Unsinkable

by Debbie Reynolds

  I knew I’d have to meet with Richard to figure out the next step. We owned the hotel together. We’d cosigned loans. That would take time to unravel. I’d been so busy raising money to finish the hotel that I hadn’t paid attention to all the details Richard was handling. I did what I do best—I entertained our guests every day, in the lobby, in the showroom, or in the Jazz and Jokes lounge. I did what I always do—work. Telling jokes and putting on a show through every heartbreak. And then I work some more.

  Richard had left my apartment two nights before. I hadn’t heard a word from him since. I called Jane Parker’s room at the Stardust to leave a message for my husband, and he called me back. What a surprise. We agreed to meet at the coffee shop in my hotel. I wanted it to be in a public place.

  As we sat at a small table in the coffee shop patio just outside the lobby, in full view, this big man suddenly looked very small to me. He stared at me, those blue eyes as cold as ice. Time stood still. Finally I said, “What do you want to do? Do you want a divorce?”

  “I’m in it for the money,” he replied. “I’m not leaving. You’ll never get rid of me.”

  I let the words sink in. As many times as I’ve been betrayed, I never get used to the feeling.

  “I want you out,” I told him calmly.

  “You can’t get rid of me,” he said. “I control everything. It’s all in my name. You’re just a figurehead. You’re nothing. And I don’t love you.”

  That’s obvious, I thought. But I said, “I’m not asking you that. I know you don’t love me—you’re keeping a mistress right up the street. You had the nerve to bring her here from Virginia. We’re done.”

  “She’s not my mistress,” he corrected me smugly. “She’s the woman I love.” Contempt was all over his face.

  “I hope you’re very happy, and I hope I never have to see you again the rest of my life,” I said.

  Richard smirked. “I’m going to get the money first,” he said. “I’m going to get all the money.”

  “I hope you won’t,” I said, praying to God, please don’t let this happen to me. “I’m going to fight you as hard as I can.”

  “You can’t,” Richard assured me with a smile. “That son of yours isn’t clever enough to beat me.”

  He sounded like he had it all sewn up.

  “Thanks for coming by,” I said.

  Richard stood up, took my hand, and kissed it, then turned and walked away. I sat and watched as he passed the poles in the patio that Todd’s wife had painted and strolled past the swimming pool that had collapsed, out into the sunny Nevada day, leaving with his pockets full.

  Although I never wanted to see him again, I knew it couldn’t be avoided—we’d see each other in court, if no place else.

  I’d been in this movie before.

  CHAPTER 8

  HAPPY NEW YEAR?

  THERE’S AN OLD SAYING: be careful what you wish for.

  My wish for a hotel where I could work and put down roots had come true in 1992, and I had welcomed 1993 with such optimism, certain that my dream of stability had finally become reality. Instead, it had cost me my marriage, and once again I was facing the unknown. In November, I arranged for Richard to be paid $270,000 as a buyout of his interest in the hotel, which he was thrilled to take as he ran back to Virginia. In December, the $2 million loan we’d taken out to finance the hotel came due. Todd and I were looking for new money people to pay off the old money people.

  They also say that with a new year comes a fresh start, and this was my first New Year’s Eve in the Star Theater. Rip Taylor was great as he laughed and joked 1993 away. I put on my game face and did my show. When it was over, we moved the party to Jazz and Jokes to ring in 1994. My trio played. Old friends joined us, and we sang until 5:00 A.M. Everyone had a great time. I had too much fun to think about resolutions. I rolled into bed around 7:00 A.M. I had a matinee that afternoon and needed sleep.

  It was also my first New Year’s Eve in ten years without Richard. One of the best things about being married is that you always have a date for New Year’s Eve. Despite everything Richard had done to me, when I finally came down from all the parties, I began to miss the rat. Part of me had hoped to hear from Richard during the holidays. When I didn’t, I realized there truly was no chance of saving our marriage. So much had happened, but the romantic in me still wanted to believe that somewhere in that black heart of his, Richard had loved me.

  Dream on, Tammy.

  I wasn’t the only one feeling Richard’s absence. When Richard’s cronies heard that he was back in Roanoke, I guess they got nervous. Suddenly there were people coming out from under every rock in the Nevada desert claiming to have some kind of ownership in the hotel or a note from Richard that was due. I wondered how much money Richard had raised using my name, even before we bought the hotel.

  In January 1994, someone sued me for breach of what he claimed was his brokerage agreement, saying that he had brought in all the time-share players and now he wanted a cut. I won the suit, but it took time, money, and energy to fight it.

  In March, hoping to stem the tide of lawsuits as well as foreclosure, we merged with a privately owned Colorado corporation called Maxim Properties, which put up cash to help bail us out of the original loan.

  The managers were fighting over just about everything, all trying to fill the void left by Richard’s departure. As chairman of the board, I was the referee. It was hard to concentrate on the business at hand, and even harder keeping peace while the vultures circled overhead. Instead of fighting with one another, we should have been thinking of ways to make the hotel profitable. It seemed like there was a new battle daily. It could be anything: the investors, the shareholders, or a belligerent bartender. It was hard for me to balance it all. Every day consisted of endless meetings followed by shows at night. I just wanted to perform and get on with my life. How had Richard found the time to lead two lives?

  The answer to that question apparently was even more interesting than I could have guessed.

  One day some gentlemen who worked for Caesars Palace arrived in my Star Theater dressing room and asked if I knew where my husband was. I could honestly answer that I had no idea—it had been weeks since we’d last spoken to each other.

  “Mr. Hamlett has some debts at Caesars that need to be settled,” they informed me.

  I was astounded that, in addition to cheating on me with his mistress, Richard had found time to gamble. The Nevada desert is full of the bones of folks who skipped out on their casino debts, and I could tell that these guys meant business.

  Out of annoyance, I suggested that they might find him with his “lady friend” at the Stardust. Part of me wished that they would find Richard and “handle” him. I assumed that he must still be in Roanoke, but I wasn’t about to share that with these hoodlums. As angry as I was at Richard, I didn’t really want to see him get killed. But I wouldn’t have minded seeing him run for his life. Another part of me suspected that no one would ever find a trace of Richard Hamlett if he didn’t want them to.

  My better self prevailed. I replied emphatically, “You won’t be getting any payment from me on Mr. Hamlett’s debts.”

  The guys from Caesars said their good-byes and stalked out.

  Everyone in Vegas knew about the troubles I’d had with Harry Karl. Soon they would know I had stepped in it again with my third husband. I was grateful to be left out of this particular mess.

  Weeks passed. I knew I would have to get a divorce lawyer and serve Richard with papers. The longer I waited, the more money he would want from me. Daddy had raised me to finish every job, but I needed help to finish this one. Even though I was afraid of Richard, even though I knew there was no hope and every day brought a new problem, some part of me still loved him. I knew that explaining my situation would be really difficult.

  Finally, after making and breaking several appointments with a legal firm, I showed up and faced the music.

  And then, of course, Richard called
me. He wanted to know what was going on. He told me that he wasn’t really happy without me. Hearing his voice again brought up all the emotions I’d been feeling, all the hurt and shame—and a lingering sliver of affection for him even though I believed he must be lying.

  I got off the phone as soon as I could and turned it over to my new attorney to handle.

  Now that we both had lawyers, I had a sinking feeling that Richard was juggling our assets so I would come out short in the divorce, even though I hadn’t filed yet. In spite of everything that had happened, Richard was still claiming ownership of the hotel. I warned my lawyers and accountants that Richard was up to no good. I was sure that he was spending all his time getting ready for court. Meanwhile, I was drowning in problems at the hotel, trying to unravel all the awful business deals he’d arranged.

  In early April, he called and asked me to sign over a property that he’d had me purchase as an investment right after we were married, an office building/shopping mall center in the Peters Creek area of Roanoke. Richard had managed the property for us.

  “Why would I do that?” I asked him.

  “Because I hold the note on it. You have to sign it over to me or I’ll be forced to foreclose on it.”

  God, how I hated him when I heard that.

  “How do you hold the note?” I asked evenly, glad that he couldn’t see me gritting my teeth. “I paid off that property years ago.”

  “There are expenses and taxes due. I don’t want to foreclose on you, but I may have to. Just sign the paperwork over to me and I’ll take care of everything.”

  I just bet you will, I thought.

  “I need a little time,” I said. “Let me get back to you.”

  Richard agreed, explaining that he was going to a San Diego clinic for prostate surgery.

  My lawyer advised me to hold off on signing anything Richard gave me. I kept flashing back to my other divorces. I, the Girl Scout who did not believe in divorce, was now headed for my third.

  A few weeks later, Richard called again, threatening to foreclose on me if I didn’t sign the Peters Creek papers. He said he was still in the clinic but was going to Virginia soon to handle the foreclosure. His phone calls were coming every week now. By the middle of May, I knew I had to do something to find out his intentions. We owned so many properties together.

  By the end of the month, the phone wires were burning up all over Roanoke. I got a call that Richard had bought a new Lincoln for himself and a new Jaguar for Jane. Did I know that he’d charged drinks at the Elephant Walk in Roanoke using a credit card with my name on it? Richard’s family told me that he and his girlfriend were leaving on May 24 for a two-week vacation in Europe, and one Roanoke friend added that their plans included traveling on the Orient Express. How ironic. Richard would be showing Jane the places that I had shown him only a few years before with my family. He’d been calling to tell me about his prostate surgery while he was actually taking off for Europe.

  But I had no time to ponder the irony in my life. I wanted to know where Richard was getting the money to do all this.

  My lawyers found out that the Peters Creek property was indeed in Richard’s name. Time was slipping by, and I had to find out exactly where matters stood. I needed proof of all the dirty tricks Richard had played while we were married.

  I had a matinee on Sunday. I decided that after I’d done my show, I would take matters into my own hands.

  CHAPTER 9

  RAID ON ROANOKE

  WHEN THE GOING GOT TOUGH, the tough got going . . . to Virginia. I sent out a call to action and rented a small plane to fly to Roanoke. My friend Margie Duncan flew to Vegas from Los Angeles to join me. Her son, Mark Rich, was already working at the hotel. Todd and his friend Fred Pierson filled out the passenger list. We were on a mission to get what was rightfully mine out of Roanoke. It was Sunday, May 29. We left right after my performance. We could be back in Vegas in two days, in time for my next show.

  Supposedly I owned a dozen properties in and around Roanoke. Richard acquired them, my attorney carefully wrote loan papers and promissory notes securing the sales, and I paid for everything. But I was convinced that Richard had been juggling the real estate. I feared that there would be no way to prove my ownership without his records of the transactions. Richard’s bookkeeper was prepared to let me copy whatever I needed from his office.

  Margie, Todd, Mark, Fred, and I sat crowded on the plane with computers, portable copy machines, and reams of paper balanced on our laps. Somewhere in the Midwest the pilot had to stop to refuel; I couldn’t afford a plane big enough to make the cross-country trip in one jump. I don’t think any of us got any rest, crammed in as we were.

  Our plane landed at 2:00 A.M. Eastern time. Bootie Bell met us at the airport and drove us to a little hotel in Roanoke, where we managed to get a few hours of rest before friends picked us up and drove us to the house I’d shared with my husband. I hadn’t been there since we separated. As we pulled up the driveway, I knew that my key wouldn’t work anymore.

  Todd tried the front door lock—no luck. He surveyed the house for an open window or door that might have been left ajar. Some of our neighbors waved to me as they were leaving for work, saying, “Nice to see you, Debbie.”

  “Nice to see you too,” I replied, waving back and smiling. “I’m here to surprise Richard for our anniversary.”

  That sounded good. Wave and smile.

  Margie’s son, Mark, was terrified that we would be arrested and thrown into a Virginia jail. Todd and I had no concern about that. I was still legally married to Richard, and I had paid for this house three times over. I should be able to visit it, with or without a key.

  Todd finally dislodged a window in the back by taking it off its track. He climbed in, opened the front door, and let us all into the house.

  “Hi, darling, I’m home. Surprise! Happy anniversary,” I called out as I crossed the threshold. It seemed like an eternity since I’d been happy there. As I looked around the living room, I saw my good china in crates, and large gondolas full of the costumes from the Molly Brown tour. Everyone went to a corner of the house to start gathering information that could help in my divorce settlement.

  I took the bedroom. When I went into my closet, I discovered another woman’s clothes. My things were scattered all over the floor—scarves, makeup pencils, eyelashes, and wigs, lying there in a mess. All my rollers and cosmetics had been taken out of the bathroom and tossed on the pile. If they bothered Richard’s girlfriend so much, why didn’t she just throw them away? Did they think I was coming back for them? Maybe it felt good just to fling them around and close the door. You can have Richard, I thought. Just leave my eyelashes alone.

  But there was no time to worry about that now. I had work to do.

  In the desk in our bedroom, I found notes from his lady friend that Richard had saved, with intimate details of their sex life together. They made me blush. She wrote with such passion—about how wonderful he was, how romantic.

  I was glad she’d found it worth writing home about. The screwing I’d got as Richard’s wife wasn’t worth the screwing I was getting now.

  We decided to rent a truck to ship my things back to Las Vegas. Todd asked Mark if he would drive, and Mark agreed on the spot. He didn’t mind making the trip alone. We boxed up everything of mine that we could find—files, costumes, and china. The boys got the truck and loaded it all in. No more fancy dinner parties with my good china for Richard’s granny.

  As we were leaving the house, I decided to write Richard a note:

  DEAR RICHARD,

  I flew in to surprise you for our anniversary. I was worried about your health since you told me about your impending operation. Obviously you are feeling better since you took a trip to Europe.

  So my trip should not have been in vain, I have saved you the trouble of shipping me my Molly Brown costumes and my good china.

  DEBBIE

  I left the note in the middle of the living room
floor.

  Once we finished at the house, Bootie drove us to Richard’s office, where the bookkeeper arranged to let us in to copy the files that Richard kept at work that covered my involvement in the business. These files were not the same as the files we’d found at the house. Todd went to work copying them, as well as the hard drive from the computer. My business partner husband had been less than honest in informing me of his deals. It seemed my properties were no longer in my name or Richard’s. He’d been backdating the deeds while transferring the real estate to his girlfriend, Jane Parker. Some of them were even in their relatives’ names. I fantasized what it would be like to unravel all this and leave Richard with nothing—which is more than he’d had when he married me.

  While we were at the office, Richard’s property manager came in and saw what we were doing. Although he was loyal to Richard, when I told him I was there to surprise my husband for our anniversary, he didn’t say another word. I think he knew that same husband and his girlfriend were off on a European holiday. I doubt that he knew it was probably paid for with my money.

  Our next stop was the county treasurer’s office. In Richard’s files we had found copies of paperwork from a lawsuit brought by Richard’s first wife, who was suing Richard’s girlfriend, Jane Parker, over her loss of the Peters Creek property—the same property Richard was now threatening me with foreclosure about. The papers were dated 1992, and actually named Jane as Richard’s “paramour.” They said Richard had put the property in Jane’s name, then in his brother’s name. How could she lose the property when I’d bought it in 1984? If this sounds confusing, it was. It took a long time to figure it out. Apparently this game of “deed roulette” was a favorite of Richard’s. What was clear was that this didn’t look good for my claim to ownership.