The Ear of the Heart: An Actress' Journey From Hollywood to Holy Vows (10 page)

Another take, and the same thing happened. So production stopped while Wally Westmore fiddled with my makeup. Another take. More red ears. Mr. Westmore finally had to devise a completely new makeup that would mask my rosy countenance
.

Elvis and I hit it off right away. He seemed to be in the same boat as I. He had just finished his first movie but was still way in the dark about filmmaking. He was a dream to work with. He had a marvelous sense of timing, which isn’t so surprising, given that he was a musician. He took direction quickly, though it wasn’t always from Mr. Kanter. “Colonel” Tom Parker, Elvis manager, was on the set at all times, standing more often than not right behind Mr. Kanter. When the director called, “Cut”, Elvis never failed to look first to the Colonel for approval
.

On the set, Elvis always had his guitar within easy reach and would strum it and sing whenever the spirit moved him—which was often. You would never find him in his dressing room. He would walk around the set, almost childlike, talking to people and bumming dimes for the apple machine
.

—
Elvis Presley never carried loose change
.

Almost as much as Elvis loved to sing, he loved to kid around—that’s where his boys came in. Like all young kids, they were forever laughing at their own jokes. Theirs were always “in” jokes, and though I generally didn’t get them, they were never crude—as far as I knew. The boys themselves were very sweet to me and would shuffle their feet and look down at the ground—very “aw, shucks”, “gosh golly”—whenever I was around. The one I knew best was Gene Smith, who kept in contact with me even after I entered Regina Laudis. His calls were just short hellos to tell me he and Elvis sent their love
.

And, yes, Elvis did ask me out. We had been shooting for about a week when he thought it would be “nice for us to get to know each other”. I did the unheard of: I turned him down. I didn’t want to be thought of as an opportunist trading on his celebrity while we were working together
.

—
There was a lot of Granny in me. I patted myself on the back for this estimable stand when I wrote her, “This Natalie wouldn’t.” I would have gone out with Elvis after the film was finished, but he obviously took no for an answer. He never asked me again
.

Mom went with me to the studio frequently, but she was hardly a stage mother. She was just excited to be on a movie set. I think it gave her a feeling of fulfillment, that she was part of the entertainment world at last. Elvis liked Mom a lot. So did Wendell Corey. I had begun sharing tales of my family with Wendell, and he was genuinely fascinated. He really wanted to meet Granny and watch her drink a martini upside down. I didn’t tell those stories to everyone. But I usually found at least one person on each picture I could share them with
.

I wrote Granny a lot on the set, and my letters often concerned my finances. I was making $250 a week, less taxes and agent fees, more money than I had ever had in my life. I was determined to sock away in the bank at least fifty dollars every week and told Granny that even if this kick lasted only a year or so, I would probably have enough to return to school. I told her I was always on the lookout for other sources of income and once hinted that when Elvis got his hair cut on the set, I should sweep up the clippings and sell them to the girls at Marymount for a dime a piece. That was when Granny started slipping five or ten dollars into the envelope with her letters “to tide you over just in case”. Bless her, she did that during my entire time in Hollywood in spite of my salary boosts
.

My one and only extravagance was a new car. Through Paramount, I got a brand new Ford Skyliner convertible, light blue with those wonderful stripes. And I was able to buy Mom a sewing machine. I got Great-grandmother Bowen a rug to cover the holes in her linoleum and delivered it in person on a fast trip back to Illinois. I stayed the night, and the following morning I found her on the floor, stretched out on the carpet, and my heart stopped. Suddenly she sat up and smiled, “Honey, I’m fine. I jist wanted to sleep on this nice new rug b’fore everbuddy messes it all up
.”

When a movie finishes shooting and the director calls, “That’s a wrap!”, it’s customary to celebrate with a wrap party. Hal Kanter hosted the celebration for the
Loving You
company on an empty soundstage, but when the guests arrived, they were greeted by a booth with a huge sign reading, “Thank You”. In the booth was a beaming Colonel Parker, greeting everyone and handing out Presley albums. Kanter, still miffed after fifty years, recalled, “Everyone thought the Colonel was the host of the party. The next day I received a handmade card from Dolores thanking
me
for the evening. She was the only one who did.”

For weeks after the production ended, I was in a blue funk. After months of being together like a very close-knit family, everyone was gone. It was more than disorienting. It was depressing
.

Loving You
was a hit, and Dolores reaped the benefits of giving Elvis his first screen kiss. Overnight Jim Stevens found he could pitch this newcomer to the fan magazine editors. She began a heavy schedule of publicity, interviews and photo layouts.

At first the interviews were about her take on Presley, with titles such as “What It Feels Like to be Kissed by Elvis”. But her fresh personality and candor, especially about the pitfalls of teenage dating, connected with the editors, and soon the features bore titles such as “Flirting Can Be Fun—but Dangerous”, “Going Steady—Shortcut to Heartbreak?” and “Be a Good Girl”.

In interviews I frequently spoke about my conversion to Catholicism. I tried to convey my conviction that faith can be a great buttress to one’s shortcomings and weaknesses, helping us to rise above them and giving our lives true purpose. I didn’t beat the drum. But it was part of my identity
.

Things at home were problematic at best. While Mom was sincere in her joy for my good fortune, she could, when she was drinking, be jealous and hostile. “You have everything—I have nothing; you are somebody—I am nobody” became Mom’s mantra. She had a strong moral sense of her own value, but when she drank, self-pity blocked it out. She was alone much of the time. Pop left for the restaurant early every morning and stayed there late, way past closing, drinking with his cronies. I’m sure it was because he didn’t want to face the situation at home, but the pity was he that wasn’t there when Mom needed him. I thought he didn’t love her enough to help her
.

Usually I was able to call on my ability to detach myself from the unpleasantness, but with increasing frequency, I found myself confronting Mom and adding to the ugliness. I was jealous too—of the bottle. I would spit out hateful things and later feel awful about it. My faith in her basic goodness became my guiding principle; it kept me trying over and over. But each time I found in myself a growing resentment of my softening. When you allow those sentiments to creep in, when you soften, it makes you vulnerable all over again
.

If it hadn’t been for the good things happening to me then, I don’t know what I might have done. I knew that this sudden fulfillment of a dream was a gift of grace that had to be carefully nurtured. It was given to me with a condition: that I not set up any false values or let the trappings of Hollywood delude me into forgetting the grace. It asked for all my attention
.

Six

There’s a saying around Hollywood soundstages that getting your first film is easy; getting the second one is hard.

During 1957 Paramount Pictures introduced several young actresses, only to drop each after one film. Norma Moore was Anthony Perkins’ leading lady in
Fear Strikes Out
; Elaine Aiken played opposite Perkins in
The Lonely Man
; Mary Webster was the ingenue in Jerry Lewis’
The Delicate Delinquent
. And that was it for each of them. Dolores had the advantage of being under contract not to Paramount but to Hal Wallis, whose associate producer was the savvy Paul Nathan.

Paul liked me from the first moment and was always honest with me. He carefully monitored the rushes of
Loving You
and decided I should spend some time in the studio gym and pay attention to a diet. I was five foot six and weighed 126 pounds. Since the camera adds about ten pounds, Paul thought I should get my weight down to 117. So I began living on lettuce and cottage cheese. Paul also got me into cheek exercises so I wouldn’t look like a chipmunk in close-ups
.

More important, Paul watched out for her career. There was a role in the new Jerry Lewis movie Wallis was producing that she could do. And she would have too and then possibly have bitten the dust if not for Paul.

There was another film on the Wallis slate, one that was shaping up to be his most important for the year.
A Woman Obsessed
was to be Anna Magnani’s follow-up to her Oscar-winning American debut in
The Rose Tattoo
. The cast included Anthony Quinn and Anthony Franciosa. The director was George Cukor. The film had prestige written all over it. The story concerned an Italian immigrant (Magnani) who, in old-country tradition, comes to America to marry her late sister’s husband, a rancher. A romantic triangle ensues, involving the Magnani character, the widower (Quinn) and a young ranch hand (Franciosa) betrothed to the rancher’s daughter. The role of Angie, the nineteen-year-old daughter, had not been cast. Cukor agreed to Paul’s request to let Dolores test for the part.

Dolores test impressed Cukor and Wallis enough to cast her as Angie. That bit of casting, coming so early in her career, stamped the young actress as a contender, someone due a respect that wasn’t going to be given to the latest Elvis Presley or Jerry Lewis girl. The chances of her fading from view, like the contract actresses before her, got smaller.

My character figured in only a few scenes, but I was in major company now and aware of my inexperience as an actress
. Loving You
had been a game. This film made me realize how much more I would have to learn if I was to be any good. I vowed to study, but the film was about to start shooting. I had been given a great gift in being able to work with these extraordinary people, so I spent every moment I could watching the rehearsals and filming. On days I wasn’t scheduled to work, I would show up anyway just to absorb as much as I could. This began my dependence on people who were more experienced and willing to share their knowledge with me. No one was more generous in this regard than Anthony Quinn
.

The first day of filming was devoted to my short scene with the two Tonys. Then my character was shipped off to school so the grown-ups could thrash around in love and lust. I would have no scenes alone with Tony Franciosa, which was just as well, since every time I was in his company my ears turned red
.

I was to have only one scene with Anna Magnani, but she had not been on the set yet. I looked forward to working with this actress who had captivated me in
The Rose Tattoo,
and I felt I was prepared. I had spent days working with Pamela Danova, the dialogue coach, who carefully translated the lines into Italian so I would recognize the words if Anna spoke them in Italian, which I was told she sometimes did
.

The day we were to do our scene was the day I met Anna Magnani. I remember thinking this was going to be the most important day of my life
.

The lady was having one of her so-called disturbances when Mr. Cukor introduced us. With her mane of dark hair and those deep-set eyes, shaded by sunglasses, she appeared larger than I had anticipated. Before I had a chance to kneel at her feet, she glared at me and shook her head, “No, no, no.” The corners of her mouth drooped while she looked me up and down over the dark glasses. She stared at my eyes and threw up her hands. “No!
”

She already hated me, I was sure. Mr. Cukor artfully pulled her away and spoke very quietly—so quietly that I had trouble eavesdropping. But Magnani did not speak quietly. Her English was not good, so she yelled in Italian, with Pamela translating as fast as she could. I could catch only bits and pieces of the tirade—words such as
inexperienced
and
amateur.
I was devastated. Mr. Cukor was equally firm but without the hand waving: “Her inexperience can work for the scene
.”

“
She’s not Italian”, Anna shouted, and then I heard Mr. Cukor say, “But she
is
Italian. She could do the entire scene in Italian!
”

“
Oh, dear God,” I thought, “what is he saying
?”

“
The eyes, they’re blue!” she barked
.

But Mr. Cukor insisted, “I believe in her, and I want her in the picture, and those adorable blue eyes are all over northern Italy, Anna
.”

Suddenly, with a thunderous laugh, she turned to me, grabbed my shoulders in what I prayed was an affectionate gesture and said, “Hokay! We try one day, today, hokay?” Then she was gone. Apparently Anna Magnani would do anything for George Cukor, even work with me
.