Grateful American: A Journey from Self to Service(51)
When the seven weeks were up, I traveled to Anacapa by the Sea again and brought Moira home, hoping this challenge was all behind us. On the road back to Malibu, Moira looked out across the ocean, turned to me, and said, “You mean to tell me I can never have a nice glass of champagne ever again—even while sitting on the beach watching a sunset? Never? Again? In my life?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I thought, Oh boy. I’m not sure rehab has done the trick.
When George Wallace finished, I was set to play Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire at Steppenwolf in Chicago. Moira started to go to AA meetings in Malibu. I flew to Chicago and began rehearsals on the play, and once the show was up and running, the plan was for Moira and the kids to come out for a visit.
In those days you could go straight to an airport’s gate to meet an arriving party. The kids came off the plane first. Moira came last. She’d been out of rehab for about six weeks, but as soon as I locked eyes with her I knew she’d been drinking again. You get to a point where you can spot it a mile away. I thought, Oh boy, what now? I didn’t want to fight or argue while they were visiting me, so I rationalized. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe this was a onetime thing. She’s going to be all right. Maybe it was just one little drink on the plane to calm her nerves.
Moira and the kids stayed with me in Chicago for ten days. She was okay the entire time, so I kept rationalizing, thinking her drinking on the plane was a onetime thing. They flew back to California, and I continued with the play until it finished a few weeks later. When I came home, I started to find alcohol around the house again. The amount I found wasn’t as much as before she’d gone into rehab, so again I rationalized, hoping things were going to clear up and get better.
I was still talking with the psychologist, and he warned me to be careful. I was just about to start my next part, a costarring role with Nic Cage in the movie Snake Eyes. Part of the movie was to be shot in Atlantic City, another part in Montreal. I flew to Atlantic City, and later Moira joined me for a few days—without the kids, who were with my folks. Moira and I stayed in a casino hotel. There were shows and booze everywhere. On one of my nights off we saw the great Patti LaBelle, a fantastic show, and we had a great time. Moira drank a little on the visit, but she never got drunk and everything stayed under control. It was a wonderful visit, and I hoped the worst was behind us. Perhaps, I thought, she was now able to have a glass of wine without drinking until she passed out. She flew home and all seemed well.
Right before Labor Day weekend 1997, the Snake Eyes production moved to Montreal. Moira and the children went to Lake Tahoe to visit friends. Late one afternoon my phone rang. It was nine-year-old Sophie, crying. “Daddy—Mommy’s drunk again. She keeps drinking vodka and telling me it’s water.” We were both silent for a moment. Sophie loved her mom so much, and her heart was breaking. Choking through her tears, Sophie whispered, “Daddy—I don’t know what to do. I just want to be a kid.” I got the picture—Sophie was taking care of Mac and Ella because Mommy was too drunk. I never doubted that Moira always tried to be a good mother with our children. She was never anything but a loving mother. But when just Moira and the kids were traveling and Moira had been drinking, well, it was hard to know what would happen—and that felt very scary. I wanted to be the loving husband, the gentle husband. I wanted to ask Moira nicely, “Please don’t drink again.” But with the vicious enemy of alcohol taking over the life of the woman I loved, I learned you could show no mercy fighting this enemy.
Moira and the children were scheduled to return to Malibu from Tahoe the next day. I reassured my daughter, then called Moira and calmly told her I had a few days off, and as it was Labor Day weekend, I was coming home tomorrow. She was drunk on the phone and said, “Oh great, yay. I’m so happy.”
I called John Frankenheimer and said, “Moira has relapsed, John. I’m heading back to Los Angeles, but I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
John said, “It’s time to take the gloves off.” And then he told me what I needed to do.
When I arrived home the next day, Moira opened the door and I spotted it right away: she’d been drinking again. I came into the house, gave her and the kids a hug, and acted as if everything were normal and fine. After a short while I said to Moira, “Honey, you look tired. Why don’t you go lie down and take a nap?”
She said, “You know, I am kinda tired. I think I will.” She went to lie down in the back bedroom. Twenty minutes later I checked on her. She was out like a light.
I packed three suitcases, called a car to pick us up, and wrote Moira the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. I explained we’d reached a point of decision. She couldn’t have our family and still have alcohol. She needed to choose between us, and she needed to get serious about her choice, because I was finished. I told her I loved her so much, and I wanted her to be okay. What I wanted most in life was for her to be sober and happy, and for us to be together again as a family. But we couldn’t do that if she continued to drink. I was taking the kids.
The car arrived, and I loaded everybody in as Moira continued to sleep in the back bedroom. I still had shooting to do in Montreal. The kids were in school, and I didn’t know where we were going, but I knew I needed to get them out of the house. We checked into the Chateau Marmont that night so we could regroup and I could figure out the next step. My parents were living near my sister in Idaho Falls, so I called them from the hotel and explained what was happening. They said they’d help any way they could. My thoughts swirled, and I was torn between taking the kids to Idaho or with me to Montreal. Either way, I had to get out of Los Angeles. It was a few days before I needed to be back on set, so I called John Terry, an actor friend who’d played Slim in Of Mice and Men, and asked him if we could come spend the night. He lived in Park City, Utah, and in case I decided to take the kids to my parents’ I could get to Idaho Falls easily from there. I just needed time to think, and I knew I could make my decision from John’s house. The following morning, we checked out of the hotel, flew to Salt Lake, rented a car, and drove up to Park City. John and his family were very supportive, even though there was still so much to figure out—schooling in Montreal, finding someone to help with the kids while I was shooting. After considering everything, I decided I wanted the kids with me. I simply did not want to be away from them.