Make 'Em Laugh

by Debbie Reynolds

  The 28-year-old ruler twice had the petite beauty as his table partner, and both times he had little conversation with anyone else.

  He and Miss Reynolds danced into the early morning hours at a party Thursday night held in his honor. The party didn’t break up until nearly 2:00 A.M. about half an hour after Miss Reynolds left.

  I had just divorced Eddie Fisher and was busy filming It Started with a Kiss with Glenn Ford. The divorce had dragged on for the better part of a year, and I was happy to throw myself into work. Part of my job as an actress involved doing publicity for MGM, which often invited VIPs from all over the world to visit the studio. One of these visitors was King Baudouin of Belgium, who was on a twenty-one-day tour of the United States.

  The king came to visit the set, where he was introduced to Glenn Ford and me. He looked at the Lincoln Futura convertible that we were using in the movie, which later became the Batmobile on television.

  The studio had a luncheon for the king so he could meet Frank Sinatra, Gina Lollobrigida, and Eva Marie Saint. Glenn Ford and I were seated on either side of Baudouin. Glenn didn’t get a chance to say much, as the king and I really hit it off. Baudouin was a handsome young man, tall and good-looking, sweet and lanky. He reminded me of Jimmy Stewart.

  That evening, producer Mervyn LeRoy held a party for the king at his ranch-style home in Bel Air. I went to the event unescorted, wearing a long green dress with a white fur wrap. Most of the other guests were married couples—Natalie Wood and Robert Wagner, Dick Powell and June Allyson, Kirk Douglas and Anne Buydens.

  Shortly after I arrived, an eight-car motorcade pulled up, bearing the king and his entourage.

  The king and I danced the night away. At around one in the morning, I whispered in the king’s ear that he should meet me the next day, and left the party.

  Protocol required that the king travel with his entourage at all times. Baudouin snuck away to meet me in Culver City and I drove him in my convertible to the beach. We laughed and had a wonderful time together. He was adorable. I was adorable. He wasn’t flirty or fresh, just happy to be away from his handlers on a carefree little adventure. And I enjoyed playing hooky from my studio bosses.

  Meanwhile, there was mayhem in the royal ranks because the king was missing. When we arrived back at the studio in the late afternoon, a gang of furious royal handlers was waiting for us. They said we weren’t allowed to see each other again. After all, he was royalty and I was a commoner. (Maybe they were worried. The king’s father had married a commoner as his second wife, and then abdicated the throne to Baudouin, who was only twenty-one at the time.) The studio people were mad at me for causing a riot with the handlers.

  But I wasn’t done with this king. When Baudouin visited New York City before returning to Belgium, I found out where he was going to be, flew to New York, and crashed a party to see him. I smiled at everyone, shook their hands in the receiving line, and got myself into the ballroom where the party was being held. When King Baudouin saw me in the chiffon dress that Helen Rose made for me, we both grinned. We knew we were getting away with something. We had another wonderful evening of small talk and dancing.

  The king of Belgium and Miss Burbank the commoner got along just fine.

  Baudouin wasn’t my only royal conquest, so to speak. There were always kings, queens, and princes strolling around the MGM lot to meet movie royalty. King Hussein of Jordan also came to MGM in 1959 while I was making It Started with a Kiss. Two of this king’s favorite movies were Singin’ in the Rain and Glenn Ford’s Teahouse of the August Moon. King Hussein ran copies of our films in his private screening room in Jordan, and he made a point to visit our set while he was in Hollywood.

  A royal encounter with King Baudouin of Belgium. When the king came to visit the MGM studio, we hit it off. Miss Burbank had an adventure with this lovely man.

  At a special event to honor Bob Hope, we all met Prince Philip. This prince was charming.

  And King Baudouin wasn’t the only member of a royal family I dealt with outside the studio. In 1985 I got groped by Queen Elizabeth’s husband in London.

  I was there as part of a “homecoming” special to celebrate Bob Hope’s eighty-second birthday. (Bob was born in England, in a town called Eltham.) Dozens of stars participated: Sir Michael Caine and Sir Ben Kingsley. Phyllis Diller, Charlton Heston, Bernadette Peters, and Chevy Chase. Many of us were Bob’s friends. I took my mother, Maxene. We flew over on the Concorde, which she loved. Brooke Shields and her mother, Teri, were on the flight.

  At the end of the show Prince Philip came onstage to personally honor Bob for his many achievements. We all joined the prince and Bob for the curtain call. The queen wasn’t along that evening, which may explain what happened to me.

  I chatted with Prince Philip a bit, and had the opportunity to speak with him again at the reception afterward. He was very charming. He put one arm around my waist, then held my hand. Almost immediately, he was holding more than my hand. He caressed my backside. I had heard that he was famous for his “admiration” of the ladies, but I didn’t expect him to be handling my booty. As handsome as Prince Philip is, I wasn’t sure if he was making a pass or just exercising some royal rights to squeeze the foreigners.

  Actually, it was quite an honor to be patted down by this adorable prince. Once Robert Kennedy had made a similar move while we were dancing, but his grope was less charming than the royal one.

  Then there was the shah of Iran.

  MAGIC CARPET RIDE

  In 1976 I met the shah’s elder sister, Princess Shams. She was in the United States because her youngest child, twenty-five-year-old Princess Shahrazad, was getting married to a Texan—in Texas. The wedding was to take place on September 16, the same night I would be opening my show Debbie on Broadway for a limited run. Princess Shams saw me horsing around—you know how serious I always am—and she thought I was kind of funny. And, being a princess, of course she had perfect taste. She invited me to come to Iran and sing at the palace she shared with the shah. I thought, “Isn’t that chic? I’ve never done anything like that.” I figured I was lucky to get through school in Burbank, and now the only way I could get any education was to travel and mingle with the rich.

  My daughter, Carrie, and my stepdaughter, Tina Karl, were starting out on their own and had just taken an apartment together. Todd also had his own little place. All my children were gone. (I didn’t want any more. They’re so hard to get out of your body. I just don’t know why the Lord didn’t give Eve a zipper. Wouldn’t that be easier? “Zip. Hi, Mommy!”)

  So I went to Tehran. It took me five days to pack, because I knew I wasn’t a chic lady. Who had time for all that? Shopping and fittings bored me. I had enough fittings to deal with at work. I traveled only with my hairdresser, Pinky, and a pianist to accompany me when I sang. We had something in common with Shahrazad’s husband: we were also from Texas.

  We stayed for about a week. Tehran was a very exciting place. It’s a big city, with five million people, and looked like it was war-struck, because they were putting up buildings everywhere and they were all only half done. It appeared as if they’d start on one, finish half, and then go on to another one. The royal family lived in the Pearl Palace, but we were entertained in five or six different residences.

  The Pearl Palace came as a big surprise to me. Usually when you think of a palace, you picture something very traditional—a lot of marble and pillars, and tapestries hanging everywhere. At least, I did. This palace was completely modern. It was only six years old then, a complex of circular pink, domed buildings designed on instructions from Princess Shams by Taliesin Associated Architects. That was the firm founded by Frank Lloyd Wright to carry on his architectural vision after his death. The princess had respiratory problems, so she had the designers include streams and ponds, pools and fountains, with running water throughout the palace. There were birds all over the place inside, and the domed ceiling over the main pool was mother-of-pearl. Imagine the singing of
birds that flew around the huge crystal chandeliers that sparkled with lights. There was exquisite stained glass in the windows. It was all truly beautiful, and almost fancy enough for my friend Liberace. And a little scary. There were men with machine guns everywhere you looked—on the roof, on the grounds—and armed helicopters constantly flying overhead, like something out of a James Bond movie.

  The palace was not located in Tehran proper but in Mehrshahr. A driver would pick us up at our hotel and take us to the palace; the ride took over an hour. The drivers were always all lit up, their eyes twirling. I don’t know what they were on.

  On one visit, the princess took us to a room to show us the Crown Jewels of Iran. After the shah was overthrown, in 1979, the jewels were placed in the National Treasury. The Iranian Crown Jewels are the largest and most dazzling jewel collection in the world. They have been described as “a sea of light.” The collection is so valuable that it serves as a reserve to back the Iranian national currency.

  Another day, the princess screened a movie for us. Princess Shams was famous for having lots of dogs, and they had free run wherever the princess was staying. While we were watching the movie, a servant came in, and right behind him came two poodles that sat on a wonderful chaise longue, across from me. Then in came a terrier, and that one went on the chaise longue. Pretty soon the chaise was full of little dogs. Thank god the big ones didn’t come in. I had no room on my chaise for any of the princess’s bulldogs!

  On the day I was to entertain the royal family, everything went well during rehearsal. The piano was in tune and the sound equipment worked. I went into a private room to get dressed in my white beaded Bob Mackie gown. I was very thin then, and I looked fabulous, if I may say so myself. As I was putting on my makeup, I heard Pinky scream.

  “I forgot the wig!”

  I always wear wigs when I perform. It saves wear and tear on my own hair. Luckily I had thrown two small hairpieces into the makeup case from the day before. After a flurry of back-combing and hair spray, Pinky had me ready to perform.

  Pinky is Armenian. The shah thought she was Persian. Before I started singing, he introduced himself to Pinky and took her to meet his wife, leaving me behind. “What am I, chopped liver?” I asked her.

  Then the royal family seated themselves in a semicircle in the middle of the room. Protocol required that everyone stand unless the shah told you to sit down. Only he could say who might be seated in his presence.

  My accompanist sat down at the piano. I picked up the microphone to sing the Carpenters song “We’ve Only Just Begun”—a nice romantic tune. It was my understanding that I was just going to do a few numbers. When I finished my set, everyone was very enthusiastic. I left the piano and walked toward the shah.

  His Imperial Majesty didn’t move.

  “Sing another song,” he said.

  “What would you like to hear?”

  “Something by Sinatra.”

  So I sang one of Frank’s songs.

  Still the shah remained sitting, looking pleased . . . and expectant. So I kept singing—about eight more Sinatra standards. By now I was wringing wet, because I was the only one in the room moving around.

  The shah continued to sit, and nodded for me to continue. So I moved on to Tony Bennett and Ella Fitzgerald, until I was running out of gas as well as material.

  Finally I couldn’t take any more. As I wound up what I intended to be my last song, I made my way over to the shah . . . and sat on his lap.

  Everyone gasped so loudly they probably shifted the air currents in Iran that day.

  The shah just chuckled. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

  I was led away to an open door. I had no idea where I was going, but I was fine with that as long as I didn’t have to sing anymore.

  It turned out to lead to the place where we would have dinner—an enormous, beautiful room with long tables in the center and tables laden with food along the walls. That was for the three hundred guests, most of whom had to eat standing up. I was seated with the family, near the shah. This was very unusual, and I was thrilled. The other two hundred fifty guests stood eating their meals at the buffet tables. I wouldn’t have been able to make it through the meal if I had to stand the whole time.

  Princess Shams wasn’t the only dog lover in her family. The shah also loved dogs. There were two dogs in the dining room the size of small horses. They must have been Great Danes. When dinner was served, a beautiful plate with a large steak was put in front of me. Before I could lift my knife and fork, one of the dogs had taken the whole steak and swallowed it in a few bites. Not one to stand on ceremony, I said, “The dog ate my steak.”

  “Yes, he likes steak,” the shah replied matter-of-factly.

  He motioned to one of the many servants to bring me another. In a moment, my plate was replaced with another identical one, holding a lovely new steak—which the same dog promptly scooped up.

  So much for my steak dinner. There were huge bowls of caviar on the table the size of vegetable dishes. The dogs didn’t seem to care for caviar, so I turned my appetite to that. For some reason, at that time I believed that caviar was fish caca, not their eggs. I told myself: “As long as I don’t think what that is, I like it.” And it was heaven—really good!

  I kept looking around, hoping for some rich, single prince to take an interest in me. But I didn’t meet any. The Iranian men I met liked their women zaftig. I didn’t have quite enough meat on my bones for them. Besides, they all had large mustaches, which didn’t appeal to me. I didn’t want to kiss that.

  The next day, a messenger arrived at the hotel with a gift for me. I’d expected a little something from the shah, maybe a small turquoise or some trinket. Was I surprised when they brought me a rug! A beautiful, handmade Persian carpet. I still have it in my home. I’ve enjoyed it every day in the years since then.

  When I was performing my Alive and Fabulous one-woman show in London in 2010, the shah’s younger brother came to see me perform. What a gorgeous man. He reminded me of Tyrone Power. He lives in London now. He has beautiful light skin and dark hair. He’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.

  My trip to Iran was thrilling and interesting and a whole other world I’d never experienced—then or since. I thought all Middle Eastern countries had camels but I couldn’t find any. All Iran had was oil, lots of caviar—and large, beautiful dogs.

  A ROYAL PARTY

  In July 2011 I was invited to attend a party for a Saudi Arabian prince named Azmil who was celebrating his twenty-ninth birthday in London. My assistant Jen went with me for the festivities. We both brought our best party dresses because the events would be formal. We arrived in London on Friday, July 8, and settled in for a rest at the hotel.

  The celebration was a three-day affair, and celebrities from many fields would be attending. The first party was held in the ballroom of a castle that was a two-hour drive from London. Aside from an older group of American movie stars, it was a very young crowd. I danced with many of them as Bruno Mars and his musicians rocked the room on the bandstand.

  For some reason the young prince only had eyes for me that night—on the dance floor, that is. We literally danced almost every dance together. It was wonderful. This Prince Charming was adorable.

  The Italian actor Roberto Benigni was milling around. After his stunt when he won the Academy Award, I was hoping he wasn’t going to be jumping on the backs of our chairs. A very lovely middle-aged Chinese woman was following Roberto around. Maybe he wanted to jump something else.

  Jen and I didn’t get to bed until 3:00 A.M. We slept all day to prepare for the second event, a formal dinner in London. Jen and I were seated at a large round table with Hilary Swank and (I believe) David Beckham. It was a lovely dinner and we were back in bed by midnight.

  Once again we slept late. The combination of jet lag and partying late demanded it.

  The final event was another formal dinner party, this one under a big tent that looked like no expen
se had been spared on the decoration. This time we were seated with Whitney Houston, Faye Dunaway, and my friend Joan Collins. Miss Dunaway was giving off a “Shelley Winters” vibe—that look in her eyes that a Method actress gets when there is no acting to be done. Whitney looked beautiful. Jen looked lovely in a new, long black gown.

  The service was quite slow. Dessert wasn’t served until midnight. At 1:00 A.M. Bruno Mars in his white hat got up to entertain. But by then Jen and I had had enough. We snuck out before we turned into pumpkins and went to bed—and were happy to return to our own homes in Los Angeles the next day.

  7

  Friends Without Benefits

  What would I do without Turner Classic Movies? For an old movie queen like myself, it’s the best place to see all the wonderful films that were so important to me when I was growing up. I run the channel day and night. The other afternoon I was watching the original Oceans 11 with Frank Sinatra and the rest of his Rat Pack friends. Shirley MacLaine was also in the movie. She was one of the ladies that Frank hung around with in those days.

  Shirley MacLaine was a sex goddess. All the boys who kissed her, on-screen and off, said she was the best. Her brother, Warren, also excelled in this department, having dated many of the world’s most beautiful women.

  A reporter asked me a few years ago if I had any regrets in my life. Aside from the obvious bad choices in husbands, I told him that I wished I had had more sex. I added that my lack of passion probably cost me dearly in my marriages. I know it cost me other opportunities.

  When I was married to Eddie Fisher, he used to say, “Let’s have sex. You get started and I’ll join you later.” I had no idea what he was talking about. How could I? I was raised by very strict Christian parents who taught me nothing about sex except to always say no. My mother and Daddy got married when she was only sixteen. She had no idea what marriage was, except that she would have her own dresser for her few items of clothing. Daddy spent days explaining lovemaking to her. He drew pictures so she would know what to expect. My parents were happily married for fifty-seven years. They didn’t speak for forty-two of them, but that’s all right.