The Sunday Memory Drawer - Me and Liz Taylor....Well, Sort of

Well, that title got your attention.

Okay, unlike a previous tale about Jane Russell, this is not going to be a story about how I once had lunch with Dame Elizabeth.  Nor will it be about a chance meeting at In N'Out Burger, which I'm sure she must have frequented.  Nope, this is going to be the loosest tether possible.  But, I once was about ten feet from her.  And it makes sense to share the memory in the wake of her death.  But, first...

The photo above is from Liz' appearance in "Giant," which is one of my favorite movies of all time as detailed some time ago on these blog pages.  I had first been exposed to that epic on television, but I did get to enjoy it several times on the big screen in Los Angeles.  That's absolutely the only way to enjoy the George Stevens-directed masterpiece and Liz is luminous throughout. 

When I was a kid, I made a point of seeking out all her movies on those NBC movie nights.  From "National Velvet" to "Father of the Bride" to "Elephant Walk."  I remember when "Cleopatra" first came out, this became one of those Friday after-school movies that my mother took me to at the RKO Proctor's Theater in Mount Vernon.

Since the film was about six days long, I was sound asleep because Liz took it in the asp.

As I sprawled across the living room floor enraptured (or as enraptured as an eight-year-old can be) with Elizabeth Taylor, there was one person in my household who detested her.

Grandma.

Apparently, my grandmother never forgave her for breaking up Debbie Reynolds' marriage to Eddie Fisher.  Because everytime she came in the room and Liz was on the small screen, Grandma would utter a single word.

"Tramp."

Tramp?  You mean like the one Red Skelton plays on television?  Or Fred MacMurray's dog on "My Three Sons?"  I was a little naive and a lot stupid.

"That poor Debbie Reynolds.  Eddie Fisher is married and he's keeping company with..."

Grandma's voice would trail off.  I never did get the last word.  I probably wouldn't have understood it if I had.

Years later, prior to my move there, I found myself visiting friends in Los Angeles.  Liz Taylor had become nothing more than a John Belushi character on "Saturday Night Live."  And, frankly, I was now straining my infatuation muscles over other more realistic and worthy competitors.  But, I was stoked to learn that my trip to LaLa happened to coincide with one of Dame Liz's stage appearances, this time at the Ahmanson doing "The Little Foxes."  Okay, I would put that on my trip agenda.

During that vacation, I found myself visiting the ex-girlfriend of a college roommate.  Oh, I wasn't visiting her directly, but, somehow, in the "divorce," some of his friends had gotten custody of his former galpal.  There were plans for some of us to re-connect with her.  Total innocence.

Yeah, so I thought. 

Another friend and I went to pick up the ex-beau one night.  To let her know we were there, I went up and rang her apartment doorbell.  She flung open the door and greeted me.  Rather demonstratively.  Are you fucking kidding me?

Uh oh. 

Now I was beginning to understand all the wackiness that my college buddy had been talking about.  Apparently, I was going to be part of the game. 

Uh oh.

Sometime during dinner that night, she asked me my plans for the next day.  My friend was working.  I was going to be alone.  All day.  But I certainly wasn't going to share that little tidbit with this Glenn Close wannabe.  I mustered up the fastest fib I could tell.

"Um, I got the last single ticket to the matinee of Liz Taylor in "The Little Foxes."

Well, I didn't really have a ticket, but it was the only thing I could think of.  And, then I figured I probably should at least cover my lie with a truth.  I would go to the Ahmanson the next afternoon and see what was available.

I scored a seat.  Smack in the middle of the very first row.   Probably no more than ten feet away from Ms. Taylor.  Never had such conviving and quick thinking provided such a wonderful benefit.  I was enthralled by her every move.  Rarely does anybody get that close to a Hollywood star.  And, sorry, Grandma, from this vantage point, she's not so "tramp-like."

The first act sped by like a freight train.  The intermission curtain rang down amid tumultuous applause.  This was one marvelous theater event.  In a daze, I felt a tap on my shoulder.  Fuzziness morphed into cold reality.

"Hi.  I got a ticket, too.  Been sitting right behind you the whole first act."

Shit.

All these years, I remember absolutely nothing about the second half of "The Little Foxes."  And, suddenly, with my distinct lack of focus, Elizabeth Taylor seemed miles and miles away.

Luckily, a similar distance remained intact between my seat in Row A and the gal in Row B.

Okay, okay, I know.  It's probably a flimsy connection to Liz.  But, it's the only one I got.

Dinner last night:  Turkey burger.