There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me (38 page)

A year later, when he was finally prepared to propose, ring in hand, he got the shock of his life. The man who sold him the ring had his sister secretly photograph Chris leaving the store after the purchase. I had no idea he had bought the ring, and when he opened the paper that morning he turned sickly pale.

I saw the photo, slammed the paper shut, and said, “Oh God, I am so sorry, Chris. . . . Whatever you were going to do, don’t.”

“What?!”

“I mean do it, but reclaim the time and do it at another time.”

“Oh, OK, wow. . . . How could he . . . How could they . . . ?”

I felt terrible that because I was famous, his first time proposing was ruined. I felt terrible because unfeeling people and the press once again chose to rob me of the beauty of my personal experiences for their own profit.

I told Mom about the whole thing and she said, “That’s a shame, honey, but you can make it your own again.”

I wonder if she was secretly a tad bit relieved that the press still paid attention.

I put it out of “our” minds, but when Chris finally did surprise me a few months later by proposing to me in Mexico, I said “Yes!” and then had the jeweler’s name buffed out of the ring.

And a year after he gave me the promise ring, I was saying, “I do.”

•   •   •

Before we got married, the in-laws were all sitting at a diner in LA and the mothers began talking about what they wanted to be called by their grandchildren. My mother-in-law claimed “Cha Cha” and my mother coined herself “Toots.” God forbid they be called Nana or Grandma or Granny. . . .

I loved the idea of having children with Chris. Despite my fears about my cervix, I was encouraged by my doctor and told it should all be fine. Chris and I wanted to start as soon as we could.

My father was going through chemo at the time, so we decided that instead of New York City we would get married where he lived, in Palm Beach, Florida. Dad’s close friend Terry Kramer had a stunningly beautiful home on the water and graciously offered to have us hold the wedding there. I humbly accepted but on one condition: that we hold the reception in a tent outside. As much as I really wanted to be seated inside, surrounded by the priceless paintings and incredibly precious art and furniture, I didn’t trust any of our relatives not to do something somehow damaging. This home housed original Picassos both from his Blue Period and his later works. Many masters were on the walls, and real Fabergé eggs were scattered like confetti. I pictured my mother feeling up a server or kissing a portrait with fire engine–red lipstick, or one of Chris’s old friends stealing the Cuban cigars or somehow pocketing an egg or silver monogrammed matchbox.

My mother had gotten another DUI a few months before the wedding and was placed in mandatory rehab. Her license was suspended
and she went under psychiatric treatment. I was called when she was first arrested and put in the hospital for observation. They said she was confused and they would keep her overnight. I tried to have them keep her in for a few days but she insisted on leaving. She could not drive and had to take a taxi home.

The courts decided that she should go to a mandatory alcohol treatment facility. I was relieved and thrilled and thought the timing was perfect. She would be out just in time to get her life together and be at the wedding sober. She would even make the shower.

My girlfriend Sherie from Broadway threw me a shower. I did not want to have a typical shower because we needed nothing, but I did want to celebrate and also give Chris’s friends and family a chance to do so as well. We had a crafty type of shower, where we all put together mosaic tiles to be put some place in our home. Mom and my mother-in-law and sister-in-law all seemed to be getting along beautifully. Mom did not drink the mimosas and acted fine, but I could tell she was a bit vulnerable. She was just not able to relax. She was awkward and restrained and I felt bad because I could tell she was struggling. I
must admit, though, I was much less on my guard believing she would not drink that day and was subsequently seemingly able to relax a bit and basically enjoy the festivities.

I had a romantic idea—maybe I could invite Mom’s old love, Antonio Rius from Rio, to be her date to the wedding. I’d found his number and called him years before, only to find out he’d had a stroke and didn’t want her to see him in such poor (and disfigured) health. I encouraged her to try him again, though. But it still wasn’t meant to be, sadly—when she finally called, he was thrilled to hear her voice. He was doing better, but had married his nurse only two months earlier. Another chance at happiness lost.

“But I waited. . . .”

•   •   •

The wedding date arrived. The hostess was incredibly generous and housed the whole family. My mom and Lila were in one room and Chris and I in another.

Dad and Didi threw the rehearsal dinner, and Cristiana organized the after-party. It went off without drama—it was actually rather peaceful in Dad’s home. Mom did not drink that night and it was looking like it was all calm on the Teri front.

We had not hired a wedding planner, which in hindsight was a huge mistake. To save on costs and keep it simple we had decided to do it all ourselves. With the money saved we splurged on hiring Tuck and Patti to perform. The planning was relatively easy and I had assistants to help, but once in Florida I realized I really needed extra support. I had to organize the entire event myself. I could not rely on my mother for a myriad of reasons and the pressure was too much for any of my in-laws. We needed a person other than the bride or groom to take charge. I had two assistants helping, and Gavin’s guys were taking care of security, but nobody had been designated as the captain of the ship. The problem was that without a point person, the mothers began to get involved. The day before the wedding, during the rehearsal portion of the day, I was being pulled in all directions. There was no one to tell me where to go and yet people also needed instruction. I instantly wished I had had a logistics director. It became obvious that I was getting a bit harried.

At one point my mother-in-law and Mom were wandering around aimlessly, trying to be helpful. My mother-in-law evidently said to my mother, “Can I help you, Teri?”

Mom responded with “No, thank you. . . .” And as she turned away, Mom added, “You fucking cunt.”

Oh, dear God. Chris heard it but I did not. My assistant told me what had transpired and I knew alcohol had finally reared its ugly head. Chris and I both prayed his mother had not heard. She was gracious and never mentioned a thing, but it was a horror show. Then, not too long after that, Cha Cha took it upon herself to order my assistant Patty to come to my rescue. Everybody was on high stress alert and acting out. Patty had been my assistant for eleven years and
always knew when I did and when I did not need anything. She was insulted. She did have it all under control but admittedly was getting a bit flustered by the tension and mounting confusion. I make it a rule never to order my assistants to do anything. I apologized to my longtime and excruciatingly (for her, I’m sure) loyal employee, explaining that tensions were high and these strong mothers were simply needing to be needed.

On the day of the wedding our hostess held a lovely lunch for the houseguests. Didi stayed at their house to deal with the rehearsal-dinner aftermath, and I went to get a massage with my sisters. Mom stayed at the house for lunch and was evidently charming and on point. She and my dad laughed together and were very sweet with each other. Mom was gracious and not inappropriate and seemingly very in her own skin. She did not drink any of the delicious wine that flows like water at this stunning home. I will always regret not witnessing my mother and this meal.

Later that day, I was getting ready and putting on my big princess wedding dress. I was getting the veil adjusted and my father awkwardly came up to the room and said he had to ask me a quick question. He pulled out a letter from a buddy of his who freelanced for
People
magazine. The guy was begging my father to just be able to be invited to the BBQ the following day so he could cover it for the magazine.

I looked at my father and, pointing to myself, said, “Dad . . .
wedding dress
 . . .
bride
! Can we not discuss this right now, please?”

“I’m just saying, he’s a nice guy and he’s a buddy of mine from—”

“I am sure he is, Dad, but I am not going to discuss this with you right now, seconds before I am going to actually walk down the aisle.”

“OK.”

“Don’t worry, Dad, I get it. We will figure something out. But please let’s just focus on this first.”

I was standing in the doorway, surrounded by beautiful marble
pillars and shiny steps, and I was about to walk out and down the path to my waiting groom. Mom would be walked down the aisle by my brother-in-law, and my stepsister, Diana, was my maid of honor. Her girls were flower girls and my other sister Marina was going to do a reading. Our youngest sister, Olympia, was serving as the oldest ring bearer ever and helped the flower girls down the aisle.

I was helping my dad navigate his Rollei camera, which did not fit in his pocket, and I could tell he was nervous. It was the second time he’d walk me down an aisle, but we all knew this was different. Chris had actually flown to Florida to ask him for my hand and that impressed my father more than ever.

It was about time for me to start walking. I looked at my mom and said, “Well, Mom, this is it. I am about to go get married. Tell me something.”

She motioned for me to come closer, and I did. I leaned in and she sloppily whispered into my ear, “No
People
magazine cover.”

I reacted so suddenly and actually shoved her away. I pulled back in a daze and stared at her. I saw the look. The lips were dry and the liner had begun to bleed slightly into her wrinkles. She had obviously been drinking from some stash or had made some arrangement with the staff. She was on her way.

She cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips into a smirk and said, “What?! I’m just saying. No
People
magazine cover.”

She wanted to be the one who perpetually controlled my image. It was all she knew. She could not give me advice, support, or words of wisdom. She did not have any. She knew nothing but how to try to dictate my public persona. The shove was on the wedding video but I had it erased.

I felt so terribly sad for her at that moment. I got it. She had no idea how to just be my mom and was lonelier than hell. She felt she was losing me all over again.

I grabbed Dad’s camera as he fumbled to try to fit it in his pocket
and I hurriedly put it on a table. I wanted him to watch, not to take photos during the ceremony. I wanted him to be present. I looked at him and at my mother and I thought it was all crazy. I panned past my father, who was adjusting his jacket, and then to my mom, who looked like a little orphaned kid, and then I looked out to the lawn by the water to where Chris stood in his white suit, his hands clasped in front and his neck craned to see me. I thought,
Crazy to my right. Crazy to my left. Not crazy ahead. Finally, not crazy. Just walk toward your future, Brooke. You get to leave the crazy and go to this man you love.

During the reception, people started making toasts. There were a few comedians in attendance and I swear I saw them working on their speeches
during
the actual ceremony. Comedians are like that. Each one wanted to be the funniest.