Shirley, I Jest!: A Storied Life (15 page)

I couldn’t help notice how striking she was, even up close. Her hair was the kind any woman would envy. There wasn’t much women wouldn’t envy her for, except perhaps her lack of manners and demanding personality. I shifted to the left, this time a little more assertive. Again she countered.

When I was in college, my girlfriend Sarah had a cat, Mephisto, who possessed the same sort of agility, cunningness, and audacious behavior. He tried to kill me once. I exaggerate, but only slightly. He chased me around Sarah’s apartment. We ran at speeds in that small space that could only challenge Daytona’s motor speedway. Again I exaggerate, but again only slightly. He meant me harm. There was no doubt about that. I was saved only by running into the bedroom and slamming the door. And this part is no exaggeration. Mephisto ran into the door and knocked himself out.

Now, I didn’t really believe this actress meant me harm, but she did intend on getting my cookie one way or another.
I can’t back down
, I think.
I just can’t let her have the cookie.
I glance around and saw the actor watching this scene unfold and he’s laughing. Wait a minute. Is he laughing
at
me? Or at the possibility of a girl fight over his cookie? Whatever it is, all of a sudden, I’m not so enamored with him. Did they discuss this? Did she say to him,
Watch me take your cookie from that woman?

I wanted to bite through the icing and take his head off, both literally and figuratively, but instead, I simply said, “Here.” And handed her the cookie. I’m not sure if she thanked me. I didn’t really care. The cookie nor the actor no longer beguiled me. I was over him.

When I returned to the couch, my friend said, “Why did you give her the cookie?”

“I can’t really answer that,” I said.

“I would have eaten it right there in front of her.”

“Yeah, I thought about that.”

“Want a drink?”

“No, I’m OK. Sorry I lost the cookie.”

“That’s all right, I never liked him anyway!” she said.

Tony Curtis and his wife were still dancing. This cheered me up immediately.

Circus of the Stars

Circus of the Stars
was a very popular show that began in the seventies. In one of these shows, I was asked to be co-ringmaster along with Michael York. We had been rehearsing all week and were in the middle of dress rehearsal when a break was called. I wandered off the big soundstage, which had been set up as a three-ring circus, and stood in the area outside where people were milling about in their costumes, socializing, and drinking coffee.

I noticed Lucille Ball to my left just coming off the soundstage. She had stopped for a moment in the doorway. She looked great in her outfit, a sort of leotard tuxedo with tails. She looked up and shouted at her daughter, Lucie Arnaz, who was sitting atop a huge, majestic elephant.

“Hi, honey,” she said.

“Hi, Mom!” Lucie shouted back.

All of a sudden, a panicked voice shouted, “Look out, he’s coming your way!”

There was a commotion—people shouting and the sound of feet running. And then the crowd to my right parted with people screaming as a chimpanzee, also dressed in a tuxedo, burst through. He was running full speed, heading straight for the soundstage door and Lucille Ball!

The chimp’s trainer was in hot pursuit, screaming “Look out! Look out!” as he too burst through the crowd. The chimpanzee took no prisoners. He sped along, making a beeline toward the door. People scattered to let him pass or froze in disbelief.

“Watch yourself! Watch out,” again the trainer warned as the chimp was now bearing down on his chosen target—Lucille Ball.

In an instant, Lucy was up on her toes, legs bowed, hands bracing her on each side of the door frame.
Zoom
! The chimp ran under her legs and disappeared onto the soundstage. Stunned silence. And then without missing a beat, Lucille Ball looked up at her daughter and shouted, “Lucie, whatever you do, don’t let go of that elephant!”

A Studio Celebration

Paramount was celebrating its seventy-fifth anniversary. The studio had sent invitations out requesting the presence of their stars for a group photo to be shot in the front of the iconic gates on Melrose. Years before, I had to make a bus transfer on my way to work at the International House of Pancakes on Sunset and would wait at this very site, outside these beautiful gates. Many times I would stand gazing through the ornate ironwork, down the mysterious little street and the charming two-story building that housed the wardrobe department. I would think,
Someday, someday I’m going to be on the other side of these gates
.

The invitation requested the honor of my presence and indicated the time I should arrive. My son, Zak, had just been born and I was really in the mama mode. I hadn’t worked in a while and I was enjoying my time at home with my new baby, and my three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Emily. My temperament wasn’t that of a TV star going home to the studio that helped make her famous. It was more like “Isn’t this nice? Wasn’t it sweet of them to think of me?”

I drove myself in my car, complete with children’s car seats still in the back. It would have been a chore to remove them, so I just left them in place. I had called the studio a week before asking what to wear. The answer was, “Just wear whatever you want.” Whatever I want? Shouldn’t there be some sort of dress code? Uniformity? Or at least a suggestion of what not to wear? It was, after all, a big Hollywood event, but they seemed nonplussed by my queries. I pulled out the best thing I could find that I felt was right for the event and would fit me after having had the baby.

It was an early afternoon affair. I worried about the traffic back into the Valley because it seemed as though we wouldn’t get out of there until rush hour. But as I drove onto the lot and up to the guard gate, being received so respectfully, I must say I did have a Norma Desmond moment. The beauty of motherhood muted into the beauty of Paramount and all of the wonderful memories came flooding back (as well as old
Enquirer
headlines). I was directed to drive my car down Windsor Street to the soundstage where the event was taking place.

As I pulled my car up, I could see Paramount employees leaning out windows, waving. They were like a cheering section. Someone shouted, “Cindy, hi!”

I looked up and shouted back, “Hi!”

The attendant told me I didn’t need a ticket—when I wanted my car I should just give him my name. Once on the soundstage my heart immediately began pounding. There were so many famous people.

The soundstage was not set up in a festive way, but rather bleachers and small risers scattered around. I didn’t see any food or drinks, and I was looking for them.

“Cindy!” came a voice from off in the distance. I turned to see Mark Harmon. Mark had played my would-be date on
Laverne & Shirley
.

“Hi, Mark!”

Before I could say anything else, a voice from behind beckoned. I turned and there, smiling that smile at me was Tom Cruise, who I had never met. “Hi,” I responded. I was sandwiched between two of the most handsome men in the world! I wanted to linger, but a topic of conversation escaped me. I turned back to Mark, but he was now speaking with someone else. I turned back around. Tom Cruise had disappeared, only to be replaced by Gene Hackman who came up and gave me a big hug. We chatted for a minute, but there was really no place to settle in.

A photographer was trying to get people up on one of the little risers that had been set up for small group shots. No one was listening. He looked at me and asked if I would be the first one up on the riser. I climbed up. In a nanosecond, so many people followed my lead that I ended up being pushed off and didn’t make it into the photo.

When it came time for the picture at the front gate to be taken, an announcement was made asking everyone to please take a number out of the bowl that was perched on a table. They explained that the number you drew would correspond with a number on the riser. People swarmed to get their number. We really could have used a director or at least a camp counselor to keep us in order.

I walked up to get my number at the same time as Olivia Newton-John. Olivia asked me if I would walk with her to the gate. I was happy to have the company. I had only met her once before and even then I didn’t actually meet her. She had come to the set of
Laverne & Shirley
to ask Penny and me if we would appear on her TV special. Penny and I were in my set dressing room having a bit of a squabble. Our producer tried to coax us out, but we were too embarrassed to speak to Olivia, fearing she had heard our loud voices. She had, however, stopped our squabble, but we waited for her to leave before we came out. (Very discourteous of us!)

As Olivia and I exited the soundstage onto the street and headed for the gate, John Travolta came running past us. He turned, still running, stretched out his hands and shouted, “Olivia, come with me!”

“Do you mind, Cindy?” Olivia asked.

“No,” I said.

Off she ran, holding John’s hand, heading toward the bleachers. Sandy and Danny running toward the Melrose gate. It was a thing of beauty.

After the photos were taken (I was standing between Matthew Broderick and Ted Danson), we all returned to the soundstage to help the president of Paramount, Frank Mancuso, blow out the candles on the huge cake that had been wheeled in. Again we were on the risers for this photo op. I stood in front of Ali MacGraw and behind Harrison Ford. They wanted to get another picture, this time of the entire group blowing out the candles. While Frank gave a speech, Ali murmured something funny. I don’t remember what it was exactly, but it made me laugh. When we were asked to blow the candles out, I loudly suggested that Harrison should do it alone. He told me to shut up.

When it was finally time for me to head home, I went to get my car. To retrieve our cars, we had to wait in a tented area. We simply told them our name and they brought the car around, announcing our names over a loudspeaker so the Paramount employees—our cheerleaders—could applaud and send a rousing cheer of support as we drove off. When I got into the tented waiting area, I noticed Martha Raye and Olivia de Havilland were sitting side by side on a bench. They smiled at me and I smiled back. Olivia de Havilland was wearing a beautiful couture dress. It had been rumored she had come all the way from Paris for this event. Martha Raye was wearing a stunning red jacket over gray slacks. I was also in red. Red top, red skirt.

A handsome young actor came into the tent with a worried look on his face and started pacing dramatically. I didn’t recognize him, but I asked him what was wrong. He said, “When they announce my name, I’m sure no one will cheer because no one knows who I am.”

I looked over at Martha Raye and Olivia de Havilland and said, “Well, we’ll cheer for you, won’t we?” They each slowly nodded in agreement.

Martha Raye said, “Sure we will!” as she gave me a quizzical look as if to ask,
who is he?

I turned and asked the young actor, “What’s your name?”

“Kevin Costner,” came the reply.

When Kevin’s name was called, he stepped out onto the street to get into his car. Olivia de Havilland, Martha Raye, and I stood shoulder to shoulder cheering him on.

“Yay, Kevin! We love you, Kevin! Kevin, you’re the greatest!”

The crowd was cheering also. He really had nothing to worry about in the first place. He looked back and tossed us a handsome smile of gratitude.

The Bard, the Nightbird, and the Boss

I had the chance to meet Bob Dylan once in 1973. It was a busy night at Dan Tana’s and I was with friends waiting for a table. Dan Tana’s, a very popular restaurant in West Hollywood, is located on Santa Monica Boulevard next to the Troubador. My friend and wonderful actor Harry Dean Stanton came in and joined us. We were all talking and having fun at the bar when Harry said he had to run next door to the Troubador for a minute. Ten minutes later our table still wasn’t ready. Harry returned and took me aside. “Cindy, I want you to come next door and meet Bob.” Knowing that he had just worked in
Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid
with Bob Dylan, I understood who “Bob” was immediately. The level of excitement I felt took my breath away. I told Harry to wait while I gathered everyone. He gently stopped me and said, “Oh, I can’t take everyone, just you.” I paused and thought for a second, and then told him I didn’t feel right about leaving everyone else behind. He tried to talk me into it, but I just couldn’t. No, for as much as it pained me, I had to decline Harry’s tempting and fantastic offer. Harry, being Harry, understood.

After he left to go back over to the Troubador, I glanced over at my friends sitting there at the bar merrily chatting and drinking their wine, while still waiting for a table, and thought, “I love you guys, and you’ll never know how much.” Simultaneously I wanted to bolt out the door, catch up with Harry and scream, “Screw them! Take me to Bob Dylan!” But alas, The Bard would have to wait.

Fast-forward to 1980 and the road crew from Bruce Springsteen’s “The River Tour” had come down to our soundstage at Paramount to watch a rehearsal of
Laverne & Shirley
. They were great guys. And before they left, the road manager (I’ll call him John because I can’t remember his name, I hope he forgives me if he reads this) invited me and Penny to the concert, which was going to be at the L.A. Sports Arena. He wanted to make sure we came backstage after the show to meet “The Boss.” They arranged two tickets for each of us as well as backstage passes. We were over the moon! I took my friend and writer, Kathleen Rowell. Penny took Carrie Fisher. At the concert, Kathleen and I wore our backstage passes proudly around our necks. When the incredible show ended, Kathleen and I wended our way through the crowd to find the dressing room. We found a door with a guard, showed our passes, and were allowed inside. The trouble was this area was swarming with even more people who were also wearing backstage passes. Just then, Penny and Carrie ran by.

“Penny! Penny!” I shouted. They kept traveling.