If you’ve read my book, you know that February 2nd and 3rd, 1968 were two tumultuous days in my life. Maurice Gibb and I had spent a dream week in Hollywood with the Bee Gees, rehearsing for their appearance on “The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour.” In the evening, Maurice and I were at my house in Hollywood, reviving the very romantic three weeks we’d shared in London in the fall of 1967.
You know that after we left the party where this photo was taken, we came home and made love, and then Maurice dropped the bombshell on me that he was married! I would find out a few weeks later that it wasn’t true, but in the early morning of February 3, my 21-year-old heart was crushed.
I went through with my birthday celebration—hosted by my folks at my Hollywood house the next day like a zombie, just going through the motions. I found some relief later, at the cocktail party at my editorial director’s house, where my Tiger Beat bosses and colleagues and friends had gathered to celebrate my big day. I was overwhelmed when our publisher, Chuck, announced formally that I was now the editor-in-chief of Tiger Beat.
But that was 56 years ago and I’ve had time to gain some perspective and wisdom about those events. I was so touched when I released my book and began getting incredibly supportive messages from you. As I noted in my foreword, my life today and for the last 45 years (especially after I met my husband Tony) has been my best life—better than a Disney fantasy.
As I’ve spent those years of happiness with my husband and sons, the “heartbreak” became a distant memory. And all these years later, I’m grateful to Maurice. He was the first man who ever lighted that unmistakable spark that made us click. His transatlantic phone calls from London were new and thrilling. And when the unexpected happened—he asked me to come and stay with him and his family in London—I didn’t think that level of anticipation and thrill was possible. But he made it so.
I have nothing but joyous memories of all we shared in London, both public and the private. I had never been treated so specially by another person. His love was apparent in the letters he wrote me during our time apart, from October 1967 to January 1968. He would call and surprise me and we’d talk for what, back then, was a very long time (and expensive too!).
Looking back, I will always have those memories. Today, the fun, loving time Maurice Gibb and I spent together so far outweighs how things turned out in the end.
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