SHE LOOKED LIKE A BEAUTIFUL BUT OLDER AUDREY.
Ardis Ankerson was her birth name, and from the beginning she insisted that Bill and their friends call her Ardis, not Brenda, her stage name. Friends included Ronald Reagan and Nancy Davis, to whom Bill and Ardis served as best man and matron of honor at the Reagans’ wedding, on March 4, 1952. Reagan was grateful to Ardis: “She had arranged for a cake at their home, and a photographer, so we’d have wedding pictures.” No reporters were on hand. Reagan didn’t want them around; he had been burned by the negative coverage during his divorce from actress Jane Wyman.
That was fine with the Holdens, who were wary of the press as well. Ardis was no stranger to publicity; she’d had plenty of it during her days as a working actress. She was a gorgeous, Philippines-born brunette, three years older than Bill, and had been anxious to succeed in her career. Errol Flynn, no less, had been her leading man in two films, The Sea Hawk and Footsteps in the Dark. Ultimately, none of the ten movies she had made by the time she met and married Bill, in 1941, had made her a star. But who was to say that it wouldn’t have happened if she had ever gotten the “right” role.
Ardis had left her husband, actor Richard Gaines, to marry Bill, who adopted the former couple’s five-year-old daughter, Virginia. Husband and wife were both strong personalities, and tensions and undercurrents in their relationship led to a tacit understanding that suited both of them. Contrary to popular perception, Ardis was not the little woman warming her hands by the fire while waiting for her errant husband to come home (which he invariably did). In fact, she had a roving eye herself. Obviously, the Holdens were comfortable with their open lifestyle, but they were always souls of discretion. They had to be; any actor’s career would have suffered a crippling blow during those days when morals clauses were still written into studio contracts.
Interestingly, Ardis was not one to bask in reflected glory. She often had something to say that would bring Bill down a peg or two if people’s compliments—about his looks, his talent, and so on—got out of hand. Nor was she reluctant to disagree with him. If, for example, Bill said he thought an actor’s performance in a film was lousy and she thought otherwise, Ardis would reply: “Oh, I thought he was wonderful in it.”
Ardis was not unaware, and not surprised, that her husband had a crush on Audrey Hepburn. Of all the women he had been involved with up to this point, there had been two serious relationships: actress Gail Russell, an ethereally beautiful brunette, nine years younger than Ardis, under contract to Paramount; she was a highly neurotic young woman who drank to control her nerves. Men—Bill and John Wayne among them—wanted to protect and help her. Heartthrob Guy Madison married her, but sadly, her alcoholism was an eventual death sentence.
Blonde Diana Lynn, another Paramount contractee, eleven years younger than Ardis, was Bill’s other serious extramarital partner. The less serious flings included one with Shelley Winters, who bragged in later years that she and Bill had enjoyed an annual sexual rendezvous across nearly a decade; at one point he gave her a beautiful diamond watch, which she kept all of her life.
In 1969, in New York City, when Shelley, a nonstop talker, was in charge of an Actors Studio benefit premiere of Bob Fosse’s film Sweet Charity, she told the Universal studio publicist that she’d heard Bill Holden was in town. “I’d invite him to the opening, but I haven’t seen him in years and we didn’t part on the best of terms. Will you guys call him and invite him?” Holden declined the invitation.
At the time Bill fell in love with Audrey, the Holdens’ two sons were ages seven and ten. It speaks well of Bill and Ardis that the boys later said that they had no feelings of having lived an unhappy childhood. In fact, they regarded it as a special one. Bill was caring and loving, and seemed a child himself when he played with them and their toys. Whether he’d been drinking or not, as far as Scott and Peter were concerned, Dad was always in a good mood and lots of fun.
Audrey was no coward. Of course she would meet Bill’s wife. It was the civilized thing to do. Then she had second thoughts. Outwardly, she was a vision of confidence. Her insides, however, were churning. What had Bill gotten her into? This could be the kind of “scene” she had seen in women’s movies from the old Hollywood days, a confrontation between wife and—was it possible? Was she actually playing the real-life role of a home wrecker?
Audrey had been emphatic with Bill—marriage or nothing. Audrey wanted children. He understood; there wasn’t a moment’s hesitation in Bill’s reply. He was going to ask Ardis for a divorce.
Always socially adept, Audrey was reduced to near-adolescent hysteria at the prospect of meeting Bill’s wife. How much did Ardis really know? What had Bill told her? In European society, situations like these were not uncommon; it was natural that Audrey was highly curious about the woman Bill had stayed married to for a dozen years. The drive to the Holden domicile, which was nestled in Toluca Lake, a San Fernando Valley enclave, seemed interminable. It would have been so easy to tell the driver, “Turn back! Take me home!” But she did not.
The Holden home wasn’t in a particularly fashionable location as far as Hollywood’s A-list was concerned. Designed by noted architect Paul Williams, the house was a Georgian-style, flagstone-clad, two-story affair, modest by movie-star standards. Nonetheless, it was a stark contrast to Audrey’s tiny apartment (most actresses in her superstar-on-the-rise position would have demanded, and received, a palatial residence to live in while making a film). As Audrey drove up to the entrance—not a long, winding driveway, but a simple, short walk from the curb to the front door—she took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was certain to be a difficult evening. She realized, for the first time, that this was Bill’s home, and this woman she was about to meet was his wife, the mother of his two children. All that had never seemed real to her before.
The inside of the house was warm and welcoming—pure Americana, bright colors, and traditional furniture. Comfort, not opulence, was the keynote. The bar area featured framed stills from Bill’s films, including solo shots of Barbara Stanwyck and Dorothy Lamour.
When Audrey saw Ardis, she was impressed. The woman was beautiful; the role of injured wife did not suit her. But the beautiful Ardis brought out the competitive spirit in Audrey. Hepburn held her head high, gave out one of her killer smiles, and said: “Oh, I’m so happy to meet you.”
Ardis’s heart must have frozen at the sight of her—here was this radiant creature, fifteen years younger than she, who wasn’t merely beautiful but had unique qualities of class and an almost spiritual grace. The others Bill had brought home were beautiful, but not like this; this was not someone Ardis could have been prepared for. Unlike many Hollywood beauties away from the camera, Audrey even had a beautiful speaking voice! There was nothing strident or uncultured in this package. She was a wife’s worst nightmare, and to compound matters, she seemed like a nice person!
Over the course of the evening Ardis observed that there was much more going on than had been the case with Bill’s other entanglements. From the way Bill was looking at Audrey, Ardis realized that she was no passing fancy. Mrs. Holden was scared. Lately, Bill had been drinking more than ever and seemed unable to stop. He wasn’t yet a wealthy man, but that goal was in sight; was he actually willing to let it all slip through his fingers for Audrey Hepburn? Ardis didn’t put it past him. As soon as Audrey left, the gloves came off and Ardis went into attack mode. She demanded that Bill stop seeing that woman.
Ironically, at the time there were photo layouts of the “Happy Holdens” in major national magazines—“Bill, Brenda, and their boys enjoying a cozy evening at home,” “Bill and Brenda enjoying a movie in their den. . . .” The image makers had been very thorough.
That awful evening was over, but Audrey and Bill’s affair wasn’t. Their ongoing passion proved that defiance was a potent aphrodisiac. For Bill, as well as Audrey, being in love made all the difference. His marriage was emotionally over, and his mind was made up. He was going to divorce Ardis and marry Audrey. It seemed like the most natural next step, and he popped the question. She accepted. By this time Audrey had moved from her apartment at 3435 Wilshire Boulevard to a two-room rental at 10368 Wilshire. Their trysts continued there, and in their dressing rooms.
One day, Audrey was having difficulty with her dialogue in a scene with Bogart and Holden. “Maybe you should stay home and study your lines instead of going out every night,” Bogart said, grinning wickedly. Stony silence on the sidelines. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” shouted Wilder, in a voice even louder than usual, standing alongside the camera. “Again please!”
A welcome reprieve: Audrey, Bill, and Bogie were excited that they would be going to New York for location shooting. The trip, meticulously planned by the studio, would be platinum-class all the way: the best hotels, chauffeured limos around the clock, plus a small army of production people, publicists, and security on hand to insure all ran smoothly.
Scenes would be shot at estates on Long Island, and in and around Manhattan, including Wall Street. Photos of Audrey and Bill together, on the streets of New York, subsequently appeared in newspapers and magazines throughout the world. Hepburn, her usual Vogue-incarnate self, was in her element. For one scene, she was dressed casually in a black, long-sleeve, turtleneck pullover and capri pants, black ballet slippers completing the timelessly chic ensemble. For another, she wore a dramatic black suit, hat, and low-heeled black pumps. Bill was always in suit, tie, and hat—the hat sometimes worn at a jaunty angle, Sinatra-style. Because he was a head taller, Bill always gazed down lovingly at Audrey, and she adored that.
Gaping crowds gathered behind ropes to watch the filming, standing in line hoping for autographs between setups. The stars created a sensation wherever they went—it took only seconds for everyone to know they were there. There were no photographers or crowds to contend with, of course, when Audrey and Bill were alone in their trailers or hotel suites. Bernard Serlin, an advertising-publicity man working for Warner Bros., was in the Wall Street area during filming and dropped by to say hello to a friend, a studio photographer. No newcomer to the film business, Serlin was familiar with the behavior of temperamental stars and was surprised at the happy, nonstop interplay between Hepburn and Holden off-camera. “They were like two high school kids in love,” he said. “I asked my friend if they were like that all the time. He smiled and said, ‘All the time.’”
New York-based syndicated columnist Earl Wilson had spies in the best restaurants, hotels, and elsewhere all over town. His West Coast sources had tipped him off on what was going on between Audrey and Bill. In fact, he had been following her exploits since the James Hanson days. Wilson, a physically small man from the Midwest with a soft-spoken manner, was a bird dog when it came to tracking down a story. He contacted Paramount’s New York press reps, pressing them for further information. “It’s news to us,” was their reply. Wilson called his press contacts at other studios’ New York offices. Paul Kamey, at Universal, told Wilson that he had heard from Paramount pals on the West Coast that Audrey and Bill were “carrying on,” but there were no specifics; and Kamey was speaking off the record. Wilson was not going to stake his reputation on information that could not be verified. What a coup, though, if he could scoop Hollywood-based rivals Hedda, Louella, and Sheilah.
Audrey and Bill had been lucky so far. She would be harmed far more than Holden if their affair became public. The public was more understanding when it came to men. Only a couple of years earlier, Ava Gardner had been vilified for “luring” Frank Sinatra into leaving wife and family to marry her (in fact, it was Sinatra who had pursued Ava). But Ava was a sex symbol, and it went with the territory. Audrey was Cinderella and would not be forgiven so easily, if at all. The press would sweep down on her like the proverbial swarm of locusts.
Bogart, meanwhile, was on good behavior in New York. One day, he and Audrey were filming outdoors near Long Island Sound. A sailor whose prized possession was his yacht, Santana, Bogie was always happiest near or on the water. “An actor needs something to stabilize his personality, something to nail down what he really is, not what he is currently pretending to be,” he once observed. Pretending to be “Linus Larabee” was taking its toll; it wasn’t pleasant to know people were referring to him as having the personality of a razor blade. This day’s scene was a crucial one between Linus and Sabrina. Between takes, Audrey said she was chilly. Bogie took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. He could be a charmer when he wanted to.
During the New York shoot, Bogie dropped in at Toots Shor’s restaurant and enjoyed a rare evening out on the town at another of his favorite haunts. “I met him at El Morocco [a top nightclub, frequented by stars and café society notables], and thought he was the sexiest man alive,” recalled Texas-born showgirl Pat Gaston, a gorgeous, statuesque blonde close to Audrey’s age, who was soon to marry playboy millionaire Tommy Manville. “Bogart was a total gentleman, not anything like the tough character he was on-screen. I thought there was something very vulnerable about him—the expression in his eyes, his demeanor. You wanted to put your arms around him and say, ‘Don’t worry, honey, everything’s going to be okay.”
The “grace period” in New York couldn’t last forever. Back at the studio, Bogart began calling Wilder “a Kraut bastard” and “Nazi,” despite the fact that Wilder had lost members of his family in the Holocaust. And, of course, Bogie’s beloved Betty was Jewish. He also mimicked Wilder’s thick German accent, sometimes responding to his direction with a perfect Erich von Stroheim–like “Ja-wohl!”
Audrey’s smile slowly faded on these occasions. Shooting, fortunately, was drawing to a close; it was a miracle the film was getting finished.
Portrait sessions in the studio’s photo galleries were less enervating—no dialogue to be memorized. Shots of the stars were taken to be used for advertising, publicizing, and promoting the film. Stylists and makeup people were present, working feverishly, as all photo combinations were covered: Audrey and Bogart together; Audrey and Bill together; Bill and Bogart together; all three of them together. The Richard Avedon–type session—shoot fast, get spontaneous reactions, set up unexpected situations—was an approach that hadn’t quite yet infiltrated the mainstream.
Audrey was totally comfortable in this milieu; formal photographs were never a problem. In her solo sessions, she was a photographer’s dream, and so were the photos; noted freelance photographer Bob Willoughby’s images were timeless, and he was greatly impressed by her expertise at taking direction, her ability to concentrate and focus on making sure that everything was just right.
One would have assumed, seeing Audrey interact with Bogie, that she adored him. In the photos with Bill, her joy shines through—Audrey reclining, with Bill hovering over her; the couple staring at each other, blissful expressions on their faces; then, very close together, so the camera could catch them both in extreme close-up. The setups took a long time to light and shoot; it was an intensely intimate, enjoyable experience for the pair.
It wasn’t Ardis, the studio, their agents, or advisers who ended Audrey and Bill’s affair. It had lasted through the filming of Sabrina, but those blissful months would end with a devastating revelation. Those close to her knew that she was deeply in love. The couple shared an emotional intimacy that precluded words. One smile from him and she knew she was understood, and valued, and cared for. She would never believe he had a shadow side.
Often, during their relationship, Audrey spoke of children. She told him she wanted three, maybe four, and would retire from the screen to raise them. Once, while chattering brightly about the names of their future children, suddenly an embarrassed smile, tinged with fear, crept into Bill’s face.
What did it mean? He told her that the one thing, the only thing they could not have together—was children. He would recall the fixed expression in her eyes; how she stood looking at him like a hurt, bewildered child. Her eyes searched his face as he explained that he’d had a vasectomy years earlier at Ardis’s urging, and it could not be reversed. He was physically unable to have any more children.
He waited until now to tell her this? Her sudden formal, remote air on hearing this kept Bill at arm’s length. He hoped she wouldn’t hate him. It had to have made them both sad to know that the trusting, simple part of their relationship was gone for good, certainly as far as she was concerned. Bill, however, never gave up hope that some miracle would set things straight. She ended the affair on the spot, but they were hardly out of each other’s lives.