B00C4I7LJE EBOK (19 page)

The dressing rooms were side by side, with the wardrobe room at the end of the hall. Sometimes when Phyllis was onstage, I sat in the wardrobe room with Margie, the old woman who had been the wardrobe mistress at the Riviera for as long as anyone could remember, and watched as she methodically stitched and repaired costumes.

“That Barbara,” she said to me one night. “I don’t know ’bout her.” Disapproval dripped from her voice.

“Why not, Margie?” I couldn’t imagine that gorgeous creature with the winning smile and shy manner doing anything that would upset anyone.

“Do you know what she wears under that dress of hers?” Margie paused mid-stitch to fix me with a baleful glare. “Not a thing! Not a stitch of clothing!”

I couldn’t tell if her tone of voice conveyed disgust or awe. “What would happen, I ask you, just what would happen if one of those little straps was to break? She’d be standing there on that stage in front of hundreds of people absolutely stark naked.” She paused to consider this. “With the spotlight on her,” she added under her breath.

I had to bite back a laugh. I wondered if Margie was as scandalized as she acted. Truly, the chances of a strap breaking while Barbara was onstage seemed remote. I chuckled at Margie’s assumed outrage, however, and wondered if she secretly hoped that would happen. It never did.

25

S
hortly after we arrived in Vegas, some friends of Warde’s from the East came for a visit. They stayed at the house with Phyllis and Warde, which did not please Phyllis. It ate away at the little privacy she had, and while she tried to be the gracious hostess, I could tell her patience was wearing thin. She became short-tempered with me and Warde, and he wisely removed himself from her periphery whenever possible. Of course, I didn’t have that option.

The third night into the engagement Warde chose to take his friends out for dinner in high style. They had already seen Phyllis’s first show from the choice booth the hotel kept for VIPs, then Warde took them to dinner at Caesars Palace.

When the stage manager, Bob, called “fifteen minutes,” Warde still hadn’t returned. Because of the complex rehearsals, no one had found time to put Warde’s announcement on tape. Warde almost always did the announcements for Phyllis. She had asked him to record it “just in case,” and he assured her he would, but so far he hadn’t.

It was a pity in more ways than one. When Warde had done the announcement the first night, he introduced Phyllis as “the star of the show.” The contract had been explicit that Phyllis and Barbara shared equal billing. When Perk objected to Warde’s announcement, Warde agreed to stick to the phrasing, “the
comedy
star of the show.” However, the previous night he had once again left out the word “comedy” during the announcement for both shows, and there had been phone calls from Barbara’s agent to Phyllis’s, warning Phyllis that it would have to stop. Phyllis wanted to get the announcement on tape in order to prevent Warde from perpetrating his mischief any further and before relations started to deteriorate.

At that particular moment, I knew that Phyllis wished that she had insisted on Warde recording it. The show was about to start, which meant about forty-five minutes before she went onstage.

“Call Caesars’ gourmet room,” she instructed me, “and tell them to come back at once.”

I called Caesars and finally got Warde on the phone. Phyllis reached out and took the receiver from me. “Warde? Warde, where are you? The show is about to start. I need you here.” She sounded calm, but I could sense the exasperation in her voice. “Well, I’m going to send Robin to pick you up. Just be outside.”

There was some muttering on the other end, and I assumed he was whining about having to come back when they were having such a good time.

“Now, Warde!” Phyllis barked and hung up.

Barbara’s act took thirty-five minutes, so I had just enough time to get to Caesars and back before Phyllis went onstage. As I tore out the stage door, I could hear the orchestra playing Barbara’s opening number.

Caesars Palace was quite a way from the Riviera, and I was glad that it wasn’t a weekend night when there’d be traffic. Phyllis had phoned the Riviera valet from the dressing room and told them to get her car out front. They were pulling it up just as I raced through the door.

I took Paradise, a back road, as far as I could. When I turned onto the Strip, I hit one red light after another. Thank heaven Warde and his friends were out front when I arrived. I leaned over and opened the passenger door, but Warde came around and motioned me to move over. He was drunk and in no condition to be behind the wheel. What should I do? Get out and take a cab back to the Riviera? No, I did what I always did; I caved. I scooted over and held my breath for the wild ride back at top speed. Warde liked to fantasize that he was a race car driver. He would lower the seat back as far as it would go so he was nearly lying down because that’s how race car drivers did it. He could barely see over the steering wheel. By God’s grace we arrived without actually having an accident, and I found myself shaking when my foot touched the blessed ground in front of the Riviera.

“What time is it?” I asked Warde. He didn’t answer, but one of his friends said, “Twelve twenty-two.” We’d made remarkable time. I thanked him and headed through the casino for the stage door. As I reached it, I realized that Warde was not behind me. I glanced back to see him standing by the craps table with his friends. Clearly, he wasn’t going to let them see him being ordered around.

I continued backstage, surprised to find Phyllis standing in the wings, ten minutes early.

“Where is he?” Any pretense of patience had gone.

“He stopped to play craps.”

“Damn!” For a lady who didn’t swear, that signaled big trouble. “Go get him!”

I just stood there and she glared at me, then she shrugged. “You’re right—it wouldn’t do any good.”

“He’ll be here in a moment,” I offered. It was the wrong thing to say. She was already mad and now she was mad at me!

“What do you know about it?” she snarled with cold fury. “He’ll be here when he gets damn good and ready. Damn!” She began to pace. “We can’t wait,” she said a moment later. We both looked at the big clock in Bob’s office. 12:30. “Come on,” she said, then grabbed me by the elbow and marched into the office.

“Bob, I need a large piece of paper and a marker.” Bob slid them both across his desk with alacrity.

“I want you to write the announcement,” she told me, “then get it out to Perk as soon as the curtain comes down.”

Perk had a mike on his piano, and as the curtain fell at the end of Barbara’s show he would say, “Barbara McNair, ladies and gentlemen. Barbara McNair.” He would then switch off the mike and leave the stage as the orchestra began a drum roll and Warde, at the offstage mike, would make Phyllis’s announcement, which she was dictating to me in Bob’s office: “And now, ladies and gentlemen (pause), the comedy star of our show (pause), PHYLLIS DILLER!”

Although my printing would not win any prizes, it was legible and it was large. The only problem was to make Perk aware of what was going on.

We hurried into the wings and Phyllis whispered to me, “As soon as the curtain comes down, run out and hand this to Perk before he switches his mike off. Don’t forget, it’s live—you can’t say anything to him.”

Barbara McNair was into her last number, and Phyllis and I stood anxiously just out of sight of the audience, trying to get Perk’s attention. Fortunately, he was facing us and just as Barbara swung into her finale, he glanced our way. I began making frantic motions for him to stay put, not to leave the stage. He looked puzzled and shook his head slightly. He had no idea what I was trying to tell him.

“As soon as the curtain hits the stage,” Phyllis said again. “If you go out earlier, the audience will be able to see your feet.”

Barbara began taking her bows and Perk led her play-off music. I heard the massive curtain starting to rattle down from twenty feet above us. I glanced at it, then out at Perk, who was doing his “Barbara McNair, ladies and gentlemen” bit.

“The curtain!” Phyllis yelled in my ear over the blaring orchestra. “Watch the curtain!” She screamed so loud I was certain the people in the front row heard her. It was only a few inches above my head and dropping fast. I was ready to run when suddenly she hit me so hard that I lost my balance and I staggered backward. “The
curtain
!” she shrieked.

The bottom of the curtain hit the floor with a solid “thunk.” I had been standing directly beneath it. Fortunately, I didn’t have a moment to consider what would have happened if Phyllis hadn’t shoved me out of the way. I could see Perk reaching for his mike.

Phyllis said, “Go!” and I dashed out onstage.

“Read this,” I mouthed as I thrust the paper into his hand. He looked at me in puzzlement. “Now!” I whispered urgently, pointing to the microphone on the piano. Phyllis stood just offstage, nodding vigorously.

He glanced once more from me to Phyllis to the paper, then he dived in. Clearing his throat slightly, he pulled the mike closer and read: “Ladies and Gentlemen, pause, the Riviera Hotel is proud to present the comedy star of our show, pause, Phyllis Diller.”

As he read the first “pause” out loud, I whirled around in horror. I started to signal him, but he was already onto the second one, and I couldn’t do anything about it. By the time he finished, Phyllis was onstage, telling her first joke.

I stopped in the wings just offstage, and Perk walked by me muttering, “I don’t believe I did that. I really don’t believe I did that.”

I started to laugh and couldn’t stop. I stumbled into Bob’s office and collapsed into a chair, gasping for breath.

A moment later Warde wandered in. “Where’s Phyllis?” he asked, looking around as if we might be hiding her somewhere. I was still gasping and couldn’t answer. Bob just looked at him with the disdain he reserved for the HOTS (Husbands Of The Stars), as he called them. “She’s onstage, Warde.”

“Oh.” Warde turned and sauntered back out the stage door.

“You could’ve been killed tonight,” Bob said as he watched Warde disappear. “Do you know how much that curtain weighs?”       

“Don’t tell me,” I begged when I finally caught my breath. “I heard what it sounded like when it hit.”

“Yeah, because the bottom is lined with a quarter ton of lead weights.”

I stared at him for a moment as his words sank in. “It’s really been an awful night.”

“Tell you what,” he said and sat back in his chair. “When the show’s over, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Make it a martini.” It would be only the second martini I’d ever had, but that night I figured I deserved it, and I definitely needed it.

As soon as Phyllis changed out of her costume and we closed up the dressing room, I headed for the bar. Bob was already there with a tall drink in front of him.

“Ah, here you are. Ready for that martini?” He smiled and I realized he really did have beautiful gray eyes.

I slid onto the bar stool next to him. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have a glass of white wine.”

“Pantywaist.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

The bartender stepped over, and Bob ordered the wine and another drink for himself, then turned to me. “So, do you like off-roading?” he asked.

“Uh, off-what?”

“Really? You’ve never taken a Jeep out in the desert? Up in the mountains? Off the roads?”

Such a thing had never occurred to me.

The bartender set our drinks down and Bob finished off the old one in a quick gulp. “There is a beautiful little spring back in the mountains,” he said. “The water is ice cold. Wanna go?”

“What? Now?”

“Why not?”

I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to go to an ice-cold spring up in the mountains in the middle of a winter night. I am not adventurous and this seemed bizarre. Bob, I came to find out, loved the night. He came alive a couple of hours after sunset.

“So?” he said.

Okay, what else have I got to do? Watch television until I get sleepy? Read a mystery? Why not, indeed?

“Yeah, okay. Why not?”

Bob signaled the bartender for a couple of more drinks. “To go,” he said.

With our drinks in Styrofoam “go cups,” we made a quick exit through the back of the casino.

“Here we are.” Bob opened the door of his Jeep and I hopped in. Thank goodness he kept a couple of down jackets in the back.

“Put this on,” he said, tossing me one. “It’s cold out there.”

We were away from the neon in almost no time, and I looked up through the open top of the Jeep at millions of stars. The night was incredibly dark and, wow, cold! He hadn’t been just a-woofin’.

“Here it is,” he said about forty minutes later. We had left the pavement and were bumping along a dirt track. Even in the dark, I could tell it was not a real road. Bushes and weeds brushed against the sides.

We clambered out of the Jeep—thank heaven I’d worn slacks that night—and I could hear falling water nearby. Bob put his arm around me and guided me a few feet to a lovely little spring that sparkled under the stars. We both knelt down and drank—the water was ice cold, just as he’d promised.

Somewhere nearby a dog started barking.

“Coyote,” Bob said.

I was back in the Jeep in five seconds.

Bob laughed at me. “It’s just a wild dog. It won’t hurt you.”

“Not as long as I’m in the Jeep it won’t.”

The ride back into town was like night and day—literally. Coming out to the spring, the lights had been behind us and all I could see was the sky full of stars and the dark, towering mountains. On the way back, the view was all neon and bright lights.

The next day I slept until noon.

The rest of the engagement was as smooth as could be. Warde recorded his announcement so he was free to go and play with his friends, but once he’d done it, he seemed to want to be with Phyllis all the time. I was sure they’d had it out and he knew he was on very thin ice. Phyllis and I didn’t work much, and I found myself spending more time with Bob at the little bar just outside the stage door where the crew and orchestra gathered for drinks after the show.