The first time my mother left the house with me, it was so cold she had to bundle me up in coats and blankets to protect me from the artic wind coming in from the frozen Sound. “Long Island in winter is like living in a Russian novel,” she used to say.
Grace wrote letters regularly, keeping Carolyn updated on the children’s progress, her official duties, and life at the palace. But it was hard for Carolyn to write back. What could she say? That she was unhappy living out at the end of the world? That the older children made so much noise and were so demanding, and that the baby often refused to settle, leaving her feeling helpless? That her career as a model was over? That her body had been destroyed by the three surgeries? That ever since the hysterectomy she was getting hot flashes, going through menopause at age thirty? That she didn’t want Malcolm anywhere near her? Next door, at Sherman’s castle, a regular parade of young models arrived each weekend. As she waited for her husband to come home at night, she knew she had been replaced. The more difficult her life became, the less Carolyn felt herself worthy of her friendship with Grace, the unimpeachable princess.
Every now and again, Malcolm would invite their friends from the city out to the new house for parties. Eileen Ford and her husband, Jerry, came to visit. Hope Lange, a young actress they had both known from Manhattan House days, would also drop by, and Tippi Hedren, one of my mother’s modeling friends, would come to stay for the weekend. But Carolyn no longer felt at ease in social situations. She was too awkward now, out of place, as if she were always about to say or do the wrong thing. She could no longer rely on her youth or prettiness. It didn’t help that when Malcolm told jokes and stories, they were usually at her expense. On the rare occasion she met someone new, either through the children or Malcolm, she never knew quite where she stood. People seemed to automatically know that she was the bridesmaid—after all, Grace’s wedding had been televised around the world in front of thirty million viewers—but Carolyn was never sure if they really wanted to be her friend or if they were just fascinated by her connection to the princess.
She had assumed that after the wedding, Grace would vanish from her life, but that hadn’t been the case. Grace was determined to keep up with her old friends, and to find ways of including them in her new life. Before my birth, my mother had written to Grace in Monaco, asking for a favor. My mother had a cousin from Steubenville, Sandra. They had grown up next door to each other, and even though my mother was ten years older than Sandra, they had remained close. Sandra was in high school and had decided she wanted to study to be an actress at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, Grace’s former acting school. However, Sandra couldn’t afford to travel back and forth to New York for the auditions, which took place in the spring, and—should she get a place—buy another ticket when classes started in September. Carolyn wrote to Grace, explaining the situation; my mother knew that Grace would do whatever she could to help a young woman with dreams of a career in the arts. Grace wrote to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, asking if Sandra could audition in September, so she would only have to pay for one ticket to New York. The Academy agreed. In the end, Sandra’s father didn’t allow her to go to the audition—he didn’t approve of Sandra’s becoming an actress. But by the time I was born, Sandra had finally gotten permission to move to Manhattan to study to be a secretary at the Katherine Gibbs School.
The year of my birth, Sandra moved to New York. She was nineteen years old and staying at the Barbizon Hotel in New York, just as Grace and Carolyn had done. The next spring, when I was six months old, Carolyn received word that Grace was going to come to visit us at the Dream House, so she invited Sandra to join us. I was too young to remember the visit, but years later Sandra recounted it for me. While the royal security detail waited outside in the limousine, Her Serene Highness Princess Grace bustled into our home, bringing gifts for me and for Jill and Robin. Grace looked as beautiful as ever, her hair pulled back, her skin the color of porcelain; Carolyn led her friend and Sandra to the living room, so they could sit comfortably. Grace was wearing expensive leather shoes with a tiny heel, which she slipped off. She curled up her legs on the couch, enjoying the warmth from the fireplace (the palace in Monaco was notoriously cold).
Together, Carolyn and Grace reminisced about the past. Carolyn went to dig out The Pursuit of Destiny, the book of horoscopes they’d loved to read to one another during evenings at the Manhattan House. They found the familiar pages containing their fortunes and began to read. The future once foretold in the pages had become the present. Grace had fulfilled her destiny, “taking center of any stage, as by divine right, and occupying it successfully, with popularity and charm.” Carolyn’s fortune had always been much more mixed. The book had warned her that she would end up here, her energies scattered, her mental balance gone. “Irritable, nervous and undependable” were the words the horoscope used to describe her fate. Sandra was still at the beginning of her journey. Her horoscope promised that she had “constructive energy, creative ability, courage and dependability,” and that
