IN 1967, AUDREY’S CLOSE FRIEND, DORIS BRYNNER, WAS IN the process of divorcing her husband Yul, who later said he wondered how Audrey could have put up with Mel for so long. He thought that Ferrer was “jealous of her success” and that she had done everything humanly possible to make things work. Brynner, a notorious womanizer, did not comment on why his wife was divorcing him. Did anyone have a happy marriage? Even the unmarrieds—Capucine and Bill Holden were a classic example—always seemed to have nothing but problems.
The Ferrers settled into their ultraluxe accommodations in a bungalow of the Beverly Hills Hotel, as production on Wait Until Dark progressed. While the freezing cold of New York in winter had been replaced by the eternal spring-summer of California, the climate change hardly alleviated the source of Audrey’s unhappiness. The couple’s marriage was unraveling day by day, but the movie was turning out well. The make-believe world of the soundstage had become Audrey’s temporary reality. It was the real world that seemed a fantasy.
According to studio sources, the casting couch was apparently getting a workout as Mel decided on which actress would portray a dead woman in a key scene of Wait Until Dark. Audrey was aware of this but had no choice other than to somehow retain her emotional and physical equilibrium as production approached its final phase. After that, it could very well be a final good-bye to Mel. In interviews she gave during this period, she told reporters that her marriage was in great shape, and wasn’t it amazing? They had been together fourteen years! Her statements were not challenged to her face. In print, it was a different story.
There were lighthearted moments on the set. Audrey and the cast—including Alan Arkin, Jack Weston, and Richard Crenna—liked each other, and there were playful practical jokes to alleviate the tension. Audrey laughed a lot. The fact that she couldn’t often clearly see her co-stars because of the contacts made it all the more difficult, but everyone marveled at her built-in resilience, which was quite remarkable.
She was overjoyed by a visit from seven-year-old Sean over his Easter break. The boy was accustomed to living and going to school in Switzerland. Trips to Disneyland and other tourist attractions with her son were a highlight for them both, and to her relief, she wasn’t besieged by autograph hounds.
Her work in Wait Until Dark was turning out to be outstanding. She was creating a character who, as one reviewer would point out, was at the same time feminine, fragile, and independent: “She never lets one feel sorry for her character.” It was a subtle, powerful achievement, which would be rewarded with an Oscar nomination. Despite all the problems and personal angst, the film came in under budget, and Henry Mancini would compose the musical score.
Audrey’s final attempt to lower the hysteria and salvage her marriage was dramatic: She was pregnant again. And once again, she miscarried.
For all practical purposes, the marriage was finally over. She wanted Mel to plead for her forgiveness. She felt betrayed and depressed. The fact that Mel was going to produce a new version of Mayerling, starring not Audrey but France’s young blonde goddess, Catherine Deneuve, was another blow—one compounded when she learned that Terence Young would be the director. Despite being Audrey’s friend, apparently Young had gotten along well with Mel on Wait Until Dark. When Mayerling subsequently flopped, the reviews complained about the lack of chemistry between Deneuve and Omar Sharif, just as they had years ago with Audrey and Mel in their television version.
Wait Until Dark opened at New York’s Radio City Music Hall. Standing at the rear of the vast Art Deco auditorium, which accommodated over 6,000 patrons, it was more than gratifying for the filmmakers to hear the hair-raising collective screams from the audience at the climactic moment when the villain, presumably just killed, springs to life and lunges at a blind-but-not-so-helpless Audrey. After the premiere, Universal executive Jerry Evans recalled seeing Audrey, together with Mel, Terence Young, and a Warner Bros. contingent, all smiling and congratulating each other as they left the theater. Evans spoke with one of his Warners pals, who said Warners expected the film to “go through the roof,” which was good news for the studio. Bonnie and Clyde, released a couple of months earlier, was becoming a big hit for Warners. But that wasn’t the case with the costly musical version of Camelot; Jack Warner had bypassed Julie Andrews once again. Vanessa Redgrave—another non singer!—was cast as Queen Guinevere, the role Andrews had created on the stage. The movie was a critical and box office failure. With Wait Until Dark, Hepburn had come through for him yet again, putting Warner in a great position to sell the studio that year.
The movie was a solid thriller and went on to gross a fortune throughout the world. Audrey’s share was in the millions. She was remaining a first-magnitude star in a dramatically changing movie world—one that had changed greatly even since the recent My Fair Lady. This was the year not only of Bonnie and Clyde but also The Graduate, Cool Hand Luke, and Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. Faye Dunaway was the new star sensation. Her look in Bonnie and Clyde, as Audrey’s had been after Roman Holiday and Sabrina, was a major influence on fashion. In Dunaway’s case, according to some it was the “Poor Look.”
Audrey flew to Hollywood to be a presenter at the Academy Awards—and, she hoped, to pick up her second Oscar—at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, on April 10, 1968. Grace Kelly, on film, made a special presentation regarding the foreign-film nominees; and Bill’s film Casino Royale won Best Song (for “The Look of Love”). Ironically, Audrey lost the Oscar to the other Hepburn, Katharine, who won for Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. It was considered unlikely, however, that the younger Hepburn would ever issue a statement along the lines of Katharine’s: “They don’t usually give these things to the old girls, you know.”
After that, around the same time she was initiating divorce proceedings, Audrey took a much-needed break. To her consternation, she was on her own—without a protector—and she didn’t like it. She lost weight, and at one point she was a skeletal one hundred pounds.
She found distraction on Europe’s social—very social—scene. She was in the fast lane, a cautious participant in la dolce vita. She generated her own field of energy, her own sex appeal. She made the acquaintance of a well-connected, titled woman who was, in effect, a matchmaker for the rich and famous, and with her help, started dating.
There was a renowned matador, Antonio Ordonez, seven years younger; the chemistry wasn’t right. There was Prince Alfonso de Borbon y de Dampierre, a pretender to the Spanish throne and a world-class skier. If Mel, as reported, was angry on learning of Audrey’s involvement with the prince, it only proved his dedication to the double standard.
Bitterness, unfortunately, was to characterize Mel and Audrey’s feelings about each other. They didn’t speak, except on urgent family matters, for over two decades. At one point, Audrey even denied Mel access to their son, albeit temporarily. An old adage accurately described Audrey at this point: “Don’t look back—something might be gaining on you.” She was disillusioned and deeply disappointed that her marriage was over.
One intense desire remained: to find another “Mr. Right,” and to have another child. She was determined that Sean have a sibling. In less than two years, she would be forty. Her biological clock was running down.
Although the Spanish prince was a charmer, Audrey was not swept off her feet. She wasn’t going to make any rash commitments, certainly not in the midst of her unpleasant divorce. It was proving to be a complex, drawn-out negotiation. A great deal of money, property, and investments were at stake.