Moments With Queens
a real one, a world one, a political one, drag ones and Oscar–winning ones-- including the late, lovely Diane Keaton
The unexpected death of ever girlish Diane Keaton reminds me of a time we literally brushed shoulders for a few minutes.
1980s, NYC
I am dining at Café des Artistes restaurant with husband and friends. We are going to Lincoln Center after, and there is a crowded rush at the doorway vestibule as diners retrieve their coats, ready to leave for looming showtimes. I am pushed from behind and turn, rather annoyed. But it is Warren Beatty pushing against me. And next to him is Diane Keaton. Push away, I now think, rather starstruck.
Warren is craggy handsome, and grumbly apologetic. I am now thoroughly enjoying the light contact, on and off. Diane is in the kind of casual yet put-together beigey outfit that defined her, and of course she is lovely, hanging on to her famous lover, and looking a bit overwhelmed by the crush of people anxious to leave.
We all stand there for what seems a long time in the tight quarters, waiting for our coats by the door, and then hubby and I grab ours and are off into the night, acting cool about the whole thing, but knowing that tiny incidents like this one are part of what makes the city so amazing.
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Living much of my life in world cities including New York, Miami, London, Manila and Bangkok, I know that anyone who hangs on the periphery of the artsy/media/travel world will get to share many tiny moments with well-known folks. Here are just a few of those brief encounters, focusing on queens of all sorts. Fleeting memories may be peripheral, but they can remain long past lives that may end too soon.
1956, Miami Beach
A few blocks from my house, in front of the Sheridan movie theater, 24-year old Elizabeth Taylor and her second husband, producer Mike Todd are here to publicize his big movie, Around the World in 80 Days. Liz is often described as “the most beautiful woman in the world,” but she looks to me more like a doll on my shelf: short, shoulder-length jet hair, purplish eyes, paper-white skin.
In a couple of years Todd will die in a plane crash, and Liz will find comfort and marriage with her friend, singer Eddie Fisher, Debbie’s husband and Carrie’s dad. But at this balmy moment in Miami, all seems divine.
I stand right behind Ms. Taylor, roped off in the first row because I have stood for over an hour, waiting for my first brush with a celebrity, only a few blocks from my house, no less. My awed young face peers longingly at Elizabeth Taylor’s perfect countenance. It is not a good idea for a girl with an identity problem to stand near Ms. Taylor, but I made it through.
1989, Bangkok
I am working on early versions of interactive videos for the military as an executive producer (I’m not exactly a Mike Todd, but there is a bit of irony to come). I’m between marriages one and two and have been living for a few years in Washington, D.C. with the head of the company. He says, “You’ve got this,” and sends me on my own to Thailand for several months, leading an international crew as producer/writer on a million dollar project.
On a balmy night not unlike the one in Miami Beach thirty-three years before, at a charity event for Thailand’s magical festival of Loy Krathong, the country is alight with candles along its waterways. I see Ms. Taylor once again, but this time we are both invited guests at the Oriental Hotel.
I’m not sure how she feels as a middle-aged star at a time when beautiful women are still judged against their youthful selves, but normal-looking me, on the other side, has become more confident than I was as a girl. With pixieish hair and those fringed azure eyes, she stands in a silky kaftan by Larry Fortensky, who in two years will become her seventh husband –- for awhile. I am once-divorced now, and will be married twice more: multiply married, as she is. I remember the dream of how she looked as I study the reality of the moment in Bangkok. Things turn around for all of us in unexpected ways — past, present, future.
1965, Edinburgh
On an early morning walk in the mist, Husband One and I are strolling by the entrance to a royal castle in Scotland, on my first honeymoon, A car suddenly stops right next to us, waiting for the gate to open, and I get a glance at another Elizabeth with bluish eyes and white skin. This one is the queen — Elizabeth II herself. Within the car I do not see Philip, her corgis or her purse. She glances our way, and smiles at me.
Several years later when we are living in London I see this real life queen in grand official ceremonies as I stand among the crowds. It isn’t at all as special as that unexpected stop in Scotland, closeup with no one else around.
1970, Hyannis, Massachusetts
My youngest son is three months old, and our family of four is staying at a Cape Cod resort. One evening we decide to hear the torchy singer Peggy Lee at a summer theater in Hyannisport.
Much buzz is in the air. Enter Jackie O and her entourage, among them astronaut and current Ohio senator John Glenn, children Carolyn and John, Maria Shriver, Ethel Kennedy and some of her brood, probably including little RFK Jr. (not yet ugh). Jackie is married to Aristotle Onassis, who is decidedly not there.
The grand group sits up front by the stage and we regular folks observe their boisterous family interaction throughout the evening. After the show there is slow dancing on the stage, and hubby and I are able to maneuver near Jackie and John Glenn, and all seems so casual, as if we’re at a high school dance and the Homecoming Queen of the World is dancing among us. I don’t notice any Secret Service men dancing nearby with each other, but maybe I was too focused on Jackie.
When we go for our car, Jackie is already standing in the front, waiting for hers. It is raining and we all huddle under a portico. She seems aware and yet aloof. I hope she will turn and say in that breathy voice, “ Has anyone ever told you that you look like me?” as I have heard that often since she became First Lady. Amazingly, for awhile at least, people were seeing a similarity. Dream on.
Jackie O just stares wide-eyed into the distance -- perhaps the most famous woman in the country on a summer evening, waiting next to me in the rain. Finally her car comes, and she exits, John Glenn holding an open umbrella above her, leaving the rest of us babbling and wet and somewhat disbelieving that it was all so natural to be standing together. And none of us made fools of ourselves.
1982, Armonk, NY
I’m on line at a cider mill among pumpkins and kids, north of New York City in Westchester County where I live. My sons are hanging out somewhere nearby as I patiently wait for the world’s best cider donuts, rolling down an assembly line out of hot fat and plopping into powdered sugar. The smells of cinnamon, yeast and apples fill the fall air.
I stand behind a woman talking to her daughter. Her voice is familiar, the enunciation perfect, and I slowly realize that she is the actress Glenn Close. Nobody else seems to recognize her, in her cap, sunglasses and jeans, so exurban and motherly and typical.
At one point I mumble something like, “I can’t wait much longer,” and she turns and smiles and says, "Yes, but they’re worth waiting for, aren’t they?” And I debate whether I should say more, like “I loved you in The Big Chill,” or “Was there a real bunny in that pot?” But I decide better.
She doesn’t cut the line. She doesn’t pull rank. She speaks sweetly to her daughter, and smiles at my boys who come and go as I wait. I have liked this woman ever since, beyond her talent.
1999, Chappaqua, NY
I meet political queen Hillary Clinton, newly moved to Chappaqua, and her hubby, the President of the United States, at a small dinner party. I write more about that encounter HERE.
2007/8, Greenwich Village, NYC
It has been 50 years since star-struck me swooned at Elizabeth Taylor. But there is a new drama queen. Often on Tuesdays at 2:10 pm I pick up my granddaughter from her pre-school. She is three, and already has two boyfriends –Koll, and Joe, who is Kate Winslet’s son.
In the crowded half-doorway with other moms, nannys, mannys and grannys, much of the time Ms. W is standing with us, observing the adorable children before we pick them up. She usually wears a tee, black jeans, black–rimmed glasses, not much makeup. Her hair is loose or in a pony tail, and she’s pretty, like most of the moms, and fits right in.
I have been warned by my son and daughter-in-law -- who were probably warned by the school-- not to bother her. She feels free to pick up her son because she feels comfortable. I watch little Sabrina flirting with little Joe, and Kate smiles at them and because I’m warned not to talk, I just smile at her smiling at them.
I occasionally mumble things into the air (not to her – rules) like, “Aren’t they adorable!” And she does the same.
And so, for months, on Tuesdays at 2:10pm, I stand so close to that year’s Best Actress Oscar-winner that I can smell her skin (clean), without having a single real conversation. But it is fun. And I did follow the rules, kind of.
2023, Rochester, NY
And this is the most fun. Driving through a colorful, gritty neighborhood I come upon a bunch of drag queens whooping it up on the street. Are they rehearsing a show? My son’s partner and I get out of the car and spend maybe half an hour interacting with the performers, who act more queenly in many ways than the others I’ve come across. There is no fear of bothering them, or coming to close into their space. Drag queens live extra large and fantabulous. And we need that more than ever, don’t we?
Long live all the queens, in all their individual glory, for adding little special moments and happy memories for many of us regular folks.
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I enjoyed this -- recognition of The Rules and all.
Delightful! Also enjoyed the linked story about the Clintons and the profile of your husband.