By Getty, Jean Paul; Getty, Jean Paul; Gaston, Teddy Getty; Diehl, Digby

It was once 1935. Flame-haired Teddy Lynch complete making a song "Alone jointly" on the swanky nightclub the recent Yorker and left the level to discover a captivating stranger at her buddies' desk. It used to be Jean Paul Getty, enigmatic oil magnate and America's first billionaire. In her passionate, unflinchingly sincere memoir of 2 outsize lives entwined, Theodora "Teddy" Getty Gaston, now 100 years previous, unearths the glamorous Read more...


Tells the real tale in their three-decade lengthy love affair and its aftermath, a sweeping saga of ardour, experience, chance, betrayal and tragedy. Read more...

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In the morning, I’d go to school, unable to function, but I’d go. The next night, Mom would forgive him. He’d tell her he wanted to have a talk with me, to say how sorry he was. As soon as I heard him coming up the stairs, I’d turn off my light and pretend to be asleep, but he’d still come in, very quietly. I’d hold my breath and freeze, hoping I wouldn’t feel him if he touched me. He did. “Babe,” he’d whisper as his hands reached under the covers.  . I don’t want to hurt your mother—or you. ” “Don’t touch me, Dad, or I’ll scream,” I’d say, and suddenly he’d be gone.

Afraid he might return and try again, I ran to the bathroom, washed myself, dressed, and packed my bag. I dashed out the door and took the first train back to Bryn Mawr, reaching Harcum just as the night watchmen were making their rounds. They let me in and I tiptoed up the stairs to my room and to bed, filled with shame and confusion. Everything I “knew” about Jews was bad—that the Jews killed Jesus, that Jews were miserly, that Jews gypped and cheated everyone. Me, a Jew? I didn’t want to be like that.

I was still young when my parents divorced, which meant that I never really knew my father, Walter Morris Lytton. After the divorce, he stayed in Chicago, where he was an architect, so I didn’t see him often enough to know him. My mother met Frank J. Lynch, who’d been a friend of my father’s, when I was five. I knew him first as Uncle Frank. He was handsome, with blue eyes and great charm. When he married Mother, he became my stepfather, but I called him Dad, and he adopted Ware and me. The two of us took his last name.

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