I was meant to open at the British Colonial Hotel in the Bahamas for a six-week run and had taken the train from New York to Miami, where I caught the ship from Miami to Nassau.
I went to Paradise Beach every day to swim and lie in the sun. I sang every evening in the show, then was free to do as I wished the rest of the time. I had fun, because the hotel was filled with many friends of mine from Greenwich and New York who were on vacation. Most evenings they came to hear me sing. Then we danced till midnight. One moonlit night we all went skinny-dipping in the hotel pool, which was a no-no. The hotel security guards were called out by the management, and I didn’t want to get caught. Fearing I’d be reprimanded (or worse) if I was found, I quickly grabbed my clothes and raced to my room.
Jean Donnelly knocked on my door the very next morning, bearing exciting news. She told me that, after I’d left, she had introduced her friend Fred Stein to my friend Betzi Beaton, and it was love at first sight. From the moment they met, they were inseparable. I searched her face for signs of a broken heart. “Don’t worry, Teddy,” she said. “I wasn’t in love with him anyway. What I need now is a room. I can only stay till next weekend.”
“Then stay with me,” I said, pointing to the twin bed. “It won’t cost you anything.”
“Okay, good night,” she said. And with that, she slipped under the covers and in moments was fast asleep. When she awoke, we talked about the great romance. Jean was excited and more than a little proud that she had played matchmaker for these two extraordinary people. Fred, so brilliant, dark, and handsome, was completely smitten with the beautiful, blond Betzi. “Now someone has to introduce someone to me,” she said petulantly.
I laughed. “Okay. You might meet that someone at Paradise Beach. Come on, get dressed, let’s go. There’s a boat leaving for the island every half hour!”
By the time Jean had to return to New York, there was someone for her—a very tall Cuban boy from an extremely wealthy family. There was someone for me, too. He was a handsome, blond, blue-eyed Adonis, Bailey Balken by name, and he was wildly anxious to get me away from the rest of the crowd. A Williams graduate, he was divorced and now part of the New York scene. He’d been vacationing in Nassau and was in the audience the first night I appeared at the British Colonial . . . and every night thereafter, sometimes with others, most times alone, and always wanting me to go out with him.
Finally, we met one morning at Paradise, had lunch, went for a swim, raced each other out to the raft, and spent the rest of the afternoon just catching up on our lives “before Nassau.” One morning very early, we sailed to an uninhabited island about a mile away. We spent the day exploring and had a picnic lunch on a little knoll under a palm tree. I felt he was more than special. In fact, I felt such a closeness with him that I told him about what Dad had done to me. Then, like a couple of natives, we went swimming naked.
When I told Jean about it, she was wide-eyed. “Oh my God, Teddy! You are crazy! One doesn’t go swimming naked with a man one doesn’t expect to have an affair with! And then what? You did it?”
“Well, not really,” I replied.
“What do you mean ‘not really’? Either you did, or you didn’t!”
“We didn’t . . . I mean, we didn’t go the whole way,” I said. “I felt he understood me. When I told him what Dad did to me and how horrible I felt when he called me a ‘dirty little Jew,’ Bailey just kissed me, held me, and said ‘forget it.’ ”
Her eyes narrowed. Jeannie had already figured out what happened. I stopped and took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll tell you the truth. Yes, we did make love, and it was wonderful! Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was just the most exciting experience I’ve ever experienced. He’s very sweet and kind. He wants me to live with him!”
Jean sprang to her feet. “You can’t, Teddy! You’re a lady!”
“No, I’m not! I’m a woman, and I think it’s about time I lived like one.”
“You can’t, not in the world you were brought up in. Think of your mother!”
“You think of her!” I shot back. “I’m not in that Greenwich world anymore. I have no plans . . . only dreams.”
“Well, I pray you wake up before you get too involved and get your heart broken.”
And with those friendly words of advice, Jean left. I finished my six-week engagement at the hotel, singing each night, swimming and sailing each day in the sunshine with Bailey, and becoming much too romantically involved. Was this love? I was beginning to think so, since Bailey was so adamant about staying together that he was now suggesting we get married.
When summer arrived, Betzi and Fred were on their honeymoon. I was still living in the apartment at the Algonquin and started studying with the young composer and songwriter Gene Berton while I was dating Bailey. I had finally introduced Bailey to Mother before she left for the Vineyard with my little sisters. He was surprised when she suggested we wait at least six months before marrying. The idea of his having been recently divorced didn’t please her.
On the other hand, my mother’s ultimatum didn’t please him, either. He didn’t want to wait. “Come live with me,” he begged.
“You know I can’t, not now,” I said, secretly wanting to. “When I get back from singing at the Wardman Park Hotel in Washington next week, we’ll go up to the Vineyard to Wild Acres, and you’ll see where I grew up. We can sail and swim at South Beach.”
“We can’t make love there.”
“We can make love here . . .” I replied, and in minutes I was in his arms.
About a month later I got a message from Bailey asking to meet. We were supposed to go out on a date that evening, but whatever it was, it couldn’t wait. I was so excited to see him. He was sitting on my couch when I walked into my apartment. I ran to kiss him. He leaned forward and tried to clear his throat. “I don’t know how to say this, Teddy,” he said, looking up at me, “but . . .”
“But what?”
“But . . . I can’t marry you!”
I went cold. I put out my hand, but he didn’t take it. He just kept looking at me.
“Why? Are you still married?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? Are you ill? Dying from some disease . . . or . . . don’t you love me anymore? Is there someone else?”
“No. I love you, Teddy,” he spoke softly. “But . . .”
“But what?”
“It’s just that I can’t marry a girl who has Jewish blood in her veins.”
I looked at him, not believing what I was hearing. “But you knew this, Bailey. You knew this when we first met. Remember, I told you . . . we were lying on the beach, telling each other everything.”
“It was different then. We weren’t in love.”
“I was.” I turned away from those memories, the memory of our affair. I struggled to stifle my tears.
“Think,” he began, “think of what might happen to a child . . . if we had one.”
“Don’t worry, Bailey, we won’t now.”
“I love you, Teddy. Can’t we go on as we are? I don’t want to lose you . . .”
“You just did!” I said. And with that I picked up a carafe of ice water from the coffee table and hurled it at him, drenching him from the waist down.
“Damn you, Teddy!” he yelled, then turned and ran out of the apartment, dripping water all over the floor and down the stairs to the lobby.
I closed my eyes and stood there, the empty pitcher in my hand, my heart breaking, knowing that for Bailey I was only someone to have fun with, but not good enough to be his wife and the mother of his child. I shuddered at the realization that Hitler just crossed the Atlantic and had invaded the American home and my life.
I put down the pitcher, walked over to the window, looked out, and saw Bailey. He was still dripping as he got into a cab, which quickly disappeared down 44th Street, taking him out of my life. Only then did I burst into tears.