The decision to do Mother was a hard one for me. The hotel was in so much trouble that I felt it would certainly go under if I took time off to do the film. I thought I might be able to save it by staying there and working. This was a terrible conflict for me and caused me more anxiety in addition to learning my part.
Albert had written a great script, and he didn’t need me to mess it up. Making movies had changed a lot since the time when I was doing them every day. The filming was quicker because of the hand-held cameras; lighting took less time. Everything moved swiftly, and I had to keep up. Albert took a chance with me. I was thrilled that he gave me the opportunity to play the role.
I have no idea how I got through it. I know I couldn’t have done it without Albert’s patience and Anne’s daily assistance. Toward the end of the filming, I was in overdrive. My brain had become totally convulsed with dialogue. The stress of the hotel and the hard work of making the picture took their toll. I finally buckled under the pressure. Albert was under a lot of stress himself, since he was involved in every detail of making the movie. He shot around me for two days so I could rest and learn my lines. He was so kind to me, even though he didn’t know all the trouble I was having.
I’m really proud of the work we did in Mother. It remains one of the best movies in my body of work. I appreciated Albert’s kindness and his willingness to work so closely with me. Jack Haley Jr. took me to the Los Angeles premiere, and after the screening the audience gave the cast a standing ovation. I was so moved.
When it came time to promote the finished movie in England, I couldn’t leave the hotel in Vegas to go on the press junket. This upset me, and I’m sure it upset Albert too. But I was watching my hotel slip away, taking my life’s savings (and then some) with it, and I just couldn’t leave, even though promoting the film was so important.
Renowned film critic Andrew Sarris named Mother the best film of 1996, and it was well received by the other critics. Albert’s script went on to win awards from the National Society of Film Critics and the New York Film Critics Circle. I’ll always be grateful to him for this role and his wonderful heart. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he wanted to kill me at some point. But Albert was always a gentleman and has never spoken a bad word about me. He is indeed a very special man.
With the super-talented Albert Brooks.
I’m proud of the work we did in Mother.
The best reason to see Mother is the deliciously off-kilter performance of Debbie Reynolds, who speaks in pure honey-sweet tones yet keeps planting tiny seeds of disapproval, using her maternal “concern” as an invisible form of warfare. You never quite catch her doing it; the character doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She just is who she is, and by the end you realize that that’s her glory.
—Entertainment Weekly, January 17, 1997
CHAPTER 12
LOOKING FOR MR. WRONG
THERE’S A LINE IN The Sound of Music when the nuns are singing about Maria that goes “How do you pin a wave upon the sand?” Pinning something on Mr. Hamlett was going to be almost that difficult.
My lawyers were diligently working to untangle the mess that Richard had left behind him. This involved my assets before our marriage, my loans to him, and money that he had taken as “management fees” without telling me. In addition, there were all the folks making claims that Richard had signed notes on my behalf to raise money for the hotel—money that probably went to poker games at Caesars.
Preparing for court was not without intrigue. “Someone” who lived in a beach community in California contacted my accountant, saying he had “knowledge of Richard Hamlett’s business dealings.” One of my attorneys went to this person’s home for a meeting, only to be informed when she arrived that he was not going to show her any of the documents.
“All right,” my lawyer responded and got up to leave.
As her mysterious host walked her to the door, he handed her an orange Hermès bag, warning, “You can’t copy any of the papers in this bag.”
“What bag?” she said coyly, taking the parcel from her host.
A week or so later the bag and its contents were returned to their owner with no copies having been made.
That Hermès bag turned out to be a gold mine disguised in orange leather. The information it contained helped my legal team dispute many of the claims against the hotel and me. Between the Raid on Roanoke and the Person with the Hermès Bag, we were able to prove that Richard had taken my money and property without my knowledge or consent. My ego was almost as wounded as my bank account.
When Richard finally appeared in court, he was well prepared but
ineffective. His own colleagues testified against him. This didn’t prevent him from being confrontational with my attorney. Richard did not even try to hide his contempt for her. As they were leaving the courtroom after one of many tense sessions, Richard looked down at her and said, “People like you pay taxes so people like me don’t have to.”
My lovely attorney was no shrinking violet. She stood up to Richard at every turn. This blatant statement stunned her into silence.
As part of the divorce decree, the court awarded me my hotel and my share of the properties I’d bought in Virginia. Richard was ordered to return the monies from my pension fund that he’d “borrowed” and also to pay my attorneys’ fees. The total was almost $9 million.
On May 14, 1996, our divorce was final, and I was single again. The minute Richard was freed from the bonds of matrimony, he filed an appeal to deny me the money he owed me. He also managed to get the appeal moved to a Virginia court, to accommodate his busy schedule. By 1997 I was paying legal teams to fly to Staunton, Virginia, to collect from my ex-husband. This touched off a bit of a firestorm in the east.
One night Richard called me in an agitated mood.
“You can chase me forever, but you will never find anything,” he snarled. “You’ll never collect on these judgments.”
He raved on about how sorry I would be if I continued to pursue him.
Finally he threatened, “If you keep trying to get this money, I’ll do whatever it takes to bring down the people around you.”
I hung up before he could say another vile word. Hadn’t he done enough to hurt me already? Ever since our separation, I had been afraid of Richard. I was sorry I’d ever loved him. His behavior now just made me more determined to recover what was mine. It wouldn’t be easy, but at least I knew that he was digging in for a fight on his own turf.
Shortly after that conversation, Richard declared bankruptcy.
In almost every divorce, emotions run high. Members of Richard’s family and a woman who worked in his office took my side. They flew to Las Vegas to testify in the divorce trial on my behalf because they were appalled by the way Richard had treated me. I believe he never spoke to them again. I know that he cut off his mother and didn’t go to her funeral. Perhaps this damage was unavoidable, but it pained me deeply to cause a further rift in his family.
While Richard continued his war on me from afar, I was surprised to receive an offer from Scott Rudin, one of the producers of Mother. He’d recommended me for a role in his new film, to be called In & Out. The movie is about a high school drama teacher, played by Kevin Kline, whose life is turned upside down when a former student wins an Academy Award and thanks him in his acceptance speech, telling the audience that his teacher is gay. This comes as a shock to the entire town, including the teacher, whose wedding (to a character played by Joan Cusack) is scheduled to happen soon. In the course of the story, the teacher discovers that he is, in fact, gay.
George Burns told me never to turn down a job because you don’t know when they’ll stop coming along. The part was wonderful, but doing it would be a mixed bag. The movie was being shot in New York, which meant I would have to leave Vegas to go on location. I couldn’t help thinking, Here I go again, splitting my time between my hotel and my career.
At the premiere of In & Out. Kevin Kline is an amazing actor
.
I loved working with him. Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images
I was hired to play Kevin Kline’s mother. I didn’t know Kevin before we worked together. He turned out to be the most amazing actor, a pleasant discovery for me. Our director, Frank Oz, liked doing lots of takes. It felt like my days on Singin’ in the Rain, when Gene Kelly would do dozens of takes of a musical number and then use the first one. Kevin managed to give Frank something different each time. It was difficult for me because, after performing a scene a dozen ways, I ran out of ideas about how to do it. I also disagreed with Frank on my character’s point of view. He wanted me to play her as a nasty, pushy person who does not accept her son’s homosexuality. I wanted to play her more softly, with humor. I also was convinced that my character and her husband accept their son, no matter what.
I spent a lot of time at the Essex House on Central Park South. On days when I wasn’t working, I would go to the set somewhere in New Jersey to watch Kevin work. The scene where he dances to “I Will Survive” is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen, absolutely brilliant. I have the greatest admiration for Kevin and his talent, but I think he got a little tired of being stalked by his pretend mother; after he was done with his thirty takes, he always made a quick exit. Everyone in the cast was truly talented. Joan Cusack ripped through the film like a champ, beautifully playing every nuance of her character’s emotions. I was thrilled to be in that company.
I returned to Las Vegas to find that the trustee of the bankruptcy court in Virginia wasn’t helping matters. This old boys’ network extended to old ladies too. At 4:45 P.M. on a Friday, my lawyer got a phone call from the trustee, saying that she had allowed Richard to transfer one of his assets to his brother’s name. It took the trustee the whole weekend to realize that she’d permitted the transfer of the one property Richard still owned that actually was worth something. Her mistake cost me a few million dollars. I wonder who owns that building now.
When that happened, I had to make a decision. Either I could keep spending money I didn’t have to pursue Richard and wind up with a bunch of properties worth very little that I would have to hire someone local to manage—then worry if that person was honest—or I could settle with Richard for a fixed amount. Richard’s lawyer called my attorney and offered to pay me $300,000, telling her that it was every cent we would be able to find. This was a bit more than the $270,000 I’d paid Richard for his share in the hotel. Reluctantly, I accepted it. I’m sure he was pleased with himself. He probably believes he was being generous.
Meanwhile, my legal troubles were heating up again in Las Vegas. As I left the stage after my show one night to greet the audience, I was approached by a man with an envelope.
He handed it to me, asking, “Are you Miss Debbie Reynolds?” as I began to autograph it.
Wasn’t it obvious, considering the circumstances?
“I am,” I said, flashing him a friendly smile. “What’s your name?”
“This is a summons,” he responded flatly.
I was stunned. Obviously one of my creditors had decided to embarrass me publicly. They could have served me or Todd, my CEO, at any time of the day or night at the hotel, but they’d chosen this awkward moment. Nobody ever said show business is boring. This particular lawsuit was settled easily when we proved that the plaintiff had already helped himself to money from the hotel while he was working for us.
It seemed that just as I put out one fire, another would ignite in some other corner of my life. Apparently I was still parked under the elephant’s tail.
CHAPTER 13
DIVORCE AMERICAN STYLE
AMOUNT I WAS AWARDED BY DIVORCE COURT:
$8.9 MILLION
TOTAL OF LEGAL BILLS TO CHASE MY EX:
$1.4 MILLION
MONEY COLLECTED FROM HUSBAND NUMBER THREE:
NEXT TO NOTHING
FEELING I HAD GETTING RID OF THAT PHILANDERING DEVIL WITH THE KILLER BLUE EYES:
PRICELESS
CHAPTER 14
HAIL MARY DEAL
WITH MISERABLE DIVORCE CHASE over, I was free to concentrate on the hotel, which was sinking right before my eyes.
In July 1996, one of the board members had written to the shareholders saying that I should be removed. In the same letter, he said I had no talent and wasn’t worth the $25,000 a week I was being paid to perform in my own hotel. At another time, the hotel’s attorney, Ed Coleman, told the press that I had never earned that much a week in my life. Little did he know that in 1962 I signed a $1 million contract with the Riviera for a month of shows. I had cut my rate to a minimum to make the hotel a success.
Even though I put all the money I made back into the company, when we hired other entertainers to cover for me on my days off we paid them more than the board thought I should receive. The Smothers Brothers, Johnny Carson, Rip Taylor, and many other performers were paid well when they subbed for me.
I made many mistakes while I owned the hotel, and keeping any of these vultures on after Richard left may have been the worst. In 1996 the hotel had a negative cash flow of $6.4 million—which was an improvement over the previous year, when we were $8.6 million in the red. The only thing that could save us would be investors who could get us out of this hole.
This was a desperate time for me. In 1994 I had done a guest spot on the television program Wings, playing Crystal Bernard’s mother. Crystal and I became friends. We’d sit at my house and visit, drinking champagne and talking. I became very fond of her. When I was hitting bottom with the hotel, she agreed to lend me $100,000, to be paid back when I could. I gave her a lot of my antiques as collateral. She was so good to do that for me. It took years for me to get far enough ahead to repay her, but I did. It was embarrassing to have to borrow money from my friends, and I was thankful that Crystal and others were so kind to me at this difficult time.
By 1997 we had finally cleared up a lot of the trouble—but not all of it. ILX, a time-share company in Phoenix, Arizona, helped us with short-term loans. Todd did business plans and presentations for any possible partners. He met with everyone who might help us stay afloat long enough to become self-sufficient, including a worm farmer outside Las Vegas who was interested in investing. Meanwhile, I heard that when some of the board members were in town for meetings—and God knows what else—they kept the local hookers busy, partying in their suites on the top floor of the hotel. Never mind that their business efforts, if they ever existed, had not made our stock attractive. They still hadn’t gotten us a gaming license. Jackpot Enterprises, who’d been running the hotel’s gaming operation, left in March 1996, taking their 182 slot machines and 2 blackjack tables with them. We’d filled the space with items from my memorabilia collection, except for 25 slots owned by an independent contractor. The hotel was losing money, and the gaming commission wouldn’t give us a license until we put up $2 million and our financial situation improved.
While I was doing everything in my power to keep the hotel in business—and these guys in their positions—they treated me dismissively. I was sure that they were plotting to get rid of me.
When Joe Kowal came onto the board, he’d been given 250,000 shares of stock. At a board meeting after the offensive letter went out, Kowal shouted at me. He sang a familiar tune—that I was just an entertainer, that I didn’t own anything, that I worked for them.
You can imagine that these statements didn’t sit well with me, and that’s putting it mildly. I was eating an apple and decided to share it with Mr. Hockey Player Koo Koo Roo Mogul.
Joe Kowal is a very big guy. Picture Miss Burbank standing up at the table and launching the apple at the Hulk, standing a few feet in front of her. It hit him smack on his left lapel, exactly where I meant it to. (My aim was still as good as when I landed a cake on Jean Hagen in one take in Singin’ in the Rain.) I didn’t want to hit him in the head, just juice his designer suit and shut him up.
And then I wanted to wipe the grin off his face. Move over, Joan Crawford, warnin
g her Pepsi boardroom, “Don’t fuck with me, fellas.”
I lunged at Joe Kowal in a rage—no matter that he towered over me—and pounded his waist with my little fists.
Kowal flicked at me as if I were a flea leaping at him from the floor, while Todd and the other board members pulled my squirming body away.
Needless to say, I didn’t attend any more board meetings after that.
By June 1997, I was out of money. My apartment in Las Vegas and the house in Los Angeles I shared with my brother were both mortgaged to the hilt. My dance studio had been used as collateral. Our last hope was a deal with ILX, but they couldn’t justify buying the hotel because of all its encumbrances. To protect myself, it was necessary to declare bankruptcy—for myself and for the hotel. This in turn forced me to lay off forty-four employees, leaving me with a total staff of ninety-five. I also had to resign as company chairman.
Todd worked for more than a year to find backers who might be able to bail us out. Early in 1997, he’d found a very successful time-share developer from Florida named David Siegel, who, after negotiations and an unforeseen delay, offered to buy 92.5 percent of the hotel stock for $15.6 million. That would have paid off the creditors and stockholders and given the hotel enough money to stay in operation. Siegel planned to add 1,000 time-share rooms to the property. He would have managed the hotel while giving Todd and me the gaming and entertainment. It was the Hail Mary deal of the century and sounded too good to be true.
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