LIZA MINNELLI
I had just returned home from dinner with Henry Kissinger and Jill St. John, when I walked in to find my husband, Peter Allen, covered in batter, dancing around the kitchen in a corsette given to me by Lotte Lenya. I was shocked. "Oh my God, Peter," I shrieked, "You made brownies!"
We started our diets again on Monday.
Years ago, I was at Swifty's post-Oscar bash and I spotted Aaron Spelling having cocktails with Kay Lenz and Jan-Michael Vincent. I sauntered over, sat on his lap, looked him straight in the eye and said "Aaron, you've got the smart angel, the sexy angel and the innocent angel - now how 'bout one with a little pizzazz?!" As I wrapped my boa around his neck, I leaned in close enough to realize that I'd actually been flirting with Linda Hunt. Ironically, days later I got offered my choice of either Tattoo's mother on Fantasy Island, or a jealous transvestite who tosses Barbi Benton over the side of a very special Love Boat.
Went to the premiere of Heaven Can Wait tonight with my date, Richard Chamberlain. I read for the Dyan Cannon part but I didn't get it because I wouldn't sleep with Warren. Dyan had called me. She said "Z, that part is yours! You should play it." I said "Look, I loved you in Claudine, but I gotta level with ya - I learned my lesson after I screwed Tommy Tune to get "The Boyfriend" and all I got was crabs!"
Years later, I told this story to a journalist from PBS who interviewed me for two hours before he realized I wasn't Linda Ellerbe.
I was sailing to Lesbos on my stepfather Sid Luft's yacht, "The Other Two are Mine," when I got a call from Desi Arnaz, Jr., my honey at the time. "Z," he said frantically, "I think I got the clap." "Baby," I said, "I knew if you hung in there, sooner or later someone would applaud!" Then he mumbled somethin' kinda' rude, the boat lurched forward and tipped to the side, and the next thing I remember is waking up naked on a beach next to Ari Onassis, smothered in olive paste and wearing a tiara inscribed to Rose Kennedy.
I was down in Tampa doing an ozone benefit with Ruta Lee and John Davidson, when I decided I needed a little glow. I said to Bobbi, my pianist, "Bobbi, I'm goin' outside to bake in the sun - but for Christ's sake, tell me when I'm done." He said, "1974."
I was in Italy filming "A Matter of Time," directed by my father, Vincente Minnelli, when I got hold of a bad clam. I was rushed to a fabulous little clinic near a vineyard outside of Naples, where I sipped vino and waited for my stomach pump to arrive from L.A.. I'll never forget laying there and looking out at row after row of grapes waiting to ferment. Later, I would make the image my "happy place," which helped me to get through two stints at Betty Ford and an ugly divorce settlement, when that bastard Mark tried to get my shawls!
I had just stepped out of a town car in front of Elaine's for a birthday party for Sue Mengers, when Julie Budd grabbed my arm, whisked me through the door, took off my fox and checked it. I said "Jules, you're so pretty in person - why the hell did you ever marry Elliot Gould?" She looked at me kinda funny, Elaine hoisted me onto the piano, someone handed me a glass of champagne, and the next thing I remember is waking up in a raccoon costume in a Motel 6 just outside of Dollywood.
My town car was stuck in traffic on the way to the Helen Hayes. I had the driver pull the plug for my portable blender, shoved the whole thing into my purse, and jumped out, yelling "I'll take it from here, Buster!" I didn't make it two blocks into Times Square when a funny looking man in a marvelous raincoat stopped me. "Hey, cutie," he whispered, "how 'bout a little company?" So I did ten bars of "Being Alive" and still made my 8:00 show. Fans - you gotta love 'em!
I was doing a couple of shows in New York and ran out to do a little Christmas shopping. Suddenly feeling a little warm and light-headed, I made a mental note to have Bobbi, my pianist, take "She's a Maniac" out of my 10:00 show, and sat down on a bench. A large woman in a tube-top came right over to me and said "I love you on Alice." I said "I'm not Linda Lavin." She said "You're prettier than Cagney." I said "I'm not Tyne Daly." She said "I miss you on Three's Company." I said "I'm not Joyce DeWitt - why does this happen to me every time I'm in New York?!!" She said "Lady, you're not in New York." I shrugged. "Well, sister," I said, "I'm not going to argue with you, because at least that explains the sand in my shoes."
I had just caught Shari Lewis' 7:00 up in Reno and after, was chatting over drinks with Shirley Jones and Marty Ingel. Shirley was going on and on with some story about mother and a restraining order, when she suddenly genuflected and excused herself to get a sherry-to-go from the bartender. Her Marty scooted over to me, a little too close, and he whispered "How lonely do you think it feels to be married to Julie Jordan?" "Oh My God, Marty," I said, "Does Shirley know about her?" Then he explained it to me, we had a few more cocktails, and I vaguely remember the two of us getting on stage and doing Shari's 10:00 show.
I must have played Lambchop, because to this day, I squeak a little when I walk fast!
Marty, my manager, hooked me up with my old Studio 54 buddy Donna Summer to record Billy Stritch's "Does He Love You?" as a duet. She was adorable. I asked her straight out, "Donni, have you ever recorded a duet?" and she says to me "Enough is enough." I said "Look, sister, if you're going to have an attitude we're cutting this project short!" Someone explained it to me, then we laid down a couple of gems, pausing only occasionally for her to lead us in a novena or two. Later at Ralph's I bumped into Della Reese, who told me that praying in front of your agent is bad juju.
So I was hanging upside down in the ladies' steam salon at Caesar's sucking a pre-show Dewar's throat soother when I spotted my dear, dear friend, Goldie Hawn. I had Bobbi, my pianist, lift me up to eye-level and I said to her "Gold, people don't appreciate your beautiful pipes - why don't you open my 11:00 set?" And she just barks and starts licking the avocado mask off my face. I realized I'd made a crazy mistake. I had actually asked Bobbi's six-month-old bichon, "Charo," to open my late show! Ha!
I had just finished a congratulatory note to Totie Fields for her Emmy win as "Sybil," when a young woman rang my doorbell. I had Bobbi, my pianist, take my dry cleaning to the door. He came back moments later, clothes still in hand. "Z," he said, "She says she's Tina Minnelli, your half-sister." "Half-sister?" I gasped, "Has she been in an accident?" Then he explained it to me and I sent him back to the door to give her an autographed poster of Lucky Lady and a cashmere sweater, gorgeous except for a pesky stain from when mother threw up on me during our duet of "When the Saints Go Marching In" at the Empire Room at the Waldorf. Years later, a psychotherapist at Hazledon told me that the reason I treat my half-sister this way is possibly linked to my being a selfish brat.
Bobbi, my pianist, woke me one afternoon for breakfast holding a cage containing two beautiful Siamese cats and a note: "For Z, a precious gift for your precious performance in Arthur - Love, Doris Day." I was thrilled, having grown up picking her albums out of mother's trash and playing them over and over. Days later, I telephoned and got her machine. "Thanks for the cats, Doris," I said, "but all I got out of them was a clutch and a pair of earmuffs. The skinny ones don't go very far!"
And do you know what? She never called back. I mean, eccentric is eccentric, but rude is rude!
I had just performed a magical medley of "Maybe This Time/Shake Your Groove Thing" at a PFLAG mixer in Sioux Falls, when a sweet, overweight brunette in a denim jumper latched onto my arm. "Miss Minnelli," she said, "my son is a huge fan of yours - and so is his partner, Steven." I was flattered. I opened my feather fanny-pack and handed her four tickets to my 11:00 show. "Your son and his friend should come and see me, honey," I said, "and tell them to bring their wives!" And she gave me the oddest look and then I remembered she'd probably never been to either coast.
Elizabeth Taylor came backstage and cornered me against the chocolate crudite. "Why the devil are you sleeping with that fag Baryshnikov?" she growled. I said, "Look Violet, Misha's the only one that can lift me up when I'm down." She got a little teary and cooed, "That's the most sensitive thing I've ever heard." I said, "Who the hell's bein' sensitive - he's the only one strong enough to get me into the limo!" She looked at me kinda funny, then we split a slice of chianti cheesecake. Later, I would break up with him after I found out he had given one of my best prescriptions to Jessica Lange. I stayed away from exotic performers for some time, until my tumultuous affair with Ben Vereen, which ended when my inner-child tried to run him down while he was jogging in Malibu. My dear, dear friend David Foster took the rap for me, after I promised him a job on the ill-fated "Pookie On Ice," a Kander and Ebb musical version of "Sterile Cuckoo" starring yours truly and Ted Bessel.
I was still reeling from my first big success on stage with mother at the Palladium and after her hand prints had faded from my face, was raring to go headfirst into motion pictures. I was at Kay's when Marty, my manager, called. "Z," he said, "you got two choices: the film "Sterile Cuckoo" or the sweetest TV deal you've ever heard of." I gave it to him straight. I said, "Marty, I may look a little butch in a pantsuit, but I am not a t.v. -- those are mother's fans!" Then he explained it to me, but I took the picture instead. Television's too small for me and besides, what the hell is a "Munster?"
I'm told that the Studio 54 days were apparently some of my happiest times. That's when men were men - I vaguely remember doing the hustle with Halston, Roddy McDowell's wandering hands, and making out with that smoldering Tony Perkins. Funny, one minute you're dancing with Sylvester in nothing but a glitter headband, and next thing you know you wake up on the set of Rent-A-Cop wearing a medi-lert bracelet with your agent's phone number scrawled on it. And everyone made such a big damned deal about Bianca riding in on that white horse, but nobody seems to remember the scandal the next night when Marisa Berenson and I rode in on Merv Griffin, the three of us dressed as Kukla, Fran and Ollie!
I was still negotiating for the re-make of mother's "A Star is Born" with Elvis, The King, to be my leading man, when the son-of-a-bitch did a swan dive into his toilet. I remember telling Marty, my manager, what a great impact Elvis' death had on me. I'm not superstitious, but to this day, I won't wear a white jumpsuit during a late show, especially if I'm a little bloated.
I was just wrapping Arthur II when I couldn't take it anymore. Marty, my agent, had booked me for ninety-two performances at Harrah's. "You gotta stay competitive, Z," he tells me, "because Pia Zadora is on your tail." "Good God, Marty," I said, "no wonder it's so hard to get up onto the piano lately!" Then he explained it but I set him straight: "I won't compete with Pia," I said, "and besides, if I can deal with Zsa Zsa and Eva, then one more sister is nothin' to worry about anyway." And he just looked at me kinda funny and walked out of my room, leaving me without a single bottle of mixer!
I've always had a thing for rock stars. I briefly toured with Alice Cooper, with whom I was rumored to be romantically linked. I didn't mind stretching my act to fit midwestern arenas, and I've always looked good in black capes, but things began to sour when I realized the only sacrifice he was willing to make for me involved locks of Lorna's hair. I never got involved with another rocker, although years later I did make a play for that cute boy from Simply Red - but I don't count that one 'cause, at the time, I thought he was Swoosie Kurtz.
I remember turnin' to my dear friend, Pat Carroll, at Sammy's bris. I said to her "I feel for Sammy - I know how much it hurts to lose somethin' ya love." I had just lost the part of the flying Peter Pan to Sandy Duncan; the producers never forgave me for getting tangled in the ropes during my audition and dropping a martini glass on Quinn Cummings. I haven't been that mixed-up since the time I got kicked off the Dick Cavitt show when my agent told me I had better kiss Sydney Sheldon's ass and I didn't get the metaphor.
I was in New York, invited to pop out of a chocolate torte at a surprise party for Eddie Albert, Jr. and didn't have a place to stay. My usual room at the Savoy had been reserved for Ernie and Tovah, and Peter and his girlfriend (who for some crazy reason was also named Peter!?), had the 57'th street apartment and I had nowhere to go. I certainly couldn't go back to Chita's, where one afternoon I stumbled out of bed starving and ate her Faberage egg. She was so furious with me that she backed out of a fabulous TV commercial that Kander and Ebb had created for us in which I played a whimsical "nook" to her cantankerous "cranny."
So I'm in Salt Lake doing a charity performance of Vanities with my co-stars Sally Kellerman and Susan Blakely, when we get socked in by a huge snowstorm. The power went completely out, but it was great fun! We holed up in my suite and played strip Jenga while Sally entertained us with songs from Lost Horizon and I wowed 'em with my mother's "emergency dip" recipe of eyecream and Stoli!
Some leading men are so sexy. It was the first day of "Junie Moon" and an extravagant arrangement of long-stems arrived from Jimmy Coco. I cleared the confetti off of my vanity, set them up all pretty, and opened the card. It said "If you're as talented as you are beautiful, I'll see you at the Oscars, Love, Jimmy." It didn't surprise me that he was such a flirt, but it was confusing why he spelled my name "K-E-N H-O-W-A-R-D.' Eat your heart out, Lorna!
It had been awhile since I'd worked. Mark and I were splitsville. I rang up my dear, dear friend Stephanie Powers. I said "Fanny, I'm lower than a baritone," and she said to me "Z, pack your bags 'cause we're going on safari!" I leveled with her. I said, "I can't. Marty, my manager, just hit me up for a loan for Jill Clayburgh -- besides, I haven't wanted to mingle with the animals since I did Circus of the Stars and Mitzi McCall bit me. Ironically, two weeks later I woke up naked in a large, marble litterbox in the foyer at Seigfried and Roy's!
I remember lying there in the hospital recovering from the insertion of one of my new hips, chatting with the Pet Shop Boys, who had produced my latest album. "Boys," I said, "you're young, you're talented, you're hot! Now get out there and knock 'em dead!" And as I tried to high-five the cute one, he fell onto the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. And the other boys just sat there in their pots staring at me in those ridiculous carnation hats while the nurses watered them. Cute boys, but boring as hell!
I was at the wrap party for Lucky Lady when Linda Purl comes up to me and says "I'm making a TV movie about a drunken, homeless lesbian and I want you to play my mother." I grabbed her by the shoulders and said "My mother was a drunken, homeless lesbian and I want to play with YOU!"
Days later, we were still diving to the bottom of Margot Kidder's hot tub looking for my pearl earrings!
Marty, my manager, rang me up. "Z," he said, "I just hooked you a deal on a top secret project for a flick at Disney." I said, "Marty, book me at LaCosta, I've got a lot of work to do." Three grueling months later, I emerged from the spa two pounds lighter and raring to go! Arriving early for the first day of shooting, I dragged Marty out of the towncar and right over to the director, handing him my chinchilla. Grabbing the script from his hands and thumbing through for my part, I stopped. "Oh my God, Marty," I shrieked. "I'm the voice of the singing spoon! You coulda' told me it was animated!" He shrugged his shoulders, then we caught the next golf cart to the commissary.
I was horrified. I woke up and found myself stranded at a Marriott -- and what's worse -- I couldn't find the mini-bar key! I took off my pantsuit, being careful not to crush the feathers, and I called down to the concierge. "What in the hell are you trying to do to me?" I asked, breathless. "Miss Minnelli," the voice said, "the gentleman who checked you in has asked that we withhold that key from you as a courtesy." Courtesy? Ha! Marty, my manager, had cut me off! "In that case, hotshot," I said, "just send up some ice......and a hatchet!"
I had just asked Bobbi, my pianist, to add "Morning Train" to my 11:00 show, when he looked me right in the eye. "Z," he blurted out, "I'm a homosexual!"
I said "Bobbi, big deal -- for Christ's sake, my momma died and set off a parade that freed half of my husbands!"
Next thing I knew I was waking up in Bobbi's room with my wrists tied in a salmon silk sham, feeling delicious.
I think the nicest thing about always being carried in and out of your apartment building is you never have to tip the doorman!
I'm in Detroit, sitting on top of a bass drum in the hotel bar after my midnight show. In they walked: tall, dark, with marvelous colorful jackets, gold teeth, and hats with big feathers. I was thrilled. I knew I had to book them for "Liza with a Z," my emmy award winning TV special. They swaggered over to me. "Hey, baby," they said, "how 'bout you come work for us for a few hours?" I layed it out straight: I said, "Boys, I love what you do behind Gladys, but I don't make a move without Marty, my manager." They looked at me kinda funny, and the tallest one said "Who the hell is Gladys?" Talk about ungrateful!
Later, lying face down on the floor in six inches of water, I wished I hadn't told this story to Burt Bacharach, who for some reason laughed so hard he dropped a joint and burned a hole in the waterbed.
Awards ceremonies always make me edgy. I remember the year at the Academy Awards when my Halston kept pinching me at the waist. I turned and said " Damn it, Halston, stop pinching me!" That was the evening I nervously nibbled the head off Faye Dunaway's Oscar while she went to freshen up our drinks and later, over the monkey bread at Dani Janssen's, threw it up all over Barbara Stanwyck. And the damned lead paint stayed with me for years, causing a nasty case of chronic fatigue which I'm convinced, coupled with my fear of livestock, cost me a guest appearance on Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.
I bumped into that adorable Sheena Easton at the chiropractor's. I said to her "Sheen- you've got yourself such a sweet set of pipes - but why the hell are you doing that Warrior Princess crap?" She looked at me kinda funny, we swapped prescriptions, and I leveled with her: "It's so important to take hold of your own career. Always remember to read the entire script before you start shooting!" I thought this was good advice, because you can imagine my surprise when, half-way through filming Sterile Cuckoo, I realized there were no Muppets!
So I'm sitting in my whirlpool with Brenda Vaccaro and she says to me "Z, ever since I did that damned tampon commercial I can't get laid." I said, "B.V., are you sure it's not 'cause of Airport '77?" I had to help her. I said, "You gotta find yourself a sexy husband like the kind I've had. Peter and I spent an incredible honeymoon in a huge chiffon tent on a nude beach in Mykonos. It was marvelous -- beautiful men everywhere! And Peter must have been jealous, 'cause I haven't been screwed so hard since Steve and Edie tricked me into giving them my 11:00 spot at the Sands!
I had just passed the part of Linda, the ex-hooker with the heart of gold in the Poseidon Adventure, to Stella Stevens, a dear, dear friend of mine. She rang me up. "Z, why don't you do it? This ship's gonna be a blockbuster!" I turned off my crushed ice machine and I said point blank: "Stell, if I'm gonna be pushin' Shelley Winters' ass through a pipe I'm gonna need top billing and Ray Stark!" I passed on the part, but ironically days later I found myself stuck under a rubber raft with Red Buttons in the pool at the Four Seasons.
So I'm gettin' ready to walk down the aisle again and I'll be damned if I can't remember who the heck I'm marryin'. That little kid from the Jackson Five keeps callin' to see if he can bring his chimp and this producer guy "David" keeps wantin' to cuddle and talk about "our future." The nerve! He even wants to dance with me during my big number at the wedding! I had Marty, my manager, fire off a memo to the creep to let him know that I haven't danced in public since I dropped by the set of Gigi to visit Daddy and almost suffocated when Hermoine Gingold tried to teach me to rumba!
It's so important to have a good, solid relationship with your manager. I mean, Marty and I have been together for years! And I know he loves me, 'cause we've never had a single quarrel, although sometimes he'll do the strangest things. Like the time he accidentally sent me a bottle of champagne to celebrate my recovery at Betty Ford, or when he got confused and checked me into the Plaza under "Neely O'Hara." Who in the hell is Neely O'Hara?
Marty, you nut!
I stood there in my dressing room, horrified. I was convinced that Mitzi, my costume girl, had been shrinking my outfits during New York, New York. "What in the hell are you trying to do to me, Mitz?" I screamed, throwing a coconut krueller at her. She mumbled something about President Ford's wife, the lunch cart came through, we split a tuna hero and a mai tai, then had a big laugh over the whole thing! Me as a tough boss? Ha! Although years later I did have to fire one of my hips when it gave out during Le Jazz Hot!
I was backstage putting on pancake for the opening number of The Act and made a mental note to charm my director, Gower Champion, into a bigger dressing room. I must have nodded off, because when I woke up there were singing cats everywhere and no crudites! I let myself out.
I usually don't dabble in politics, but I had just done a rousing rendition of My Ding-a-ling at a benefit to raise money to put track lighting into the Lucille Lortel, when I met mayor Dave Dinkins and began a brief, torrid affair. "Z," he said, "I need you to help me with a little smear." "Honey," I told him, "I gave up cream cheese when Bob Mackie screamed at me that he was running out of pins." He looked at me kinda funny, then Marty explained it to me - so later, I rang up Peter and had a couple of his friends wait outside the Vault and beat the crap out of Ed Koch. Politics!
So I'm reclining in the green room backstage at The Mike Douglas Show where I'm co-hosting all week and I'm fuming into a dixie cup of Martini and Rossi because the big dressing room with the chartreuse velvet curtains has been "reserved" for that fat little bastard Mason Reese. I grab Mike by the lapels and tell him "Mikey, I'm a reasonable woman, but the last time I was treated this way I stopped doing telethons!"... And the room begins to spin...and the last thing I remember is Elaine Joyce holding me down and pulling the rhinestones off my choker...and you know what? It was all a silly dream! Moments later I woke up in bed between Burt and Dinah clutching my mini-bar key!
Have you heard of Leo Sayer? I like him. I had just asked Bobbi, my pianist, to switch my Gino Vannelli medley to a Leo Sayer, and he looks at me kinda funny and says, "Z, where in the hell do you get your ideas?" And I said "Bobbi, when you've been in this business as long as I have you grow a third ear -- besides, it's 2005, get on the ball, toots!"
I was frantic. SkyLab was crashing down from space and I know it sounds crazy, but I was convinced it was going to land on my Sunday matinee. I had Marty, my manager, patch me through to the White House. "Mr. President," I pleaded, "for the love of God, ya gotta do something!" "Lady," the voice responded, 'I don't know what your problem is. All we make are hamburgers!" Marty, probably as scared as I was, had patched me through to the White Castle! "Listen, kiddo" I said to the voice, "If we're all gonna die then send over some fries and a bloody mary!"
The space station went down far away from my 3:00 show but, thinking back, I haven't felt that helpless since the Christmas my mother tried to give me to Jack Paar.
I woke up on the floor sort of groggy to find Marty, my manager, lookin' down at me kinda funny.
"Marty," I asked, " what the hell is wrong??!!"
"Your hip!".. he said .. "Your hip!"
"Well, hell, honey," I said to him, patting his bald spot..."you would be too if you'd slept with Webster when you had the chance."
Then I made a quick mental note to remember to ignore Lorna's 50th birthday.
LIZA'S MORNING POETRY:
Bobbi's doing laundry
I can smell the dryer
Boa's on fire!
THANK U (by Alanis Morissette)
As Sung By LIZA MINNELLI
How 'bout getting off these anti-depressants
How 'bout a big hit of oxygen from my tank
How 'bout my agent stops promising Star Wars
How 'bout that ever elusive gay husband
Thank U Valium
Thank U happy hour
Thank u Stoli
Thank U both new hips
Thank U e.m.t.'s
Thank U thank U
1974
How 'bout someone mixing me a cocktail
How 'bout throwing me a kiss down here on the floor
How 'bout nobody dares to mention my mama
How 'bout my manager gets me Arthur IV
Thank U Cabaret
Thank U Steve Rubell
Thank U Kander, Ebb, and Hamlisch
Thank U drapey shalls
Thank U glitter
Thank U thank U
Sausage Knish
How 'bout smuggling me in a double martini
How 'bout fishing my lashes out of the john
How 'bout the way I flirt with Merv Griffin
How 'bout waking me up before I go on
Thank U Collagen
Thank U Halston
Thank U Roy and Siegfried
Thank U fiber
Thank U residuals
Thank U thank U
I think I just peed
How 'bout finding a "Z" in Lorna
How 'bout Steve and Edie kissing my ass
How 'bout getting my oscar back from the pawn shop
How 'bout holding a note until you collapse
Raz-a-taz-taz!
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THE LIZA DIARIES is dedicated to my friend Bran Pace, who was its biggest fan during his darkest hours, to Gary Tade, who inspired it all; and, of course, to Liza, who may be the last great star.
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