Life's a Scream

by Ingrid Pitt

  Yak welcomed us casually and led us through to his conservatory. Several men in various stages of bogus Western gear were sprawled on chairs already playing cards. They rose reluctantly to their feet and made patronising sounds in my direction, then switched the big welcome to Ralphie and did cowboy things, which were meant to signify that he was a real, paid-up Yahoo. I wasn’t paying much attention, however. I was still trying to get my mind around the fact that I had just shaken hands with one of my all-time favourite film stars, John Wayne.

  The boys settled down in their seats and made room for Ralph, who seemed to have forgotten me. I was feeling awful. Not only did I have the flu, I was being overlooked. I found myself relegated to the sideboard to pour drinks, while the Duke exacerbated my irritation by referring to me as ‘little lady’. I wasn’t anyone’s ‘little lady’ and I was grumpy enough to want to prove it. So, after serving drinks for the umpteenth time, I slumped into a vacant chair next to Yakima and demanded in. They were all a little surprised, but then so was I. The only poker I’d played had been on the set of Dundee while we were waiting to be called and Ralph had been bored enough to teach me the rudiments of the game. As I waited for my cards I could see that the Duke wasn’t particularly happy about the ‘little lady’ not knowing her place and guessed that Ralph might be in for a man-to-man later.

  We were playing for table stakes and I didn’t want it to appear as if I were on the breadline so every dollar I had was in front of me. But not for long. I tried desperately to remember what Ralph had told me about not ‘chasing bullets’ or ‘filling holes’ but still I lost. All the pressure wasn’t doing my headache any favours and it had shifted gear to migraine. I felt sick and had difficulty seeing the cards.

  While Ralph and the other men ignored me, Yak made sympathetic sounds as I slid towards bankruptcy. After a while he excused himself and went out to water the sage bush. When he returned I was sitting with a pair of fours and another in the hole. Yak stopped behind my chair and gave me an encouraging nod as two other players jacked in their hands, warned off by my pair. Only the Duke was left in and he was using phrases he had picked up from his films, like ‘I guess I’m just gonna have to go with that, little lady’ and ‘Just what have you got hiding in there, little lady?’ Truth was, I didn’t know. What I did know was that I was down to my last couple of dollars and if Big John didn’t see me I was finished. Yak gave me an understanding smile and made a noisy performance of sitting back in his seat. Big John looked at him, surprised that he was being so clumsy. Yak pointedly picked up his chips and dropped them on to the table, then looked at my pathetic little remnant of a week’s wage. The Duke got the message, gave me a lopsided smile and drawled, ‘I guess you got me dead to rights there, ma’am’ and tossed his cards on to the table. I beamed. In one game I’d gone from ‘little lady’ to ‘ma’am’.

  Yak scooped up my winnings and emptied them into my lap. Nobody said anything but I got the feeling that no more cards were to be played until I had done the decent thing, croaked a good-night and stumbled off to bed. Ralph begged off taking me home and a taxi was called.

  As Yakima stood with me in his hall making polite one-sided conversation, he suddenly appeared to have a brainwave. ‘Get in touch with Brain Hutton. He’s doing a film in Austria and there’s a great part for you in it.’ He told me to ring Hutton at MGM and to use his name as a reference. I was grateful. I needed to get into a proper film. The taxi pulled up at the door just as the Duke came into the hall. He feigned surprise to see me leaving but I could see he was relieved. He shook my hand once more, gave one of his well-practised smiles and opened the door for me. ‘Real nice meeting you. I hope Hollywood’s good for you, kid,’ he said, then went back to the boys.

  Twenty-One

  Using Yakima Canutt’s name was magic. Brian Hutton saw me at his MGM office the next morning. My laryngitis hadn’t been helped by the night before so I just smiled and pointed to my throat, croaked, laid my favourite photograph on his desk and wrote ‘HEIDI’ all over the picture. He got the drift and five minutes later I was outside with his London telephone number in my pocket and a promise that he’d talk to me when I arrived in London, where he was casting. I told myself it meant nothing. He probably said the same to anyone who bearded him in his den but to my delight a few weeks later when ‘I rang his London number he remembered me instantly. I didn’t know how to ease into the subject so I blurted out what I had to say. ‘I’ve finished Ironside. Shall I come and see you about Heidi now?’ I made it sound as if I would be passing through London anyway. He told me that he was always pleased to see a pretty girl.

  On the plane to London I bumped into Stephen Boyd whom I’d known superficially as a successful actor in Madrid. By the time we got to Heathrow Stephen and I were getting on like a house on fire. I told him about my forthcoming audition and he wished me luck. He was going to do Shalako in Almeria with Brigitte Bardot and Sean Connery, and said there was still one part uncast that would be perfect for me. He offered to introduce me to Euan Lloyd, the producer, but I’d already decided to go for Brian’s film, Where Eagles Dare. Before we parted at Heathrow we arranged to have lunch the following day.

  In the morning I telephoned the Winkast Production office and asked for Brian. His secretary told me that I’d just missed him, he’d gone to Austria to look at locations. I laid it on thick: Brian had told me to come for the part of Heidi – I had flown all the way from LA where I had been filming – that sort of thing. She sounded bored rather than impressed but she took my number and promised to get him to ring me as soon as he returned. I hoped it would be soon. I had booked in at the Hilton around the corner from Tilney Street where the production office was and it was expensive.

  The first interview for the part of Heidi took place in Brian’s office with just him and Elliott Kastner, the producer. Brian was certainly impressed but the producer was non-committal. I guessed he had people lined up for the job and resented me butting in. Brian told me they had to see a few others before coming to a decision but I was definitely on a call-back. Financially, this was the worst scenario. If he had told me I didn’t have a chance I could have tried to get the part in Shalako, although Euan Lloyd was talking to Honor Blackman’s agent by then. The call-back promise left me in limbo. Fortunately, I didn’t know that there were 300 hopefuls up for the part and Hutton intended to look at every one of them. Then there were all the other parts to cast and locations to fix.

  Days turned into weeks and my meagre coffers were badly depleted. I thought of doing a moonlight flit but there was no obligingly sloping driveway or nearby State-line to offer a way out. I told Stephen Boyd of my plight and he instantly offered to lend me whatever I wanted but I didn’t want to feel obligated. I gave myself until the end of the week, when I would have to throw myself on the mercy of the Hilton manager and see if he could sort out how I was going to cope with my bill.

  On Saturday Stephen rang and invited me to join him at a party at the Pair of Shoes, a club next to the Hilton. It meant a good meal, at the least, so I agreed. Stephen wanted to play poker. In the plane I had been a trace colourful with the description of my game with John Wayne and Ralph Meeker, so he asked me if I wanted to sit in. Before I could think it through, my mouth said ‘yes’. What the hell, I rationalised after hearing what I had said. I’m finished on Monday whatever happens.

  Predictably, my meagre pile disappeared at a rate that meant there wasn’t going to be a second hand. I felt such a fool. I was saved by the boss of the casino, who invited Stephen and me to have a drink with him. He took us to a little area he kept for entertaining his personal guests and we had some champagne. I didn’t really enjoy it. I had so little money left that I realised I would hardly be able to feed myself over the weekend, let alone settle the hotel bill. Our host asked me if I had tried craps. When I said I hadn’t he led me down to a table, gave me £50 of credit and left me to do my damnedest. I asked Stephen what I should do. He said shoot the craps, so I di
d. And won £800. A fortune in 1967. I was so excited that I wanted to continue. It seemed to me that if I could pick up £800 with a few throws of the dice a fortune could be mine without breaking into a sweat. Stephen was adamant. He forced me to watch as some of the high-rollers lost fortunes. It made me realise how incredibly lucky I had been. I thanked the casino proprietor and went back to the Hilton, where I immediately paid my bill. I was much too excited to go to bed so we checked in at the 007 Disco and twisted the night away.

  The next morning the telephone rang at nine o’clock. I could hardly unglue my eyes. This was partly due to the fact that I hadn’t come in until nearly four-thirty and partly because I’d been lazy and not taken off my mascara. Mascara in the Sixties was applied by the trowel. The call was from Brian’s office at MGM. Could I get round there for a screen test that afternoon? I was fully awake in seconds. I showered, went downstairs to the beauty salon and ordered the full treatment. If I didn’t get the job it wouldn’t be for lack of effort.

  I had no idea what I was going to do for the test but neither had Brian. He asked me just to talk to him on camera. To calm myself down I did a bit of personality stuff first, which was naff as hell but it relaxed me. It obviously worked because I landed the part and when I did the movie Brian wanted me to do the lines exactly as I’d done them for the screen test. I’ve still got a copy of it. Very sobering. But Brian must have liked it.

  I didn’t want to fall into debt again and I was missing Steffka desperately so Brian told me to go home to Spain while problems with the Home Office and Equity were sorted out. Back in Madrid I was tense with worry. One moment I thought everything was all right and the next I would be in despair. To try and buck myself up one day I went to the beauty salon below the apartment for a shampoo and facial. I had my head in the basin when Steffka rushed in and shouted excitedly that the production office was on the line and they wanted to know if I could go to London immediately. The hairdresser was still standing with the rinser in her hand when I was half-way up the stairs to my apartment.

  Twenty-Two

  London was under a deep blanket of snow when I flew into Heathrow Airport. My instructions, over the phone, had been to take the studio car to Borehamwood to be fitted out with my Heidi costume, then return to the airport for the flight to Munich. Because of the snow, however, London was at a standstill and it wasn’t possible to go to Borehamwood and back in time for my flight to Germany. If I had been more sure of myself – and had signed my contract – I would have plonked down in London and let the studio sort out the problem. However, well aware of the difficulties the production company had encountered getting me a work permit, I was terrified that someone, somewhere, was going to get cheesed off with the trouble I was ‘causing’ and shout, ‘Pay the silly cow off and get someone else.’ It happens more often than you think. So I did the Judy Garland ‘the show must go on’ bit and told my driver to let Elliott Kastner, the producer, know that I would knock something together in time for the shoot the following day, and boarded the flight to Germany.

  In Munich the weather was slightly better than in London but not much. I had to wait for Alistair MacLean’s wife to arrive from Hamburg and we were whisked away to Salzburg. At the hotel I went to my room and wondered what I should do. I was in the first shot the next morning and no one seemed the slightest bit interested in what I was going to wear. The bits and pieces I had were all right for the basic outfit but I needed a waistcoat and a blouse. I couldn’t get hold of anyone in the hotel and dashed out in a blind panic wondering where I would buy the missing items. When I returned from my shopping spree in possession of a velvet waistcoat and a blouse that needed urgent cutting and sewing, the third assistant was waiting in the hotel. He gave me a call sheet and was faintly amused that I was keen on sewing my own blouse.

  As I gathered up my things to go to my room, a voice said, ‘Hi. You must be Heidi.’ It was Clint Eastwood. He looked good lounging against the bar, a shot of bourbon in his hand and his well-practised lopsided grin activating the lines around his eyes. Clint had been there for a couple of weeks and was getting bored. I told him I had to go, I had a lot of work to do before the morning. He told me to forget the work and come to the Bambi Ball in Munich with him. God, what a temptation. But no, my blouse needed cutting and stitching, and I was not going to be in trouble on the first day for not having my costume sorted out. I don’t think he believed me.

  The next day I was driven out to the Schloss Adler. Everywhere there were German lorries and Nazi uniforms. The atmosphere of the war had been so faithfully recreated that I had difficulty not believing I was back in my childhood nightmare and I began to have trouble breathing. I gave myself a good talking to. This was my big chance. The Germans had destroyed part of my life – I mustn’t allow them to squash me again. I concentrated on the actors. There was Donald Houston and over there Ferdy Mayne. Brian Hutton was up on a crane directing the carpenters on the orientation of the helicopter that was to be blown up later. My little deception worked pretty well. Only occasionally did I have a moment of panic, but I was able to handle that.

  In spite of the cold the shooting went well. I got on wonderfully with Clint Eastwood and Richard Burton, and Brian Hutton was a dream to work with. For some reason, however, Mary Ure seemed to resent me from the start. What she had to fear I don’t know. She was the ranking star and I was an unknown. I found out how much rank she had when I went to the hairdresser a blonde and came out some sort of mouse. Mary had demanded to be the only blonde in the film. Our relationship wasn’t improved when her husband, Robert Shaw, turned up on a flying visit and flirted with me. I knew it meant trouble and tried to discourage him but it was almost as if he was deliberately winding Mary up, for when we were alone together he was polite and amusing.

  Robert Shaw wasn’t the only wind-up merchant on the scene. One day I walked into one of the rooms in the castle that were being used as Green Rooms. It was dark and dismal. Suddenly there was a lot of yapping and a couple of dogs darted out from one of the big leather armchairs in front of the fire. Dogs frighten me and I automatically kicked out. The outraged face of Elizabeth Taylor appeared around the side of the chair. I had heard she was on an imperial visit but hadn’t met her – or her pets – until then. It was not an auspicious start.

  Richard didn’t help the situation by jumping up and putting his arm round my waist to draw me over to the fire. ‘This is Heidi,’ he said, without removing his arm. ‘She’s the local spy.’

  Elizabeth’s face twitched in what I took to be a welcoming smile so I stuck out my hand and said, ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She shook my hand limply and as I stepped back Richard slipped his arm round me again. I didn’t know what to do. Richard had always been friendly but so far, beyond a brief handshake and a slap or two on the set, our relationship had been non-tactile. He was trying to get a rise out of Elizabeth. Not wanting to be involved in his game, I suddenly remembered I had to be somewhere else. Elizabeth never became a bosom pal but I think she understood that I was being used to make a point and thawed out a little later.

  Location shooting all but over, we were due to fly back to London on a special chartered flight. There remained just a few tidying-up shots, showing the bus ploughing through the snow to take the Brits to the airfield and safety. Unfortunately, Brian’s luck ran out by one day. There was a big thaw overnight and all the snow melted. It had to be painted in on the neg and cost the company an extra million pounds.

  Arriving back from location, Elliott Kastner gave a lavish party at the Dorchester. I only had time for Alistair MacLean. He told me riveting stories, like how Elliott got him to write the script for the film since he didn’t write the book until after Eagles was released. He complained about the literary world not reckoning him as a writer. At the end of the party we debated half-jokingly running off together – alas I had a film to finish and he had a wife . . . Inspired by Alistair I began to think seriously of getting something published myself. I wasn’t ne
eded much on the set so I parked myself back at the Hilton and started writing children’s stories. They soon lost their appeal and being confronted with the Nazis on a daily basis I commenced writing a screenplay based on my mother’s experiences during the Holocaust. Later I sold it to director Johnny Hough – who still swears he intends to produce it. Much later I wrote the book Katarina, based on the same story, and it was published by Methuen.

  Time was also hanging heavily on Clint Eastwood’s hands. He was used to television series and Spaghetti Westerns, which were shot at high speed. Clint hated the days hanging around for a thirty-second set-up. One of the reasons he had taken on the film was that he wanted to get a British motor cycle. Elliott Kastner had promised him his pick. Clint had kept his twitching foot off the kick-start so far, but twiddling his thumbs on set he could resist no longer. I wasn’t mad about bikes but who could resist an offer of a ride with Clint Eastwood? We took a few turns around the parking lot and then, one day, convinced that I was as nutty about motor bikes as he was, Clint rang me at the Hilton. ‘Hey, dove, fancy a ride around a circuit?’ he asked.