huevos rancheros for breakfast and tacos for lunch. (After all, I’d had them on my wedding day too!)

The flight was uneventful, giving me too much time to think. A woman from the lawyer’s office was waiting for me on arrival in Texas, to drive me over the border to Juárez. She gave me the next day’s rundown. It would all be over by five o’clock, with time out to fulfill my craving for tacos. As I lay in bed that night, I could only think of Mother. With tears streaming down my face I spoke to her. ‘Mama, you would be pleased, I’m doing it now, I’ll have a clean, free life again and I’ll try to live it well.’ The terrible truth of never hearing her voice again was devastating. I wish for it still. Over eight years have passed and I miss her just as acutely, think of her perhaps even more. The knowledge of death being part of life’s cycle helps not at all. There is no way to prepare for the darkness of that pit of despair, the gaping hole that remains empty and gnaws constantly like an open nerve.

I forced myself to think of the future. Because of the children. And because of the show.
Applause
would be my first important work without her around to share it. The desolation, the nothingness, was not to be borne.

Exhaustion took over. I awakened to a bright Mexican sun – a blue sky and huevos rancheros. I walked around the hotel courtyard into a few shops to find souvenirs for my children. Everything was on schedule. When that same lady took me to the lawyer’s office, I was reminded of
Treasure of the Sierra Madre
. He did not look unlike Gold Hat – green suit, yellow shoes, shiny black hair, and glistening gold teeth. He was efficient, took charge immediately, no nonsense. Who knows how many divorces he was to handle in a day? He told me what I had to do, had the paper for me to sign in the judge’s office. It was over in half an hour – quick, impersonal. I was given my final papers, taken to a restaurant for homemade tacos, and put on the plane. I had arrived a Mrs, less than twenty-four hours later I was leaving a Miss.

It was a queer feeling – an eight-year-old marriage, wrapped up and thrown away in thirty minutes. Even wanting the divorce, it was difficult to go through. I felt the same as I had the day before, but I wasn’t the same. My status had changed. My approach, my attitude toward men would be altered, and vice versa. And all because I had signed a stamped piece of paper. Who ever set it up that way? Bogie always said – and was he ever right – ‘Marriage should be made difficult – and divorce easy.’ It’s the other way around in our society. Two minutes to be legally tied and endless months, sometimes years to be untied.

That Saturday I wrote to my mother.

The need to communicate was so strong, the need for a shoulder, for reassurance. I felt incomplete again – as though I’d lost a limb.

A
nd there were so many
decisions to make on the show. The director, Ron Field, was set – it would be his first time out as director, although he was an experienced, first-rate choreographer. Joe Kipness took me to lunch and told me about Ron. Since this was my first time in a musical, I had hoped for a director of experience, secure in all areas, who would prop me up if I faltered. I needn’t have worried. When Ron and I met, he told me everything he had done in the theatre, and his feelings about
Applause
. Later he said he’d felt as though he were auditioning for a part. That hadn’t been in my mind at all. He had faith in himself, real confidence, probably thought, ‘Who the hell does she think she is? I have more theatre experience than she has!’

A settlement had to be made with the first writer – the decision had been made to replace him. The powers that be asked how I felt about Betty Comden and Adolph Green taking over. They were close friends of mine, and I’d always thought it dangerous to mix friendship with work, but it seemed a good idea nevertheless – they were so smart and funny and talented. First Betty called, then Adolph, to ask how I felt about their working on
Applause
. And soon it was all settled. Work on the script started immediately, and we were to go into rehearsal in November. Now I’d have to start taking a dance class, which I did with Ron’s assistant, Tommy Rolla. It was a whole new world for me – trying to develop parts of myself that hadn’t been used before. Training the body for endurance – to dance, to keep moving. My friends in the musical world had told me the toughness of what lay ahead. Jerry Robbins had said, ‘You’ll have to stay out of crowded, noisy rooms. Save your energy for the show. Find a nice guy and keep house, with quiet evenings for two.’ Clearly the best way to get through any show – or any life, for that matter. But the work would be good for me. I was looking forward to being consumed by work, too exhausted to think. I felt compelled to write another letter to my mother.