By Myself and Then Some (82 page)

So life went on, as it must. I had my children luckily and my work and still some friends that I treasured.

W
ith my emotions at a
low ebb, a most unexpected lift to my spirits appeared. A new relationship resulted in a roundabout way from my commitment to
Waiting in the Wings
. What has turned out to be my lifetime companion arrived in the form of a three-pound, four-legged tri-color beautiful Papillon. During rehearsals of the play, Alexander Cohen had told me he wanted to give me a dog for my birthday. In the mid-Nineties, I had begun a habit of going to the Westminster Dog Show in Madison Square Garden. Not to sit and watch the show as much as to walk behind the scenes where all the dogs are being prepared for the competition. After the loss of my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in 1984, I was so upset that I couldn’t think of having another dog. Clearly my decision to attend Westminster was the beginning of my need for another four-legged companion. Greg and Veronique Peck had been after me for years to get a Maltese. They had two and took them everywhere when they traveled. When I perused the different breeds at Westminster there were groups of Maltese, pink bows atop their little heads and hair in curlers getting ready for the big event. Show dogs are not the same as other dogs. They are trained to show, to prance around the ring, to stand perfectly still and in position for the judges’ examination. These were so small. Anyway, I’d always had a sneaker for Pekinese.

Not long before starting
Waiting in the Wings
, I had gone to Westminster with Judy Green who had great seats down front. All the dogs were beautiful. If I lived on a farm heaven knows how many I would have. She knew some of the breeders who were down on the floor. It was soon to be time for the toy group to be judged. She introduced me to John Oulton who bred Papillons, a breed I had never seen before. They were all colors – black and white, brown and white, tri-color (black, brown and white). John was holding black and white Kirby who had won every Best in Show and Best in Breed in every important dog show anywhere. He was very appealing, but I just wasn’t sure. I’d never imagined myself with a small dog and yet, if I was going to have one, it made sense with all the traveling I do for work and pleasure – the dog I chose would have to travel with me on the plane, not in the hold. I took John’s card and asked him to let me know when he was going to have another litter. Meanwhile the toy group was about to be called. Kirby won that one easily. When Best in Show came around, he pranced around the ring looking so happy, so sure of himself
– he loved the event. He was a great dog, irresistible, and he won. It couldn’t have gone any other way and, of course, I found myself thinking in terms of Papillons.

I wavered back and forth between Maltese and Papillons for ages, then came the call – the new litter had arrived. I had to choose. I wanted a girl but as I was about to go into rehearsal for the play, I couldn’t think of training a puppy at that time. In any event, I had made up my mind not to have a dog under six months old. That was fine with John. I told Alexander Cohen I’d let him know when I could take the dog – it would have to be after we opened and after I’d settled in. Agreed! The day came a few months later and I called John Oulton saying I was ready, whereupon he told me he’d already given the dog I’d chosen months before to Alex. He thought naturally that as Alex had paid for the dog, he would give it to me. Wrong! There evidently was a young man visiting Alex at the time and Alex gave the dog to him. Knowing he was not in good health, I said nothing. I was mortified, hurt and angry. John, of course, did the right thing from his point of view. The dog had been paid for so he had no choice. The saga continued and I had to wait for the next litter. So we went for it – the same routine – John called me – the litter arrived – two tri-color Papillon girls – he would bring them down in a few months so I could choose. The time arrived, down they came. I defy anyone to make a choice between two adorable sisters. How do you know which is the right one for you? Of course, you don’t. They played in the kitchen for a while, I picked each of them up, scrutinized them carefully hoping for a sign. There was none. Then fate stepped in – one of them licked my nose when I picked her up – I figured she liked me. So I chose her and after another few months and many phone calls for instructions – food, behavior, what she was used to, etc. etc. – delivery day arrived.

I was like a nervous mother, so anxious to do the right thing by this tiny, four-legged creature I had brought into my life. Well, it didn’t take long before I was a goner. I took her to my old vet who pronounced her a beauty. I had lucked out. She had perfect markings, was by far the prettiest Papillon of those I had seen at Westminster – except for champion Kirby. She is a great traveler, a great companion, always happy to see me, never answers back. She is very independent, has a marvelous personality – it is all true and I am besotted. I had forgotten the unconditional love that a dog gives you. To top it off, she is a country
dog. Now that I’ve sold my house I take her to friends where she goes wild. Runs around in circles – so happy to be free – chases squirrels, chipmunks. If I ever decide to buy another house, it will be for Sophie. That is her name, after my beloved grandmother.

Fantastic luck for Sophie and me comes in the form of my adorable dog walker Kerry Stevens – daughter of my building superintendent. She walks Sophie early morning and at night. Actually the entire Stevens family plays a life-saving role in Sophie’s life. Whether I am home or away, she is always on familiar ground. What could be better?

My job is afternoon walking – our bonding time. I do most of the talking – a happy departure for me as I used to talk to myself or the walls exclusively – Sophie takes care of the sniffing and squirrel chasing. I even find myself talking to her when we are on the street or in the park. I can’t imagine what people passing by must think. These days, if they’ve noticed, they probably think I’m just another nut, which of course I am and proud of it. Sophie is the high in highlights of my life. Even through rain, snow, ice and general laziness, she is the reason I smile when I wake up and a comfort to me continually. I could never have imagined that a now five-pound-six-ounce dog would take over my life. But it has happened and I am happy to have someone to look after and share my moods with.

A
fter all the losses of
the year 2000, a very large glimmer of light and laughter came to pass. This time it was sharing a stage with the irrepressible, unsurpassable, no-holds-barred funny Dame Edna Everage at a Dramatists Guild Awards gala. Years before this event I had appeared on television in the UK with Dame Edna on her own show. I remember reading the script with our scenes together spelled out. Barry Humphries called me at my London hotel to see if everything was all right with the hotel and with me. Everything was fine but, ‘Tell me, Barry, this scene we have together when you are Dame Edna, could we change a few words?’ His answer was, ‘I don’t know. I’ll ask her.’ After that I asked no more questions.

Going on the show was great fun. I talked to her before a live audience, mind you, as Dame Edna. She convinced me. Tom Jones appeared on the same show – the three of us did a song together. I had
a great time and Dame Edna – Barry Humphries – both of them – are brilliant and very, very funny.

I seldom take part in awards presentation events but the Dramatists Guild is so important to the theatre, plus I love to laugh and Dame Edna makes me laugh non-stop. The recipients were particularly distinguished that year. Steve Sondheim, who I have known and loved for years, and Arthur Miller, who I have always been somewhat in awe of, were two irresistible reasons to appear. I guess I’m a bit of a snob. I love to be involved in even the smallest way with enormously talented people and have always, all my life, been impressed with them. A lot of ‘awe’ time.

I was asked to host a Leonard Bernstein tribute in Paris which Marlon Brando would co-host. Lenny, an old treasured friend, and Paris were reason enough to say yes, but to be on stage with Brando was like capturing the gold ring – even better. Of course, it never happened. Brando cancelled. But I still had Paris. That trip was followed soon after by a television appearance in Milan during which I fulfilled my need to shop and eat Italian with new people and to have fun. From Milan, I went on to Stockholm where I had been invited to receive the Bronze Horse for Lifetime Achievement at their film festival. The great perk of movies rears its head once more – Lifetime Achievements seem to be recognized worldwide. That is how we visit new countries, meet new people and – being the center of attention for just a few days – have our failing egos (fed by unemployment) satisfied enough – just enough – to feel that perhaps our efforts have not been in vain after all.

A
t the end of the Waiting in the Wings
run, I was in need of a break. I was weary. The theatre, while exhilarating, is also quite physically demanding – and emotionally as well – very much so. I needed to get away from New York and eight shows a week. Whenever I am in that state, it has been my instinct to head for Paris, the city that almost rejuvenates me. If for no other reason than the language change, I immediately feel lighter. It’s fun, it’s so much a part of my younger fantasies. The heart-stopping beauty of Paris is impossible to explain. It feeds my strong visual sense – for however long I am there, I become French. I attend concerts with my great friend Nicole Salinger. I hang out mostly in the same cafes, walk many of the same streets.

I am fortunate in that I was able to adapt not only to France, but to
England and Italy too. Though by no means a linguist, I know roughly one hundred or more words in Italian and Spanish. French I am more fluent in, though far from fluent enough to satisfy me. Though basically I feel very much at home in France, let’s face it, sooner or later it becomes clear that I am a foreigner. No matter how many friends (and I have quite a few in each country – which in turn add up to more than I have in America), or how much time spent, you cannot get away from the fact that you are not one of them. Perhaps in spirit, but not in reality. Nevertheless, I always return feeling refreshed, feeling better about myself and gung-ho to face the job market and the questionable mentality that decides my fate. For more than a year after
Waiting in the Wings
closed, I seemed to travel endlessly.

W
hile travel is the great
escape from the pressures – meaning stress – of my real world, I still always seem to be glad to come home. Home to my own things around me – the putting away of suitcases – thank God – the packing scene being the worst aspect of travel. So, home again, I lulled myself into my routine of watching the news non-stop – dinner on a tray, feet up and Sophie by my side. I like this routine I’ve settled into. I don’t really remember how it came to pass but it’s part of my days – after six or six-thirty when the house is empty of people, the telephone stops ringing and I move around my apartment, which has been home to me for over forty years, freely and quietly. With the noise of my city, silence is bliss.

Just as I was falling into a breathing-easy, pleasant cycle, came a mammoth emotional blow for me – the illness of Jason Robards – great actor, my husband for eight and a half years and father of our great son Sam. It’s a funny thing: our marriage, though it didn’t work, our caring for each other did. We shared our work and our humor and we were always glad to see one another and enjoyed our time together. I never thought of his being ill. He had a fairly rough childhood and young manhood; he beat up on himself during his early years in the theatre but he was never sick during our time together. And suddenly there he was with a malignant tumor. He carried on for two years through some ups and major downs. Generally it was a bad two years for him and for those who loved him. Not long before he died, Sam was able to leave his own family in California and spend some real quality time with his father. As
Jason had another life, I was not able to see him too often, but we did talk on the phone from time to time and that was a lot better than nothing. I count it a very special thing that he and I were able to connect with one another – and recognized, in spite of a divorce which was not altogether pleasant, that we did love each other and that a strong bond would last through our lifetimes.

In spite of knowing he was losing his fight against that miserable disease, his death came as a terrible shock. No more Jason. Thank God for memories of funny, crazy times together – even the not so funny times looked good. Jason, who had not always been around a great deal, saw what a talented actor and superior human being his son was – that was of great comfort to me. Jason is always in my thoughts and I happily remember the plays – his brilliance on the stage – those performances – always. Especially during our times together, though there were continuing attempts to keep us apart. Fortunately they were unsuccessful, and try though they might, no one could take those years away from us.