I had seen the film Twelve O’Clock High and the actor in it named Gary Merrill. I had never seen him before and I was greatly impressed by his performance and looks.
Bill Sampson was Margo’s lover, her tower of strength who at last convinces her to marry him. As a fellow artist, Bill accepts her furies and eventually exorcises them through his love and his own equilibrium. His love of Margo as her professional security seems threatened by age, convinces her that, at forty, she should settle down and become a downright, upright foursquare married lady.
On the first day of shooting in San Francisco, as Gary and I rehearsed our first scene together I took a cigarette out of a cigarette case and waited for Bill Sampson to light it. He went on with his lines. I kept waiting for a light. When I realized he was ignoring the gesture, I asked if he were going to light my cigarette.
He looked me squarely in the eye and said: “I don’t think Bill Sampson would light Margo’s cigarettes.”
I looked at him for a minute.
Of course Bill Sampson wouldn’t. “You’re quite right, Mr. Merrill. Of course he wouldn’t.”
I wondered at the time if that was Gary Merrill speaking to Bette Davis, to establish who was boss, or was it his opinion of what the character would do? I’m not quite sure to this day.
Margo Channing was a woman I understood thoroughly. Though we were totally unalike, there were also areas we shared. The scene in which—stuck in the car—Margo confesses to Celeste Holm that the whole business of fame and fortune isn’t worth a thing without a man to come home to, was the story of my life. And here I was again—no man to go home to.
The unholy mess of my own life—another divorce, my permanent need for love, my aloneness. Hunched down in the front of that car in that luxurious mink, I had hard work to remember I was playing a part. My parallel bankruptcy kept blocking me, and keeping the tears back was not an easy job.
I found out Gary had spent all his summers in Maine. He had gone to Loomis in Windsor, Connecticut, where he was born and brought up. I had known the current headmaster, Frank Grubbs, years ago. Gary used to vacation as a child at Prout’s Neck, Maine—just across the bay from Ocean Park, Maine, where I spent all my summers as a child.
I found him an excellent actor to work with—one with integrity. Our scenes went well together. By the time we played out our story and the actress had retired to be the little woman, I had fused the two men completely. Margo Channing and Bill Sampson were perfectly matched. They were the perfect couple. I was breaking every one of my rules. I always swore I’d never marry an actor. Gary told me that years before he had been inducted into the army directly behind Ham. Everyone had realized Ham had been married to me. Gary had said, “How the hell could a guy let himself get into a deal like that?” Now here he was. The cards were all reshuffled and we didn’t either of us see the jokers in the pack.
Ruthie shook her head at the latest developments; but she was a cheer leader compared with my future mother-in-law. News of the impending marriage inspired her to eloquence.
“Have you gone crazy, Gary? Marrying a middle-aged actress who will throw all your antiques into the ocean!”
Merrill’s defense of me was heroic.
“But, Mother—she loves lobsters.”
I was no longer a free agent. I had a daughter to think of.
I sensed in Gary my last chance at love and marriage. I wanted these as desperately as ever. I had been an actress first and a woman second. I had proved what I wanted to prove about the actress part. Now I owed Ruth Elizabeth her due. It was an account that I wanted to settle.
When I accepted Gary’s proposal, I made it contingent on our adopting more children. He was only too eager to. I was convinced that he would be a great father to B.D. and those to come. I knew Gary was a strong personality. For the first time, I took one on. I was no longer afraid of competition. There was no reason to be. Suddenly I was interested in his career. I was growing tired of mine.
To be married to an incompetent actor would have been impossible for me. This was not the case with Gary—he was good! Thoughts of the Lunts bemused me! An acting couple, productive, happy—in love.
We were married in Juarez, Mexico, on July 28, 1950, and I waved good-bye to all the statues of Paul Muni as we left for New England. B.D. spent half of our honeymoon with us—Gary’s idea and a thoughtful one. She joined us at Robin Hood Island, north of Bath, Maine. Mother and Daddy had honeymooned at nearby Squirrel Island. Ruth Elizabeth had been conceived there. Now she was blooming. Her hopes were never higher. Her chance of a life, never surer. Bette Davis could rest on her laurels. Mrs. Gary Merrill would be a “downright, upright, etc.!” This was do or die for Ruth Elizabeth.
Gary was under contract to 20th Century-Fox. After our honeymoon he was sent off to the Virgin Islands to make a film about frogmen, co-starring with Dana Andrews and Richard Widmark. B.D. and I saw him off on the plane and then returned to Robin’s house in Westport for a few days, we thought. We had called a doctor while on our honeymoon in Maine, telling him of our interest in adoption. While at Robin’s, I was told our next child had been born and would I come to the hospital’s nursing home the next day and see her? When Gary called that evening I told him we had a daughter and to think about a name. A few days later, after we each made lists, Gary suggested Margo. Of course. How perfect. We added the T—Margot was her name. The proper legal papers were drawn up and I took her home to B.D. When I walked in the house I told her to close her eyes, I had a present for her. I put a real live doll in her little arms. Her eyes when she opened them had all the wonders of the universe. She had a sister.
I had rented a house in Greens Farms, Conn., and now the three Merrills awaited Daddy’s return from the Virgin Islands. The arrival date was put off and put off. There is no assurance ever of a finishing date on location. Until finally, the day came. Daddy was introduced to his new daughter, Margot. We all then were horrified to find that Daddy was being sent to Germany immediately, to make a film. We stayed in Connecticut until he once more flew out of our lives. I was wondering about being an actor’s wife at this point. I felt more like a widow. After he soared off in the sky, we cried appropriately, girded our loins—and I, a nurse and the two children were off to California to find a house suitable to our growing family. We had a great incentive—to have it ready when Daddy returned from Germany.
We found a house near the one Gary had at Malibu—moved him out of his house—his antiques, and I did not pitch them in the ocean—moved all my belongings in, even found an intelligent woman to be B.D.’s governess. I worked like a beaver. This would be Gary’s and my first home and I wanted it to be to his liking. He now had a household of women. Two daughters, Dell the cook, a baby nurse and a governess for B.D. He made lots of sly remarks about it, but I felt at the time, he really liked it.
The great day came. Daddy was coming home. How excited B.D. was. She loved him so. We went to the airport and practically broke our necks looking skyward for the first sight of the plane bringing Gary home to us. I was also nervous. I wanted him to like his new home. He arrived—so relieved to be back with B.D. and Margot and me—and did love his new house.
The walls that night rang with love, laughter and a closeness of two people who had found what they had always looked for. I had such respect for Gary and was so proud to be his wife. The next few months were the happiest we ever had. Storm signals every now and then of the tragedy to come—but soon forgotten in the overall compatibility. He loved Margot. It was his first own daughter. He took care of her often—diapers and all. God was in his heaven. Six months later we were asked to do a film in England. Another Man’s Poison. The contract at our insistence provided for the whole family to travel with us. Gary and his harem—Dell, the two nurses, two daughters and a wife. Our departure from the Los Angeles airport was a sight indeed. Off to England were we. The following day we sailed on the Queen Elizabeth for England.
On our arrival there, Gary got his first taste of what it was like to be married to me. The English press was vile, as is always the case with actors from Hollywood. Next day one of the headlines referred to Gary Merrill as Mr. Davis. I was sick.
Gary skipped it with great grace. Underneath he must have hated it. He did not blame me however. He knew this was the last thing I ever wanted. I had had this kind of experience many times before. It seemed unavoidable. The press also referred to me as a middle-aged matron—plus a description of our twenty trunks. Oh Hollywood…Hollywood…how can one escape the tradition? Wealth galore! Normalcy impossible. No matter how simply one travels, and we did, they wanted us to be rich bitches—were most likely mad that we weren’t.
Emlyn Williams was in Another Man’s Poison with us. We became so fond of him. He has remained a real friend. We lived at Great Foster’s in Egham during the filming of the picture. We went to Yorkshire on location. B.D. went with us. It was spring and how she cuddled all the little lambs on the hillsides.
It is very different making a film in England. There is a great contrast in technical equipment, wardrobe and all the amenities. Plus the lack of comforts the American actor has grown accustomed to.
Dell provided three very worthy remarks during our stay in England. She sat in a chair supposedly Anne Boleyn’s—Great Foster was once a hunting lodge of my “pop,” Henry VIII. Dell, sitting in this chair, said, “I am now part of history!” Coming over on the boat she was very seasick. Her shiny black skin was literally five shades lighter. She said, “Miss Bette, this ocean sends you over and brings you back.” No greater description of seasickness was ever, in my opinion, given. The last remark was a result of a visit to Madame Tussaud’s wax museum. A replica of me was there. I was discussing with her the fun it might be for B.D. to go there and see me, and yet I was afraid it might scare her—the resemblances were always so perfect. Dell said, to truly reassure me, “Don’t worry, Miss Bette, Miss B.D. won’t be frightened. She would never recognize you. It was done of you when you were young and beautiful!” Out of the mouths of maids!
The other memorable event, which did add to the business of it all, and the concern, was the worst case of measles contracted by B.D. She was desperately ill. We hated to have to go off to work each day and leave her.
We sailed for home the 2nd of July, on the Queen Mary this time. We sent all our henchmen home for a holiday. We brought with us an English nurse for Margot. The one from home had turned into a drunk and had been shipped back earlier.
The English nurse, B.D., Gary and I motored to Maine for a holiday, having rented a cottage at the Black Point Inn at Prout’s Neck. Our beloved Maine where we hoped we would all live one day. Fate took a hand in this and it came about earlier than we had hoped.
After our holiday, we returned to California. Gary’s mother and his Aunt Marion, she was the love of our life, came West and spent the fall with us. After they left, we decided to move into town from Malibu. I found a house in the old part of Hollywood—this time at the other side of Franklin Avenue on Camino Palmero. Into our lives then came Michael, at five days of age. B.D.’s baby nurse, Rose Suncox, was Michael’s also. Michael was born on January 5, 1954. He was a blond bomber at birth and has stayed so ever since. Now we were five. We lived through an earthquake in this house, I might add. There were a few inside the house as well.
All was not going so well. Gary would often leave us for parts unknown. I worried about him. But, like the bad penny, he always came home. Gary’s great desire was to be a free soul—no responsibility. The world to Gary is a jail he must break the bars of. To me the world is a coliseum. Merrill is like my father, cynical, bright, negative and earthbound. Our personality differences were getting in the way of our happiness together. My enthusiasm and belief in people were annoying to him. I was not Margo Channing and he was not Bill Sampson. He is the eternal collegiate—his preferred mailing address a friend’s couch. He adores rushing about, no strings, no ties. But ties and responsibilities he had assumed. Three small children and a wife. I knew this was my only true marriage. I had no intentions of its falling apart. For many years to come, I kept on hoping we could make it the marriage it had seemed to be in the beginning. There was no question that we loved and respected each other. How could we fail?
Gary was making films for Fox during this year. I was having a ball being a mother and running a house. I did make one film, The Star. I liked it but the public was lukewarm. I received another Academy nomination for my performance.
Out of the blue, I got an offer to do a musical in New York—a revue. I had had California after all these years. My career was in the doldrums. I wanted the children to be brought up in my beloved East. Gary couldn’t have agreed more on all points. Also, I felt, if we got out of Hollywood our personal situation might change. I would have done anything for that. I was so in love. Mike was six months, Margot eighteen months and B.D. five by now. I agreed to do the show. We packed enough of our belongings to make the penthouse we had rented in New York on Beekman Place look like home. We loved being on the East River. The children were thrilled with the boats that went back and forth all day.
I was now embarking on my first stage venture since 1930, when I left for Hollywood. I was not a little apprehensive and a revue at that. Singing and dancing. I actually was embarking also on my black years, one tragedy after another. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. I didn’t know.