PomPoms Up!

by Carol Cleveland

  Val and I were frequently breaking up, but not usually for more than a week or so. However, there was one occasion when it lasted a bit longer. We had spent an evening at another one of our favourite clubs on Sloane Street, Chelsea and Val had gone off to make a phone call, leaving me seated at the bar alone. As soon as he left an American guy sitting a few stools away moved over to me and proceeded to chat me up…. even slipping his phone number into my small evening bag. I warned him that he’d best not let my boyfriend catch him doing this, but when Val returned the guy simply introduced himself and continued showering me with compliments, while telling Val how lucky he was and how he should take good care of me. I, of course, was rather enjoying all this attention while Val, of course, was not. Eventually he’d had enough and took me by the arm saying:

  “We’re leaving!”

  There was a huge row in the car and when he dropped me off at home we both shouted:

  “Good-bye!!”

  A week passed with no word from him so, for spite rather than anything else, I decided to call David, the American.

  Of course, everyone was into smoking ‘pot’ then, except me and Val. I didn’t really smoke at all, so it just didn’t appeal to me. But it did appeal to David and he was keen for me to try it out. I did, but I didn’t like the taste and therefore didn’t inhale properly. David persevered and I gave it another go one evening at the same club where we’d met.

  “It’s not working,” I said, until I suddenly realised I was seeing double of everyone! The only way to avoid this was to shut one eye, which I spent the rest of the night doing.

  “No more of that stuff!” I declared the following day.

  “OK,” he said.

  A week later he was giving a party, and everyone was smoking pot except me. He’d been telling me all about LSD and had suggested I try it. I had no intention of doing so, as it sounded rather frightening…. people jumping out of windows while attempting to fly! And then there was the mirror thing…. when you stared at it long enough a monster jumped out at you! No thank you! I’ll give that one a miss! He talked me round however, by assuring me that he would be there with me, keeping a close eye all the time. Being a ‘game’ girl and remembering John Hurt’s words about tasting as many of life’s experiences as possible, I decided to put my trust in him and go for it.

  At first nothing happened at all and then it suddenly kicked in as I was playing the bongos. I thought I was doing brilliantly – more like, I probably sounded like absolute poo! I then remembered what David had said about pouring liquids. I went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and then sat down in the middle of the floor with a glass and a bottle of milk. I proceeded to pour the milk ever so slowly into the glass, while muttering to myself how beautiful and magical it looked. “Ok,” I thought, “I’ve done that bit.… I ’m ready for the mirror now.”

  David took me into a bedroom where there was a large mirror resting on the floor against the wall. He said he’d be outside and I should call him if needed. I sat down on a cushion in front of the mirror, took a deep breath and stared intently into the reflection of my eyes for what seemed a long time. There was no response and I was just about to give up when…. BANG!! A green face with bright red eyes shot out at me, knocking me backwards several feet!!

  I collected myself, thinking I couldn’t possibly have seen that. I crawled back to the cushion and stared again into the mirror and…. BANG!! There she was again…. this devil woman! I called out David’s name. He’d been waiting outside the door. I was rather shaken and in need of a drink, which was probably not a good idea. The last thing I remembered was dancing rather wildly on top of the dining table while everyone else sat quietly around the room watching me. I suddenly blacked out and toppled to the floor.

  I woke up about thirty hours later in David’s bed, with him sitting next to it with a cup of tea in his hand. He smiled.

  “Are you OK? How are you feeling, sleepy-head?”

  “I think I need to get home.”

  I didn’t see David again, but I did see the devil woman several times. She gradually faded over the next two weeks and, thankfully, disappeared for ever. At least, I hope she has! I decided drugs were not for me and I’d stick to getting my kicks from champagne.

  Like the majority of actors, I had periods when I was out of work or, as we prefer to call it…. ‘resting.’ Most would fill the gaps with working in restaurants, pubs, offices, department stores or driving minicabs. My second string was modelling which I kept up for quite a number of years. I did a bit of everything to begin with; fashion, advertising, cat-walk, catalogue and some ‘pin-up’ too…. but not Page Three! I did occasionally have to remove all my clothing but my nudity was only seen by the photographer. I was once naked in a bath advertising soap, and on another occasion advertising the shower I was in.

  One of my oddest photographic jobs was as a mother breast-feeding her baby. My face would not be seen. I felt somewhat uncomfortable, as the real mother was present and I wondered why she wasn’t doing this herself. She said, while she was quite happy to have her baby photographed, she wasn’t keen on showing off her own breasts. Perhaps I would have enjoyed the experience more had I known that this would be the only time in my life I would have such an opportunity. As time went on and I got better established as an actress I had to be more selective with what modelling jobs I took on.

  I’d often have to supply my own clothing for both my modelling and acting work, so it was important to have a good and varied wardrobe. I’d usually shop in Carnaby Street, where I could get something ‘hip’ and unusual that nobody else was wearing. I was a follower of fashion in one sense but I also liked to stand out in a crowd. One of my favourite outfits was a red velvet trouser suit with fur cuffs and collar that I later wore in a French TV commercial. I topped it off with a matching fox fur hat and snakeskin boots. For trendy but fashionable clothes it had to be BIBA department store in Kensington. The lights were so low in the changing room that you could hardly see, but that didn’t matter. It had a wonderful decadent feel about it, with dark blue and purple velvet drapes, feathers, candles and huge tulip-shaped lampshades with a foot-long fringe. I had one of these for many years and then, when it faded I gave it away…. which I’ve always regretted. My favourite outfit from there was my purple suede hot-pants with bib, worn with matching knee-high boots and cap. I always remember the first time I went out in it, going up the stairs of a bus and hearing the elderly lady behind me going:

  “Tut, tut, tut…. disgusting!”

  For more up-market clothes, I’d go to the little boutiques in Sloane Street. Chelsea, of course, was where all the ‘IN’ crowd went. There were several popular restaurants there where my girlfriends and I would meet for girlie lunches. These lunches would last for hours and we’d often be joined by the guys at the next table. When closing time came we’d all move on to the wine bar across the street, and sometimes on to an impromptu party. It was at one of these wine bars that I first spotted the legendary film director Michael Winner. It would be a year or so before I’d get to meet him.

  My agent rang to say he had an important casting for me.

  “It’s only a small part, but it’s a Michael Winner film so you should definitely go.”

  Michael had a wicked wit and was known for not particularly putting his interviewees at ease, particularly young females. When I told a friend of mine I had an appointment with him, she said:

  “Oh gosh! Good Luck!”

  The day came and I made my way to his offices in Park Lane. I was feeling fairly confident, but I was kept waiting in the outer office for at least half an hour, during which time I was becoming increasingly nervous. Finally his secretary told me I could go in, and she opened the door to his office. I stepped inside, to find myself at one end of a rather long room, while he sat behind a huge desk at the other end. His head was down and he was writing. I started to move forward when, without looking up, he raised his hand and said:

  “Wai
t there please.”

  I stood, trying not to fidget too much, for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally raised his head and gave me a long look from top to bottom.

  “Come closer, dear.”

  He kept his eyes on me as I walked towards him. It was only a few yards but it felt like a mile.

  “Sit dear.”

  Only then did he smile…. a big smile. He’d had his fun with me and it seemed I’d passed the test. From then on it was a nice relaxed interview. I didn’t get that particular job, but we were to meet again on several occasions.

  I did however get another job playing a leading role opposite Roger Moore in the highly successful TV series The Saint. As a teenager I was an avid fan of the American TV Western series Maverick, which Roger was in, so I was very much looking forward to working with him. This was only my second leading role on TV so I was determined to be very professional and of course…. to try not to kill him! Roger was a delight to work with…. charming, amusing and very mischievous. He loved playing practical jokes on people, which I enjoyed as long as it wasn’t on me! We were getting on very well until one day he overstepped the mark. We were doing a scene which takes place in a Canadian log cabin, where the nasty Nazi, played by Derren Nesbitt, shoots someone dead in front of me. We were now doing a single shot on me reacting to the shooting…. all I had to do was stand up and scream. The director decided not to rehearse, but just go for ‘a take.’ I was to face the camera with my eye line to the left of it. I took a deep breath and imagined the horror of seeing someone killed in front of me.

  “Scene 24…. take one.”

  “Action!”

  I stood up and screamed.

  “Cut!”

  Everyone around me…. cast and crew alike…. laughed out loud!

  I was mortified! Was my acting really that bad? Then I saw Roger standing on the right side of the camera, pulling his trousers up.

  He had dropped them on the shout of “Action!”

  I was not amused and I didn’t talk to him for two days. He did manage to make it up to me, however. During the second week’s filming, Roger had a surprise visitor. It was James Garner, his co-star in Maverick. Although I thought Roger was very cute it was always James that I’d had a teenage crush on, and here he was standing in front of me! Roger introduced us and James took my hand and kissed it. He smiled and then went off to meet the rest of the cast. I stared down at my hand and swore I’d never wash it again. I did, of course. He stuck around for the lunch break, which gave us a chance to chat. He was in London to start filming on The Americanization of Emily. I was in a bit of a dreamy state when I returned to the set, which probably explains what happened next.

  As is often the case when doing TV or film, the scenes are shot out of sequence. This afternoon we had four scenes to do and I was in all of them, but they didn’t follow each other. This meant my hair had to go from being down, to up, to down again and back to up! We shot the first two scenes in good time and were well on schedule when the hairdresser suddenly got an urgent call from home and had to leave us immediately. The director went into a bit of a panic about who would do my hair for the last two scenes. I told him not to worry as I was quite adept at doing my own hair, which of course I often had to do on modelling assignments. It was easy enough to get my hair down for the next shot and I now had fifteen minutes to get it up again for the final shot, which would only see me in the background anyway. The wardrobe girl came with me and I expertly got my hair up into the right style within ten minutes. The first assistant popped his head around the door to see how we were doing.

  “Done!” I said, while reaching for the aerosol can. “I’ll just give it a quick spray.”

  The next minute the three of us were gaping in horror at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was black! The final scene now has me far away in another room, quickly moving out of shot.

  We’d finished recording and I was home when, a few days later, my mother knocked on my bedroom door to say I had a telephone call.

  “Hello Carol…. It’s James.”

  “Hi! James who?”

  “James Garner.”

  “Ha Ha Ha! Very funny…. Who is that?”

  “It IS James Garner.”

  He was calling to see if I wanted to be in the film, as there was a small part as an army driver that the assistant director who would be casting the following day. It didn’t actually involve any driving, thankfully! We made a date to meet at the Mayfair Hotel, where I would meet the director and then have lunch with James. I was thrilled and Mummy was very envious.

  I arrived looking more like myself than on the day James had met me at the studios. I was looking like a prim secretary then, with my hair up and wearing a neat jacket and skirt. Today I had my hair down and a pretty dress with high heels. I must admit that it was James, rather than the director, who I wanted to impress, and I could tell by his smile that I had. We had a coffee and a little chat before he took me upstairs to the director’s suite, introduced us and left us alone. The interview was going well and I was feeling confident about getting the job.

  I was then asked to stand by the window in order that I could be seen in a better light. As he stood in front of me…. several inches shorter than me…. I could tell it was my breasts rather than my face he was looking at. He suddenly lunged forward, causing both of us to topple backwards onto the bed, while frantically trying to kiss me!

  I couldn’t believe what was happening! This was a new experience that I wasn’t prepared for…. and I think nor was he prepared for my reaction. I just burst out laughing! He quickly recovered himself and mumbled an apology, saying he didn’t know what had come over him. Still giggling, I left his suite and headed downstairs to find James. I told him what had happened and he seemed quite surprised, but we didn’t let it spoil our lunch. I was certain I wouldn’t be working with him now, so when the taxi came for me I said good-bye, thinking I would probably never see him again.

  The next day, my agent rang to say I’d got the job…. if I still wanted it after what had happened. Of course I did!

  A few days later I was on the night shoot with James and his co-star, Julie Andrews. Neither of us had much to do, so there was plenty of time to talk and drink hot chocolate together. Like Roger, he was cheeky and charming and I was more than happy to have met him at last.

  He had another week’s filming before returning to Hollywood and, on his last night’s shoot, he invited me to visit him on set so that he could say good-bye. He was filming a couple of outdoor scenes with his other co-star, James Coburn…. who was quite a character! In between scenes the three of us sat in a caravan on the studio lot, drinking wine or beer and eating pizza, while Coburn had me in stiches with his crazy anecdotes. The first assistant popped his head in to say that only Mr Coburn was needed for the next shot, so Mr Garner could take an hour’s break. We went to his dressing room where he poured me a drink while he took a quick shower. He came out wearing a rather short dressing gown, switched off the ceiling lights, turned on a small lamp next to the sofa bed and settled down onto it…. beckoning me to come and sit next to him. He pulled me gently towards him and it was then that, for the first time, he kissed me.

  As a teenager, I‘d gone to bed at nights dreaming of that kiss, but now I didn’t know what to do. Another kiss, a bit more passionately this time, as he drew me closer to him. I could feel my heart pounding as I pulled back and said:

  “I’m sorry James…. I wish I could…. but you’re going home tomorrow and I’ll probably never see you again. I’m just not a one-night-stand kind of girl.”

  He smiled and stroked my face, saying, “That’s OK…. I respect that…. you’re a lovely girl.”

  I then felt relaxed enough to just cuddle up next to him and enjoy a couple more kisses before he was called back to the set. He had his driver take me home and he called the next day to say a final farewell. I always hoped I might bump into him again on my visits to Hollywood, but it never happened.


  That’s show-biz.

  Chapter Seven

  FROM WEST END TO BROADWAY

  Up until 1965, the only stage work I’d done was in repertory or in small provincial theatres, but now I made my London West End début in the revue, Nymphs and Satires at the Apollo Theatre. Its dominant theme was race and, even though it was well-meaning and well casted, it received very poor reviews. So unfortunately it had a limited run. I was sad about this, as I was having a lot of fun doing it and it gave me the chance to sing and dance, as well as act, on a London stage. I got some nice mentions too – one newspaper critic said:

  “Trying hard not to look completely on the black side, I vote Alix Kirsta and Carol Cleveland the dolliest Dolly dolls in London.”

  There were in fact, three of us dancing nymphs – the other being Helen Downing – and we would each get letters from admirers who’d seen the show. There was one particular man who came again and again to watch us perform, and he would always sit in the same seat…. third row back, centre stalls. After each show one of us would receive a letter commenting, not on our own performance, but on how the other two had performed that night! In one of these letters he wrote to Helen:

  “Carol has the most beautiful armpits…. they are like bowls of jelly in reverse.”

  After all these years, I still haven’t been able to figure out what the hell that meant!

  The letters, delivered by hand, would often include a little trinket, usually made of silver. At first it was all very flattering but then it became rather worrying, and I personally felt badly about accepting these gifts. For that reason alone there was a feeling of relief when the show ended. However the correspondence continued via my agent and I’d still get the silver tokens. His letters were not in any way threatening and my mother took pity on, what she felt, was a lonely individual. She suggested we should meet him together, and so we did, at a local coffee house. We gave an inch, but he wanted a mile – he now wanted me to meet his mother too. I thought it best to return all his gifts and tell him about Val.