Growing Up Brady: I Was a Teenage Greg, Special Collector's Edition by Barry Williams;Chris Kreski

impossibility. The fighting
would continue throughout the lifetime of "The Brady Bunch,"
and right on through every reincarnation.

     

    or the better part of five years, the shooting schedule on
"The Brady Bunch" pretty much clobbered the social lives
of us Brady kids. The long hours we'd spend together on
the Paramount lot pretty much demanded that the six of
us do one of two things: become good friends or beat the crap out
of each other.
    Actually, we did both. But for the most part, we became great
friends. We worked with each other, laughed with each other,
leaned on each other, and over the course of time, as our adolescent hormones ran amok, became attracted to each other.
    When sparks began to fly between Maureen and me, it took us
both by surprise. Friends off-screen as well as on, Maureen and I
were often asked to attend various Tinseltown events and benefits
together. I would generally drive, and sometimes on the way
home we'd stop off for dinner or a soda. (Geez, even my real
dates sound like they belong to Greg.) Anyway, these weren't
exactly "dates," but I knew, at least on my part, something was
cooking, and that my attraction for Mo (we almost never called her
Maureen) was rapidly becoming more than just brotherly.
    Still, it wasn't until "The Brady Bunch" got to Hawaii that I was
able to work up the guts to actually do anything about my feelings.
    It's funny: things like the warmth of the sun, the sand, and
romantic tropical breezes sound completely corny in print, but in
reality, I think, they had an effect on both of us.
    On one particularly perfect, particularly balmy island evening,
after a full day of filming, all of us Bradys had dinner together at
the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. We had a terrific time together, but by
eight o'clock it was over. Lloyd Schwartz told us kids that we should
head back to our rooms and rest up for tomorrow's long shoot
day, but of course, like any kids in that situation, we ignored him. Everyone ran off in different directions, and I took the unsupervised opportunity to nervously make my move.

    "Hey ... uh ... Mo ... you ... uh ... wanna go down to the
beach?" I stammered.
    "Uh ... urn ... okay" she stammered back.
    Three minutes later we were strolling along the unbelievably
beautiful beach at Waikiki. Under tropical skies, we took off our
shoes and walked on the water's edge, enjoying our good fortune
at being in the islands. The moon was enormous, and as the surf
rolled in, I realized that what had been friendship was rapidly turning into attraction, at least for me.
    I had to kiss her, but at the same time I was terrified that she
might reject my advances. My stomach churned as I made small
talk and thought about kissing my "sister."
    "Why not?" I rationalized. "I mean, if millions of young guys all
over America find Mo attractive, why can't I? After all, we're not
really related." We continued walking, came upon a secluded
point, stopped, looked out at the sea, and then only at each other.
I wanted desperately to ask her if this was okay, but her eyes
looked up into mine and answered my question wordlessly.
    I kissed her, and the floodgates opened: warm and hard and
packed with the kind of osculatory excitement that only teenagers
can transmit. It was fantastic, and with the breeze and the trees
and the water, the world seemed absolutely perfect. In fact, I
remember regretting not making my move long ago. Years later,
I'd find out that this had been Mo's first kiss.
    At the same time, however, I had a rush of "What in hell are you
doing? This is dangerous" come over me. I think it was mutual,
because immediately we both became quiet, perhaps afraid of verbally expressing exactly what it was that we felt for each other. We
didn't stay out on the beach for long, but for the rest of my life I'll
be glad we went.
    The remainder of the trip went smoothly, but something
changed that night. From then on, Maureen and I would struggle