Honor Thyself (16 page)

“You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life, and on top of it, you were nice. You were sweet and young and innocent. And still very southern then. You had been in Hollywood for four years, and you were still this adorable, innocent kid, and already a big star. It was like all that stardom and fame hadn't touched you. You were the same decent, warm, honest person you must have been growing up on your dad's farm in Mississippi. You still had a southern accent then. I loved that too. And then Mike had you get rid of it. I always missed it. It was part of the sweetness I loved about you. You really were just a kid. I fell head over heels in love with you, and so did you, with me.

“I flew out a dozen times while you were making the movie, just to see you. We wound up all over the tabloids and the trades. Wall Street Whiz Kid Courts Hollywood's Hottest Star. You were the real deal. You were about as glamorous as it gets.” He smiled at her then. “You still are,” he said generously. “I just wasn't used to it then. I don't think I ever got used to it. I used to wake up in the morning and pinch myself, unable to believe I was married to Carole Barber. How much better could it get?

“We got married six months after we met, when you finished the film. At first you said you were too young to get married, and you probably were. I talked you into it, and you were honest. You said you weren't ready to give up your career. You wanted to make movies. You were having a ball, and so was I being with you. I've never had so much fun in my life as we did then.

“Mike flew us to Vegas one weekend in his plane, and we got married. He was our witness, along with some girlfriend of yours at the time. She was your roommate, and I can't for the life of me remember her name. She was the bridesmaid. And you were the most gorgeous bride I've ever seen. You borrowed a dress from Wardrobe from some nineteen-thirties movie. You looked like a queen.

“We went to Mexico for our honeymoon. We spent two weeks in Acapulco, and then you went back to work. You were doing about three movies a year then. That's a hell of a lot. The studios had you cranking them out one after the other, with big stars, big names, major producers, and turning down scripts as fast as they came in. You were an industry unto yourself. I've never seen anything like it. You were the hottest star in the world, and I was married to you. We were in the press constantly. That's heady stuff for two young kids, and I guess it gets old eventually. But it didn't for you. You loved every minute, and who could blame you? You were the darling of the world, the most desirable woman on the planet … and belonged to me.

“You were on location most of the time, and between pictures, we lived in New York together. We got a great apartment on Park Avenue. And whenever I could, I'd fly out to see you on location. We actually saw a lot of each other. We talked about having babies, but there was no time. There was always another film to do. And then Anthony came along. He was kind of a surprise, and we'd been married for two years by then. You took about six months off, as soon as it started to show, and went back to work when he was three weeks old. You were doing a movie in England, you took him with you, with a nanny. You were over there for five months, and I came over every couple of weeks. It was a crazy way to live, but your career was too hot to put a damper on, and you were too young to want to quit. I totally understood. You actually took a few months off when you were pregnant with Chloe. Anthony was three years old. You took him to the park, like all the other moms. I loved it. Being married to you was like playing house, with a movie star. The most beautiful woman in the world was mine.” He still had stars in his eyes when he said it, as Carole watched him from her bed, wondering why she hadn't slowed down. He didn't seem to question that as much as she did. Her career didn't seem as important now, to her anyway. But it had been then. He made that clear.

“Anyway, a year after Chloe was born, when Anthony was five, you got pregnant again. A real accident this time, and we were both upset. I was building my business and working like crazy, you were working like a dog on movie sets all over the world. Anthony and Chloe seemed enough then, but we went ahead with it. But you lost the baby. You were devastated, and I actually was too. I'd gotten used to the idea by then of a third child. You'd been on a set in Africa doing your own stunt work, which seemed crazy, and had a miscarriage. They made you go back to work four weeks later. You had a miserable contract, and two pictures backed up behind it. It was a constant merry-go-round. Two years later you won your first Oscar, and the pressure only got worse. I think something happened then, not to you, but to me.

“You were still young. You were thirty when you got the Oscar. I was turning forty, and I never admitted it to myself then, but I think I was pissed off having a wife who was more successful than I was. You were making a goddamn fortune, everyone in the world knew you. And I think I was tired of dealing with the press, the gossip, everyone looking at you every time we walked into a room. It was never about me, always about you. That gets old, or it's hard on a guy's ego. Maybe I wanted to be a star too, what do I know? I just wanted a normal life, a wife, two kids, a house in Connecticut, maybe Maine in the summer. Instead I was flying all over the world to see you, you either had our kids with you, or I had them, and you were miserable without them. We started fighting a lot. I wanted you to quit, but I didn't have the balls to tell you, so I took it out on you. I hardly saw you, and when we did, we were fighting. And then you won another Oscar two years later, and I think that did it. That was the end. I felt hopeless after that. I knew you were never going to quit, not for a long time anyway. You signed on to do a picture for eight months in Paris, and I was pissed out of my mind. I should have told you, but I didn't. I don't think you knew what was going on with me. You were too busy to think about it, and I never told you how upset I was. You were making movies, trying to keep our kids with you on the set, and flying around to see me whenever you had a couple of days off to do it. Your heart was in the right place. There just weren't enough days in the year to do everything you wanted to do, your career, our kids, and me. Maybe you'd have quit then if I'd asked you. Who knows? But I didn't ask.” He looked at her then with regret for not having asked her to quit. It had taken Jason years to acquire the insights he had now, and he was sharing them all with Carole.

He went on with a somber look as Carole watched him, intent and silent. She didn't want to interrupt him. “I started drinking and going to parties then, and I'll admit, I got out of line at times. I wound up in the tabloids more than once, and you never complained about it. You asked me what was going on a couple of times, and I said I was just playing, which was true. You tried to come home more often, but once you started the movie in Paris, you were stuck there, you were shooting six days a week. Anthony was eight, so you put him in school there, Chloe was four, she was in kindergarten part-time and the rest of the time you had her on the set with you, with the nanny. And I started acting like a bachelor at home. Like a fool actually.” He looked genuinely embarrassed as he looked at his ex-wife and she smiled at him.

“It sounds like we were both young and foolish,” she said generously. “It must have been miserable being married to someone who was gone most of the time, and worked so much.”

He nodded, grateful for what she said. “It was hard. The more I think about it, the more I know I should have asked you to quit, or at least slow down. But with two Oscars under your belt, you were zooming. I didn't feel I had the right to screw up your career, so I screwed up our marriage instead, and just so you know, I'll always regret it. I've never told you that before, but it's how I feel.”

Carole was listening quietly and nodded. She appreciated his honesty. She remembered none of it, but she was grateful for his honesty, even about himself. He seemed like a genuinely kind man. It was fascinating as their story unfolded. As always now, it sounded like someone else's life and sparked no visual memory in her head. As she listened she kept wondering why she herself hadn't had the brains to quit and save their marriage, but listening to it was like hearing about an avalanche that couldn't have been stopped. The early warning signs had been there, but apparently her career had been too powerful then. It was a force unto itself, with a life of its own. She could see now how their problems had happened, and so could he. It was a shame they hadn't done something about it then, but neither of them had. She had been oblivious, wrapped up in the excitement of her career, and he had been resentful and concealed it from her, eaten up inside, and eventually took it out on her. It had taken years for him to acknowledge that, even to himself. It was classic, and tragic to hear it. She was sorry that she hadn't been wiser then. But she'd been young, if that was an adequate excuse.

“You left for Paris with the kids. You landed a great role playing Marie Antoinette. It was one of those major epics. And a week after you left, I went to a party, given by Hugh Hefner. I've never seen such beautiful girls in my life, almost as beautiful as you.” He smiled ruefully at her, and she smiled back. It was sad to listen to. The end was predictable. No surprises here. She knew how the movie had turned out, and they didn't live happily ever after, or he wouldn't be telling her this story.

“They weren't women like you. You were always decent, kind, and sincere, and good to me. You worked constantly, and you were gone a lot, but you were a good woman, Carole. You always have been. These girls were a different breed. Cheap gold-diggers, pros some of them, wannabe starlets, models, tramps. I was married to the real thing. These girls were showy fakes, and they worked the crowd like magic. I met a Russian supermodel named Natalya. She was making a big splash in New York then. Everyone knew her. She had come out of nowhere, from Moscow, via Paris, and she was after the big bucks, in every way. Mine and everyone else's. I think she'd been the mistress of some playboy in Paris, I forget now. In any case, she's had plenty of guys like that since then. She's currently married to her fourth husband, in Hong Kong. I think he's Brazilian, and an arms dealer or something, but he has a shitload of money. He pretends to be a banker, but I think he's in much rougher trade than that. Anyway, she blew my socks off. To be honest, I drank too much, did a little coke someone handed me, and wound up in bed with her. We weren't at Hefner's place by then. We were on someone's yacht in the Hudson River. It was a racy crowd. I was forty-one, she was twenty-one. You were thirty-two, and working in Paris, trying to be a good mom, even if you were an absentee wife. I don't think you ever cheated on me. I don't think it crossed your mind, and you didn't have time. You had a lily-white reputation in Hollywood, but I can't say the same for me.

“I wound up all over the tabloids with her. I think she saw to that. We had a torrid affair, which you politely ignored, which was gracious beyond belief. And she got pregnant two weeks after I met her. She refused to have an abortion, and wanted to get married. She told me she loved me, and wanted to give up everything for me, her career, modeling, her country, her life, and stay home and raise our kids. Music to my ears. I was ready for a full-time wife by then, and you weren't ready to do that, or likely to, from what I could see. Who knew? I never asked you. I just lost my mind over her.

“She was having my baby. I wanted more kids, and having Chloe had been too hard on you. Besides, given your schedule, it would have been crazy for us to have more kids. It was hard enough dragging two kids all over the world, even I couldn't see you doing it with three or four, and Anthony was getting older. And I wanted my kids at home with me. Don't ask me how, but she convinced me that marriage was the best solution, for her. We were going to be a cozy little couple with a bunch of babies. I bought a house in Greenwich, and called a lawyer. I think I lost my mind. Classic midlife crisis. Wall Street financier goes nuts, and destroys his life, and fucks over his wife. I flew to Paris and told you I was divorcing you. I never saw anyone cry like that in my life. For about five minutes, I wondered what I was doing. I spent the night with you, and almost came to my senses. Our kids were adorable and I didn't want to make them or you unhappy. And then she called me. She was like a witch, weaving a spell, and it worked.

“I went back to New York, and filed the divorce. You asked for nothing except child support. You were making plenty of money on your own, and you had too much pride to take anything from me. I told you Natalya was pregnant, and I think it damn near killed you. I was the cruelest sonofabitch I've ever known. I think I was getting even for every minute of your success, or every second you didn't spend with me. Six months later I was married to her, and you were still in Paris. You wouldn't speak to me, understandably. I came over a couple of times to see the kids, and you had them delivered to me at the Ritz by the nanny. It was total blackout from you. In fact, you didn't speak to me directly for two years, only through lawyers, secretaries, and nannies. You had a lot of all three. The bad joke was that two and a half years later, when you moved to L.A., you slowed down your career to a dull roar. You were still making movies, but fewer, and spending time with the kids. I could have lived with that, a lot better than your earlier pace. I never knew you'd do that. But I didn't have the balls to wait it out or ask you.

“Natalya had the baby two days after I married her, and another one a year later. She gave up her modeling career for those two years, and then told me she was bored to death. She left me and went back to modeling. She left the kids with me for a while, and then took them. She met some fabulously rich playboy, divorced me, and married him, and took me to the cleaners in the process. Don't ask me why, but I didn't bother to get a prenup. So she cashed in her chips and moved on. I didn't even see those kids for five years. She wouldn't let me. They were out of our jurisdiction, and she was floating all over Europe and South America, collecting husbands. It was basically high-end prostitution, and she's terrific at it. And meanwhile, I had destroyed you and our marriage.