Her autobiography was published after she had finally succumbed to a devastating bout with cancer. She had lost both of her breasts, she was weakened to the point of needing oxygen, a wheelchair … and yet still: every day, she would dress up, in a lovely suit, and have lunch (with martinis) with her husband. Her husband of 35 years or something like that – Freddie Brisson. They were set up by Cary Grant, who was the best man at their wedding in 1941.
Freddie wrote a prologue to her book, which clutches at my heart. He writes:
After she died I found a petition she had tucked away in her prayer book. It said in part, “Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.”
“Love of rehearsing” the “aches and pains”. God. And to those who think Hollywood is a festering sore of Godless commies: FUCK. YOU. You got that? Yeah. I’m talking to you. FUCK. YOU.
Freddie writes of their courtship. Rosalind gave him a HELL of a hard time. He would call to ask her out, and her maid would answer the phone, and he would hear Rosalind bellowing in the background: “Tell him I’m out!!”
But he was persistent. The two of them went to the races, they went out dancing until 2 o’clock in the morning … but still. She held him off. She was Hollywood’s “Bachelor Girl”, after all. Read into that what you will, but I would advise you not to read anything prurient into it, because it would be highly unimaginative of you. And also very unfair. She had a great career, and a great life. It would have to be prrreeeety damn good offer for her to give that up … and she knew that. She put Brisson through his paces.
Listen to his story of his proposal:
The first time I proposed, she didn’t accept. I persisted. “I’m going to write your mother and ask for your hand.” And I did. “There’s no way I’m going to get rid of you, is there?” Rosalind finally said, laughing. But when she gave up, she gave up on her own terms. “I don’t like any of these proposals after you’ve had an evening out. I’m not interested in that nonsense. If you want to propose, then come around at seven o’clock in the morning, and put a white handkerchief on the ground and kneel down and ask for my hand.”
At seven o’clock the next morning Roz at last accepted.
Ah. A woman who knows what she wanted. I’ve had a couple of “Oh, it’s two o’clock in the morning, we just had a great night out together, LET’S GET MARRIED” proposals. Roz was smart to say No … and to make him do it right.
The two of them were faithfully married from 1941 to 1976, when she passed away.
When they’d go to a party in Hollywood, they’d stand on the doorstep holding hands, take three deep breaths, and say, “I’m as good as anyone here and better than most.” And that would get them through the door and into the party not feeling overwhelmed. I just love that. I also love that Cary Grant basically brought them together. She’s so funny about how she’d be laughing and chattering with Cary and, just to be nice, every once in a while turn to Freddie and say, “Don’t you think so?” and Freddie, so nervous he couldn’t talk, wouldn’t say anthing, and she’s thinking, “What a drip!”
Oh yes Stevie – the deep breaths!! I just love that!