Jeannie Out of the Bottle - Barbara Eden [77]
Michael and I were separated, our divorce was immment, and I was, quite simply, lonely. And having Chuck around made life seem more lighthearted, easier, and more complete.
We started exchanging confidences, hopes, dreams, and, as lovers usually do, histories. I discovered that he had been born in Chicago, the son of a steelworker, and that his first job was in the mills. Switching gears, he took a degree in business administration, then got a job in advertising and marketing at the Chicago Sun-Times. There, with his style, creativity, energy, and charisma, he made an instant impact, and was quickly promoted.
Married twice, the second time to a top model, he had a photographic memory, and had his fingers in many lucrative pies (including oil wells and discos). He was a true swashbuckler and a heartbreaker to boot.
Foolish as it may seem in light of what would transpire between us, I began to feel that Chuck might very well turn out to be my happily-ever-after, a safe haven at last.
Soon I was involved deeply enough to invite Chuck to be my date at Dean Martin’s opening at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. There we were snapped by a tabloid photographer, with me, as the caption says, “snuggling up” to Chuck.
I suppose I was. He was sexy, intelligent, charismatic, full of energy, and determined to make me his, no matter what it took. And, at forty-six to my thirty-nine, he was a grown-up. Or rather, that’s what I assumed.
Before I knew it, I was head over heels in love with Chuck and seriously pondering the wisdom of creating a future with him. Then, just after my divorce from Michael became final, Chuck casually announced that he was married.
We’d been dating eight months. During that time he’d been away on various business trips, but I’d never dreamed there was anyone else, least of all a wife.
I was shocked and angry, but Chuck assured me that he and his wife were separated and that their divorce was imminent. Smooth and persuasive as ever, he somehow contrived to make me forget that for eight whole months, he hadn’t mentioned that he was married.
My mother, however, did not forget at all. She and Chuck met when I was performing in San Francisco. Normally Chuck, a consummate salesman, could charm the socks right off anyone from the very first moment, but my mother remained utterly impervious to his blandishments. When all was said and done, all his gifts given, all his flowery compliments paid, my mother still didn’t like Chuck one bit and made absolutely no bones about it.
No matter how hard he tried to get her to like him, she would just sit there, puff on her cigarette, and say, “Oh, really?” then turn to talk to someone else. She refused to ever let the name “Chuck” pass her lips, and forever afterward would refer to him only as “what’s-his-name.”
Besotted as I was, there were moments when even I had my doubts about him. Although I found his forcefulness alluring, I was uncomfortable with his relentless name-dropping. Chuck routinely reminded practically everyone he rubbed shoulders with about his stellar connections. It was Ronnie (Reagan) one minute, Frank (Sinatra) the next. Of course, he did know Ronald Reagan and Frank Sinatra, but not quite as well as he made out. This didn’t endear him to many people and, I was afraid, probably caused them to make fun of him behind his back. But if he knew, I don’t think he cared. He found fame by association so very dazzling.
I did meet Sinatra through him, though, when we went to a dinner at Sinatra’s house in Palm Springs. Mr. Sinatra was lovely to me, although clearly a man’s man who much preferred the company of other men to that of women.
I never met President Reagan with Chuck at all. I did with Michael, however, when we attended his inaugural ball, and twice after that, once with a boyfriend, and then with my husband,