Chapbook Selections From Web Del Sol
Anne
Nothing went nowadays as it should. The simple businessman awaiting the arrival of the German coaches at Amsterdam's Central Station began to grow nervous. The telegram in his pocket said that his two brothers-in-law had managed to board the express. But suppose something had happened to them.... The worst of the pogroms in their native city had ended, and they had emerged unscathed. But the turbid current of anti-Semitism still ran strong, throughout all Europe. What if there had been a last-minute inspection, a questioning of documents or motives at the border? The man could picture his in-laws all too plainly in the hands of the Gestapo. A chill December wind blew in off the Het Ij, the Amsterdam Harbor. To the man standing on the exposed platform, it smelled like the breath of a wolf. Nothing could be counted on in this bad year of 1938. The man's anxiety increased. His chest felt filled with sand. This simple delay--undoubtedly innocent--was somehow driving home to him with more force than many a greater outrage the tremendous uncertainty of the times, the danger under which they all lived. What a responsibility, to care for a family, a wife and two daughters, under such conditions! He had thought they were safe in Holland. For five years they had lived here in relative security. He had been able to convince himself that the madness in Germany would not touch them in their adopted country. But now he knew differently. Not one inch of the continent would be spared the insanity of Hitler and his followers. Suddenly he was possessed by a flash of prescience, a moment of revelation of Old Testament proportions. If they stayed here, they would all die. Sooner or later, despite all possible delaying tactics, all the tricks and dodges of the pursued, the Germans would get them. They were foredoomed. Under the impact of the vision, the man began to weep. The arrival of the Frankfort train brought him back to himself. He dried his tears on his coatsleeve and searched the faces of the disembarking passengers for his wife's brothers. There they were! "Hans, Dietrich, how good to see you again!" "And you, Otto." They embraced, then stepped apart. Otto said, "It's a walk of a mile or two home. Do you mind? It would save trolley fare...." "Not at all," said Hans. "It will feel good to stretch our legs after the long journey." "And it will give us time to talk," added Dietrich. "Man to man, without troubling Edith or the girls." "I understand." They departed the station and soon picked up the Oz Voorburgwal south. "We live in the River Quarter, South Amsterdam," explained Otto. "Many Jewish families have gathered there." For some minutes the brothers brought Otto up to date on the affairs of those relatives and friends who remained in Frankfort. The news was welcome, but at the same time disturbing. Things were worse than he had guessed. At last, within sight of the Town Hall, Hans broached the real meat of their discussion. "We are not settling here, Otto, despite your kind offer. We are determined to move on. In fact, we have already purchased passage to America." Otto was stunned. "America.... Why so far? We'll never see you again. And what will you do there?" Dietrich answered, "To my mind, it's just far enough. Let us not fool ourselves, Otto. The Nazis will not stop until they've conquered all of Europe. It's as plain as the yellow star they force all Jews to wear! Even England is not safe. As to how we shall manage--well, we are skilled German optical craftsmen. Surely such talents are in demand everywhere." They crossed the Amstel River. Ice floes resembling partially surfaced U-boats passed beneath the many bridges. Otto did not speak. He could not bring himself to contradict what the brothers had said, not after his revelation. As they crossed Prinsengracht Dietrich said, "Will you and Edith and the children join us, Otto? There are some steerage berths left on our ship. It's not too late...." Despite his recent vision of their doom, Otto could not bring himself to instantly agree. His nature was more timid than that of the two bachelors. "I don't know.... It means starting from scratch. Life would be hard at first. I'm not sure that Edith would like America.... And I have an obligation to my current firm--" Hans suddenly stopped and grabbed Otto by the upper arms. "Mein Gott! Otto, wake up! This is your last chance!" Otto's voice quavered. "I just don't know what's necessary. It's all too confusing--" Deitrich intervened. "Hans, please. Otto will make up his own mind. All we can do is offer our advice." He looked keenly at Otto. "And let me reiterate, we strongly recommend flight. If not all of you, at least the children." This possiblity had never occured to Otto. "Split up the family? I couldn't--" "Think on it. We could present it to the girls as a little vacation with their two rediscovered uncles. Not upsetting in the least. Come, man! If you and Edith won't save yourselves, you must at least save the children." They were silent the rest of the way home. Number Forty-Six Merwedeplein was brightly lit. When the door was opened a gust of warm air, scented with heavenly odors of cooking, washed over the three men. Edith stepped forth from the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. Upon sighting her brothers, she began to cry. They hastened to hug and comfort her, while Otto stood uselessly by. Attracted by the noises, an adolescent girl wearing glasses emerged from the parlor. She was followed closely by her sister, some three years younger. Otto reintroduced the girls to the uncles they had not seen in many years. "This is Margot," he said, indicating the elder. "Margot, give your uncles a kiss." Margot did so. "And this is Anneliese Marie." The younger girl had dark hair and grey-green eyes with green flecks. Dimples were prominent in her cheeks and chin. She had a slight overbite. Now her interesting eyes flashed. "Pim," she said forthrightly and with great dignity, using her father's nickname, "you know I prefer to be called Anne." Her uncles laughed at her seriousness. "Very well," said Hans. "Little Miss Anne Frank it shall be." * * * Thursday, June 14, 1939 On Tuesday, June 12th, I woke up at six o'clock, and no wonder; it was my first screen test. Oh, yes, it was my tenth birthday also. At the breakfast table, I was treated to a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday" from Uncle Hans, Uncle Dietrich and Margot. Silly old Hans had stuck a candle in my Cream of Wheat, and I had to blow it out. Then I received my presents. From the uncles, a subscription to Screen Romances, along with some new publicity stills for my collection; and from Margot, this diary I am now writing in. It has a marvelous picture of Rin-Tin-Tin on the cover. A trifle babyish, perhaps, for a young lady of my years, but I like it nonetheless. But the celebration could not take my mind off the upcoming test. I confess I was a little nervous, and kept fussing with my hair at the mirror for so long that Uncle Dietrich had to call out, "Hurry up, liebchen, or we'll be late!" Riding to the studio in our big Packard, I sat between the uncles up front, a rare treat. Normally Margot and I are consigned to the back. Uncle Hans, driving, said, "Are you sure you want to go through with this, Anne? After all, you're still quite young to be thinking of a career." "Only a year younger than Shirley Temple," I replied. "And she has been making films for ages. And after all, it's been my only dream for years and years now." "Very well," he said. "But don't set your hopes too high. There are dozens of pretty young girls for every role. I see them arrive at the studio every day, and most go away heartbroken." "Not me, Uncle. I am grateful just for this chance to audition. If I fail, I will go back happily to my studies. Why, there's lots of other careers I could have. Perhaps I could be a journalist, for instance." "I am glad to find you so sensible, Anne. I had to call in many favors to get you this opportunity, but it is still far from a sure thing." Soon we were through the studio gates. The lot was bustling with glamorous people, and I thought to myself, Little Anne, you have certainly come a long way from that Montessori schoolyard halfway around the world! Almost before I knew it, we were on the soundstage. The lights, the microphones, the cameras and the spectators, although just as I had always imagined them, were enough to make my head spin. With cameras whirring, I was asked to recite one of Temple's speeches from Captain January, which I managed to do without flubbing it. A voice from beyond the lights next asked me to "sing something." I obliged with Captain Spalding's big number from Animal Crackers. And then it was over, almost before it had begun. Uncle Dietrich had gone to work already, but Uncle Hans was waiting for me. "Do you know who that was who asked you to sing?" "No. Who?" Uncle's voice assumed a reverent tone. "That was Louis Mayer himself!" Accompanying Uncle to the workshop, where I would spend the day (what bliss!), I actually saw in the flesh the beautiful Lane Sisters, Lola, Rosemary and Priscilla, the stars of Four Daughters. Lola and Rosemary were busy chatting gaily with some men, but Priscilla--my favorite--was kind enough to bestow a warm smile on me. To think that once, back in Amsterdam, I had a fantasy of Priscilla Lane becoming my special friend--And now it might actually come true! Saturday, June 16, 1939 I haven't written for a few days, because I wanted first of all to think about my diary. I don't want to set down a series of bald facts in a diary like most people do, but I want this diary itself to be my friend, and I shall call my friend Priscilla (after whom, we all know!). I shall start by sketching out my life since Margot and I arrived in America, under the guardianship of our uncles. We landed, of course, in New York. Soon, we were living with Jewish friends on the Lower East Side. Unfortunately, work was hard to find, even for such talented craftsmen as Hans and Dietrich. One day a month or so after our arrival, Margot and I we were told that we were moving. "Before our savings are eaten away, we intend to try our hand at life in California, girls. They say Hollywood needs lots of camera technicians and repairmen." "Hollywood!" I shouted. "Hurray! Oh, thank you, thank you, dear uncles!" "Oh, Anne," said Margot, somewhat snippily, "please spare us. Don't make it sound as if our uncles are catering to your foolish obsession. It's strictly a practical move." I knew this was true, but I could still maintain my fantasy, couldn't I? You see, diary, ever since I was in kindergarten, I had been enthralled by the cinema. The walls of my room back in Amsterdam were positively covered with photos of my favorite stars. I could recite the plots of all the films I had ever seen, as well as the names of many of the actors and crew involved. In short, I was a regular little starstruck fan. Well, we packed our meager belongings and set out on the westward train journey, rather like the hardy souls in John Ford's Stagecoach. I was much taken with the vastness of my new home, its immense and varied terrain. I found the farms most impressive; one could never go hungry in this land! Upon arrival, just as we had hoped, Hans and Dietrich quickly found jobs. And not just with one of the "Poverty Row" studios either, but with the biggest: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. MGM has twenty directors, 75 writers and 250 actors and actresses on permanent payroll! Last year, its profits were over five million dollars. It's just tops! And, diary--your friend, Anne, was just singing to its head, Louis B. Mayer! Monday, June 18, 1939 Dear Priscilla, I hardly know where to begin. Honestly, living in America ages one entirely beyond one's years! (And although most people would not credit it, pleasant experiences can sometimes be as trying as unpleasant ones....) I know I've always been a precocious child. (Haven't Pim and Mums forever delighted in scolding me for it?) But since coming to Hollywood, I feel as if I've gone from childhood to young womanhood overnight. Even though I have just turned ten, I feel at least a good five years older. (Although my figure surely lags behind!) But I am circling around the important issue I have to relate. It seems that I am afraid to set it down on paper, lest it prove the merest soap-bubble of my overactive imagination. Today, Mister Mayer offered me a role! And not just any old role, but the starring role in a new family film. (Mister Mayer always says he will never put his name on a picture he's ashamed to let his family see.) It happened like this. At eight this morning, the phone rang. When Uncle Hans hung up, he wore a stunned expression. "That was Mayer's secretary, Anne. He wants to see you in his office at ten." I walked around the house in a daze. The drive to the studio passed unnoticed by me. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in Mister Mayer's office in front of his huge desk, Uncle Hans by my side. "So, Miss Frank--your uncle tells me you'd like to become an actress." "Yes, sir. I've been told I have a talent for mimicry. I could always imitate my friends back home. Strangers too." "Your test shows promise, real promise. Normally, we'd start you out small, a bit part here and there. But it just so happens that something's come up where your inexperience might actually be valuable. Have you ever read The Wizard of Oz?" "Mister Frank Baum's book? Of course." "Well, we're filming it. Or at least, we're trying to. I don't know what's the matter with this project, but at times it seems cursed. I wanted to begin it last year, but couldn't free up Vic--Vic Fleming--from Gone With the Wind. My son-in-law, Selznick, had a lock on him. Then as soon as he was ready, just a month ago, we lost Judy." An expression of genuine grief passed over Mister Mayer's face. I knew that Judy Garland had been one of his personal favorites. "It was a horrible accident," I said, though I fear my words were little consolation. "I cried when I read about in Photoplay." Mister Mayer looked approvingly at me. "I appreciate that, Anne. Not only was it wrenching for me, but also for the studio. Judy's death in that car crash threw a monkey-wrench into the filming. We had already shot several key scenes with her too. Then, on top of that, just last week Buddy Ebsen developed an allergy to his Tin Man makeup. It was almost enough to make me abandon the whole project. But then you showed up, as if by a miracle." Mister Mayer got up and came around to sit on his desk. "Anne, I think you'd be perfect for the part of Dorothy. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Judy was a bit too old at seventeen for the character. Baum had a younger, more innocent kid in mind, someone kinda naive, and I think it's you. Are you interested?" I could hardly breathe. Yet somehow I managed to reply. "Interested? Mister Mayer, I'd die for such a part!" Mister Mayer slapped his hands on his knees. "Great! It's settled then. Now, all I've got to do is line up someone to replace Ebsen." Uncle Hans and I got up to go, but a word from Mister Mayer stopped us. "Oh, one more thing, kid. That last name. It's got to go. Too Jewish. German too. Your accent's almost unnoticeable, and lessons'll clean up the rest, but the name's a dead giveaway. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a Yid myself, there's no prejudice involved, it's just that the public likes its stars non-denominational, if you get my drift." I admit I was taken somewhat aback, never having thought of my heritage as anything to be ashamed of. But I recovered quickly. "Perhaps I could use my uncle's name?" "Hollander? Kinda long. Say, what if we shorten it? How does 'Anne Holland' grab you?" I considered it for only a moment before agreeing. "Sounds swell." Mister Mayer smiled, and came to shake my hand. "Kid, I can see we're going to get along fine." Tuesday, June 26, 1939 Dear Priscilla, My first day of filming was a huge success, but more wearying than I ever could have imagined. I got off on a good footing with my co-stars, disarming what I suspected was some initial jealousy that a newcomer like myself should suddenly leap into such a prominent role. By the end of the day we were all clowning together between takes like old chums. I have been assigned a chaperone and tutor to accompany me on the set. (How I wish Mums could have taken this role; perhaps it would have brought us closer together....) Her name is Toby Wing, and I'm afraid that, try as I will, I can only consider her a rather harsh and vulgar person. She had a few small parts several years ago, mostly for Paramount, but hasn't really worked since 1934's Search for Beauty. Somehow--I hate to imagine the circumstances--she ended up on the MGM payroll. She's quite glamorous, in a showgirlish way, with platinum hair and long legs (which she doesn't hesitate to show off at the slightest provocation!), but she snaps her chewing-gum and has horrible diction. When I contrast her with you, Priscilla, my dream friend, how coarse she appears! Fancy this: attempting to give me a math lesson during lunch, she said, "Your figure comes first, honey, but it don't hurt to know figures too. Else how you gonna count your diamonds?" Diamonds! As if that's why I'm doing this! Oh, well, best to keep all this between you and me, diary, as I do with everything. Sunday, September 2, 1939 Dear Priscilla, Please forgive me. Filming has kept me so busy that I haven't written to you in all these days. But yesterday's events compel me to. Hitler has invaded Poland. No more need be said. The war that everyone dreaded for so long is underway. Oh, what will become of my dear Pim and Mumsie, not to mention all my other friends? Peter, Miep, Elli, Lies, Jopie, Sanne-- For now, they are safe. But I have an awful intuition that they will soon be in harm's way. All Margot and I can do here in America is pray. I cannot imagine what life must be like in Europe now. My days in Amsterdam seem so far away. I guess I am truly an American now. Thursday, April 30, 1940 Dear Priscilla, Ten months of filming. Who could ever have predicted it would take so long? I feel as if I've passed through a kind of fire that has burned away all I was before. Out of the ashes I emerge a new person, stronger and more mature, one who has earned to right to utter those magic words: "It's a wrap." My first film is in the can. It turned out to be the studio's most expensive project to date. In fact, months of post-production work still await, some of which involves me. But for most of my time, I'll be working on a new film. Mister Mayer already has another project lined up for me. He wants me to play the daughter in an adaptation of the classic Swiss Family Robinson. I've just read the book, and it's a thrilling tale. Hard to credit though, a family isolated and trapped like that, living off their wits, surrounded by wild beasts, struggling just to get enough to eat. But Mister Mayer thinks it will go over big with the public, and I trust his judgement. I guess it's as Toby said: "Sweetie, you're on your way to the top now!" Friday, May 10, 1940 Dear Priscilla, Holland, dear Holland, my namesake, has been invaded! The uncles, Margot and I were glued to the radio all day. (Luckily, there was no shooting scheduled.) I can't begin to picture what the innocent country is undergoing. Our hearts go out to the poor helpless citizens there. If only America would get involved in the war-- Perhaps there is something I could do as an actress to help. I shall ask Mister Mayer for his advice. Wednesday, June 12, 1940 Dear Priscilla, What should I receive for my birthday from Mister Mayer but the most fabulous present imaginable! Fox studios has had a project on hold for some time, while they gauged public sentiment toward the war, and Mister Mayer has bought it for me. I'll dive into it as soon as the Swiss pic is finished. I am to play the daughter of the female lead in I Married a Nazi. I've read the script, and it's a corker! In the end, I get to denounce my "father" as a spy, and save Hoover Dam from blowing up. Now I don't feel quite so useless and powerless. Friday, September 15, 1940 Dear Priscilla, Tonight was the best night of my life. I attended the premiere of The Wizard of Oz at Grauman's Chinese Theater. Stepping from the limousine, adjusting my mink (a beautiful stole by Adrian) around my shoulders as the flashbulbs popped, I could hardly believe that I was soon to see my name, Anne Holland, on the silver screen. I moved as if in a dream. Throughout the whole screening, I felt transported. I was proud of my work, glad that my name was associated with such a fine picture, one that will, I am sure, last for generations and serve as an inspiration of how courage, brains and heart may triumph over adversity. (Is it too much to see in the Wicked Witch a symbol of Nazi tyranny?) And, dear Pris, just to show you that I am still, under my new exterior, the same little fan I once was, I must exclaim that the premiere was simply studded with stars! (Although much to my disappointment you were not there, since you were busy filming Four Mothers, the sequel to Four Daughters and Four Wives.) It was keen to meet so many of the people I've admired all these years. I even got to shake hands with Charlie McCarthy and his "partner," Edgar Bergen. As the musicians say, "They're a gas!" Sunday, December 2, 1940 Dear Priscilla, The queerest thing happened to me yesterday, and I feel I must tell you about it. Having developed a headache on the set, I called a halt to filming and asked for a few minutes to recover myself by lying down. Opening my dressing-room door, I was shocked to encounter my chaperone, Toby, in an amorous embrace with one of the stagehands. Her dress was hiked halfway to the sky, and her lipstick was all smeared. She looked a fright. Instead of expressing repentence, she just laughed and said, "Oh, honey, you don't mind, do you? A girl's gotta amuse herself somehow. I wasn't cut out to be no teacher." I made no reply, and was soon alone in the room, a cold compress on my forehead. I couldn't get the image of Toby, pressed down by the grip, out of my mind. A mix of repulsion and attraction filled my bosom. I have had these kinds of feelings subconsciously before I came here, as well as more recently. I remember that once when I slept with a girlfriend (Bonita Granville) I had a strong desire to kiss her, and I did so. And in fact, I go into ecstasies every time I see the near-naked figure of a woman, such as Jean Harlow, for example. It strikes me as so wonderful and exquisite that I have difficulty in stopping the tears rolling down my cheeks. Am I too young for such feelings? Sometimes I feel as if my whole life that was to be has been accelerated beyond all comprehension by forces beyond my control. If only I had a boyfriend too! Thursday, June 12, 1941 Dear Priscilla, Yet another marvelous present from Uncle Louis! (This is becoming a regular tradition....) He plans to revive the Andy Hardy series of films, which has been in abeyance since Judy Garland's death. And I am to play in them, opposite Mickey Rooney! Uncle Louis says that, at twelve, I am now mature enough to serve as a "love interest" for Mickey, who is seven years my senior, but looks much younger. (Just a couple of years ago, in Boy's Town, for instance, he was still playing a child's part.) I can't tell you how excited I am to be working with Mickey. He's so cute! Don't be jealous of me, Pris! Monday, July 1, 1941 Dear Priscilla, At the oddest moments, the plight of my poor parents will recur to me, shattering my mood of the moment and making me forget my lines. Sometimes I feel incredibly guilty that I should have left them behind, to suffer in my stead. At other times, I imagine that my safety and that of Margot must serve as an inspiration to them in their unimaginable difficulties, for I know that they truly do love us both, despite whatever unavoidable fallings-out we might have had. Would I have accomplished as much with my life had I stayed in Amsterdam? That is a question I will never have the answer to, although sometimes, just before dropping off to sleep, I sometimes catch a ghostly glimpse of what might have been, and that unreal alternate life both scares and thrills me. Monday, July 8, 1941 Dear Priscilla, I've read the script for Love Finds Andy Hardy, and must say that several times I blushed. Not that there's anything indecent in it--far from it! It's just that it will be a supreme test of my professionalism to keep my true emotions separate from the role. You see, I've fallen in love with Mickey! It's true, Pris. One meeting was all it took. That's what an adorable little charmer he is! (Not that he flirted with me at all. He's the perfect gentleman, and probably feels nothing for me....) But that night, all I did was dream of him. I was completely upset by the dreams. When Uncle Hans kissed me this morning, I could have cried out: "Oh, if only you were Mickey!" I think of him now all the time, and I keep repeating to myself the whole day, "Oh, Mickey, darling, darling Mickey...!" Who can help me now? I must live on and pray to God that when Mickey someday reads the love in my eyes he will say, "Oh, Anne, if I had only known, I would have come to you long before!" Sunday, December 7, 1941 Dear Priscilla, Well, we are in the war now for sure. The destruction at Pearl Harbor has finally awakened the slumbering giant, America. Already Hollywood is shifting gears to do its bit. Who knows? Perhaps one day soon, I will be reunited with Pim and Mumsie. I will buy them a big house in the hills, with lots and lots of rooms, even a secret annex where we can hide together from my public! Thursday, February 14, 1942 Dear Priscilla, A valentine from Mickey! Is he just being considerate, or can it be that--? Toby advises, "Don't throw yourself at him like you're desperate, kid. Keep him guessing and hanging on a little longer." It seems like a cruel and sneaky tactic, but perhaps I should heed Toby's greater experience. Monday, March 3, 1941 Dear Priscilla, Whether it was Toby's advice or my own pure heart, I don't care to know. Suffice it to say that Mickey has kissed me! It happened like this. We had just finished a very emotional scene and were refreshing ourselves with sodas from the studio commissary, standing outside in a secluded corner of a Western set. I was still trembling from the stress of concealing my emotions, and Mickey, the angel, seemed to sense how vulnerable I was and how delicately I needed to be treated. He came towards me, I impulsively flung my arms around his neck (he's not much taller than me) and gave him a kiss on his left cheek, and was about to kiss the other cheek, when my lips met his and we pressed them together. In a whirl we were clasped in each other's arms, again and again, never to leave off. Is it right that I should have yielded so soon, that I am so ardent? I simply don't care. My happiness is complete. Sunday, June 14, 1942 Dear Priscilla, At age thirteen, my life is over. Mickey has just been drafted. No strings that Uncle Louis can pull have been able to get him a deferment. The love which has so recently bloomed between us must now undergo the immense strain of separation and anxiety which so many other couples are experiencing in this war-torn world. What, oh, what is the use of war? Why can't people live peacefully together? Why do they make still more gigantic planes, still heavier bombs? Why should millions be spent daily on the war and yet there's not a penny available for medical services, artists or poor people? Why do some people starve, while there are surpluses rotting in other parts of the world? Why are people so crazy? I have no answers. All I know is that I shall wait forever for Mickey to return. Thursday, October 16, 1944 Dear Priscilla, We have just had a letter from Pim and Mumsie! After receiving a call-up notice from the S.S., they resolved to flee Holland. By many torturous strategems, they made their way to Switzerland, where they can now sit out the war in safety. I am so relieved. I doubt they would ever have made it, if they had been burdened with Margot and me. Finally the wisdom of our Uncles' advice reaches its triumphant pinnacle! Now, if only I had fresh news of Mickey. He survived D-Day, but the war is hardly over yet.... Saturday, November 12, 1944 Dear Priscilla, Mickey is coming home. He has lost a leg. Tuesday, January 3, 1945 Dear Priscilla, The war has changed Mickey so much. Gone is the carefree boy I fell in love with. The horrible sights he witnessed, the events he participated in, have all scarred his soul. Even I, safe at home, have been deeply shaken by the news out of liberated Germany of the so-called "concentration camps...." All the friends of my youth seem to have vanished into them, consumed like so many moths around a klieg light. I still love Mickey, of course, and forever shall. But I know that the brief childlike interlude we enjoyed will never return. After we are married, we shall enter our adulthood with no chance of stepping back. (Odd, I never could quite picture myself as an adult.) I resolve now to devote the rest of my life to taking care of Mickey. And of course, to my art. Friday, December 19, 1949 Dear Priscilla, Why do I write now, after all these years of silence, during which I was so busy with so many things that I neglected my oldest, my dearest friend? Only to mention that Margot has emigrated to Israel, to be with Mumsie and Pim. So much for my dream of us all living in one big house. (Though how anyone besides your long-suffering Anne could stand to live with poor Mickey is beyond me....) How I wish I could believe in something, anything, as fervently as Margot does. But I fear my faith in anything outside the glorious artifice of the soundstage has completely disappeared. I never really acknowledged to Margot how much her presence meant to me. We fought, as sisters will, but beneath it all was a deep understanding and affection. As a final instance of her sisterly devotion, she managed to extract from Mickey just before her departure a promise to stop drinking. Saturday, June 12, 1951 Dear Priscilla, The divorce is final. The proceedings were extremely messy--vile, in fact. In accordance with California state law, I was forced to prove mental cruelty charges against Mickey. Not a hard task, given his abusive nature when drunk, but nevertheless an unpleasant one. When I think back to the days of our innocent courtship, even to those few months after the marriage, when Mickey was making an honest effort to restart his career, I find myself in tears at what was lost in the war's cruel embrace. Could anything possibly have been worse? I ask in self-pity. But then I take a couple of Miltowns, straighten my seams, and go on like the trouper I've long become. Anyway, Mickey's lawyer in retaliation brought up that old scandal with Vincent Minnelli. Luckily, there was never any proof of my pregnancy--I made sure to avoid all photo-ops in those last few months--and no one's ever traced little Liza to that Minnesota orphanage. So, as I hoped, the judge's decision went completely in my favor. Still, the whole affair was incredibly complex, wasteful of both my time and money. I still sometimes can't believe what my life has become these days. Oh, Priscilla, if only I had stayed with Pim and Mumsie in Amsterdam! Surely, we could have escaped together to Switzerland! Surely after the war I could have gone back to the lovely little house at Number Forty-Six Merwedeplein, taken up with one of my old boyfriends, and gone on to become an average Dutch hausfrau! What a sweet life it would have been! No agents, no fractious co-stars, no face-lifts looming just down the road. But the horrors I've just described are my only life now. There is no other path. Yet--you know what? Despite everything, way down deep, beneath the pancake makeup, I still believe in the goodness of man. Home |