Among the few living real legends is Faye Dunaway.
The legendary actress, well-known for portraying strong, resentful, and challenging women, is among the best in movie history.
And the eighty-three-year-old continues on…
Dunaway is best known for her twisted cry in the campy cult film Mommie Dearest, “No more wire hangers!” She also starred in Hurry Sundown with Michael Caine and Bonnie & Clyde, winning the main part over Jane Fonda and Natalie Wood.
The Florida native actress, who was also awarded three Golden Globes and an Emmy, was born in Bascom.
It’s difficult to discuss Faye Dunaway’s career without bringing up the film Mommies Dearest. Channeling Joan Crawford’s energy, Faye Dunaway shocked the Mommie Dearest crew when she initially appeared from the dressing room in the legendary role of the four-year-old actress.
The sensationalized movie Mommie Dearest (1981) is based on Christina Crawford’s memoir of the same name, which describes her troubled connection with the late actress Joan Crawford, who was her adopted mother.
Dunaway managed to create a combination of charm and terror.
In her unsettling portrayal of Crawford, Dunaway blurred the boundaries between reality and resurrecting Joan, both on and off the set. She was so desperate that she declared, “I want to climb inside her skin,” to a Hollywood biographer.
Dunaway either developed her method acting skills to a high degree or her spirit took over. In her memoir, Looking for Gatsby, she writes. “I was told by one that it felt like Joan herself had risen from the dead.”
In reality, the media began to believe that Crawford was haunting Dunaway.”(Dunaway) appears to have borrowed it for 12 weeks from the ghost of Joan Crawford,” the Los Angeles Times remarked about her voice.
In a part that will live in legend, Dunaway expresses remorse. She told Entertainment Tonight, “I think it turned my career in a direction where people would irretrievably have the wrong impression of me—and that’s an awful hard thing to beat.” “I should have known better, but sometimes you don’t know what you’re getting into and you’re vulnerable.”
Working with some of the sexiest men in Hollywood, like Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Kirk Douglas, and Johnny Depp, Dunaway showed extreme self-control and maintained a platonic connection with her co-stars.
A few individuals were drawn to particular things; perhaps Jack (Nicholson) and Warren (Beatty), but not many. Though Steve McQueen was contentedly devoted to someone at the time, Warren was at that point in his bachelorhood. “I wouldn’t mess around with something like that even if it were offered, but it wasn’t,” Warren said.
“You simply don’t,” she remarked in a Harper’s Bazaar interview. “You don’t do that because you know it will ruin the performance and the movie. That’s my rule.”
The dapper, Italian award-winning actor Marcello Mastroianni, broke the rules for the timeless beauty with her delicate high cheekbones because he was too much of a temptation.
Life imitates art in her connection with the Italian celebrity. starring in the 1968 film A Place for Lovers, which Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times referred to as the “most godawful piece of pseudo-romantic slop I’ve ever seen!”-Dunaway portrays a fashion designer who is having an extramarital romance with Mastroianni, a race car driver. She had a brief but intense three-year romance with the actor in real life, which she ended when he refused to leave his wife.
Dunaway stated, “I was deeply in love with him,” in a People interview. I had never encountered a man like him before, and I felt incredibly safe with him.
She wed musician Peter Wolf, the lead vocalist of The J. Geils Band, in 1974; they separated after five years.
According to a Marie Claire article from 2017, Dunaway began an affair with renowned British photographer Terry O’Neill because she was dissatisfied in her marriage to Wolf. With her Oscar from the movie The Network on the table next to her, O’Neill captured a picture of her lounging by the pool at The Beverly Hills Hotel.
After being married in 1983, Dunaway misled the public for many years, claiming that her son Liam, who was born in 1980, was actually her biological child. In 1987, Dunaway and O’Neill were divorced.
Dunaway is alleged to be a manipulative diva who is very difficult and unpredictable for co-stars, production personnel, and even hotel employees.
She was fired from her role as Audrey Hepburn in the off-Broadway production of Tea at Five in 2019 for creating a “dangerous” and “hostile” environment, and she was fired by Andrew Lloyd Weber from his Sunset Boulevard production in Los Angeles, California, in 1994.
She was dubbed the “gossamer grenade” by one of her leading men, Jack Nicholson, and when Johnny Carson questioned her in 1988, “Who’s one of the worst people you know in Hollywood?” “Faye Dunaway and everybody you can put in this chair would tell you exactly the same thing,” was the swift response from the feisty and unrepentant Bette Davis. “I don’t think we have the time to go into all the reasons—she’s just uncooperative,” the woman said. For Miss Dunaway, Miss Dunaway is Miss.
Dunaway is still a very talented performer despite her challenging, frequently harsh, and nasty demeanor.
She was awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 1996, and in 1997, People magazine listed her as one of the 50 Most Beautiful People.
Regarding her romantic status, she is now single.
She stated in a 2016 People interview that she was still open to dating. She says, “I’m very much a loner.” “I always think that if I could find the right person, I would like to have a partner in life, and I would.”
Her most recent credit dates back to 2022, when she costarred in the Italian film L’uomo che disegnò Dio with Kevin Spacey.
I Found a Girl in the Middle of an Empty Road at Night – When I Got Closer, I Went Pale
Driving alone on a foggy night, a mother spots a young girl in a tattered dress, silent and familiar. As she pulls closer, she notices that the girl’s haunted eyes hold secrets that might be better left hidden.
It was late, and the night felt thicker than usual. The fog wrapped around the car like a heavy blanket, swallowing up everything beyond the headlights. I squinted ahead, gripping the wheel tighter than usual.
Driving through the fog | Source: Pexels
“Just get home,” I muttered, rubbing my tired eyes. It had been such a long day at work, and all I wanted was my bed.
I hated this road. I’d always hated it. I usually took the main highway, but tonight, I had thought: Just a quick shortcut. It’ll save me time.
A woman driving through the fog | Source: Midjourney
Then, something caught my eye. A shadow, right in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes, heart pounding, and stared. The figure was barely visible, just an outline in the mist.
“Please just be a tree or a mailbox or something,” I whispered, even though I knew it wasn’t. As I rolled forward slowly, the shadow appeared to be a girl. She was thin, and her white dress seemed to cling to her in tatters.
A girl on a figgy road | Source: Midjourney
I felt an instinctual chill crawl up my spine. Everything in me screamed to turn around, to get out of there. But something stronger kept me rooted in place.
I rolled down the window a crack, my voice shaky. “Are you okay?”
Slowly, I opened the door and stepped out, flashlight in hand. I aimed it at her face, and the beam caught her features for the first time. I gasped, stumbling back. I knew that face. The pale skin, the wide eyes, the mouth parted slightly in confusion.
A woman stepping out from her car | Source: Midjourney
“Emily?” My voice was barely a whisper, but she seemed to hear me. She looked up, her eyes locking onto mine, empty and wide.
“Mommy?” Her voice was soft, barely there.
Shock and relief crashed over me. It was her. My Emily, my daughter who’d been gone for five years. She’d vanished without a trace, no sign of where she’d gone or who might have taken her. The police and search parties had all come up with nothing.
A search party going through the woods | Source: Pexels
“Emily, oh my God… it’s really you,” I stammered, taking a step closer. “Where have you been? Are you hurt?”
She blinked, her face blank. “I… don’t know,” she murmured. Her voice sounded small. It was like it hadn’t been used in years.
I swallowed, my mind racing. Trauma, maybe. I had been warned that if we ever found her, she might not remember because kids could block out things that were too painful.
A shy girl looking down | Source: Midjourney
I knelt in front of her, heart racing. “It’s okay, honey. It’s me. It’s Mom. We’re gonna go home, okay?” My hand trembled as I reached out.
I wrapped my coat around her shoulders, feeling her icy skin through the fabric. “Let’s get you out of here,” I said, guiding her to the car. She sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out the window, her expression distant.
A woman hugging her daughter | Source: Midjourney
The drive home was quiet, her gaze never leaving the foggy darkness outside. I glanced over, trying to read her face, but there was nothing, just a blank stare, as though she was somewhere else entirely.
“Emily,” I tried gently, “do you remember anything? Anything at all?”
She didn’t look at me. “A room. It was… dark. And… there was someone. I think. I think he brought food, but… I don’t remember his face.”
A sad girl in the backseat of the car | Source: Midjourney
My throat tightened. “It’s okay, honey. You’re safe now. We’re going home.”
She didn’t respond; she stared into the fog as we left the dark road behind.
As we pulled into the driveway, I felt a pang of relief. The familiar porch light, the sight of home, everything safe. But as I opened the door and led her inside, a new unease settled over me.
A house at night | Source: Pexels
Emily sat stiffly on the couch, looking around like she didn’t recognize anything. Her movements were slow, almost robotic.
“Do you… remember this place?” I asked.
She shrugged, her eyes blank. “I think so.”
Her voice was so flat, so empty. I sat beside her, reaching out, but stopped, unsure if she wanted comfort or space.
A woman talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” she whispered, her voice barely there, “I’m… cold.”
I wrapped a blanket around her and sat there watching her, unsure of what to do or say.
The days that followed were a blur of quiet tension. Emily barely spoke, answering my questions in monosyllables, her gaze always elsewhere. I only heard her voice when she sang an old lullaby that I used to sing to her as a baby. I knew she couldn’t have remembered that, but I didn’t want to pry either.
A girl covering her face with her hands | Source: Pexels
One evening, I found her sitting on the floor, surrounded by old photo albums I’d stored in a closet. She had one open on her lap, her fingers tracing a picture of Mark, her father. He’d passed away when she was just a baby, so young she couldn’t possibly remember him.
“Mom?” she whispered, her brow furrowed. “I know him.”
I felt a strange chill. “Honey, that’s your dad. Remember? I told you about him.”
A sad girl hugging herself | Source: Pexels
“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I know him. From… the place.” Her eyes filled with confusion, and she stared at the picture as if trying to make sense of a dream.
My throat went dry. “What place, Emily?”
Her hands trembled, and she shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember… but he was there.”
A concerned woman talking to her scared child | Source: Midjourney
My mind raced. Emily couldn’t have known Mark. She was just a baby when he died. But someone who looked like him… my thoughts shifted sharply. Mark’s brother, Jake.
He looked so much like Mark that they could’ve been twins. He’d even stayed with us a few times after Mark’s death. He’d been there when I sang Emily her lullabies. A memory rushed back of Jake standing in the doorway, listening to me sing her to sleep.
Bothers posing for a photo | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t ignore the thought any longer. I had to know the truth.
The next morning, I drove out to the old family cabin, an isolated place nestled deep in the woods on the edge of town. I hadn’t been there since Mark died.
After his passing, the cabin became a hollow shell of memories I couldn’t bear to face. And no one ever had a reason to visit it. The police hadn’t even searched there when Emily disappeared; they’d assumed it was abandoned, unimportant.
A shack in the woods | Source: Pexels
I parked the car and stepped out, the silence of the forest pressing in around me. The cabin looked just as I remembered, except more rundown. But something was off.
As I moved closer, I saw one of the windows was covered with a piece of heavy cloth. I felt a surge of unease. Why would someone cover the window?
A window covered with a peace of cloth | Source: Pexels
The door creaked as I pushed it open, and stale air hit me in a wave. Dust lay thick over everything except for a narrow trail leading toward a door in the back. My pulse quickened. I followed the trail, my shoes stirring up the dust in the silent cabin.
When I opened the back door, my stomach clenched. It was a small, dim room. And unlike the rest of the cabin, this room was eerily clean. On the floor lay a few scattered toys, faded but well-loved, as though they’d been played with often. A shiver ran through me.
A dim room with a small window | Source: Pexels
This was where she’d been.
I backed out of the room, heart pounding, and reached for my phone. Within minutes, the police were on their way.
Hours later, I sat with Emily in the living room as the officers worked at the cabin. She was quiet, her fingers clutching the edge of her blanket. When I took her hand, she looked up at me, her eyes filled with a sadness that broke my heart.
The police searching a cabin in the woods | Source: Midjourney
“Mommy… I remember now,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I remember the man.”
I swallowed hard. “Who was it, sweetheart?”
Her voice shook. “It was Uncle Jake. He… he looked like Daddy, but different. He… he would bring me food, but he never spoke. He just sat there, outside the door. He… he used to hum that song.”
A sad girl | Source: Pexels
The police confirmed it that evening. They had enough evidence in the cabin to make an arrest. When they found Jake, he confessed, claiming he had taken Emily to “protect” her, that he’d wanted to be the one she depended on.
It was twisted and sick, and knowing he’d been that close to us all those years made my skin crawl.
A sad man covering his face with his hands | Source: Pexels
When they told Emily, she broke down, sobbing, the weight of years of silence finally releasing. I held her close, rocking her as she cried, whispering over and over, “You’re safe now. No one will ever take you away again.”
The days that followed were quiet, but a warmth was beginning to bloom again between us. Emily started to talk more, little by little, and she would hum that old lullaby at night, almost as if testing if it was safe to hear it again.
A woman drawing with her daughter | Source: Pexels
One evening, as we sat by the window, she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. I began to hum the lullaby softly, how I used to when she was little. She looked up at me, and for the first time, I saw a spark of peace in her eyes.
“I love you, Mommy,” she whispered.
I held her close, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I love you too, sweetheart. Forever.”
A girl kissing her mother | Source: Freepik
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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