Vanderbilt - It Seemed Important at the Time

By Gloria Vanderbilt

IT SEEMED IMPORTANT AT THE TIME

A MOTHERS STORY

THE MEMORY BOOK OF STARR FAITHFULL

NEVER SAY GOOD-BYE

BLACK KNIGHT, WHITE KNIGHT

ONCE UPON A TIME

LOVE POEMS

A Romance Memoir

GLORIA
VANDERBILT

SIMON & SCHUSTER
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Illustration credits appear on page 162.

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Copyright 2004 by Gloria Vanderbilt

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Designed by Joel Avirom

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Vanderbilt, Gloria, 1924

It seemed important at the time : a romance memoir / Gloria Vanderbilt.

p. cm.

1. Vanderbilt, Gloria, 1924

2. CelebritiesUnited StatesBiography.

3. ArtistsUnited StatesBiography.

4. SocialitesUnited StatesBiography.

5. ActorsUnited StatesBiography.

6. Women fashion designersUnited StatesBiography.

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CT275.V234A3 2004

700.92dc22

[B] 2004049146

ISBN 978-0-7432-6480-8

eISBN 978-1-4391-3724-6

ISBN 0-7432-6480-0

To Joyce Carol Oates

Like a pack of tarot cards haphazardly thrown out on a tablepick one, turn it over, turn the page

I ve lived a lot, lost a lot, had dreams of love and fateful encounters, and although I suspect the answer is in the seeker, I still believe that what Im looking for is just around the corner. Maybe it is. Why not? The phone can ring and your whole life can change. My life has been a roller coaster of ups and downs, highs and lowsone day caviar, next day a chocolate bar as the song says. I was born in a castle, but now, like Rapunzel in the fairy tale, Im letting down my hair and telling you how it really was. But where to begin? Not at the beginningthats no fun. Nor at the end, because my story is far from over.

Shall I start with scandal, or broken dreams? With great love, or shattering loss? I know now that you cant have one without the other. I could start with Howard Hughes or Frank Sinatra, men who came along at just the right moment. Or perhaps I should start with Truman Capote and his Black and White Ball, or the night I found a Bible in his bathroom, the pages cut to form a hollowed-out box that was filled with cocaine.

There have been so many people, so many moments. Its an ongoing education. I wont bore you with wisdom, clichs, or advice. Take what you want, and learn what you can. In the end, its all any of us can do.

What can I say? Ive lived and loved the way I have. I could have done it differently, I suppose, but theres no real point in regretting. What was important then is less so now, but I embrace it all: the pain and the pleasure, the drama and the disappointments All of it seemed important at the time.

IT SEEMED
IMPORTANT
AT THE
TIME

In romance what do you seek? Something new and Other, although you dont quite know what it is? For me romance is a yearning not fully conscious, but what I find is always the search for something else, a renewal and a hope for transformation. The creative risk-taking of passionate love not only gives you the chance to change the past, it gives the imagination one more chance at an exciting future.

I find sex endlessly interesting. I suppose I always will. Its all in the head, of course; I realize that now. What we like, what we want, what we think we need is generated somewhere in that curious cortex of ours, created by the firing of synapsesthe electricity of love.

Id had no knowledge of sex as a child. We are talking about the 1930s, after all. Not exactly the Dark Ages, but not much better. The only sex education any of us had in those days was talking about it with other girls in school. Mentioning sex to grown-ups? Inconceivable.

My cousin Whitty and I were caught one summer by his governess fondling each other under a tent wed innocently put up on the lawn right in front of my aunt Gertrudes bedroom window. I must have been about twelve. Needless to say, the tent was taken down, but the memory remained. How could anything that felt so good be bad?

Later, I was sent to Miss Porters School in Farmington, Connecticut, where my best friend was a hefty, jovial extrovert who reminded me oddly of my Irish nanny, Dodo. Wanting to be liked is fatal, though it would take me years to learn that. I wanted desperately to please my friend, and was willing to try anything to make her happy.

During one vacation, we found ourselves in bed at Aunt Gertrudes house on Fifth Avenue. The structure, designed by William Schickel in the early 1880s, was as large as Grand Central Terminal and about as cozy. My friend had come for the Easter holiday, and each night would tippy-toe from her room down the cold marble halls right into my bed. I couldnt wait. Wed cuddle in the huge canopied four-poster and, well, have at it. Truth be told, it was great. Of course, I didnt quite know what it was, but whatever it was, I didnt want it to stop.

By the time we got back to school, it was over. Frankly, it had gone a little too far, and I had gotten scared. A few weeks later, at nearby Avon School, two boys were expelled. Their crime? It was never announced, of course, but whispers spread like wildfire. Homosexuality.

I hadnt a clue what the word meant, but judging by the way everyone reacted, I knew it was a scandal. It didnt take me long to figure out that what they had done was probably not too different than what my friend and I had done in my aunts four-poster bed, and when I realized that, my heart stopped. This was not the first time Id heard such whispersnot the first time Id felt the sting of such a scandal.