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of the Chateau de Ville, a chain of five theaters in New England, where I had the privilege of working with many of the idols of my youthincluding the fabled Joan Fontaine, who had come to star in our production of Cactus Flower. What's more, I even got paid!
The Chateau's shows played each of our five theaters for a month, and my responsibilities included overseeing housing for the casts in each locationSpartan furnished apartments for supporting players and more luxurious digs for our stars. For the first leg of Joan's Cactus Flower tour with us, I had found a lovely apartment for her on Boston's Beacon Hill, overlooking the Charles River.

As soon as she was settled there, I was dispatched to pick her up and drive her to Connecticut, Cactus Flower's next venue, so she could inspect some housing choices I had lined up for her there. I hadn't yet met her and was both excited and extremely nervous. When she opened the door, I gushed, "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fontaine! I absolutely loved Rebecca!" I expected a "Thank you!" or at least a smile. Instead, my compliment was greeted with a frown and disconcerting silence. Huh? What was that about? I feared I was going to have to carry on a one-sided dialogue all the way to Connecticut and back. Fortunately, however, as we started down the highway, she began to relax, and conversation became very easy. She was witty, friendly and warm. Soon I felt comfortable enough to ask her who had been her favorite leading man.
"Charles Boyer," she responded immediately. "He was a true gentleman. Working with him was a joy."
"And dare I ask who was your least favorite co-star?" I dared to ask.
Again, not a moment's hesitation. "Laurence Olivier," she replied emphatically.
Aha! A clue as to her reaction to my mention of Rebecca.
"The first four-letter words I ever heard were from the mouth of that man!" she added. Though the curses were not directed at her, his general surliness definitely was. Displeased because Vivien Leigh, his fiance at the time, had not been chosen for the co-starring role, he made his resentment of Joan obvious and even belittled her brand new husband, Brian Aherne, which had a devastating effect on the impressionable 22-year-old bride. How then, I asked, could her and Laurence's onscreen tenderness have been so convincing?
"It's called acting, Darling," she laughed.

That day trip to Connecticut was the start of a remarkable friendship, which was cemented in the months that followed by my admiration

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