The Hiltons: The True Story of an American Dynasty

by Taraborrelli, J. Randy

  Trish’s character was a pleasant counterpoint to her sisters-in-law, Marilyn and Pat. Whereas Marilyn was regal and Pat stylish, Trish was more the babe-in-the-woods type. What the three wives had in common, though, was their intelligence and determination. They were not weak-willed women; they had strongly held opinions. Of course, their husbands didn’t always pay attention to their viewpoints. In this era before the women’s liberation movement, many wives found that their husbands weren’t eager to hear their views about business, and the Hilton sons were no exception in that regard. Whether or not the fellows heeded their wives’ advice, though, they were going to hear it anyway. None of the Hilton wives were silent or demure.

  “We all attended the party in New York [at the Colony restaurant] where the engagement was announced to the press,” added Robert Wentworth. “I just remember Nicky’s mother, Mary, being happy and generous toward Trish.”

  “Does she make you happy?” Mary Saxon asked her son Nicky at the Colony party. Mary, who was now fifty-two, was sitting at a table with Pat and Marilyn when Nicky came over, took a chair next to her, and kissed her on the cheek.

  “She makes me happy, Mom,” he said.

  Mary smiled at him. “Does this mean you’ll finally be giving me more grandchildren?” she asked him. “Because, as you can see, I’m not getting any younger.”

  Nicky laughed. “I don’t know how we can avoid it,” he answered. He then stood up. “Mom, may I have this dance?” he asked her.

  “Oh my!” Mary exclaimed as she rose from her chair. “You know, I do love to dance,” she enthused as she and her oldest son took to the floor together.

  Nicky and Trish Marry

  After Natalie Wood’s admonition to her, Trish McClintock was concerned enough about her future with Nicky Hilton to at least raise the subject with her mother, who said that she wholeheartedly agreed with her father that Trish should not marry Nicky. Trish’s mind was made up, though. She was going ahead with the wedding. However, her father, Frank Grant McClintock, was so unhappy about the upcoming nuptials that he wouldn’t even allow her to marry in his hometown of Tulsa. He explained that he would be too embarrassed in front of his personal friends and business associates to have his daughter walking down the aisle with a man close to his own age, and the fact that her bridesmaids would be around her age and Nicky’s groomsmen approximately his age didn’t make matters any easier to accept. Instead, he would host an engagement dinner for about a thousand people in one of the elegant banquet rooms of the Southern Hills Country Club in Tulsa.

  After the engagement was announced, Trish felt that she needed to clear the air with Nicky once and for all. “Look, I’ve heard some stories about this starlet and that starlet,” Trish began tentatively, according to her memory. “And I don’t know what you could see in me after some of the women you have had. But I have to tell you, Nicky, that if you ever cheat on me, ever, I will walk out on you and never return.”

  Nicky was stunned. Trish’s direct approach took him by complete surprise. “Okay,” he finally said. “I get it. I understand.”

  Emboldened by Nicky’s submissive response, Trish took things a little further. She said that she needed him to know that she did not come from a family of abuse, and she wasn’t used to it, nor would she tolerate it. Therefore, if he ever hit her, it would be over between them. Nicky couldn’t help but become a tad defensive. After all, this was quite a indicting suggestion for Trish to make. “But I would never do that, Trish,” he protested. “Why would you ever think that?”

  “I’m just saying,” she told him, holding her ground. She would later recall that in spite of her stern demeanor, “my heart was beating a thousand beats a minute.” She didn’t want to lose him or scare him away. “You just have to know that this is how I feel,” she concluded.

  Again, Nicky didn’t argue with Trish. “Okay, don’t worry,” he told her, now smiling sheepishly. “I love you, Trish. We’re going to have a family. We’re going to be happy.”

  And she believed him.

  The wedding between Nicky and Trish—at least the one that most people in New York society circles would know about—would take place on Wednesday evening, November 26, 1958, as a civil ceremony at the Plaza. However, there was actually a secret wedding prior to the main event. “I have never told anyone this,” Trish Hilton said in 2012. “I kept it a secret all of these years, even from my own father.”

  Hilton history repeated itself: Nicky was not able to marry in the Catholic Church, since his divorce from Elizabeth Taylor had not been sanctioned by the church. As Trish Hilton explained it, only one judge was available on the day of their wedding who could perform a ceremony that would be Catholic in nature, and he was only available at seven in the morning. Since Nicky couldn’t marry in the church, the least he could do, in Conrad’s eyes, was have a Catholic judge perform a Catholic ceremony, even if it wasn’t recognized. So at seven o’clock the morning of her wedding, Trish and Nicky, accompanied by Trish’s mother and Warren Avis (the Michigan car dealership owner who founded Avis Rent a Car) in place of her father, were secretly married by a Catholic judge at his home outside of New York. “I went along with it,” she recalled. “Nicky said it was necessary, so that was enough for me. My father was already against one marriage. I didn’t know how he would react to two of them, so we kept it from him. After the ceremony, I said goodbye to Nicky and we went our separate ways until that night. Then I got all dressed up and acted as if the first marriage hadn’t taken place, and we did it again. It was a little odd. But it was important to Nicky and Conrad, so we did it that way.”

  Conrad Hilton arranged for Trish to have her hair styled by Lilly Daché, who was a legend in the millenary world, best known for her turbans. She also ran a hairstyling salon in New York. She was told to strip Trish of her simple, girl-next-door quality and make her look a little older and more sophisticated. So without consulting Trish, the stylist went right to work. “I always had long, dark hair,” Trish recalled. “And everyone was so excited that this woman, who apparently never styled anyone’s hair but the most rich and famous, was going to work on me. And this woman, she just cut, cut, and cut until, before I knew it, I had the shortest hairstyle I had ever seen on anyone. I absolutely hated it. There was no prior discussion about it,” Trish recalled, laughing, “she just did what she wanted to do and I just sat there and let her do it! So, because of that, I hate all of my wedding pictures. It took me years to grow my hair back out.”

  At the evening ceremony, Barron stood as Nicky’s best man, accompanied of course by Marilyn. Eric was present, along with Pat. Even Zsa Zsa Gabor and her daughter, Francesca, who was twelve by this time, were present.

  Of course, Conrad was present too, along with Ann Miller and Nicky’s mother, Mary Hilton Saxon. Trish was walked down the aisle by her unhappy father, Frank Grant McClintock.

  “It was a beautiful wedding,” John Carroll, who was present, recalled. “Trish went all out with the white long-sleeved satin gown, the veil, all of it. It was a Dior. She told me that she and her mother had picked it out at Bergdorf Goodman. She was actually one of the most beautiful brides I had ever seen.”

  After the wedding, Conrad held court at the reception at the Plaza. From the head table, looking before him at mostly Hiltons and friends and just a smattering of McClintocks, he raised his glass of wine. “I would like to raise a toast,” he said with a proud smile. “Here’s to family.” Mary—of course also at the head table and seated right next to Conrad—beamed at her former husband as she raised her glass. Zsa Zsa did as well, and she too was at the head table. Some thought it odd that the toast was to “family” and not to the bride and groom, but as it happened, Conrad spoke first, before the best man, Barron. He apparently didn’t want to infringe on Barron’s toast.

  “Yes, to family,” Eric added as he lifted his glass.

  “To family,” everyone else chimed in, raising their glasses.

  “And to Nicky and Trish,”
Barron finally piped up, “long may they be happy. We love you very much, Trish. Welcome to our family.”

  Everyone then joined in on the toast, which incidentally would mark the first time Trish had ever tasted alcohol.

  Later, Nicky, Barron, Eric, and Conrad, all three of whom looked elegant in well-tailored black tuxedos, sequestered themselves in a corner so that they might have a private moment together, a challenge because there were so many guests pressing in around them wanting to congratulate Nicky. “I want you boys to know that I’m proud of you,” a beaming Conrad was overheard telling his three sons. “You know, I must tell you, I’ve come at this thing from every angle,” he said, sounding serious. “And I have come to the conclusion that despite all of my accomplishments, you boys have done something that I have not been able to do.”

  “Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going,” Nicky said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, so do I,” Eric added with a grin.

  Then, after a beat, Conrad deadpanned, “Each of you boys have, at long last, found someone who will put up with all of your bullshit.”

  As the four Hilton men laughed and slapped each other on the back, Nicky glanced over at his new wife, Trish, who had begun to tentatively approach the coterie. Of the six hundred people who had been invited to the ceremony, she actually knew maybe ten of them. Never, she would later recall, had she ever felt more awkward and out of place than at her own wedding. “Hey you! Get in here, Trish,” Nicky said as he pulled his new bride into the little huddle. “You’ll get used to all of us in time,” he said with a grin. “I promise.”

  PART EIGHT

  For Love or Money

  Zsa Zsa Is Not Wanted

  While Conrad Hilton was in New York for Nicky’s wedding, he thought it would be a nice gesture if he took his daughter, Francesca, to the swanky Plaza Hotel for lunch. Of course, as owner of the Plaza, at Fifth Avenue and Central Park South, he took special pride in the grand hotel. As he told Zsa Zsa, according to her recollection, “I want to show off my daughter to everyone who works there. So be sure to buy her a pretty dress for the occasion.” Zsa Zsa was delighted that Conrad wished to spend time with Francesca and that he had initiated the visit. It was a rare occasion; Conrad didn’t often take the little girl on private outings. At twelve, Francesca could not have been more excited to have the opportunity to spend quality time with her father. “It was all she could talk about for three days,” Zsa Zsa recalled. “ ‘Daddy is taking me to lunch. Daddy is taking me to lunch.’ It’s all I heard.”

  On the afternoon of the luncheon, Conrad arrived in his sleek black limousine in front of the Park Avenue entrance of the Waldorf-Astoria, where Zsa Zsa and Francesca were staying free of charge, courtesy of the owner. It should be noted that Conrad almost never paid for Zsa Zsa’s accommodations at his hotels, always a point of contention between them. However, because she was a wedding guest, her room was paid for, as were those of all the guests.

  Conrad waited in the vehicle for a few moments before one of the passenger doors finally opened and in stepped lovely little Francesca, so proud and excited in her new dress. As she sat down, Conrad told her how pretty she looked in her outfit, which was a Gabor-esque, flouncy pink-and-white affair—very much in Zsa Zsa’s taste, selected by her for the occasion and purchased at Bergdorf Goodman. As Conrad paid Francesca the compliment and the driver began to close the door, suddenly Conrad heard that all too familiar shrill, Hungarian-accented voice. “Vait! Vhat are you doing? Vait for me, you fool!” Zsa Zsa Gabor quickly slid into the car. Obviously Francesca wasn’t the only one who had dressed for the occasion. Zsa Zsa was carefully put together with a fastidious hairdo, perfect makeup, and an expensive white silk dress, accessorized with a wide-brimmed white hat and matching shoes and purse.

  “What is this?” Conrad asked. “What are you doing?”

  “Why, I am going to lunch with you and our daughter,” Zsa Zsa said casually, as she smoothed her dress and settled into the seat. “And just look at you,” she exclaimed, “why, you are just as handsome as ever,” she said, flirting with him.

  Conrad ignored the compliment. “You, my dear, are not invited,” he said. “This outing is strictly for me and Francesca.” He smiled at the delighted child.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Connie,” Zsa Zsa said. “We’re family, aren’t we?” Besides, she said, Francesca went nowhere without her, and Conrad knew it. Then, knocking on the partition that divided the passenger section from the driver, Zsa Zsa instructed the driver to step on it, lest they be late for their reservation at the Plaza. At that, Conrad calmly reached up and tugged at a switch that lowered the partition. “We’re not going anywhere until I say so,” he informed the driver. After he raised the divider again, he turned to Zsa Zsa and asked her to get out of the car.

  “I am not leaving,” Zsa Zsa told Conrad. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is a nice day for all of us, Connie. Don’t ruin it.” She opened her pocketbook, took out her compact and lipstick, and started to apply lipstick to her mouth. Of course, this only made him angrier. “Must you do that now?” he asked, annoyed. “Please, I want you out of this car, now,” Conrad insisted.

  The two former spouses stared at one another for a moment. “Fine,” Zsa Zsa said, closing the compact and putting it and the lipstick back into her purse. “But if I go, Francesca goes with me,” she said.

  “So be it, then,” Conrad said. He then turned to Francesca and, as gently as he could, apologized to her and said he would reschedule the outing. “It’ll just be an old man and his best girl, I promise,” he said.

  Francesca began to cry. “But, Mommy, please!” she begged. “Just go. Daddy and I will see you later.”

  Now it was a real scene, a crying child and her warring parents all stuck in the backseat of a limousine together. Fed up, Zsa Zsa had enough. “Quiet, Francesca,” she shouted with a loud clap of her hands. The girl went instantly silent. “Come on, sweetheart,” Zsa Zsa said, hushing her tone. “We’re both leaving. We are not wanted here.”

  Opening the passenger door, Zsa Zsa stepped out of the car. She grabbed her stunned daughter by the arm and pulled her out of the car. As soon as both mother and daughter had exited the vehicle, Conrad slammed the car door shut behind them. The limousine lurched away from the curb and began to drive slowly down busy Park Avenue, leaving a disgruntled mother and her wide-eyed daughter standing there. Seconds later, it stopped. The vehicle backed up. The passenger door opened. Conrad extended his hand, and Zsa Zsa and Francesca got back into the limousine. The door closed, and the car drove off, headed in the direction of the Plaza Hotel.

  “The Most Beautiful Woman”

  Nicky and Trish Hilton’s honeymoon happened to fall at exactly the same time as the opening of Conrad Hilton’s latest acquisition, the $7 million, fourteen-story Hilton in West Berlin. As usual, a large press junket had been planned by Conrad and his staff to celebrate the opening. When it was decided that the newlyweds would join the excursion and begin their honeymoon in Germany, Trish learned just how Hilton wives were outfitted for such outings. “Nicky dropped me off at a boutique in Beverly Hills, where I joined [sisters-in-law] Marilyn and Pat,” she recalled. “The proprietor had been notified in advance as to where we were going and what we would need. It was then that I realized that Hilton women were always well dressed. Chanel was a favorite designer of Conrad’s, so for this junket it was Chanel for all of our day and evening wear. It would be Chanel for just about all of the junkets we would attend for years to come. I guess you could say wearing Chanel was one of the many perks of being a Hilton girl.”

  It was in Berlin that Trish first had the opportunity to see Nicky at work, acting as one of the hosts for the opening along with Conrad, Barron, and Eric. “I was impressed,” she recalled. “He was professional, charismatic. I remember thinking I had married someone special, someone people respected. I also started seeing the kind of prestigious family I had married into, the way they moved about with influential pe
ople from around the world. The money. The power. For an eighteen-year-old, it was a little overwhelming. But it was also exciting to be at the center of this excitement, especially in Berlin. For instance, while Nicky was giving a presentation during one of the many black-tie dinners, my partner at the table was West Berlin’s mayor [Willy Brandt]. It was a heady experience.”

  Unfortunately, that first evening in Berlin would also mark the first time Trish would see Nicky drunk. While Natalie Wood had warned her about his drinking problem, she hadn’t yet been confronted with it. But as this celebratory night wore on, she soon realized that Nicky and his friend Bob Neal had both become inebriated. “I remember looking at Nicky and thinking, I have to act fast. I have to get him out of here,” she recalled. “So I walked over to him, picked up his ice cream parfait, and spilled it right into his lap. I acted as if it was an accident. Then, under the guise of having to help clean him up, I got him out of there as quickly as I could and up to his room.” In the moment, Trish felt that she had proven to herself that she would be able to handle just about anything that came her way as a Hilton wife, no matter how unexpected. “I didn’t see it as a problem, not yet,” she recalled. “After all, it was just the first time I had seen him drunk. I was just proud of myself for having taken care of it so expeditiously.”