Born with Teeth: A Memoir (30 page)

I put my hand to her cheek, fresh with the rain, looked into her father’s deep-brown and very beautiful eyes and said, “Bring two.”

I had yet to unpack from my trip to Boston and was lying on my bed in a gentle stupor, when the phone rang. Production, no doubt, giving me my shooting call for the next day, eager to remind me that my idyll had come to an end and that it was time to get back to work. I picked up the receiver and said sharply, “Yes.”

Someone chuckled on the other end and said, “Well, and hello to you, too.”

Of all the voices in all the world, his was the one I least expected to hear. I breathed deeply before speaking.

“Tim Hagan,” I said, “what a surprise. I haven’t heard from you in five years.”

“Five years, more or less,” Tim countered, although his voice was gentle and his manner reserved.

“Exactly five years,” I replied, “so I’m very interested to know what it is you’re calling me about. And why.”

“I got a phone call from your mother a couple of weeks ago,” Tim explained, “in which she made it clear that she thought I should call you.”

“Why? What on earth did she say?” I demanded.

“She simply said, ‘Tim, this is Joan. Are you married?’ And I said, ‘No, Joan, I’m not,’ to which she replied, ‘Well, neither is Katy. You should call her.’ And then she hung up.”

Oh, Mother, I said to myself, you didn’t. Oh, my little mother, you did, didn’t you? And I thought of the night under the Turkish moon and her question, so unexpected. What, she had wanted to know, had been my greatest sorrow.

My Greatest Sorrow now spoke, and he said, “Kate, I know it’s been a long time, and I’m fully aware that I am culpable and that there can be no excuses for my behavior, but I would very much appreciate it if you’d give me a chance to explain why I behaved the way I did. I want you to understand it from my perspective.”

Five years I’d waited, and not a day had passed without my thinking of him. I would squander no more time.

“I’m very busy these days, shooting a series, and my time off is extremely limited, but I’m looking at the advance schedule and I see that I will be released early this Friday.”

He said nothing. I allowed the sensation of regret to fill the space between us, and then I made up my mind.

“I’ll be in the Bar at the Bel-Air Hotel this Friday at one o’clock,” and without giving myself the chance to unbutton the past, I hung up the phone.

I finished my scenes by noon on Friday and went into my trailer to change into an exquisite white linen dress with matching jacket and a broad-brimmed straw hat graced with a black ribbon. I wore Richard Cushing’s pearls.

The valet at the Bel-Air jumped to open the car door, and I
walked swiftly inside, where the maître d’hôtel was waiting for me. I could not think why he would be waiting for me, but it was clear, by the way he held himself, that he was.

“Miss Mulgrew,” he said, with a sleek formality and just the hint of a smile, “Mr. Hagan has already arrived. He is waiting for you in the Bar.”

Without a word, he took my overnight bag from me and opened the door that led directly to the Bar.

I crossed the terra-cotta-tiled path and wondered at my own ability to walk forward, for I knew very well what lay behind that door, and everything I had of grace and courage conspired to bring me to the entrance of that bar where the world was suddenly dark and cool and mysterious, where from the deep recesses of a corner table I half made out the silhouette of a familiar figure, rising out of his seat, unable to maneuver himself from behind the heavy table, and so it was I who moved first, stepping lightly out of the harsh sunlight, closing the door behind me.

In the beginning, my dear friend Laura Ross encouraged me to meet her best friend, Christopher Schelling, a literary agent. He urged me to send him some pages of what I might consider memoir-worthy and, when I had done so, asked if he could send those pages to several publishing houses, after which it seemed to take on a life of its own. My deepest thanks to Christopher and Laura.

I interviewed each of my siblings in turn, and they were remarkably helpful. First, I must thank my brother Joe, who is not only a fount of information but has the retention and mind of a world-class historian. His photograph graces the cover of this book. My gratitude to my older brother, Tom, and my younger brother Sam for their support and allegiance. And, finally, I am beholden to my sister Jenny for the important role she has played in this book and for her unconditional love.

Lucila Ledezma came to the beach and took me back in time. She will never know how deeply I value her friendship, her honesty, and her goodness.

My readers were my closest friends. Love does not lie. So my gratitude to Laura Ross, Augusten Burroughs, Saul Rubinek, Samantha Eggar, Kevin Brockman, Mary Kay Norseng, and Vicky Jenkins. Thanks to my dear friends Annie and Kevin Stapleton, who, over the years, have been extraordinarily generous and true. Fittingly, I wrote the last chapters at my best friend’s
cabin on Lake Champlain and, as always, she met me there. My love and gratitude to Beth Danon.

Many thanks to my manager, Lisa Loosemore, for appreciating and affirming the significance of this undertaking and to my assistant, Sarah Levithan, who organized and steadied me along the way.

I have been very lucky in my team at Little, Brown and knew they were for me the minute I entered Reagan Arthur’s office and shook the hands of Nicole Dewey, Heather Fain, and Judy Clain. Reagan Arthur is exactly the kind of editor a first-time writer yearns for—the kind that inspires trust, truth, good taste, and, most important, another book.

A special thanks to Bennett Zier, who recognized the journey and saw to it that I made it back to shore, in time for dinner.

Deep thanks to my sons, Alec and Ian Egan.

Finally, it is impossible to express the size of my gratitude to my daughter, Danielle Gaudette, whose spirit guided this book and who has shown me what grace means.

Kate Mulgrew is an American actress noted for her roles as Captain Kathryn Janeway on
Star Trek: Voyager,
Mary Ryan on
Ryan’s Hope,
and, most recently, Galina “Red” Reznikov on
Orange Is the New Black.
She has performed in numerous television shows, theater productions, and movies. She is the winner of a Golden Satellite Award, a Saturn Award, and an Obie Award and has been nominated for a Golden Globe and an Emmy.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate Mulgrew

Jacket design by Allison J. Warner

Jacket photograph by Joseph Glennon Mulgrew

Author photograph by Augusten Burroughs

Jacket © 2015 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected] Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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First ebook edition: April 2015

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The quotation
here
is from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, translated by Edward FitzGerald.

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ISBN 978-0-316-33430-3

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