EPIPHANY AFTER THE LAGUNA BEACH FIRE.

I yearned to finish my book someday and eventually live in my new home as a published authorof TheMaybellineStory. 

My 16 year old daughter, Georgia and I received fire-survivors counseling through FEMA and she began working through the post-trauma that had thrown her into a deep depression.  I tried to make the apartment and her room as luxurious as possible, but was so distracted with the rebuilding process, I seemed emotionally unavailable. She yearned for a boyfriend and within a year of the fire she found him and fell in love.  

My life however, had become a nightmare of red tape and paperwork... trying to give the Insurance company an idea of what I lost.  Georgia told me I cared more about money than anything else and was mad I wasn't more sympathetic about her feelings for her boyfriend.  I didn't approve of him and soon became the enemy.

The stress was killing me and the only place I felt safe was at the beach looking out at the rocks on the coastline.  I yearned for the past and cried for my mother, who's mental health prevented her from being emotionally available for years...... 

so I sought comfort and love from Mother Nature.....as I peacefully sat and watched the rocks being bathed by the crashing foamy waves.  With my life twisting and turning in chaos, the rocks with their sense of permanency gave me soul peace and soothed my broken spirit.

The busy people scurrying by on the boardwalk seemed so out of balance with the undisturbed rocks and It struck me how temporary life was and how material things come and go.  You just have to enjoy the stuff while you have it and then let it go. 

I reflected on my relationships as well, realizing they too are only temporary and could be washed away with the tide at any time. 

I'd close me eyes and think about America as far back as

possible and felt compassion and empathy for those who had lost everything in the Civil War, the holocaust, the Titanic, WWI, and WWII and cried for all the lost lives..... the lost dreams.  I pictured Abraham Lincoln delivering the Gettysburg address and thought about how freedom is really the greatest loss to endure and how fortunate I really was to only have lost my material things.

Suddenly it occurred to me that the rocks were here since the beginning of time and would probably remain until the end.  I reflected on how my family fit into the scheme of history..... like a deck of cards..... and began placing my family pictures into the stack.  I saw my grandparents, parents, siblings, Gene, Georgia and even my future grandchildren flowing through the deck and slowly my mind slowed down enough to filter through the lost boxes of pictures in the garage that had been destroyed by the fire.

Eva, Frances, Tom Lyle, Bennie, Preston Williams

 

Mabel Williams,

All of a sudden my imagination came back to life and I was able to see my great uncle Tom Lyle, smiling as he posed with his family in 1916, right after he renamed his little company Lash-Brow-Ine, Maybelline, in honor of his sister Mabel.

Day after day I looked forward to my quiet times at the beach listening to the hypnotic rhythm of the waves lulling me into deeper and deeper meditation.  I had discovered another world inside myself and as the birds called to each other from the rocks, my imagination turned their sounds into words.  My family's history came to life as tears poured onto my lap and quickly dried as if they never existed.

A deep sense of loss for my grandfather, Preston,... my dad's father, whom I'd never known, came over me and I felt the passion and romance of his spirit.  Stories of him unfolded as the waves misted my face..... and I knew he'd live forever in my heart.

Week after week, I put the puzzle of my past together and the clearer the picture became, the more I realized it was impossible to put a number on my loss without telling The Maybelline story. 

I called my agent at the Greenspan Co. and told them what I'd discovered and they agreed with me. My loss wasn't just a slam dunk situation, it was very unusual, almost on the level of a celebrity.  

"Where do I begin," I asked.

"From the beginning," my agent said, "we'll tell them the whole story as you remember it."

Stay tuned tomorrow, as the picture of my loss finally unfolds......

LAGUNA BEACH FIRESTORM... 
THE END IS ONLY THE BEGINNING.

Seeing my sixteen year old daughter so sad broke my heart.  I had to find a place to live, but everything in Laguna Beach  had already been scooped up. 

It had never occurred to me to find a place the day after the fire.  I'd waited too long wallowing in my feelings and let Georgia down.  A friend of mine suggested I rent an apartment in her complex right outside of town in the Canyon, but when I took Georgia to see it she was upset.

"It's nice Mom," she said, "but I refuse to take the bus to

school."

"If I promise to get up and take you everyday will it be

okay?"

"I can't be late anymore this year,"

"I know, so I'll have to force myself to get up."

She hated leaving town and becoming an "in-lander," even though it was only about two miles out of town. 
I had to make my first executive decision, so decided to rent the penthouse. It had vaulted ceilings, an electric fireplace, two master suites, access to a gym pool and Jacuzzi, activities room and was clean, functional and very comfortable. All I wanted after the nightmare of smoke and ash was luxury, serenity and peace.  The apartment was close enough to town, so that when the building process began, I'd be close to the site.

Georgia was not happy about it, but she moved in after I decorated the place with beautiful contemporary furniture, lush green plants and filled the kitchen with everything we'd ever need. 

The city of Laguna Beach, put up a fire relief outlet and

offered fire victims designer clothes from department stores and every conceivable item you could possibly need to replace what was lost. People donated tons of clothes, shoes, etc, etc. etc. until soon we had a charming, warm, elegant environment meeting our every need.  Our apartment was sensational, but sterile. There was nothing visible to remind us of our past.

The Insurance company gave me a Builder who told me I was under insured and wasn't going to be able to build my house near the craftsmen quality of my post WWII charm house. He refused to return my calls and soon I realized he was in cahoots with the insurance company.

I  hired an attorney who intimidated the insurance company and the builder into canceling the contract I'd signed, without getting advice first.

I met with the Architect, a nice Born Again Christian named Bruce and we clicked immediately. He told me the builder was a crook and helped me get rid of him and find one I could trust.  Bruce, met my dad at  the Lido Isle condo, because my dad wanted to show him how he'd designed and remodeled it into an Art Deco masterpiece. They clicked and immediately sat right down at the table and began drawing the plans for my new house. 

My dad's ideas were original, spectacular and expensive. I didn't want to stop his creative flow, but was afraid the insurance company would fight me every inch of the way and want to settle for a ridiculous amount, since I still couldn't give them a fiscal number representing my loss.

Mark and Barbara, my neighbors who had lived across the street, suggested I hire a professional who could help me present a picture of who I was and what I actually lost. I took their advice and hired the Greenspan  Company,  who represented me for 6% of my settlement.  The Greenspan Company adjuster met with me every week to formulate a picture of my background so they could place a value on my manuscripts, family pictures and all the relics I lost from M.G.M. and the Villa Valentino.

They portrayed me as an heiress and finally my financial loss began to take on weight.  My dad stood by me and Gloria, in her Rolls Royce, met me at the lot to collect checks from Mr. Anderson, my insurance adjuster, when he brought them by.  He stopped treating me like a stupid middle aged divorced single parent and began treating me like a member of a well respected family.

As the process moved along, I'd go over to my lot and spend hours digging through the ash searching for anything that might remind me of my life before the fire. Slowly but surely items from my past were unearthed and each time I pulled up a treasure buried

under dirt, ash, and broken charred pieces of stucco, I'd sit in the dirt and cry.   Memories flooded me as I dug out a broken piece of wedding china, Georgia's baby soap dish that had been in our bathroom since we moved to Laguna 12 years ago. 

 I was addicted to returning to the lot every morning after I dropped Georgia off at school and excavate more stuff.  When I found a broken cup with the word "Lawyer" printed on it, I fell apart.  I'd given it to Gene after he passed the bar, right after we were engaged and had so much to look forward to. Then I pulled out the broken stem of my Wedding crystal wine goblet and just shook my head in disbelief.  Things I'd taken for granted, were now as precious as ancient treasures from King Tut's tomb.

One day I found the broken China head of My mother's china doll, given to her father in 1929.  It had been used in a movie made at M.G.M. where he was the construction boss for 55 years. I dug deeper and actually found a China cup from my Wedding china still in perfect condition even though a house caved in on it.
I cried over the vintage costumes I'd collected and worn since the 1970's.  I cried and cried and cried, but when I was done crying all my treasures fit nicely into a little red shoe box.  It was all that was left of my old life.

My friends comforted me and though none of them

lost their homes, they all helped replace pictures, clothes and household goods.  Georgia too, was the only one in her group who had lost her home and she, like me, found it hard to relate to people who hadn't gone through the ordeal.

I began going to Saint Catherine's Catholic Church everyday after dropping Georgia off at school at 7:00 AM.  Than I'd head to the beach and just sit on a bench and meditate on the rocks.  People I knew walked by and talked about their fire experience and some who didn't lose their homes talked about Survivor's Guilt and how terrible it was living in a fire zone.  I'd listen to them and wish I still had my old house, my old routine, my old neighborhood, my old life.

The insurance settlement became a full time job and I worked with lawyers, interviewed builders, drew plans with the Architect, and continued gathering household items for the apartment.  My entire focus was getting my house back so Georgia and I could go home and she could finish high-school with her friends.

Gene was of no help and if anything became an adversary, wanting Georgia to come and live with him, so he didn't have to pay me child support.  I refused to let her go live with him and his girl friend.  Instead I kept moving a forward like a Tiger one step at a time.  

David, my partner, was still my right hand and carried the book while I worked with the writer that The William Morris Agency contracted for me.  Things got weird between us though, when he insisted on interviewing me before we'd finished negotiations on the movie rights.  I felt like he was taking advantage of my vulnerability... to get what he wanted.  When David held tough on the percentages, Michael, the writer, whined and complained and we began to get cold feet.  We figured he was only in the deal to make big money fast and just wanted to concentrate on my great uncle Tom Lyle, founder of the Maybelline Company's... Gay lifestyle.  

I told my dad what was going on and went off the deep end.  Dad said, he would never hurt Uncle Lyle, by making his personal life the entire crux of the Maybelline Story after all he had done for us.   Dad insisted I get out of the contract with William Morris and Michael..... forget writing the book.....and get my life back..... So once again I had to put the Maybelline Story on the back burner.

Continued next week.....