Marlon Brando: A Memoir

Foreword

Marlon saw me. He knew my soul like no other. The extraordinary relationship I had with Marlon Brando over twenty-eight years influenced the person I am today. The Marlon I knew was a very different person from the Marlon Brando the world has been privy to see.

Marlon Brando: A Memoir sheds light on a Marlon Brando the public didn’t know. On those rare occasions Marlon gave interviews, he was never willing to discuss his personal life or his relationships with women. And I can’t begin to juxtapose who Marlon was to me to the mysterious legendary actor the world knew because I simply never viewed him that way.

At times he was a father figure, for years my archetypical demon lover, my soul reflector, my holy man, a soothsayer, and an imparter of great wisdom, my deus ex machina, my rescuer, and whatever else I needed him to be. My personal, intimate journey with him is one that no one else traveled. I came to know and deeply love Marlon Brando. But the Marlon Brando I loved wasn’t the movie star. He was the man who lived sequestered behind the unfathomable persona of Marlon Brando.

My memoir offers a unique opportunity to experience who Marlon Brando was, a personal side not available to the world at large. Marlon’s precise dialogue is often expressed throughout the book not only because his use of the English language was highly unusual and entertaining, but also because his manner of expression captures his psychology in a way that nothing else could.

Nancy K. Peardon

Los Angeles, California

April 2013

Chapter 1

It was the night before my twenty-first birthday in March of 1977. I’d never really spent any time alone with Marlon Brando before that night. Every time we’d met, which amounted to about three or four times during the previous six months, it had always been in my father’s dental office, where I worked as his dental assistant. I found it frustrating to talk to Marlon under those circumstances.

His appointments were rarely longer than an hour or two, and I could only talk alone with him while my father was briefly out of the operatory, preparing a temporary crown or waiting for his Novocain to take effect. Marlon also took a great deal of time thinking about his answers before responding to the questions I’d ask him, which further exasperated me, since I knew we didn’t have much time before my father would return. Marlon promised me he was thinking as fast as I was, but that he chose his words more carefully, which would take him somewhat longer. I, in contrast, spoke a mile a minute. This amused him to no end. He used to comment on how I talked faster than anybody else he had ever met. The third and final reason that I found it very frustrating to talk to Marlon in my dad’s office was that my dad kept walking in and out of the operatory, working his cosmetic dentistry magic, causing me to have to keep getting up and leaving the room so he could have his chair back to work on Marlon’s mouth.

Marlon and I had spoken on the telephone numerous times since the first day we met in my dad’s office. However, I remember the very first time we actually met; we didn’t say much to each other that day. I’d brought him a new patient information sheet to fill out, even though he wasn’t really a new patient. I’d never met him before, though, and I did notice that this form didn’t exist in his patient chart, so I thought it was a good excuse to go out to the waiting room to introduce myself to him and have something to talk to him about for a second or two.

He was seated on the sofa in the cozy, elegantly appointed reception room of our Beverly Hills dental office, and he was accompanied by his dear friend, Christian Marquand, who was seated beside him. My dad always had music playing through hidden speakers in the office, typically popular music, jazz instrumentals, and relaxing stuff like that. As I entered the room, the theme song from the French film "Umbrellas of Cherbourg" had just begun playing, as if on cue with my entrance.

Hello. I’m Nancy, Dr. Sattler’s daughter, I said, as I casually sat down beside Marlon, handing him the form and clipboard and pencil. I wasn’t nervous, just excited.

Would you mind filling this out for me please? I asked him sweetly.

He took the clipboard from my hands, never taking his eyes off of mine. I swear the music was ridiculously romantic at that moment. I’ll never forget it. He smiled at me, locking his grey-blue eyes into my brown eyes. People had described me as being sloe-eyed, with long dark hair. My father never told me I was pretty until one day when I was about twenty-two years old. I remember how surprised I was to hear him say, You’re very pretty, Nan. And then he added, Don’t think I don’t always think that. It’s just very hard for me to say it. And he never said it again. But I’ll cherish the time that he did.

I’d read that Marlon Brando fancied women with eyes like mine. I also knew he fancied women with long, dark hair, and that described my appearance, as well. In any event, he may have been acting, but he certainly seemed to be quite drawn to me in that moment.

I think I’m falling in love, he sighed, as he held my hand and kissed it. Although he was looking at me, it seemed as if he was speaking to his friend, Christian, something to the effect of here I go again! I laughed, utterly charmed by his teasing, and got up to go catch my breath in the other room, out of his sight. But I thought I might not have the chance to see him again and, wanting to be sure I’d made a lasting impression, I quickly wrote him a little poem on a three by five inch piece of scratch paper. I don’t even remember what I wrote to him, but I signed my whole name, Nancy Sattler, and I included my parent’s home telephone number at the bottom of the note, so he could reach me if he wanted to.

I gave the note to his friend, Christian, whom Marlon had introduced me to in the waiting room. This was after I’d shown Marlon into my father’s operatory and seated him in the dental chair. It was when he was spending his time with my father that I’d had a few minutes to write the note. Then I’d asked Christian if he’d please be so kind as to give Marlon my note after they left the office together. He smiled and took the note from me, but I noticed that he got up and took it to Marlon only a few moments later. I almost died of embarrassment. But before he left our office that night, just as he was walking out the door, Marlon turned back to me and said, Goodbye, Nancy. I’ll call you tonight.

I was very excited, and I remember telling my dad immediately after it happened that Marlon said he was going to call me that night.

I wouldn’t count on it, my dad laughed.

But somehow, I was certain that I could. My father and I left the office for the night, and we drove home together. We arrived at my parents house about an hour later. I’d been living with my parents for the previous few weeks after moving out from living with my boyfriend. My mom, dad, and I were sitting around the fireplace in their library around 10:30 pm that evening when their telephone rang.

Who could be calling at this time of night? my father asked, sounding surprised, as well as annoyed, since he had a rule that my sisters and I were not to receive phone calls from anyone, boys in particular, after 9:00 pm, even though I was now almost twenty-one. I got that nervous feeling in my stomach that my father was displeased as I got up to answer the telephone in the kitchen.

Hello? I answered.

Hello, Nancy, his unmistakable voice replied. It’s Marlon.

Hello Marlon, I said, loud enough for my parents to hear while, at the same time, giving them that ‘I told you so’ look. They just stared back, apparently in shock. It must have been different for them than it was for me, not only because he’s such a famous movie star, but because he’s part of their generation. Both my parents were fifty years old at the time and Marlon was fifty-two. My unease over his calling the house so late disappeared, since I could somehow sense, for whatever reason, my parents didn’t seem to disapprove of this late night phone call. Go figure. As Marlon began to ask me questions, I excused myself from the kitchen to go take the call upstairs, where I’d have more privacy.

Marlon and I talked until 3 am that night. That was four and a half hours! We talked about lots of subjects, including politics, religion, movies, and sex. He told me he’d had my handwriting analyzed, since I’d given him that note earlier that afternoon, and brought up that I crossed my t’s separately in my last name. He was obviously scrutinizing very minute details in an effort to assess my personality so he might better understand me. His profound attention to the details that make each person unique has always astonished me.

Being so young, I was relishing his attention and complete focus on me, and, now that I think about it, I must say I’d welcome that kind of attention again. It’s extremely rare for someone to so astutely observe another in such a personal and intimate manner. Marlon could study me for a short while and then he could mimic me so precisely, assimilating all my little affectations to a tee, I couldn’t help but blush. It was part of his genius.

Eventually, I noticed it was after 3:00 am, and I mentioned something about it being so late. At that point, he tried to talk me into letting him come pick me up to go drive out to the beach so we could watch the sun come up together. After which, he promised, he would take me back to his place and make me breakfast. He was very gentlemanly about the way he made his request, but I burst out laughing and told him there was no way I could let him pick me up in the middle of the night right then, because my father would never approve. He kept trying to talk me into it, and he had it all figured out. He wanted me to leave a note for my father saying something along the lines of.

Dear Dad,

Don’t worry about me. I’m with Marlon. I’m perfectly safe. I love you and I’ll call you in the morning.

--Nancy

I found it ironic he’d think this message would really comfort a father, but Marlon was unbelievably charming. It was quite difficult to keep adamantly refusing to let him come get me, because part of me was dying to go with him just then. It sounded very romantic. But I thought better of it, for various reasons, one being that I doubted he’d have much respect for a girl who’d just run off with him in the middle of the night. I won’t go into the other reasons, but suffice it to say, my answer, I decided, had to be no. I finally got him to accept no for an answer by playing up that I didn’t know him that well, and it wouldn’t be right for me to say yes at this point.

Okay, he said, sounding a bit tired and defeated. I respect you for that, Nancy. Sleep well, darling, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow.

I loved it that he called me darling, since no one else ever had. The word felt so endearing.

Goodnight, Marlon, I cooed back, and we finally hung up.

Of course, I never expected to hear from him again. But he did call me, the very next day, as he’d promised. And even more surprising to me, he never stopped calling for the next twenty-eight years. I very rarely called him, unless he left me a message requesting me to call him back. I know this sounds strange, but I’d generally contact him telepathically if I wanted or needed to speak to him. I’d dream about him, and then he’d always call me within a day or two.

Often, during the first several years after we’d met, Marlon would call me while I was working. My father certainly seemed to be impressed that he’d taken such a liking to me, and he encouraged me to indulge him in those long phone calls at the office. And, of course, for the most part, I found him to be quite fascinating to talk to. He made me laugh a lot.

So back to that night of March 10th, 1977, the day before my twenty-first birthday. I’d say probably six months had passed since I’d met him. But our relationship had, thus far, been restricted to either seeing each other in my dad’s office, when he’d occasionally schedule an appointment, or to engaging in our long, crazy conversations over the telephone, mostly while I was at my father’s office, frequently putting him on hold as I worked. He’d hang on for hours, waiting for me to keep coming back. Also, during those six months, I’d since moved back in with my boyfriend, Bill, and was even kicking around the idea of marrying him. Marlon emphatically discouraged the idea, mostly, I thought, because I’d casually mentioned to him that I was concerned Bill drank too much. I was too young to know the ramifications of living with an excessive drinker. Marlon, on the other hand, was not.

Late that afternoon in 1977, Marlon called me at my father’s office around 5:00 pm.

Hello, Nancy. It’s Marlon.

Hi, I replied.

How are you?

Good. Fine. Almost done today. How are you doing? I asked, feeling giddy he called.

What’re you doing tonight, Nancy?

Tonight?

Yeah, tonight.

Well,...uh... normally I’d be home but...tonight I... um... actually I planned to spend the night at my sister’s new apartment. Why? I asked.

Well, uh, tonight I’m supposed to have dinner with my sister....but, I think I can get out of it if you could swing it to come over here and see me tonight.

Come to your house? I asked, hesitantly.

This seriously took me by surprise. I loved my telephone relationship with him. But this would be different. It would definitely take our relationship to a whole new level. I clearly didn’t want to disappoint him or possibly jeopardize what we had by saying no. I was instantly dumbstruck, a rarity for me.

Yeah...........come over to my house, he said. I’d like to talk to you... and, uh...I thought that we could tell a few jokes and...I wanna see you, Nancy.

His voice seemed to lower when he said I wanna see you, Nancy. His words were sincere, yet they were kind of commanding at the same time. I wasn’t sure what to do. There was a long, silent pause while he waited for me to reply.

So, funny face..., what d’ya think? he finally asked again, his voice sounding sweet, and upbeat, and wholesomely warm-hearted.

Another long pause, during which I realized I was actually considering saying yes, that I would come to him. But also in that pause, I was keenly aware this might be a life-altering experience for me.

My thoughts and emotions in that silence: Breathless – scared – excited – a bold invitation – I know I’m living with Bill again, but I’m not married to him, and I’ve already told him I was sleeping out all night at my sister’s place. The set-up couldn’t be more perfect if I’d even thought about manufacturing some kind of excuse. I hadn’t ever lied or been disloyal to my boyfriend. But it’s like it was fate, or something. I knew I’d regret this if I said no to Marlon tonight. I didn’t know what would happen exactly, but I knew he’d proven himself to be wonderful and charming and funny so far. I figured there was a good chance we’d have sex. It never really occurred to me that it could be anything more than that. I loved the way he smelled, which was very important to me. He usually wore Eau Savage cologne. He was incredibly smart and clever, and he entertained me endlessly.

My inner dialogue started rambling on with thoughts like: Why would I want to say no? Is it because I’m being a disobedient girl if I go spend the night with another man? I know I am, but, am I really willing to pass this night up? No matter what happens in my life, I would never forget this experience of spending this evening with him alone. Why should I really have to deny myself this? Would I not do it because I’m scared? I know I’ll just live to regret it if I chicken out now. And I’ll have no one to blame but myself. No. Don’t you let this night go, Nancy. Just DO IT!

Um, well, okay, but just let me call my sister, I finally said, trembling and not believing I’d really just committed myself to seeing him at his house alone.

Okay. Swell! he answered quickly. You call your sister, and I’ll call my sister, and I’ll call you right back. That sort of sealed the deal. I knew there was no turning back now.

Okay, I said, a little hesitantly.

Bye, he said, and hung up quickly.

I was kind of shocked, I guess. But the way he put it almost felt as if we were just a couple of kids who were really starting to like each other and dying to spend some time together, just to explore each other further and to play around a little bit. Marlon was ostensibly more curious than I was. Yet he made his invitation sound harmless enough and quite casual. Our lives are defined by opportunities, including the ones we miss. Even I figured that much. I had to go.

The phone rang at my dad’s office about 10 minutes later.

Dr. Sattler’s office, I answered.

We’re on! he said.

Okay...good, I said. Where do you live?

As he told me how to get there, I jotted down the directions to his house. Then he added that I should push the doorbell next to his address and then call out his name.

Just call out, ‘Mar...Mar… I’m here, Mar’, he said, and then I’ll let you in the gate.

The whole thing made me nervous, but I took down his instructions and decided to follow them to the letter, since I wasn’t that secure about driving around town alone in the first place. I knew that once I’d found him, I’d be fine, but I have this anxiety thing about getting lost, so I planned to do exactly what he told me to do.

First, I went to my older sister Carol’s place to see her new apartment and get myself ready for my evening with Marlon. I was feeling a little guilty about the lie that wasn’t even going to be necessary to tell to my boyfriend. After all, my boyfriend thought I was sleeping at my sister’s apartment. I knew it wouldn’t even occur to him that I hadn’t done just that. It was all just so convenient. It’s what enabled me to go on this adventure in the first place. Otherwise, I would definitely have declined his invitation. I was still twenty years old at the time, and Carol was twenty-three. She really helped to assuage my guilt about it all, encouraging me to put my diaphragm inside me, just in case, and insisting that I call her when I got there, just to let her know I was safe. To this day, my sister has always kept it to herself that I didn’t stay with her that night.

When I arrived at 12900 Mulholland Drive, I noticed three mail boxes lined up with call buttons for each address. I pushed the button that corresponded to Marlon Brando’s address and waited, checking my lipstick in the rear view mirror. Nothing happened. I pushed the button again, and this time I did as Marlon had instructed me to, yelling out to the little black box, Mar? I’m here, Mar.

I felt kind of stupid and embarrassed. I didn’t know him all that well, and I certainly never referred to him as Mar.

Nancy? I heard his voice responding over the little black box.

Hi. I’m here, Marlon I replied to the box.

Hello, darling. I’ll open the gate. Come on in, he said.

And the giant black wrought-iron gate that separated his Mulholland Drive estate in Beverly Hills from the rest of the world opened very slowly, revealing a long winding black road lined with bamboo trees. It was very dark outside already, so I slowly drove inside and followed the road around the first bend and parked in the driveway in front of the house. I got out of my car, walked around to the front door, and rang the bell. After several moments, the front door was opened by a very small, middle-aged, slight-looking man with rather long brown hair. From the look on his face, I’d interrupted something, it seemed. He clearly wasn’t expecting me. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I’m so sorry, I said. I think I must be at the wrong house.

Oh, he said, having figured it out. "You must be looking for Marlon. This is Jack’s house, honey. You want to keep going up the driveway until you get to the top of the road."

Okay, thank you, I said, feeling embarrassed for having intruded, although he was very polite to me.

I left to get back in my car and almost decided to just go home. That little incident had unnerved me. I chalked it up to a combination of my own sense of guilt about being where I was and the general depravity and decadence that I already knew some of Hollywood personified. Still, I went up to the top of the driveway, where I was met by a security guard outside.

Hi, I said. I’m Nancy. I’m here to see Marlon.

He was a tall, lanky guard, wearing a uniform. I can’t remember his answering me. Maybe he just didn’t. I asked him where I should go. He kindly walked me through the darkness toward some French doors, in front of which sat two German Shepherds, side by side, like sentinels. They seemed quite serious. There was also a big sign leaning up against the door with red letters that read, No Smoking Allowed! I was dismayed at this when I thought about the joint I had with me in my pocket, since I was dying to light it up as soon as possible so I might finally begin to relax.

Just go with the dogs, the guard said to me.

Are you kidding? I asked him, incredulously. Aren’t you coming in with me?

Frankly, this was almost the last straw for me. I didn’t want to step inside by myself. I was scared. The house was dark. I’m afraid of big dogs. I’m sure Marlon didn’t realize it, but he was really putting me to the test here. All of my phobias, or many of them anyway, were being lain out before me like a bed of hot coals. I’d have to walk over them if I hoped to see him.

No. I can’t come inside, the guard informed me. But it’s okay. Just follow the dogs. They’ll take you to Marlon, he said.

As bizarre as this was, I did as he said, since the dogs had made an about-face and were making their way through a dark kitchen. I heard their toenails clicking against the wood floor, but I couldn’t really see them until they pushed their way through a swinging door, which had a little light coming from the other side. As I was still groping my way through the pitch-black kitchen, I hurried after them so I wouldn’t lose them. This was getting very stressful for me, although it calmed me when I heard Frank Sinatra crooning softly all around me. The dogs tip-toed through a dark dining room, then around a corner, making their way down a long, dark hallway with a doorway lit up at the very end. Along the way, I passed an enormous living room, which appeared to have walls of glass surrounding it, encircling breathtaking views of Los Angeles’ city lights. It was very dark outside, as it was inside the house, and I’d never seen a more spectacular view. I wanted to savor that old glamour of Hollywood. But it was hard to appreciate at that moment, as I was still worried about losing the dogs, feeling far from mellow.

Finally, the dogs entered the room with the warm light at the end of the hallway, and they casually disappeared inside. When I got to the doorway of that room, I peered inside and saw Marlon’s expansive bedroom, with Marlon sitting in a giant black leather chair in the middle of the room with his back to me.

Nancy? he said softly, without turning around.

Yeah, I answered, stepping inside the doorway. I was a bit out of breath.

I thought you’d decided not to come, he said. What took you so long? I let you in a half an hour ago. He was still speaking softly, but I thought I detected a hint of annoyance in his words. He sat perfectly still in that chair, with his broad back to me. Marlon’s hair was long and blonde. His appearance was still very much the way it was in the film Last Tango In Paris. I thought he was quite handsome, but with his back to me, just then, he looked more like The Godfather sitting there. It was quite dramatic, his not turning around.

I know. I’m sorry. I went to the wrong house by mistake, I quickly explained, speaking fast as lightning, as I usually do. I rang the doorbell and a little man answered the door. I was pretty embarrassed when I realized it wasn’t your house, but he was very nice about it. It was pretty weird, though, because somehow, just by looking at me, he seemed to know I must be here for you. Anyway, he sent me up here.

He slowly turned his head to look up from his swivel chair now, cocking his head sideways, smiling and pausing a moment, soaking in the sight of me. Then he stood up from his chair and walked towards me, extending both his hands.

You went to Jack Nicholson’s house, he said, and he reached for my hand and then gave me a big hug to welcome me. He squeezed me so hard I couldn’t breathe.

Jack lives next door, he went on. You just met Roman.

Who? I asked.

Roman Polanski. He’s a director. He’s staying there for a few days while Jack’s away.

Yeah, well, whatever, I said, feeling a little overwhelmed. At least I’m here now.

Yes. You are. I’m glad you came, Nancy, Marlon said.

~~~~~~

Chapter 2

So, this is where it’s going to take place, I nervously thought, glancing at Marlon’s bed directly in front of us. Several stacks of books were occupying a third of the space on the bed. I imagined them falling over the moment he was to lie down. They would obviously have to be moved if he planned to have me sleep there with him that night.

Are you actually reading all these books? I asked.

Yeah, I have a film coming up with Francis, he explained. "I’ve been doing a lot of research for the part I’m going to play in it. It’s called Apocalypse Now, he went on. If done right, it will be a very important film about the war in Vietnam."

We made