Her House, Greenwich Village
Twenty-seven-year-old, Boston-bred Tammy Lee Grimes decided at five she would be an actress, and went from private schools to Stephens Junior College, Missouri, noted for its drama department. She continued her studies at New York's Neighborhood Playhouse, did TV drama, summer stock and became a supper-club attraction. She has starred in Look After Lulu, a short-run musical in which she got rave reviews, and The Unsinkable Molly Brown. Her new album, The Unmistakable Tammy Grimes, is being released this month. Divorced from actor Christopher Plummer, she lives with their five-year-old daughter, Amanda.

When I first met Tammy Grimes, she was standing at the entrance of her apartment beside a Rene' Bouche' portrait of herself. Under the portrait, on a small table, was a Richard Avedon photograph of her. Though both artists had accurately captured moods of the lady, neither prepared me for the sight of the real thing. Tammy is 5' 5" and bony thin. She was wearing shocking pink silk stretch pants, matching boots and a print shirt. Her hair was teased up and out, her eyes profoundly "done."
The pants and the boots were by Emilio Pucci, she told me in an incomparable voice that starts underwater and surfaces upper-class British. She has an uncountable collection of Pucci pants, also "about a hundred" Pucci little-nothings. "Pucci doesn't approve of the way American women wear his dresses," she said. "He says his dresses were made to be worn with nothing under them. Can you imagine? I really offend him: not only do I wear underwear, I also buy the dresses a size too large so they don't cling."
Tammy had planned a picnic style lunch consisting of hero sandwiches and wine. The sandwiches were so stuffed iwth Italian cold cuts and relishes, we could barely bite into them; the wine (both red and white) was served in long stemmed glasses so large they had to be held with two hands. Tammy settled into a green velvet chair. I sat across from her on an orange couch flanked by a pair of large rattan Hong Kong chests. Her L-shaped living room is decorated in a way that breaks it into cozy nooks. The floors are rough oak occasionally covered with fur throw rugs. Over a chair in one nook is a great oblong red fox thing: "an old car rug from an old car," Tammy explained. "I'm a fur nut." Further evidence of this truth: her orchid, black diamond and natural ranch minks, her Russian lynx and other coats.
We were about to discuss an old friend of Tammy's named Richard Burton when Amanda appeared. "You remeber Richard Burton don't you Manders?" Tammy asked. "Where?" popped Amanda, scanning the room. When she found only me she registered great disappoinment. She stayed long enough to be polite, then went out to play, leaving me hopelessly smitten. Mandy's mother describes her as a "withy." That lovely word means "a flexible slender twig" (Webster's New Collegiate). It suits Amanda perfectly. She is petite and pale and looks bendable--but not breakable. Her hair is taupe-blonde, worn in a square page boy with bangs.
"Manders is positively fearless," Tammy commented. "One day as she was going out, a shaggy dog twice her size stood in the doorway, looking very unfriendly. I was glued to the spot. Manders walked up to the dog, looked him straight in the eye and commanded: 'Pull your thockth up.'"
Would Tammy want her daughter to be an actress? "No," she said. "I'd be afraid she was doing it because of my influence and not because she wanted to. There was no one in my family in the theater and I know I made a free choice. I'd like Manders to do the same.
"As for marrying an actor, as I did, heavens no. There cannot be two actors in the same family. Both need constant attention, both have ego problems. Since our divorce, Chris and I get along much better. I love him, partially because he is an actor. I love talent. Do you know what I mean? For instance, would I love Charlie Chaplin if I didn't know his talent? Would I have loved Chris if I didn't think he was a great actor? No."
Tammy said she would like to marry again, but would never give up her career to be a wife: "If I weren't an actress I wouldn't be me. Anybody who marries me, marries me. I would not give up the theater for anything." For Amanda? "No," Tammy said again, explaining: "You've heard all this before--that it isn't the quantity of time a mother gives a child, it's the quality. Well, I believe that. Amanda knows I love her. She knows she is very important to me. She also knows that I work. Wednesday, she knows, is matinee day. And she's very independent. She has a 'nanny' to take care of her, but she can be alone with no trouble. Would I spend more time with her if I didn't work? I don't think so. And chances are, if I had that much time, I'd be very disgruntled anyway."
As lunch ended, we took a slow walk around the room, looking at Tammy's art collection--very varied, very exciting: the small, square knit and velvet throw pillows she had made; the paintings she had done; the objets, like the case of an old French clock that now holds wine glasses; the theater memorabilia scattered on tables; a wonderful new Yves St. Laurent dress for Amanda. Then it was time to go and Tammy walked me to the door. "I think I'll go down and get some groceries," she said, and asked me to wait. She returned draped in her shopping coat--the orchid mink. (You were expecting a mackintosh?)
--LYN TORNABENE

The above article was accompanied by a picture of the writer, Lyn sitting on the couch with Tammy and laughing into her left arm, with the subtitle: EVEN A SHAGGY DOG story is funnier when told by Tammy Grimes (right).