The Legs Are the Last to Go
Page 24
I remember, several years ago, being in the dressing room of the couture floor of Saks in Beverly Hills, a place I always enjoy, and the salesgirl pulled clothes for me in what her records showed was my size, and what I thought was my size, too. So why was I having trouble with all the buttons and zippers?
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I struggled.
That’s when my girlfriend said very quietly, “They’re too small, Diahann.”
“What do you mean they’re too small? Eight is my size.”
“But they’re too small, Diahann. Would you please give yourself a break and let her bring them in the next size or maybe even the next size after that?”
I told her I had been working like a dog to keep in shape. And I asked her what it was she was trying to tell me by suggesting I get things two sizes bigger.
“I’m telling you that your body has changed,” she said.
“Not that much, it’s not possible,” I said.
“Yes.” She sighed. “It changes that much. All the fat glands have changed and the weight is redistributed in your body, and it’s not really within your control anymore, so you just have to go along with it.”
I stood on that gorgeous couture floor at Saks with my thoughts running in every direction. Finally I asked, “Does this mean I won’t be able to wear couture anymore?” The salesgirl looked down, then fled from the dressing room, as if from the scene of a crime. And my friend told me, “If you go up to a size fourteen, I think you’re going to be in trouble with couture.” What a dire possibility that was!
Well, I have not gone to a size fourteen. I am holding at twelve as best I can. But I suppose if I do get up to fourteen, I can always take my favorite gowns and have them copied. I do have my ways of making anything work when it comes to clothes.
So why had I let myself get into this position with the clothes for my photo shoot? My body was rebelling on me at the worst possible time.
I did what any self-respecting and terribly vain Beverly Hills lady would do in such an emergency. I bought an over-the-counter water pill and took it before going to bed the night before the shoot. Within an hour, I was sweating like a racehorse. The water pill was definitely working and the weight was coming off. I was up and down, in and out of bed, all night, sweating, bathing, then finding I could squeeze into outfits that would have nothing to do with me just hours before. I lost four pounds by dawn. But when I woke up later, all the weight was back—as if, in the words of the great Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, we never said good-bye. I didn’t find that out until I arrived at the shoot and could not fit into anything. My bosom was busting out all over (as Oscar Hammerstein once wrote). What a disaster. Had it been any other time but now, my golden years, it would have been cause to stop the music and call everything off. But at this shoot, with all that camera equipment and all those people expecting me to shine, I found myself determined to make it work, just as I had a few months before when my throat deserted me in Palm Springs. Well, what are you going to do? You have to learn at my age that you can only fight your body and your metabolism so much. If you don’t come to terms with that, what fun are you going to have on your last years on earth?
So you know what I did? I borrowed the shirt off my photographer’s back. That’s right. It was black, which is so much more slimming than the colors I had originally selected, and it fit me well enough to do its job. “This is fine,” I said. “Let’s get started.” We tried various poses, and made sure to get my legs in the frame because, bless them, they’re still slim. Greg worked his photographer’s magic, moving me this way and that. And you know what? We had fun and we got our shot.
No, it isn’t of a lady with a body to die for—all my Pilates training notwithstanding. The lady on the cover of this book is one who has lived and still has some lines of experience on her face—at least before the retoucher got to it. The lady on the cover may or may not be the perfect mother or grandmother, and heaven knows she has never been very good at selecting men. But you know what she most definitely is? She’s happy. I hope you like her. I do. Some people come of age as teenagers. I came of age as a senior citizen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get myself ready to go out to dinner. It will take a little time and effort. As I have said, I really don’t know who I am until I’ve put on my makeup. And you know what? You wouldn’t know me, either.
Acknowledgments
If the process of childbirth were anything like this book’s unexpected five-year gestation, no one would ever choose to have children. So now we have this bouncing baby, not the product of my loins but rather of my angst. Since this book is about lessons learned, the journey was by definition rather painful. As a senior citizen, it’s been a long road in any case, and I’m no doubt forgetting to thank all of the contributors to this delivery. For that, I’m deeply sorry.
First and foremost, I owe a special thanks to my editor, Dawn Davis, who went beyond the traditional editor’s role with creative input, advice, perspective, and pep talks. Her vision and perseverance were absolutely material to whatever success this book enjoys. I can’t believe she managed to have two beautiful children during this journey as well!
My coauthor, Bob Morris, did a superlative job weaving together my experiences into a cohesive narrative, which was anything but an easy task. I enjoyed our afternoons together as we plumbed the depths and revisited the heights of my life, thankful for his insightful writing style and editing skills.
I spent the initial part of this creative process with Robin Stone—because of family matters we were unable to continue. But I thank you, Robin, a lovely young woman.
Christina Morgan, Dawn’s assistant, expended a great deal of effort doing photo research and licensing. She was ever pleasant on the phone and diligent in keeping the paperwork flowing.
My sincere thanks to the entire production department for their visual design, their superb copyediting, and for bending over backward to accommodate the impact of my work schedule on their deadlines.
Susan Fales-Hill, my niece, lovingly shared her experience with writing her own manuscript, and constantly reminded me whenever I was screaming and climbing the walls that it was all “part of the process.”
We’ve all been able to count on Carol Mann, my literary agent, for seeing all sides of any issues, for her honesty and refreshing common sense. She’s one of the finest human beings I’ve ever met.
My wholehearted gratitude goes to my manager, Brian Panella, for keeping me on track and focused, in all aspects of my life as well as on this book.
Jeffrey Lane, my publicist, I must thank for all his care in helping me to project the best of myself, and for his coordination with the HarperCollins public relations department; they worked beautifully together.
My heartfelt thanks to my daughter, Suzanne, for sharing her thoughts and positive suggestions, as well as for holding my feet to the fire throughout the entire experience. Thank goodness we love and trust each other.
And to Lynne Glazer for helping me pull it all together toward the end—photo research and acquisition using “the machine,” helping me edit and submit additional stories through several iterations of drafts through the bound galleys.
About the Author
DIAHANN CARROLL is a legendary singer; theatrical, television, and film actress; Tony and Golden Globe Award winner; and Emmy, Oscar, and Grammy nominee. A veteran of the entertainment industry whose pioneering career has inspired many, Diahann made her Broadway stage debut starring in Harold Arlen and Truman Capote’s House of Flowers. After seeing her in this production, Richard Rodgers created as a starring vehicle for Carroll the Broadway production No Strings, for which she won the Tony Award. Her recent theatrical appearances have also garnered acclaim, including her role as the “ultimate” Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. Widely known as a pioneer, in 1968 she became the first black actress in television history to star in her own series, Julia, for NBC, which soared to the top of the Nielsen ratings and received an Emmy nominati
on. Other notable roles include the title role in Claudine, for which she was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress, and Dominique Deveraux in the wildly popular television series Dynasty. She has worked with legends such as Paul Newman, Sidney Poitier, Judy Garland, Michael Caine, Harry Belafonte, James Earl Jones, Sammy Davis, Jr., and Frank Sinatra. In no apparent rush to settle down, Carroll most recently appeared on ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy, for which she was nominated for an Emmy, and in a cabaret show that is currently touring the country, The Life and Times of Diahann Carroll.
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Credits
Jacket design by Mary Schuck
Jacket photograph © Greg Gorman
Copyright
THE LEGS ARE THE LAST TO GO. Copyright © 2008 by Diahann Carroll. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition AUGUST 2008 ISBN: 9780061982132
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