She'd been a star in a long-running TV program and had left to take a prominent role in a film. Almost white-blonde, with a heart-shaped face, blue eyes, and a great figure, she appeared every inch a woman ready to become a major movie star. She had looks, talent, and drive. What she lacked was the ability to kiss ass. Just when her career should have rocketed, it began to drop to Earth. Approaching forty added to the tension.
She is a fundamentally honest person, a decent one.
Word got about [directors and screenwriters] that she was difficult. That was amended to "difficult dyke." It wasn't too long before she languished in her beautiful shared Montecito, California home wondering what the hell had happened.
Were Susan at the same career fulcrum today [in 1996], she'd have a fifty-fifty chance of swinging up. In the mid-seventies, she had no chance. Today she's back on television [in supporting roles and character parts].
Because she didn't marry to play the game, she might as well have announced that she was gay. Other people announced it for her. She kept silent but stiff-armed any attempts to create a bogus heterosexual life. She and Fannie [Flagg] had been together for eight years. The cracks in their relationship widened under the pressure. Many of Susan and Fannie's friends knew they were lovers, but many didn't. The isolation, under the circumstances, had to have been extremely painful for Susan.
My heart went out to her. After my initial visit [to their Montecito home], the three of us palled around together. The more I knew Susan, the more I liked her.
If there had been a way for the three of us to live together, I would have tried it because I grew to respect Susan and value her for the generous and kind person she is. Like her Irish forebears, she engaged her crisis with good humor and the hope that she'd learn something.