By Myself and Then Some (23 page)

Our wedding: Louis Bromfield, Bogie, Mary Bromfield, Mother, me, George Hawkins and Judge Shettler, 21 May, 1945

Sailing on Bogie’s beloved
Santana
, 1947

On location for
The African Queen
with Katie and Bogie, 1951

With Adlai Stevenson, 1952

The New York premiere of
How to Marry a
Millionaire
, 1953

At lunch for the Oliviers: Laurence Olivier, Clifton Webb, Dick Sale, Vivien Leigh, Joan Bennett, Charlie Feldman behind Bogie and me, Mary Anita Sale next to Charlie, Najda Gardiner leaning on me, and Reggie Gardiner sitting next to Maybelle Webb, 1953

The family visiting Bogie on the set of
The Desperate Hours
, 1955

Bogie with Leslie, 1955

The first week in August it had been arranged that I would drive down to Newport and stay on Pat and Zelma’s boat for a couple of days. A dangerous decision, but Bogie wanted me to see Newport – to feel the atmosphere that he had described to me so many times and loved so much. I loved the idea – forbidden territory is excitement incarnate.

I would be kept under wraps and below until the boat moved away from the slip. Mother was so worried: ‘If his wife catches you down there, it will be just awful.’ The understatement of the century.

I drove down in the morning. Bogie would keep Mayo occupied until I was safely aboard. There was no danger of her leaving his boat as long as he was on it. The whole scene was really a B movie. Funny now. When I got there, Pat gave me a letter from Bogie. It turned out that Mayo had to go to town the next day for an entire twenty-four hours, so I’d be with him all that time. Glorious!

I had never been on a large boat before – my sea-going life had been confined to rowboats and canoes. The O’Moore boat was a power boat that had bunks, and a galley (kitchen) and a head (john). It was thirty feet long, which made it almost ocean-going to my city-bred eyes. Being aboard was like playing house. Not really roomy, but very nice. The yacht basin was a series of boats of all sizes separated by small wooden walks called slips at the water level or just above. I’d never seen so many boats – my God, were there that many people who lived on the water?

The next day Bogie came on board for lunch. It was so wonderful to see him, to be with him again – to touch him. Mayo had to go to the
doctor – she had broken her foot, falling down drunk, of course – had been in a cast, and had to be checked out. What a windfall! Bogie pointed out his boat. It, too, was a power boat, about thirty-six feet. He thrived on small sailboat racing – had already won two cups that summer, which gave him more of a kick than any movie could have done. He loved competing and being accepted as a sailor by other sailors. He greatly resented their resentment of actors – their attitude of ‘For an actor you’re a good sailor.’ But Bogie did not play at sailing and they knew it – he knew all the rules of racing, had read every book ever written about it, and, best of all, he could do it well – and each cup he won proved it.

He kept saying, ‘This is why I love sailing – the sea – the air – it’s clean and healthy and away from the Hollywood gossip and leeches.’ It was a beautiful, clear, sunny day. Bogie had told me he might work with Howard again – Howard had talked to him about a Raymond Chandler story, he wanted to put us in another picture together right away. Bogie was having contract arguments with Warners and was worried about the outcome. He wanted some security and, after
Casablanca
and
To Have and Have Not
, was in a good position to renegotiate. He couldn’t decide anything about Howard’s project until that was settled. If we could work together again, we could be together again. What a lovely, happy thought.

That night Zell cooked dinner on the boat, but Bogie decided he wanted to take me over to the yacht club for a drink. ‘You’re crazy,’ said I, ‘we’ll have nothing but trouble if Mayo finds out.’ ‘She won’t,’ said he, ‘we’ll just go for one – they’re my friends, not hers.’ There seemed to be no choice – if Bogie’s mind was made up, that was that, there was nothing to discuss. So I put on a navy flannel shirt of Bogie’s over my sweater and pants – took a deep breath – put my hand in his and went. He had a little putt-putt – a small boat with an outboard motor – and we traveled across the harbor in that. He took me into a dimly lit room with a bar on one side and an outside deck right on the water. There were only a couple of people who were friends there – it was a quiet night at the club. As he had several pet names for me – Charlie, Chuck, Junior, game names – he introduced me very casually to a couple of his sailor pals. They were slightly mulled – I meant nothing to them anyway. I was just a girl, they didn’t think anything of it. But I was nervous – really wanted to get the hell out. I didn’t want trouble and
felt very much an outsider. After a very long hour we left. On the ride back – it was cold and dark – sitting just in front of Bogie, I had to ask the question that had been so much on my mind – I had to get it straight. Did it matter to him that I was Jewish? Hell, no – what mattered to him was me, how I thought, how I felt, what kind of person I was, not my religion. He couldn’t care less – why did I even ask? He couldn’t really understand my anxiety, but he’d never felt it himself – he wasn’t Jewish. Being singled out for such a thing was inconceivable to him. It was a big weight off my shoulders – I was relieved to have it in the open, it had been lurking too long in the unfinished-business department of my mind.

Bogie stayed on the O’Moore boat that night. The next day he had to go back to his own – Mayo would return sometime during the day. I was going to stay the day and drive home late. Around lunchtime he came over to say goodbye to me – we were always saying goodbye – and suddenly Pat called down, ‘Christ, Mayo’s heading this way.’ I thought I’d drop dead from fright. There was nowhere to go. Bogie shoved me into the head, where I sat holding on to the door with my heart pounding so loudly I was sure it could be heard all over the boat. I could hear them talking – I heard her say, ‘Let’s sit down and have a drink.’ Oh God, don’t let it happen now – I was so scared I was shaking – what a hopeless confrontation that would have been. The O’Moores said they had to go onshore to get something – Bogie said he wanted to go too – at last they left. Pat walked down the dock with Bogie and Mayo – Zelma came down, called to me that the coast was clear. When I could come up on deck, what a relief to be able to breathe the air again! I couldn’t wait to get away. Newport Beach was not the place for me. I hated the hiding. I didn’t want to return until the all-clear was the all-clear for all time.

Bogie got to a phone the following day: ‘That was a close call – whew!’ He said that Mayo was suspicious – not of specifics, but in general. His Coast Guard duty would be over in a couple of weeks, and he’d be in and out of Balboa getting his business affairs straight. I went down there one more time for one of our trysts. He was not happy. He said Mayo was going to stop drinking, or at least was going to try, and he had to give her that chance. It was the only civilized thing to do. He loved me as much as ever, but felt we should lie low for a few weeks. He’d call me.

Meanwhile Howard had started to prepare
The Big Sleep
. I kept busy with singing lessons – Howard wanted me to sing again, ‘Baltimore Oriole,’ he wouldn’t give up that fantasy. Bill Faulkner was working on the screenplay. I saw a lot of Howard at the studio and of Howard and Slim at night as well. But I hadn’t seen Bogie for a few weeks. Maybe Mayo was behaving herself. Maybe they’d stay together. Every negative idea I’d ever had came to the fore. ‘But,’ I kept saying – there was always a but – ‘he does love me – I know he does – you don’t love someone so much one minute and stop the next.’ Oh, I had a hard time of it – I was so unhappy, depressed, worried. How could I work with him again if he didn’t love me? I’d have to – but how could I?