There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me (23 page)

I tried to include my friends in my life whenever I could at photo shoots or events. Mom always made sure at least one of them accompanied me. When I worked with famous photographers like Francesco Scavullo or Bruce Weber, Mom always asked them to take a group shot of my friends and me. They always obliged, and my friends now have some pictures of themselves taken by some of the giants in art photography.

Mom loved joining my two worlds together. This was something I have never forgotten and have always appreciated. I kept inviting friends to events and parties. The events were actually work for me, so having a friend from my real life share it eased the burden. I also lived vicariously through their obvious enjoyment of the experiences. It was never the whole class again, but my close group of friends would get put on the list at places like the Red Parrot, Xenon, and sometimes Studio 54. Studio 54 was always easier to go to with just my mom because of the way the VIP area was set up. (How about that for a sentence? Ah, I was just a normal kid!)

By the time
The Blue Lagoon
was released and I had been labeled “The ’80s Look” by
Time
magazine, I was already completely accepted by my new friends and they were unfazed by it all. High school can be a rough time for kids. Being a famous kid was not without its unique burdens, but I have always been thankful that my mom consistently forced us all to be accepting of the differences and not let my celebrity create a barrier. It was not easy, but she would not have it
any other way. The press never gave Mom any recognition for this unique approach at all.

It was strange, too, that on the one hand Mom fought for my integration with kids my own age, yet on the other, she craved for me to become singled out and put on a pedestal by the world. This was a true contradiction—and some could say hypocritical—but it was the Teri way. I believe I managed to better regard my more grounded personal life because it was there that I felt unconditionally accepted. My mother constantly reinforced the importance of my life outside of work.

•   •   •

But the pressure was mounting in our public lives. During this time period, especially after
The Blue Lagoon
was such a hit, my professional life grew exponentially. It was all getting bigger and busier in many ways. Fans were now becoming a constant part of my life.

When it came to fan mail, Mom was incredibly diligent. I signed every autograph and honored every photo request, and Mom began by mailing each one out personally. It was getting to be too much, though, and we decided we needed help. My godmother, Auntie Lila, was working with us, and we had formed a corporation and named it Brooke Shields and Co. The “Co.” soon grew to an office with two other women as staff members. One lady dealt with business requests and mail and the other with schedules. Mom soon hired another woman, who handled accounting and financial transactions. We had a handyman to help with the house and the office maintenance. We had lawyers, a money manager, a cleaning lady three days a week, and a part-time driver named Dick. We even hired a student to read through and categorize the letters.

There were the photo requests, people asking for advice, posters to be signed, as well as letters from “The Crazies.” These were fans that raised a certain level of concern. They were basically stalkers who we
handled differently than the honest fan who just wanted an autograph to add to a collection. These letters were separated out and sent on to Gavin de Becker, a security expert we’d also hired, to be filed. The individuals were placed on a watch list. Mom did not want me to see these letters. Although I knew the people existed, I had no interest in reading the contents of their correspondence because I would only get scared for my life.

Once the piles of letters were made, I would sit for blocks of time and hammer out all the signatures. Mom said that every correspondence meant another loyal fan. In press lines or at appearances I signed every single fan’s outstretched piece of paper or photo. She said they were all individuals and I must not alienate them. I posed for every paparazzo. I even signed the index cards from the “pros.” The pros are the ones who ask for a nonpersonalized autograph, which they then sell. I was always the last to leave an event because Mom wanted me to personally engage with every single person taking pictures or asking for a poster to be signed. I admired her care for people’s feelings, and because I also collected autographs myself, I understood how it felt to get passed over or denied. However, it was exhausting, and I do admit part of me wanted to avoid all of it.

Earlier on in my career, my mom and I had bought tickets to see the Academy Awards. Actors, celebrities, and presenters in the orchestra are invited, but there are additional seats, up in the mezzanine, that are open to the public for purchase. Mom and I were in California for some reason and, after years of watching the award show together on TV, had decided it would be exciting to attend in person.

We were seated way up high in the top balcony and I spotted Paul Newman. I jumped out of my seat and ran all the way down to the middle orchestra to ask Paul Newman for his autograph. He graciously declined, explaining that if he signed one for me, it would start a chain reaction and he would then have to sign everybody else’s
program. I was slightly hurt but remained what I thought was polite, and I said, “Oh, OK, then could you just wave up to my mom?”

He obliged and turned back up toward the balcony. He did a sweeping wave in the general direction of the mezzanine and had no idea whom he was addressing. It was very sweet but awkward, because when my mom saw to whom I was gesturing, she immediately ducked behind a seat. I think that she was actually embarrassed by the fact that I had asked him to wave to her, so she hid. She weirdly did not want to have the attention shifted to her. I thanked Mr. Newman and returned to the balcony.

Even though I remember being a bit sad he did not sign my book, I would fully appreciate the situation years later when I was forced to respond the same way to a fan. All it takes is one person at a restaurant or any crowded area and you could literally be signing autographs for an hour.

The funny part to the whole story was that years later, when I was invited to be a presenter at the Academy Awards, I still brought my autograph book. After the broadcast, the presenters and winners and Academy members were all seated on the stage to take a huge cast photo. I was in the middle, a bit to the right, and I spotted Paul Newman a few rows down. I passed my book and a pen down to him and asked for his autograph. I guess he knew that I’d be the only one in that crowd who would ask, and he kindly obliged. I was thrilled. I thanked him and chose not to try to remind him of my previous disappointment.

Mom made me so conscious of my fans that I began dreading being anywhere. There seemed to be no boundaries. I understood Mom’s philosophy, but the sense of obligation and the fear of losing a fan’s devotion were often too much for me to take. I could never say no.

Mom would not let me be disturbed when I ate, however, and would instead explain that I would take the photo or sign the autograph as soon as the meal was over. She explained to me that if they
really wanted to, they would wait. She hated when people would say they were leaving—could I just sign it now?

She’d respond, “Well, I hope you enjoyed your meal, because she is not yet finished with hers. She will be happy to sign for you after she’s done.”

Sometimes the people would wait and sometimes they left disappointed. I felt tortured and unable to enjoy the meal knowing people were wishing I’d hurry, and when those impatient people left, I felt hurt that I wasn’t worth the wait. Mom would joke that they were not my “biggest fans” after all. I know she was trying to make things easier, but the end result was that I could never relax.

Because of her hypervigilance toward my public, I felt as if the world owned me. It was the feeling that everybody wanted to take a piece.

•   •   •

I was offered
Endless Love
, and even though it was yet again another loss-of-innocence love story, the promise of working with Italian director Franco Zeffirelli made the project much more appealing. I had seen his film version of
Romeo and Juliet
and thought it was heartbreaking and beautiful. I had not worked with such an artist since Louis Malle. My mother and I both felt that this was going to be an important movie.

The story comes from a novel by Scott Spencer. Two teenagers, David and Jade, have an intensely romantic relationship as high school students. When Jade’s grades suffer, her parents force the two of them to break up, resulting in David’s breakdown, a criminal act, and much drama on both sides. The film shot in New York and on Long Island in the fall of 1980.

I am proud of my work in this film and attribute it all to Franco. He was tough, dramatic, and often insulting or drunk, but he expected your best and would not stop until he got it. He often made
fun of my voice and sometimes made me cry by picking on me. But I felt he actually believed I had talent and could be better. In one scene without dialogue Franco wanted to see a certain expression on my face as I looked through a window at my scorned boyfriend. He wanted me to show love and longing and sadness, and so he told me to hum the theme song to
Romeo and Juliet
in my head while looking out. In doing this, I forgot about my face and did not try to project the emotion with an expression. I thought it was a brilliant trick and it helped me understand how much you can do by not trying too hard.

The actors in the film were all rather serious, accomplished actors with the exception of Martin Hewitt, who played David. Don Murray played my dad. I had seen him in
Bus Stop
with Marilyn Monroe. Shirley Knight played my mom and James Spader played my protective brother. They were all generous actors and I felt honestly supported. I’m not sure I took my job as seriously as they did, but I was very professional and learned from them about acting. Martin and I got along well and enjoyed working with one another.

We neither fell in love nor hated each other, and Franco did not force the issue. After experiencing such pressure during
The Blue Lagoon
to be in love, this opposite approach came as a relief. All we were required to do was
convince
people we were in love. This approach freed us both up to become actual friends. There were nude scenes, so just as on
The Blue Lagoon
I had a body double. Once again the heavier love scenes in the film were shot primarily between Martin and my double. This, too, helped keep our friendship intact.

Mom did not have to protect Martin in the same way that she felt she needed to protect Chris, but she made sure that Franco knew she was a person with whom to reckon, should a line be crossed.

I would like to add only one unfortunate truth: Both Chris Atkins and Martin Hewitt, my costar in
Endless Love
, hit career heights very quickly but would forever struggle as actors. Chris went on to develop a severe alcohol problem, and both of their careers took
unexpected turns. It is harder, I believe, to become a “star” after your first movie, especially at an age when you are on the cusp of making one of your first monumental life choices. For instance, by the time the film was released, Chris had deferred college, put his sports-medicine degree on indefinite hold, and had bought a red Ferrari. Later, a manager later screwed him out of most of his money.

Both these men have recovered and have matured into wonderful and kind people. Chris has never lost his sweetness and openness. I have yet to witness any underlying anger. Martin maintains a chip on his shoulder in my opinion but was always a sensitive young man and fine actor. For me, even though I achieved fame at a younger age, I was guarded by my mother and allowed to face celebrity in a surprisingly nurturing environment. Even if my talent may not have been protected, I somehow was. Mom’s drinking was way more damaging to me than fame.

Her protection didn’t stop with me. She insisted on trying to protect my costars whenever she could. She looked out for young Tom Cruise, who had been hand-chosen by Franco to play a bare-chested boy with a short but memorable scene shot in Central Park.

Years later Tom would recall how kind my mother had been to him during the shoot. We were sitting alone in my living room in LA, and Tom had come to personally apologize to me for attacking me on the
Today Show
for my use of antidepressants to treat postpartum depression. He said my mom had made it a point to look after him on the set of
Endless Love
and he’d “never forgotten it.” Even though Tom only appeared in one scene, he said he was surprised by Mom’s kindness toward him and always remembered it. Tom apologized to my mother as well, saying that he did not know why he chose to attack me “of all people.” He added that he basically felt cornered and I was the “scapegoat.”

Mom and Franco were both big, drinking, theatrical personalities who liked being dramatic and in control. He would tease her and give
her a hard time about staying out of his way, and she would challenge him perpetually but never overtly interfere. They were like two proud peacocks splaying their colorful tails and puffing out their chests. Each of them owned part of the film; my mother possessed me, and Franco controlled all the rest. Both sides were needed for the film to be made. I believe she once again felt I was in good hands by working with a European filmmaker.

I clearly remember how mad and upset I was when, three months after wrapping this film, we were called back to reshoot the ending. It hadn’t been emotional enough and Franco wanted more. The ending was kept the same, but Franco wanted a more powerful, more emotional breakdown by my character. In a conflicted, angst-ridden final scene, the two lovers heartbreakingly say good-bye. Franco wanted to show the buildup of pain, irreparable loss, and sadness that the arbitrary separation of these two lovers had generated.

Somehow, Franco got me to connect to the character and really cry. There was a famous story that the press picked up where he said he pinched my toe in order to get me to express ecstasy, but that was not true. It was actually in this scene that I remember him pinching me, and it was because he wanted me to connect with pain as well as sadness. It didn’t hurt, but I got the message. It remains one of the best scenes I have ever done on film. I was raw and honest and tired and I was directed.