The Legs Are the Last to Go (11 page)

“Of course you went home, didn't you,” he said. “You never intended to leave your husband.” He couldn't possibly be serious.

“How can you say that?” I told him. “I did what I was supposed to do.”

We agreed to get on with things, this time for real. So I went back to the Waldorf for a few days, but Sidney did not come. Again, I went home to Monte, humiliated and devastated. My mother was shocked when I told her my marriage was in trouble. But both she and Monte's sister felt that a baby would be the answer to this problem, that it would bring me down to earth and stabilize the marriage.

And that's what happened. Monte was wonderful during the pregnancy. So was everyone else, including Marilyn Monroe. When I was performing at a posh club in Los Angeles called Mocambo, I sat down with her and a movie executive named Max Youngstein after a show. Marilyn, who wanted a baby so badly, looked at me and put her hand on my belly. “You must be
so happy,” she said with a sigh. I was, and Monte was ecstatic the day I put his hand on my stomach and he felt the baby kick for the first time. But I also knew we weren't out of trouble. I hadn't spoken to Sidney for months. But one day when I was close to giving birth, I bumped into him on Fifty-seventh Street.

“You were never supposed to have anyone's child but mine,” he said.

He walked away before I could even say, “Good line, Sidney!”

The birth of my daughter, in 1961, was not easy, but when she was finally out, I was ecstatic to be a mother. We were all ecstatic. But I also knew deep down that nothing had changed for me and my feelings about my marriage. I was standing in the hospital when I told my mother, “I'm going to leave Monte.”

“Oh no, I thought that was over,” she said.

“I love my baby and I care about Monte, but I can't stay with him,” I said.

“Are you leaving because of Sidney?” she asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “But I have to move on.”

We didn't separate immediately. For a while, things stayed the same. I went back to singing. My engagement at the Plaza continued to make me happy, as did fussing over my infant. The only problem I ever had at the Plaza was the time that management told me they didn't think I should be singing a song by Oscar Brown Jr. called “Brown Baby.” Two executives reported to me that some people in the audience found the lyrics offensive.

 

Brown baby, as you grow up,

I want you to drink from the plenty cup…

 

It was a lovely lullaby to sing to a child about living with a head held high in a better world. I told the executives that I sang this song for my baby daughter. “This is not an offensive lyric, it's a dream for my child,” I said. I was careful not to embarrass them. But I said, “We can't let audiences dictate what I'm going to sing.” And I prevailed. It was another instance of my ability to keep control of any situation involving anything other than love and men. I took my singing very seriously, and would not have it compromised. Singing always got me through my life, and it always would.

Suzanne was four months old when I received a screenplay. It was for
Paris Blues,
a kind of double romance about two expatriate musicians and a couple of vacationing teachers from the United States. I wanted to do it. It had a social awareness that was very compelling and it showed two sophisticated black characters that would be just the thing to move the national conversation along. I got the part, and ended up playing Joanne Woodward's sidekick. Guess who played Paul Newman's? Sidney. I thought it would be fine. I'd grown up and had a baby, and Sidney had a new one, too.

Monte didn't want me to do the film and be in Paris with Sidney, but he also knew that roles like this didn't come along often. The baby, at four months, was too young to travel. I left her with him and flew to France, my mind reeling all the while. When I got there, I calmed down. It was so wonderful to watch Joanne Woodward at work. Seeing the rushes of one of her
scenes, I heard Marty Ritt, the director, remark about the wonderful things she could do in front of a camera. He was right. I watched how she could just stand still and conjure exactly what it took to make a scene work. I was studying diligently at the Actors Studio in those years (and Marlon Brando had sent me boxes of books on the craft of acting) and I had developed as an actress. Watching Joanne deepened my conviction, and I carried some of my new confidence to my scenes with Sidney. I think he sensed I was growing as an artist and growing up as a woman.

But I was not grown up enough to know how to control myself. And neither was he. One night we decided to get it out of the way and go ahead and finally sleep together. I was petrified and it was a total disaster. “What is the matter with you?” he asked.

“I don't know. But being with you like this makes me feel like trash,” I replied.

“You want too much,” he told me.

Perhaps. But after that I did my best to not wait around for my phone to ring. One night, Duke Ellington, who was working on the music for the film, took me out and fed me caviar. He treated me beautifully, and it's exactly what I needed at that moment. He must have seen that I was missing something in my life. Maybe it would change when Monte and my parents came over from New York with the baby at the end of filming. I was desperate to have little Suzanne with me. When she arrived in my mother's arms at Orly Airport, I could barely control my hysteria. I was still so young. Young enough, actually, to have originally named my child Ottille, based on the
character I played in
House of Flowers
. Does that give you some insight into my immature, narcissistic little mind? I may have done things wrong raising my daughter, but at least I knew enough to change her name to something far more reasonable a few years later. Ottille. Oy! What was I thinking? At any rate, I was thrilled to finish the movie with her nearby. It was her first road trip with me. My family was so happy to be in Paris. But even as my mother ran around in a giddy state, preparing for festive holidays, Monte and I remained estranged. Meanwhile, Sidney and I met in secret and took long walks in the cold damp Paris nights, not unlike the ones we took in the movie along the Seine, very glum and noir. We decided that something really had to be done and came up with a plan.

After Paris, we would send our families home and then call them from Sweden (who knows why—maybe because it's such a progressive country) with our news. Guess what? It never happened. Sidney got called in at the last minute to be part of the Kennedy inauguration gala. He'd have to rush home right away. So there was to be no divorce announcement, and no further plans. I ended up flying home alone.

Months later, he met with Monte and me after one of my shows in New York.

“I'm in love with your wife,” Sidney told him. “It's been going on for years. Perhaps we should bring this to a head now so we can all rebuild our lives. I've talked to my wife and we're getting a divorce. I think it would be better for everyone if you and Diahann did the same.” Monte looked stricken, but said, “Well, if that's what Diahann wants, I won't stand in her way.”
So we finally went and got our divorce. It was amicable. I wanted him to be a part of Suzanne's life and I was still fond of him.

Monte moved out of the apartment and Sidney and I started dating for real, and it was wonderful. One night when he called, I knew it would finally be the night we'd make love. I finally chose a black sheath to wear with no jewelry at all—the look of simple elegance I was finding for myself in those years. I had my hair done and I took a long bath, and came out looking adorable and immaculate. Sidney appeared, looking wonderful, and that night we made love, finally, and it was passionate and perfect. Our relationship suddenly blossomed, and we had some wonderful weeks together. But eventually, it became clear that he had done nothing about his divorce. Was I that foolish that I still had hopes he would? Could I really have been that frightened of being alone for even a month?

I asked him why he was not divorcing, as he'd promised so often.

“Diahann, you just don't understand. You're such an ingrate,” he said.

“Sidney, we're back at the same old place again,” I said.

“Because you keep putting us there,” he said.

I continued to see Sidney. He seduced the entire cast of
No Strings
with his charm when he came to see us in tryouts. And I almost got fired from the show when I got a call from him from a movie set in Yugoslavia and he told me he needed me to come right away. Richard Rodgers was furious, but I went, a long exhausting flight, only to find Sidney cold and
uncommunicative when I finally arrived. One night, the cast of his movie was singing at a piano bar. I asked if I could join them. “Diahann,” he said, “every black person can either dance or sing, and I wish you'd stop.” He still had no respect for me, and he sent me home from Europe tourist class. I should have clobbered him for the way he was treating me. But each time he hurt me, I just bounced back as if nothing were the matter, as if I didn't mind being abused and hurt on a regular basis.

Maybe my trouble was that my parents had always deferred to people they perceived as more powerful than themselves. Or was it that all those years ago my parents left me in South Carolina, and I'd had abandonment issues ever since? All I knew was I had chosen a man who was totally unavailable.

It's always the same. Around men, I don't like myself much.

Time passed. I dated my road manager, when
No Strings
went on a national tour. Sidney called my hotel in Los Angeles and woke up my mother and daughter.

“You bitch, whore, tramp,” he yelled. “I know he just left your bed. I won't have you running around with other men. You belong to me!”

We fought until—lo and behold—on the spur of the moment he decided he'd buy me a ring and fly to Mexico for his divorce. Stupid as it sounds, I believed it, and told my mother. “Oh no,” she said. “Where will this end?”

He bought me the ring. He got the divorce in Mexico. Then he flew to Utah to make a western with James Garner. I went back to New York to decorate a ten-room apartment on Riverside Drive that he had purchased. I was only home a few
days when he called to say his wife was having second thoughts. Our wedding plans would have to be postponed. This time it didn't bother me so much. Therapy was helping me understand myself a little better, and the more liberal current of the times allowed me to appreciate the out-of-wedlock relationship we had. I thought we'd eventually marry. But when the apartment was ready and I was about to move my daughter in with me, Sidney told me he didn't want her there, even though she'd been part of the plans from the start.

He changed the locks so I couldn't get in. Then he made me write him a check to offset his purchase and decorating costs. I did not even object. I did as I was told, submissive and desperate.

How did it end? In Nassau, where we had a lovers' spat, and quite a public one at that. In a busy harbor, with a friendly crowd watching us, he refused to let some adoring locals help him start the engine on our dinghy. He became very angry.

That's when I saw the real Sidney, as if for the first time. I suddenly understood his insecurities. I had always seen him as all-powerful. Suddenly I could see his flaws, and mine as well. And just like that, I knew it was over for real. Both of us knew, after nine years. Done!
Basta!
We said good-bye and we parted.

Did I learn anything from the whole decadelong dating debacle? Perhaps not, but I will say that Sidney and I are now friends. That's a lovely thing that comes as you age—forgiveness and perhaps a relaxing of standards just enough to give yourself and others a break. I'll never forget the time I ran into him after years of not seeing him. It was about ten years ago, and I
had moved into my new condo, and I had a toothache that had me rushing off to the dentist. I was sitting in my Rolls waiting for someone to move the car blocking my way. I'm sure I was not looking my senior-glamorous best, without any makeup. I was in pain, after all, and my cheek was swollen and I was in a hurry to get going. So although I cringe now at the thought of being so impatient, I honked my horn. And out of the lobby doors came none other than Sidney. He looked over at me, nodded regally, and I couldn't hide. I was holding my hand to my cheek, in pain.

“I can't believe it! Sidney,” I slurred. “You live here?”

He looked through my window, with a demonic grin. “Excuse me, ma'am,” he joked at me. “Let me move my little car out of your way.”

We both shook our heads and laughed, and whatever was left of my animosity fell away for good. Why hold each other responsible for what we did as children?

Not long ago, we were presenting together at an awards ceremony in New York. As we watched the young people scrambling all around us, people living at the white-hot center of things with long futures still ahead of them, we smiled like two contented grandparents. Sidney put his arm around me.

“Did I ever tell you how much I admire your work?” he said. “No, I don't believe you ever did, Sidney,” I replied. “But thank you.”

There was another time when we ran into each other in my lobby. I was heading outside to my daughter's car. I guess Sidney had seen that she was out there waiting.

“Take my arm, Diahann,” he commanded.

“What are you talking about? Why?” I asked.

“Just put your arm in mine and let's walk up to Suzanne and surprise her.”

So I did as I was told. And my poor daughter saw me on the arm of this man who had been a large part of the problems of her childhood. We were standing right in front of her car.

She took one look at us and muttered, “Not
you
two again!”

We all had a laugh over that, a nice long one.

It's a shame I didn't have that kind of perspective on the relationships I found myself in after Sidney. A good laugh at the absurdity might have made things easier.