Alone together : my life with J. Paul Getty

376 Pages·2013·17.62 MB·English

by  Getty

DEDICATION
I dedicate this book to
my beloved daughter, Gigi, who came into my life in
my darkest hour and has been a lighthouse of hope;
my son, Timmy, whose spirit has never left me;
and my treasured friend and stepson,
the talented composer Gordon Getty
EPIGRAPH
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man

—POLONIUS IN HAMLET, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
CONTENTS
Dedication
Epigraph
A Prologue from J. Paul Getty

Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1 - In the Beginning
Chapter 2 - New Faces
Chapter 3 - Debutante Singer
Chapter 4 - Bailey
Chapter 5 - Paul
Chapter 6 - Versailles
Chapter 7 - One Fifth Avenue and the Stork Club
Chapter 8 - Engaged
Chapter 9 - Martha’s Vineyard
Chapter 10 - Sutton Place
Chapter 11 - Nassau
Chapter 12 - Matters of Life and Death
Chapter 13 - Marchesi, 1938
Chapter 14 - War Clouds
Chapter 15 - Paul’s Mother
Chapter 16 - Madame Cahier
Chapter 17 - Married in Rome
Chapter 18 - Shattered Dreams
Illustrations 1
Chapter 19 - Passport to Freedom
Chapter 20 - Kostya
Chapter 21 - The Right to Go Home
Chapter 22 - La Mantellate
Chapter 23 - Siena
Part II
Chapter 24 - Reunited in Tulsa
Chapter 25 - The Beach House
Chapter 26 - Hereford, Texas
Chapter 27 - Song in the Air
Chapter 28 - The Ranch
Chapter 29 - My New Career
Chapter 30 - Spartanette
Chapter 31 - And So to Bed
Chapter 32 - Perception
Chapter 33 - New Year’s Eve, 1949
Chapter 34 - I Can’t Live Without You, Teddy
Illustrations 2
Chapter 35 - Inner Vows of the Heart
Chapter 36 - Trial Separation
Chapter 37 - Faith with Real Courage
Chapter 38 - A Sense of Security
Chapter 39 - A Different Life
Chapter 40 - California or Bust
Chapter 41 - Going Home
Epilogue

Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
A PROLOGUE FROM J. PAUL GETTY

PROLOGUE
I
n May of 1935, I opened at the New Yorker, one of the smartest little dinner
clubs in the city, located in a fine old house on East 51st Street. I can still
remember walking out into the spotlight and singing some of that era’s most
beloved songs—“Night and Day,” “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” “Body and
Soul,” and “Alone Together.” Although I had been on Broadway twice, I’d
never had the chance to sing as part of a floor show and I loved it.
One night, just as the lights dimmed and I was to go on for the second show,
there was a commotion downstairs. Minutes later a group swept up the spiral
staircase and was ushered to a ringside table. By their laughter I recognized
Betzi and Jeannie, my two dearest friends. Fred, Betzi’s husband, had to be there
as well, but who else was with them? It was too dark to see.
When I finished singing and the applause died down, I made my way over to
their table. Three men stood up. In the half-light, I saw my brother Ware, Fred,
and a man I had never seen before. “Teddy!” Betzi said excitedly, blowing me a
kiss. “This is Paul, my friend from California.”
I found myself looking into the bluest eyes of an immensely charming man
—tall, slender, with sandy hair. “Hello, Teddy,” he said. “What a beautiful voice
you have! ‘Alone Together’ is one of my favorites.”
“Thanks, mine too!” I replied.
At that very moment, the orchestra started playing. Paul had been holding
out a chair for me, but before I could sit down, he grabbed my hand. “Let’s
dance,” he said. In seconds I was in his arms, and we were dancing. He held me
too close, but it was the beguine, music that made it seem right. I closed my eyes
and let my body follow his. We moved as one to the beat of the drums. He was a
fabulous dancer, but it ended too soon and then we were back at the table.
Sitting there in the semi-dark, sipping champagne, Paul smiled and said,
“You’re very beautiful, Teddy, and your voice is, too. I love the quality of it.” I
looked up and saw he was studying me. “You know,” he went on, “you should
study opera. You’d be a great Carmen, or Tosca.”
At these words, I trembled. Although he had no way of knowing, it was my
ambition to one day sing in concerts and the opera. I sat there amazed at this
stranger who, after hearing me sing only once, was saying exactly what my
teacher, Gene Berton, had been telling me. Intrigued by the sincerity in his
warm, deep voice, I looked more closely at his hands. They were very
masculine, but they were also artistic and expressive. Could he be a conductor?
A composer? A critic?
“And what do you do, Paul?” I asked.
“He’s in oil,” Betzi cut in.
“Oil? What show is that?” I asked. Everyone started to laugh. “Of course!” I
said. I felt like a fool.